I'm looking for appetizer recipes to serve at our BONYE Mafia party. I was just thumbing through a Crock-Pot cookbook my mother gave me a couple years ago (bc I just unearthed it from the upstairs bookcase.) I like the health tip at the end of it.
Mexican Bean and Cheese Dip
15-oz can refried beans 8 oz jar taco sauce 1 lb. velveeta cheese, cubed 1 pkg. dry taco seasoning
Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.
Note: If you're cautious about salt, choose minimally salted chips.
Let me translate this recipe for you.
Mexican Salt Dip
15-oz can beans dredged in salt then fried 8 oz jar liquid salt, taco style 1 lb. gelatinous cheese-flavored salt lick 1 pkg. taco-flavored salt
Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.
Note: If you're cautious about salt, maybe skip this recipe.
A couple weeks ago my friend and I went shopping at the outlet mall. I bought 3 pairs of pants, none of which were the right length. But, my friend convinced me that I am old enough to handle getting my pants hemmed and should purchase them anyway. So, here I am with 3 pairs of unwearable pants (they are sooo long.) I finally decided to expend some effort and get the stupid things up off the ground. My friend recommended that I take the pants to the stores that sell them at the mall to get them hemmed because then the hem will match that of the original manufacturer. The pants are trouser style jeans and a pair of cords, so I could see the value in having a matching hem. Plus she said it was pretty inexpensive, so why not. I head to the mall.
Go into J. Crew and the staff is great. There's only one chick in the store who knows how to pin pants for hemming, but we finally find her and we're on our way. I ask her whether I can also get a pair of jeans originally sold at Banana Republic hemmed. I figured that because I am paying to have them hemmed, it really shouldn't matter what kind of pants they are. Also I am lazy and didn't want to walk to Banana Republic. The saleslady thinks that would probably be fine but she'll have to check their policy. In the meantime she's happy to pin them for me anyway. Cool beans, I like J. Crew.
Get to the desk and it turns out that they cannot hem pants that aren't from their store. Fiiiiiine. I'll go to stupid Banana. She also tells me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. It's going to be a red hot second to get these pants back...but that's fine.
I set off for the Banana Republic to get the stupid almost identical pair of jeans sewn by that company. Walk in and the people working there haven't a clue. They looked terrified that they'd have to pin the pants. I told them not to worry, they're already pinned, just hem them for me. The girl has me fill out a slip and then she goes to look at the tag. I assume to confirm that they're from Banana Republic.
Girl: "Oh. These are from the outlet." Me: "Yes. The Banana Republic outlet." Girl: "We don't do alterations on outlet clothes." Me: "Why not?" Girl: "The outlet is different. They have different stock and different clothes..." Me: "Yes...they have the clothes you guys used to have in stock. I don't understand the problem." Girl: "We don't alter outlet clothes because we're not the same store." Me: "The pants are already pinned. I will give you money to have someone sew the pants. How is this a problem??" Girl: "Umm....these are from the outlet....sooo....we can't alter them." Me: "Oh my God that is so stupid. Okay fine thanks."
My favorite part is that she had already explained to me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. I would lay down good money that J. Crew and Banana Republic use the same tailor. AUUUGHGH.
So I guess I'm going to have to fix the Banana pants myself. My Mom got halfway through explaining the hemming process to me before I finally stopped her and explained that I owned neither needle nor thread. So that might be step one. Or I could just pull out the super-glue.
**I bet this was the most boring "pantless" post you could ever have imagined. How disappointing.
I am in bed with my husband at 11:30 PM last night. His phone starts making some noise from Star Wars signifying that he has a text message.
Him: "Who the hell is texting me this late?" and grabs the phone. Me: "Who is it?" Him: "It's Timmy. He wants to know whether I remember the cheat code for Sonic off the top of my head."
Silence.
Me: "Oh my God do you?!" Him: "I think it's up-down-up-down-left-right-B." Me: "omg I am married to you."
He texts back, sets down the phone and rolls back over. Then doesn't move.
Me: "What's the matter?" Him: "I think it's actually up-down-up-down-B-A-B." Me: "Sweet baby Jesus."
He grabs the phone and texts Timmy back with the new code. Timmy replies.
Timmy: "It's okay...I was just proving a point to my roommates." Me: "His point is that you are a huge nerd."
So, I'm watching this show so I can talk about it at work. And it is already painful to me.
We're toward the beginning and they're going into their "Transplant Committee Meeting." I haven't really been paying attention, primarily because if the idiot kid in the tie who was surprised that livers could be split turned out to be the transplant coordinator, I was going to throw Tom's laptop through the television. Let's take it from there.
21:17- OMG do they have their staff meetings at CNN headquarters? What is up with that CRAZY technology?! Also, projecting patient histories onto a glass wall seems like it would be a pretty big HIPAA violation. 21:18- It takes longer than "how about right now" to decide to put in a VAD. How about some workup people? She walked in off the street 20 minutes ago. Cripes. 21:19- Who is this random woman in a lab coat asking about organ donation at the bedside? Make it stop!!!!!!! 21:20- I can't liveblog this anymore. It hurts me so badly. Also Counselor Troi has aged terribly and isn't really great at doing an accent other than her own. 21:21- Okay, so Troi's husband is going to donate...the pregnant chick gets the heart...what is up with the kid who swallows things? I am confused. 21:24- Nobody spouts off their doctor's credentials to them. They are well-aware of their abilities. 21:26- All of these patients look totally great for needing a heart transplant. 21:26- Umm...your son eats metal. This is obviously a problem. 21:27- Via Tom "Also, his name is f-ing Auden! Auden Drinkwater?! There's no way he would've lived long enough to eat metal because he would've already been pummeled to death!" 21:28- Oh lord I think the woman who got consent at the bedside was probably the donation coordinator. Auuuugh. 21:29- Yup. The idiot is a transplant coordinator. I will cry soon. 21:30- Ummmm....jet is on standby? Really? Also, what a kickass tablet. We don't actually have these. 21:30- Good thing that dude fell off the ladder. Otherwise his wife wouldn't be having a c-section and a heart transplant all in the same day.
Commercial break: I love that now when people ask what I do for a living I can say, "You know that kid on 3 Rivers who has the IQ of an amoeba and fetches donuts for the staff meeting? That's me." Awesome. Way to totally de-glamourize the role of transplant coordination. Aaand we're back.
21:33- Of course the doctor identifies with the metal eating kid. I'm sorry, but no physician is going to tell her boss that her father wasn't home enough waaaah. 21:34- Alfre Woodard, I liked you better in basically everything else you've ever done. 21:35- Aaaand, we're back to the donor side. Time for the daughter to pitch a fit about organ donation. 21:36- CALLED IT! Also, why are the surgeons getting on a jet when the wife had already said that she didn't want to do anything til her daughter got there? The timing on this is so unrealistic. Also I want to punch the coordinator kid in the face. 21:37- omg omg omg omg that kid has to get out of there. Why would he be within 100 feet of a donor family, let alone speak to one? Who lets the cooler guys into the unit? Nobody. That's who. 21:38- How is this kid not fired right now? What is their screening process for hiring transplant coordinators? Do they go to the nearest high school and pick the dumbest kid they can find? 21:39- Is this kid going to need a transplant or is this all back-story for the whiny doctor with an absent-parent complex? 21:40- "My brain itches." So of course I swallowed tweezers and a pair of scissors. Makes sense. 21:42- And of course the pregnant chick crashes. If the solution is for the transplant team to talk to the donor family I will just die.
Commercial break: This is unrelated, but there was just a Kohler commercial where this guy flushed like 30 things down his toilet. Call me crazy, but that seems like the worst idea ever. I don't care what brand of toilet you have.
21:46- "Given everything that Terri's been through today..." You mean, her husband falling off a ladder, and then her heart stopping like 12 times? 21:47- Holy crap is she going to be a donor too? This show is depressing. 21:47- Oh Jesus please don't talk to her again. I knew they were going to turn this into a good thing. Stupid show. 21:49- This child should not be talking to this poor donor family member. I really want him off of this show. And I kind of want to choke him. A lot. 21:50- Also, way to break patient confidentiality. Yes...tell the donor family everything about the recipient. We totally do that. NOT. 21:51- Those are some pretty healthy lungs on that kid. Ah, the miracles of television. 21:52- LOL the donor's breathing tube isn't hooked up to anything. 21:53- I'm still confused why the metal eating kid is on this show. He's not getting any new organs or anything. And he's not a very cute kid. Plus he eats metal. Did she just confiscate a railroad spike from him? 21:54- Seriously...the doctor is going to be holding her hand when she wakes up? Where is her HUSBAND? And child?! 21:55- "Hi. We stole your baby and implanted you with a new heart. That'll teach you for bringing your husband into the ER with a minor scalp lac. Next time use a band-aid." 21:56- Oh Jesus. There is a satellite uplink into the nursery? They couldn't bring the baby into the room with her? The husband didn't want to be there when she woke up? Worst. Family. Ever. 21:57- I do not know a single male surgeon who would wear powder blue scrubs.
Wrap Up: Okay, so it's over. And my TV and the laptop survived. Primarily bc I needed the laptop to convey my dissatisfaction to the masses. There were some pretty glaring inaccuracies in the portrayal of the transplant process...like the timing...and some medical mistakes...like how he said her "injection fraction" was low (it's EJECTION fraction)...but overall it was just terrible. Plus really what the heck with the metal-eating kid? He didn't give or receive a transplant! Also, most doctors would've figured out that he had pica way before assuming that mommy going away for meetings once a week was making a teenager swallow tweezers.
I'll probably pop in next week to mock it again though. Because I've gotten too lazy to have original thoughts for my blog, and this show is easy to mock. Although not as easy as this show:
Mom: "Ugh, my pager's going off. I wish I hadn't replaced it." Me: "What happened to your other pager?" Mom: "Oh, I flushed it." Me: "Is that a euphemism?" Mom: "Oh no. I flushed and then noticed 'OH MY GOD THAT'S MY PAGER!'" Me: "Very astute. How did you manage that?" Mom: "Well, you know, it fell in the toilet! And I didn't notice until it was too late. So, I plunged it thinking that maybe it would float to the top. But it must've really been far in there! I was actually pretty impressed- it's just a normal household toilet. Pretty powerful. So, I flushed it like 5 more times and hoped for the best." Me: "Wow. Quite a solution." Mom: "Yeah. So then I told Karen* that I'd flushed my pager so she'd have to call me at home if she needed anything because my pager was gone." Me: "Good idea." Mom: "And then she said it hadn't gone far enough. The toilet almost overflowed yesterday. It is really jammed." Me: "Wow. That is totally embarrassing." Mom: "Yeah. I hope I don't have to pay a plumber to go fishing for my pager."
My only hope is that slugs are dancing around with it.
*Mom's co-worker *Felecia, C&C Music Factory is BACK
I got married on Saturday, August 15th. And it was an absolute blast. It was everything I hoped it would be. Namely, my sisters sang with pretend microphones all night and when it was over I didn't drive Tom home. Mission accomplished.
So, married Saturday, dying of some horrible infection on Tuesday. What was it? "In sickness and in health"? 90% of our marriage thus far has been the sickness part. I blame the air conditioner. Before I moved to Massachusetts 2 years ago, my future landlady (and unbeknownst to me, archnemesis) called and said that her current tenant had an air conditioner that she wouldn't need in her next apartment. I could purchase it from her at a discount. At the time I was living in Alabama in July and an air conditioner sounded like the best idea ever.
So, I bought it. Moved here and realized that my apartment stayed 20 degrees cooler than the rest of the world. Which was great in the summer. Pretty miserable in the winter. But that's beside the point. We took the unit out of the window when cold air started coming in, and it sat in the closet ever after. 2 years. Bottom of the closet. Never cleaned.
When we got back to our new house (yay new house no landlady woo!) after the wedding, it was 1000 degrees. Really. I used a candy thermometer. So, we put the A/C in the window and cranked that bad boy up. I woke up sounding like a 40 pack year smoker. Hmmm. Maybe I wasn't used to air conditioning. It'll be okay. Used it again the next night, woke up even froggier. And a little sniffly.
Me: "Do window units have air filters or anything on them?" Tom: "Yeah." Me: "Did we clean it before we used it?" Tom: "I don't think so." Me: "We should probably do that."
Pull out the filter. It is DISGUSTING. It is black with filth. Covered with mold and other particles that I have been breathing for two nights. Awesome. So, we clean it, pop it back in and hope for the best. The next morning I can't breathe. But as the day progresses I feel better and I assume I've caught a cold on top of the horrible allergic reaction that started the week. I do a 24 hour shift, and things go downhill from there. On Thursday I ended up having to get someone to relieve me at work because I was too sick to be on the hospital unit. The nurses were all eyeing me. Hello our patients are already sick, they don't need whatever you have too.
Went home and decided to try to have a bowl of soup to soothe my throat. I went to the cabinet to pull out a bowl, and there was my trusty "Bowl of Self-Esteem." It was a graduation gift from my master's thesis advisor, and it's my favorite bowl because it will hold an entire package of ramen noodles in broth without coming anywhere near spilling. It's a huge bowl. I only use it when I'm sick, but it never fails. When it gets to the point that I'm resorting to ramen, there's the bowl ready to go. I realized for the first time why this is. Because it is the largest, the bowl of self-esteem is always at the bottom of the stack. It's always ready to go when I am at my sickest because at that point, EVERY OTHER DISH AND BOWL THAT I OWN IS DIRTY. When I am sick, my house becomes a sty.
It took me 4 years to figure this out. Before I just assumed it was magical and sensed when it was needed. Because apparently when I am sick I super-anthropomorphize my dishes. Awesome.
So, I finally went to the doctor on Friday where I was dosed with antibiotics and narcotic cough syrup. I slept 12 hours that night and woke up a much happier camper. Completely better now, and the bowl is back at the bottom of the stack where it belongs. Hopefully I can stay well long enough to make it to my honeymoon on Saturday. :)
I promise that some day my blog will become something more than a repository of hatred for my landlady.
But not today.
So yesterday I was working at a hospital until about 5 PM. I got home, changed clothes, and received a phone call from my landlady. It's 5:15.
Her: "Hey, there might be someone coming to see the apartment." Me: "Okay, when?" Her: "Possibly at 5:45." Me: "You couldn't give me any more notice than this?!" Her: "Well, they called this morning and I told them to call back to confirm and they haven't called back. So I'm not even sure whether they're coming...I'd say it's about 50/50." Me: "Okay, well I have to clean up." Her: "Well, don't do too much, I don't think they're even coming."
So I get up and dump out the bucket of mop water that's been sitting in the kitchen since the day before. Try to wash the dishes really quickly. Take the giant pile of laundry that I was going to do prior to being called into work and stuff it into a hamper. Try to start cleaning the tub a little when the doorbell rings. Awesome. It's the landlady, and her totally annoying 3 year old. It's 5:20.
Her: "They're definitely coming." Me: "When?" Her: "They said they'd be here by 5:30." Me: "Awesome."
So she's standing in my living room and I can hear her scolding her kid to quit touching things. Meanwhile I am STORMING around upstairs, throwing things in closets, making up the bed, slamming doors, muttering. I go downstairs and she's just staring out holding the kid who is making a fuss. He wants to rip all the DVDs off my shelves. She's grabbing him and telling him to stop but he's still having a tantrum. Also he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper, his face is filthy, and he has some dirty little bootie things on.
Her: "Nobody's going to rent this place if he starts screaming." Me: "Yeah. Want me to turn on a movie for him?"
Keep in mind that I have a vested interest in this apartment being rented. If she doesn't find a renter by the end of July, I'm paying for August even though we'll be living in the new house by then. I have no desire to pay for this friggin' apartment when I'm not even living here. I can barely bring myself to pay when I am.
Her: "Yeah, if you don't mind, that'd be great."
Of course he wants to watch Monsters Inc, which is not in its case. I try to talk him into any one of the 50 other children's movies I have (Muppet Movie? Madagascar? Alice in Wonderland? Babe? How old am I again?) and he is not having it. The landlady finally says to throw on Little Mermaid and he'll watch it. So I do. As I'm turning on the DVD, the potential renters park on the street. Meanwhile her child is still fussing and yelling that he'd rather watch "Monster movie!"
Her: "Here they are." Kids still fussing. Her: "He's not my kid..." (I think she's joking) And greets the potential renters.
My plan at this point is to turn on the movie, hop in my car, and come back in a half an hour as I've done with every other showing.
The people walk in, the landlady introduces herself to them, and then steps over her kid and I and says "I guess they're going to watch a movie." Then takes the renters upstairs.
I am stuck downstairs and she has just passed her child off as mine. How did that just happen?!??
She's upstairs with them, kid is watching the movie with occasional bouts of "I hate this." I'm wondering if there's any way I can leave this kid sitting here alone without him tearing apart everything I own. 5 minutes in, he hops out of his chair and takes off out the front door. I run after him, grab him, and tell him to plant his butt back in the chair. He behaved the rest of the time. But clearly, if I'd ditched him he would've run into traffic.
The renters have no interest in the apartment and leave. The landlady turns to me and says, smiling:
"They thought he was yours. He looks more like you anyway." And leaves.
I am living in some kind of surreal nightmare world where my landlady is on crazy pills and has no idea how incredibly inappropriate she is. Her poor kid.
As you all well know, my landlady is the worst human being ever to have walked this earth. I'm pretty sure she lives to inconvenience me. Tom and I are in the process of purchasing a house, and every ten minutes I look up and say, "I want to go live in my houuuuse." He has interpreted this as a quality that he never knew about- "You are incredibly impatient." But I don't think that's correct. It's just that every ten minutes it dawns on me that I still live in the same house as this horrible woman- and it dawns on me because I live in constant fear of the next thing she's going to do to completely piss me off.
So, last week she puts a note in my mailbox that she received from the city. The city will be flushing the water mains on every street, so you should check the city website every evening and if they're going to be flushing your street the next day you should go ahead and put some water in pots and pans, or shower the night before. The flushing would only be taking place between 8 AM and 4 PM however, so when you get home you should be all set...just run the water til it's not cloudy anymore. She reiterated the message on the note when I saw her outside later that day- "I don't want a bunch of sediment in my pipes, so make sure you check and don't turn on the water the day that they're flushing." Okay, 'nuff said.
Yesterday was the first day that flushing would be taking place. But, I had a class to attend in Northern China and was therefore gone for most of the day. I didn't get home til about 6 PM. When I got home, the water seemed a little cloudy so I checked the website. My street was completed- the flush had been done that morning. Sweet. I go to pick Tom up from work, stop by the grocery store so I can make dinner, and come home with a plan to run the water until it turns clear and move on with my life. I walk into the kitchen, turn on the faucet, and it's a trickle. Apparently the only reason the toilet flushed and I was able to wash my hands when I got home was that there was that much water left in the system.
So, I call my landlady. Me: "Hi, is your water working? Mine is off." Her: "Oh, well they're flushing the water mains, remember?" Me: "Yes, from 8 AM to 4 PM. It's 7 and my water is off." Her: "I don't know, I'm not home. That's strange..." Me: "Well, will you call me when you get home and let me know what's going on?" Her: "Yeah, I'll be home in about an hour. OH! Oh...it's in the basement...it's....um.....you'll have water later." Click.
I look at Tom and say, "I'm pretty sure that she turned off the water." So, I can't make dinner, I can't flush the toilet, I can't have a glass of water. Luckily what I really needed at that point was a beer, and I did have that readily accessible. A couple of Tom's brothers came over and hung out (played cards and listened to me call my landlady a whorebag) for a while. So, 2 hours after the initial phone call, I've had some beer and would like to use my bathroom again. I'd also really like to eat some friggin' dinner since it's 9 PM. I call her back:
Me: "Hi, it's me again." Her: "Hey, what's up?" Me: "Is there something I can do to get the water back on?" Her: "You mean it's not back on yet?" Me: "Should it be? I'll check....nope. Still not on." Her: "Okay, well I'm having like the worst night ever at work, I was supposed to be home 3 hours ago. Can you just let me deal with this? I'll be home later." Me: "Well, I'd really like to be able to use my toilet, and it's 9 PM and I haven't been able to make dinner yet. Is there something I can just do to turn the water back on?" Her: "No. I don't want you touching anything. I'll figure out what's going on when I get home. Could you just order out? I'm just having a terrible night." Me: "Fine bye."
SHE IS SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON! Okay, so a few points. 1. "It's not back on yet?" Don't act like the water was going to turn itself back on. You know damn well you turned off the water without notifying me, and then didn't remember to turn it back on before you left the house for the next 6 hours. Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. And I hate you. 2. "I'm having the worst night ever at work." I work with dead people. You manage real estate. And half the time you don't have the courtesy to leave my parking space open when I get home after a 24 hour shift. Go screw yourself. 3. "Could you just order out?" Are you gonna pay for it? I just signed up for a mortgage. I cannot afford to order out. Again, screw.
So, she gets home around 10 PM, immediately the water magically reappears. Do you think she calls to let me know the water is back on? Nope. I hate her so much it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.
This morning she calls. Is it to apologize for turning off the water? Hellz no. Her: "Hey Sam, I just wanted to remind you that they're flushing the water mains." Me: "They did it yesterday." Her: "No, I just called the city and they said that they were on Florence Street today. If you remember, the sheet said that it didn't even start until today." Me: "No, the sheet said it started yesterday. I checked the website last night and it said our street was completed. And if they didn't do it yesterday then why the hell was my water off last night?" Her: "The water was off because I turned it off. Last time they did this I got all kinds of sediment it my house and I didn't want that happening again so I turned off the water." Me: "Well, it's nice of you to let me know you were going to do that." Her: "I'm going to call them back because I was here all day yesterday and I don't think they flushed the pipes. I'll call you back."
I swear to God if she's going to turn the water off again today I'm going to call and get myself kicked out of this apartment.
Her: "You're right. They did it yesterday. They must've done it after I left." Me: "Fine. Bye."
I'm not impatient. I just have to get away from her. I want to go live in my new houuuuuuse.
I got home from the dress fitting and was trying to unload stuff from the car when I realized that my landlady was standing right next to me.
Me: "What's up?" Her: "We have a bit of a situation here." Me: "What's wrong?" Her: "There's a baby possum trapped in one of the recycling bins." Me: "Let it out." Her: "But it's daytime and they're nocturnal!" Me: "It can take a nap when it gets home." Her: "Do you know what they eat?" Me: "You want to feed it?? They eat anything. They eat garbage! I'm sure if you let it get close enough it will try to eat your face." (please please test that theory) Her: "Well, I put some grass in there with it." Me: "I don't think it's going to eat grass. It'll eat dog food, but really you should just throw it somewhere." Her: "But it's a baby!" Me: "It's a rat." Her: "Do you think if I tip the bin over tonight its mother will come get it?" Me: "Sure." (actual answer: no) Her: "If I pick it up do you think it'll bite?" Me: "Absolutely." Her: "Even though it's a baby?" Me: "If it was a baby, it'd still be living in its mother's pouch. That thing is on its own and I guarantee it has teeth. Either let it out or call Animal Control." Her: "I'm sorry, I'm a city girl. You're the one from the country, that's why I'm asking you!" Me: "In the country, someone would shoot it." Her(looking horrified): "I'll go get some dog food." Me: "See you later."
This is the first thing I think of when I think of possums. Thank you Disney for taking over my mind. Also, the little yodeling girl is hilaarious in this video. We used to tease my sister for looking like her.
The bridal store called to confirm the appointment I'd made for a fitting.
Salesperson: "Be sure to bring the underwear and shoes you'll be wearing on the wedding day." Me: "Okay, thanks."
So, since then I've been trying to find shoes to wear. Today, I was getting ready to leave and still didn't have my shoes. Scramble, finally just grab a pair of heels- I figure it really can't matter that much since my dress is short and won't need to have the length altered. And hustle out the door.
First, I was completely tricked by Tom's entire family. A few weeks before Mother's Day, Tom's sister calls and says she's planning a Mother's Day brunch. She's making all the arrangements, she just wants to see if I'd be off work. I told her I was off that weekend, and would plan to at least make an appearance. My sister was going to be in town and I didn't want to make her go to Tom's family function since she doesn't really know them very well. However, the time comes and she seems fine with going. I have a gift for Tom's mother, wrap it, and we show up at the restaurant. There are gifts and a couple tables full of people. I walk up and Tom's sister says, "This is for you. SURPRISE!"
I totally don't believe them. Also, I'm holding my new nephew Jimmy who I looooove.
It was actually a surprise bridal shower that I had NO idea was coming. I actually didn't even believe them until I saw a couple of my friends there. It was totally awesome, and I cannot BELIEVE they fooled me so completely. My sister is evil, and Tom's family is surprisingly sneaky.
I just realized they weren't kidding.And poor Jimmy's losing his hat.
Later that night, we had my bachelorette party (which I did know about) and this happened.
Enough said.
So, partying done, Tom and I began seriously house hunting. I hate my landlady with the fire of a thousand hells, and want to get out of here. We figured, might as well buy a house instead of having to stuff all our belongings into yet another apartment. Can I just tell you? Open houses SUUUUUUCK. We must've gone to 30 of the stupid things. And apparently the people most affected by this recession are those who 1. own cats, 2. never clean up after said cats, 3. smoke lots of cigarettes while watching the cats pee on every inch of their home. I would leave every house sneezing and retching. It was awful.
So, Tom and I found a house. We walk in, it doesn't smell like cat pee, sold! We actually sign the purchase & sale agreement on the house today, and close July 29th. So, those of you who are coming to our wedding can see the house while you're here. Because I will be living there. And it will be awesome. I have a bunch of photos, but I feel bad posting them here since most of them are full of the current owners' stuff. So, I'll just post a photo of the front.
My crib.
Besides home-buying and wedding planning, it's also been crazy at work. Which of course, means that I have another lovely tale of truckdom for you. As you know, every wheel on my car has fallen off and been reattached at some point. So the other day I was driving home (after using an entire tank of gas in one day...I drove to almost every state in New England) and all of a sudden I hear a clatter. I think that maybe I've run over a bottle? I look in the rear view mirror and see....my spare tire. It has fallen off of the bottom of my truck (apparently the cable that holds it there had rusted through) and is rolling around in 4 lanes of traffic. People are swerving left and right. I am soon going to be responsible for someone's death. Of course by the time I notice it, I'm 5 cars ahead of the tire and can't turn around because I'm on a one-way street. I take a left on the next street so that I can loop around, but it's taking awhile. Of course, this happened to me right at 5 PM. I call the police and tell them the situation.
Operator: "Ma'am, I need to know exactly what street you're on so I can dispatch an officer." Me: "Umm...I have no idea. It's near the Mass pike, I don't know what street. Hang on. When I circle back I'll read you the street sign." Operator: "Okay." Me: "Ok! It's Center Street. Hang on...the cars are stopped at a light, I think I can get the tire." Operator: "Okay, just let me know."
So I jump out of the car, still on my cell phone, did I mention it's pouring rain? Cause it is. And of course the tire is in the middle lane of traffic, I go to lift it and HOLY CRAP SPARE TIRES ARE HEAVY. Probably doesn't help when they're wet and caked with mud. I can't really pick it up, so I roll it toward the bed of my truck. But then I really do need to lift it because cars are coming, i'm still on the phone, it's still raining, and I'm going to die soon. I heave it up over the side of the truck, toss it in the bed, and get back in the car. I tell the operator that I got the tire and the cops get to stay out of the rain.
And that is how I got a tire track across my arm. It has been a loooong month.
I had to work the other day in an area I don't usually cover. This resulted in me driving 4 hours, working overnight, and then driving 4 hours home after having been awake for 24 hours. I've done this before, and granted it doesn't sound like the safest move in the world, but it's okay. It's much better than having to sleep in a hotel room for a few hours. Do you know how often they wash the blankets in those places? Never. Sheets, all the time. Blankets? Don't kid yourself. Those things have never been washed. Ever.
So, I'm driving home and I'm on the phone pretty much the entire way because otherwise I will lose consciousness. In this instance I called the only person who would understand my need to be on the phone for 4 hours at 7 AM. My mother. We're talking about swine flu and how I should wear a mask when I fly home for a visit next week (yeah...that's not going to freak anyone out. Actually, after Biden's remarks today they'll probably be handing them out at the gate.)
So, we're chatting and I'm driving about 85 miles an hour on the highway when I look down at the speedometer. And there is an F-ING HUGE SPIDER. It is brown and it is large and it is only a foot away from me.
Mom: "So you need to make sure you grab a mask from the hospital so you'll have one blah blah bl-" Me: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD" Mom: "SAMANTHA what's the matter?!" Me: "There is a SPIDER and it is crawling right in front of me and it is moving down toward my legs on my god oh my god" Mom: "It's okay just pull the car over...." Me: "I AM! It's just that I am going 85 miles an hour on a 4 lane highway talking on a cell phone haven't slept for 24 hours and a SPIDER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!" Mom: "I KNOW! Be careful."
I successfully pull over to the narrowest shoulder of all time. It is exactly the width of my car. I'm lucky none of my vehicle is hanging over into the nearest lane. I immediately unbuckle and jump out of my seat. I can't jump out of the car because if I open the door, it will immediately be ripped off by a semi and I will be sucked out into traffic by the sheer force of it. Kind of like Titanic but sideways and dry.
Unfortunately during the 5 seconds I took my eyes off the spider to successfully navigate off the highway, it disappeared.
Mom: "Did you kill it?" Me: "I can't find it! I have no idea where it is! It's probably in my hair!!!" Mom: "Oh you have to find it...otherwise you'll be freaked out the whole way home!" Me: "I KNOW!"
Bear in mind that the entire time we're having this really productive conversation, my car is being buffeted like crazy by every passing semi. One of those guys veers a little off the road and I'm going to become real familiar with my steering wheel. Because it's going to be crammed into my chest.
Mom: "Look under the steering wheel." Me: "You want me to bend over and stick my head under the steering wheel? What if the spider's there? I'm just going to scream and jump into traffic. I'd almost rather not find the stupid spider." Mom: "Yeah, but I know you. If it pops back up while you're driving, you'll scream and run right off the road." Me: "This coming from the woman who discovered a bee in the car and rather than pull over to protect the lives of the 5 children she was driving at the time, decided to scream and slap at the air until her 14-year-old daughter could successfully pull them over from the passenger seat?" Mom: "Shut up. Bee stings hurt! That spider doesn't bite anyway." Me: "You haven't even seen this spider!" Mom: "There aren't poisonous spiders that far north." Me: "What are you, an entymologist?" Mom: "Maybe you imagined the spider because you're tired." Me: "I did not. I double-checked before I started screaming. Oh my God I can't find this spider." Mom: "Well, you can't leave without killing it." Me: "I have to. My car is going to get sucked into traffic by a semi."
So, I start the engine and jump back onto the highway. Totally suspect of every feeling, thought, sight, and sound. The tiny crack that's been in my windshield for a year? Giant spider. My legs itching like crazy? Spider is tap-dancing up and down my legs just to screw with me. Horrible creaking noise? Spider's going to eat me. (Just kidding! That sound is actually the metal-wrenching noise from my driver's side door that's about to fall off.) I made it back home in record time. I drove with the windows down and the radio up because my mother said that spiders hate wind (I'm pretty sure she made that up) and music (I think that is actually Mormon crickets.)
As for next steps, since the spider's still on the loose? I think Ripley has the right idea.
So we went on the Marriage Preparation Retreat last weekend. And it was awful. More awful than I ever imagined. I think that I had modeled my assumptions about what it would be like on the Simpsons episode where they go on a weekend marriage retreat. You know, some sitting on the couch complaining about each other, and then a bunch of fishing.
(I couldn't find the video I was looking for...and then spent an hour watching Simpsons clips on Hulu. I miss when that show was funny.)
This weekend was much different. First of all, I assumed there may have been 5 or 6 couples. I don't know why I thought that, possibly because I thought more than that would require a great deal more couches to rest upon. We got there and it was like a swarm. There were easily 60 couples there. And we were all packing into the "auditorium" which was code for "room full of REALLY uncomfortable chairs." They looked deceptively padded, but when you actually sat it was like sitting on a piece of plywood. The second day I sat on Tom's sweatshirt because I was still sore from the previous day.
Anyway, so we get there. And we're sitting in the auditorium. And we're being lectured to about marriage by two couples, and a crazy priest. They talk about marriage for half an hour and then we're separated (men stay in the room, women go outside) to fill out worksheets. After 15 minutes, the guys in the auditorium leave to find their fiances outside and "share" their answers/feelings. Of course between Tom and I there was less "sharing" of feelings about marriage and more sharing about the feeling we had toward people lying on the grass with their heads in each other's laps. What is this? Some kind of cheesy commercial? Are you going to feed each other grapes? Everyone's holding hands, in the auditorium they have their arms around each other. It's weird. They even did mass on Sunday and everyone IN CHURCH is touching each other. Not. Cool.
Okay, sorry for the digression. You have to realize...watching 120 people fawning over each other like high school kids in "love" for 2 days straight is pretty little painful. Especially when the majority of them are so unattractive you're just hoping that they don't breed. You know....for the sake of humanity. So, back to the worksheets. Here's a glimpse:
Q: After we are married, if we disagree on a spending issue, who will have the last word? Tom: Whoever speaks slower.
Q: (Blah blah certain situation) What were my fiance's thoughts and feelings? Tom: No idea. She was probably thinking about cake. (He's right.)
Q: Do I feel called by the Church to be matrimonied to you? Tom: I refuse to answer on the grounds that the word "matrimonied" is featured. Me: I don't know- could you not find a real verb for this?
Q: Is my decision to have a Catholic wedding a free and honest one? Me: No. The church is charging like $700. It's ridiculous.
Q: What would you like your fiance to do differently when you disagree? Me: My bidding.
Q: Name some ways I can make a decision to love my fiance when:
I feel angry at him/her: Physically
I don't feel like talking: Physically
My fiance is angry at me: Physically
I realize I have hurt my fiance: Call EMTs.
You can tell that we really worked hard on these. :-p What we actually worked hard on was correcting the worksheets. There were so many grammatical errors. And they're dated from 2001. In 8 years no one has corrected these?! Fiance is spelled incorrectly on every page. And they have these little gems: "What would I most want you, my beloved to change?" There's another comma in there people!! AUGH! Painful.
Anyway, we sat through it. Even though it was the first absolutely beautiful weekend of the year. It was 80 degrees all weekend and we're either sitting in the world's most uncomfortable auditorium or out in my 80 degree car pondering whether we could drive away and still be given our certificates. Included were calculations of how many couples we could take out with the getaway car. Bonus!
So, mission accomplished. And now I understand why Catholics don't get divorced. It's not worth the possibility that you may have to sit through that weekend again. Cripes.
This weekend Tom and I are attending a required marriage prep course thingie. Woo Catholicism! So, when I signed us up, they emailed directions to the retreat center, and a list of "Questions for the Engaged Couple." The instructions were to answer the questions and share the answers with one another prior to attending the retreat. So, I forwarded the questions on to Tom. The following is what I got back from him.
Q. What do I hope to gain from the marriage Preparation Weekend and how do I feel about making it? A. Making what? This is a poorly written question.
Q. How do I feel about moving from my individual personal life to a committed relationship in marriage? A. Better than I feel about moving all my individual stuff into a shared apartment, I'll tell you that.
Q. What do I mean when I say "I love you"? A. Who am I addressing? The meaning of the phrase differs dramatically if I'm yelling it at the TV after Lowell homers in a tie game in the bottom of the ninth.
Q. How do I feel about my relationship with God? A. I feel with my hands.
Q. What particular special (concern, issue, dream) do I want to share with you? A. Concern: Whoever wrote these questions wasn't taught proper proofreading skilz. Issue: My mint condition 100th issue of The Amazing Spider-Man with hologram cover. Dream: The one where I'm flying and then Peter Pan is there.
Today it is 80 degrees outside and abso-frikkin-lutely gorgeous. I am wearing a tank-top and capri pants and I couldn't be happier. So, Tom and I decided to take advantage of the weather and walk to Dunkin' Donuts for some iced coffee.
DDLady: "May I help you?" Me: "Yes please. Can I get a medium iced coconut with milk and sweet 'n low?" Tom: "Make it two." DDLady: "Okay." She leans over to the guy who's actually making the coffee. DD Lady: "2 mochas with milk and sweet 'n low." Me: "Not mocha, coconut." DDLady: "Oh sorry, coconut." The guy starts making the coffee. He fills two cups with ice and comes back to us. DDGuy: "What did you want in those? Mocha right?" Me: "No- COCONUT with milk and sweet 'n low." DDGuy: "Ohh, mochanut, got it." And he goes on his way. Me to Tom: "Did he just say mochanut?" Tom: "I have no idea. Mocha isn't even on their list of flavors." Sure enough, the guy walks back from the corner and we can see chocolate syrup in the bottom of the cups. I almost say something, but it's summer now and the world is as it should be. DDGuy: "Here ya go." Tom: "Thanks."
We get the coffee, step out into the sunshine, and take a sip. Indeed he has included both chocolate syrup and coconut flavoring. Unfortunately he has also remembered to include the sweet 'n low which, when paired with the actual sugar in the chocolate syrup, makes the whole mixture taste really funky. It's okay though...apparently Tom has discovered his new favorite flavor. He sucked down his coffee and is halfway through mine at this point. Apparently "mochanut" should be a flavor option.
I've always been totally freaked out about dying. Not really the best fear to have when your job is dead people. I'm constantly spending time with the family members of people who are dead/dying in the hospital, and it's awful. I enjoy it, because it's my job to give meaning to death. Yes, your loved one died, and it totally blows. Now, let's use this senseless tragedy to save someone else's life, and tell the Grim Reaper to go screw himself. I have to have these internal monologues to do what I do, and it works. I love my job.
But, when the eye turns inward, things are a little tougher. When I watch a fiance falling apart at the bedside of her future husband's deathbed, I can't help but be a little selfish. I think that if it were my fiance in that bed, I would die. I would just die. And I'm sure that's what she's feeling. When I see parents at the bedside of their child, I think that when I have kids, they will live in a padded room, wear a helmet, and drink their meals through a straw. I know how incredibly easy it is for something simple to kill someone. And it freaks the living hell out of me.
And I've always wondered...when you're like 70 years old, do you just constantly think about death? I know a lot of really happy-seeming old people. They enjoy themselves, don't seem to have a care in the world, and I think if I were them I would be on constant death-alert. You see it on television and people say "I'm ready" or "let me go" and I've always thought, "YOU'RE CRAZY!! BREATHE!!!" I really don't understand people that are okay with death.
So last week I was watching "House." And yes, the show is ridiculous and it's never lupus and all that jazz, but I love Hugh Laurie and find the show diverting. So I'm watching, and the story is that Meatloaf is going to die of lung cancer. In the opening scene. He's on his deathbed, he's telling his wife goodbye, I'm thinking what a waste it is of a perfectly good Meatloaf cameo, and he looks like he's slipping away. And I mean, it really looks like he's going. You know when you're sooooo tired that you're falling asleep in spite of yourself? And you know how good it feels when you finally give into it? Like when you're sick and you knock yourself out with Nyquil?
That is the exact look that Meatloaf had. I felt that peaceful sleepy feeling just looking at him. And then I realized. That's how you feel when you die. (You know, unless you have some horrible traumatic accident and in those cases you're gone so fast you never feel anything anyway.) It's like the longest nap ever. And I thought, I love naps. This is how older people deal with death. They're so tired from doing their jobs, cooking, cleaning, and dealing with a-holes at Dunkin' Donuts, that death looks like a vacation. And now when I think of that wonderful slipping off to sleep feeling, I think that death will eventually be okay.
And that is how in one brilliant guest appearance, Meatloaf conquered my fear of death. *This post is dedicated to Donny. The only person I know who appreciates the true genius that is Meatloaf.
This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.
DD Employee: "May I help you?" RidiculousWoman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?" DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?" RW: "Yeah!" The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling, RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!" DDE: "Sure."
Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.
DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles." Memuttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles." RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."
Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to: 1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or 2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.
So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.
RW: "Wanda!" RW: "WANDA!" RW: "WANDA!!!!"
Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.
RW: "They're outta waffles!" RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!" RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"
Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!
So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.
They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.
DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?" Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."
She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.
Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.
I'm at the grocery store waiting at the seafood counter. There is a well-dressed woman in her 40's yapping away on her cellphone behind me. All of a sudden an announcement comes over the PA system about some sale they're having.
YappieMcGee: "Could that announcement have been any FUCKING louder?! Jesus!"
I look back at her, wondering who she's talking to and thinking that Jesus probably doesn't appreciate that kind of language. Unless Chris Rock is using it...then he probably finds it hilarious like the rest of us.
The guy working the seafood counter comes up and takes my order. I ask him for salmon and to please remove the skin (because I am lazy.) The guy smiles, says sure, and starts to work. As he's procuring the fish and the instruments necessary for its denudement, he starts chatting with his coworkers. All of a sudden, I realize Yappie McGee has sidled up to me.
YappieMcGee: "Doesn't that just make you crazy?" Me: "What?" YM: "The fact that he's having a conversation while he's servicing you*." Me: "No...he's getting my stuff...as long as I don't have to take the skin off that fish, I don't care what he does." YM: "Hmph. Well...I guess that just shows the difference between the younger and older generations."
I'm thinking that the difference she's sensing is actually that of nice person vs. total bitch, but I'm ready to make a break for it. Seafood guy smiles, hands me my fish, and asks if I need anything else. I say no and walk away as quickly as possible to the sounds of:
Yappie McGee: "Why is that fish so white?" SeafoodGuy: "It's a whitefish. It's supposed to be white."
Poor Seafood Guy.
*I had to stifle a major giggle when she said this.hehehe servicing :-p
The mechanic finally got around to taking a look at my poor pathetic mode of transportation. Their opinion? I am mean to my car. The guy calls me at about 7:30 last night. What he's still doing at his garage at that hour, I don't know...obviously I was at the bar by then...but it's nice to know he's dedicated to his work.
Mechanic: "Hi Sam, just wanted to give you a call about your truck." Me: "Great. How does it look?"" Mechanic: "Well, it's not good. Tell me- did you recently hit anything?" Me: "Well, it's the end of winter in New England. I'm sure I've hit a lot of things. Not like kids, or animals, or anything...but probably my share of potholes." Mechanic: Yeah...that makes sense. You've got a few problems that we'll need to fix. First of all, your front right rotor is shattered. It isn't worn out, it's more like you hit something and it broke into a bunch of pieces. Actually that whole assembly is destroyed. It's lucky you had it towed in here because that wheel was actually about to fall off of your car*. Me: "Wow. Good thing." Mechanic: "The second thing we'd want to fix is your shocks. You have no shocks on the front of your car. They're so....fluid....not even working...much smoother ride..." (at this point I had no idea what he was talking about and kind of tuned out.) Me: "Okay...smoother ride sounds good." Mechanic: "So, I'm thinking at the absolute most it's going to end up being about $900 and I can hopefully get it back to you by the end of the week." Me: "OK. Thanks?"
I wish I knew anything about cars. I think he's also doing something else to the car, and according to my companions at the bar the front end stuff will take a lot of labor. So maybe $900 isn't the worst price of all time. But then I think about the bluebook value of my truck (maaaybe $1500 if I was lucky) and shudder. I have doubled the value of my truck twice in 2 years. The thing is a rolling moneypit. *Aside: Those of you who read my previous blog about the trip from Atlanta will remember that this is the EXACT same problem that I had two years ago. And which I drove on for a grand total of 3 hrs on an interstate prior to getting repairs. Wildcard!
Readers of my previous blog may recall the last time my car made funny noises. It sounded like metal grinding on metal- primarily because that's exactly what had happened. My rotors had exploded and my axle was pretty much just held in place by the will of God. As a solution, I of course drove the car 60 mph for 2 hrs until the wheels almost literally fell off.
So, when my car started making funny noises yesterday...I'm sure you can all guess where this is headed. The car has been making occasional strange noises for a while now, but I just chalked that up to my car being a total piece of crap. Leave well enough alone is my motto, and I had extended it to "Leave well enough alone and the sound of ducks dying is a standard feature in American-made cars." I lead a rich fantasy life. But yesterday the noise became less of an occasional squeak or quack and more of a rubbing that simultaneously tried to pull me off the road. I knew I would have to take it to a mechanic today, but thought I'd be able to make it to my meetings in Boston first. The truck only has 130K miles on it- it'll be fine, right?
Not so much. The view from my windshield quickly became the view from Timmy's windshield...and it really needs cleaning.I made it about 3 miles before the rubbing sound became more akin to the sound of all my car's parts being run through a dryer. It sounded terrible. So I decided to pull over. I applied the brake...applied more brake...sweet Jesus I am braking aren't I?! Before finally grinding to a halt. Needless to say I was a little terrified to drive any further and had to call my friendly roadside assistance provider.
Now my car is sitting outside a mechanic's near my house where they "might" get around to doing a diagnostic today. I have a bad feeling about how much this is going to cost...and how long it's going to take. As Timmy was driving me home I just stared at my pitiful vehicle and thought, "I am never buying American again."
My Sister: "Someone called and said that they'd planted a bomb on the football field." Me: "Cripes. So that's far enough away from the school they won't even let you out of class or anything?" MS: "Nope. The principal said that it was a trick to get us to stay in the school where they'd really hidden the bomb." Me: "So what did they do?" MS: "They evacuated us to the football field."
In honor of Easter and nostalgia for my childhood, I've decided to dye eggs this year. So, I went to the grocery store and purchased 2 dozen thinking that maybe Tom's younger siblings would want to come over and help. I bought the eggs I usually buy- vegetarian, cage-free. Because I have a conscience, but primarily because I don't want to die of mad-chicken disease (oh, it's coming people.)
Anybody else see the problem with this?Go ahead, think about it. I'll wait.
Need a hint? They're brown. I bought 2 dozen BROWN eggs to dye. I'm officially a moron.
I am in a hospital basement. I've just left the cafeteria and am taking the elevator to the 8th floor. The elevator stops on the first floor. A woman walks in with a dog. The dog is wearing a pearl necklace with a pink bow, and pearl "bracelets" around each of her(?) front paws. The dog is running laps around the woman and tangling her up in the leash.
Me: "Your dog is dressed to the nines" Dog Lady: "Yes. Today she's Barbara Bush."
And then she and Barbara walk off the elevator.
I assume the 1st floor houses the psych ward. Primarily because if you're going to dress your dog as someone, I think we all know the obvious choice:
Mom: So, I've been thinking, and you just can't wear green shoes with your wedding dress. Me: I know. You told me that as soon as I mentioned it. Mom: It's just not going to look good. Tell you what we can do- your dress has rhinestones on it, right? Me: No. Mom: It has something though, right? Me: Yes. It has tiny glass beads around the waist. Mom: Okay, so what we can do is go to the craft store and buy some green beads, and then attach a few of those to your shoes. Me: I can buy shoes with green beads. I saw some yesterday. Mom: Yeah, but we can just add them and it'll be easier. Me: No it won't. Buying shoes with beads is one step. Bam. Beaded shoes. Your plan involves a craft store. Not easier. Mom: Yeah, but you haven't heard my whole plan! Have you thought about how you're doing your hair? Me: I figure it'll be hot in August, so....up. Mom: Okay, so I have one of Granny's old combs that's decorated with rhinestones. What we can do is pop the rhinestones out and put in the green beads that we get at the craft store! Me: I'm not going to let you deface some family heirloom with craft-store beads. Mom: No, it's okay! I think we can just pop the rhinestones back in when we're done. Me: You can't just "pop" things in and out of 90-year-old antiques. Mom: I think you can.
My mother is the little-engine-that-could of bad ideas.
Mom: I was talking to a girl at work about her daughter's wedding. She said that for a centerpiece they had a big majestic vase that they filled with apples, and then put some flowers on top. Me: How is that different from what I said last week about filling the bottom of the vases with limes and then putting flowers in? You didn't like that idea at all. Mom: No, you don't understand. They had a big majestic vase filled with apples, and that's it! Me: Oh...one big majestic vase. I get it. Mom: One majestic vase! In the middle of the room, and everyone could look at it. Me: Wait...one? Like, one centerpiece. Mom: Yeah! A majestic one. Me: So what was on the tables? Mom: Nothing! The big vase was so pretty that everyone just looked at that! Me: So, you want me to have white linens...and one giant majestic apple-filled vase that everyone will spend the entire reception staring at? Mom: What? You don't think that will be nice?
This is why when people ask me, "How's the wedding planning coming?" I just walk away.
I think that last post jinxed me. My landlady's boyfriend(?) no idea who he actually is, but he's been picking up her mail...just rang the doorbell. He just stopped by to tell me that I need to get my car out of the driveway because my landlady is coming back early. As in tomorrow morning.
Luckily for me it just happens to coincide with the only rain we've had in two weeks. Meaning I get to go park my car in the mud pit.
I haven't updated this blog in over a month. It's getting sad. Although with no daytime television, you'd think I'd start updating more. So, let's get you all caught up. (Shouldn't take long...my life isn't that interesting.)
In February we went to Alabama to visit my family. My Dad has decided he hates my fiance. I kind of already knew this, but it was nice to have my suspicions confirmed by pleas not to marry him. Definitely a feel-good moment.
While in Alabama, my former roommates C and P threw an engagement party for Tom and I. It was the most fun I'd had in a really long time. There was delicious food, a kickass cake, and Pranathi made us play her version of the Newlywed Game. My favorite question/answer combo? Q: What is the first thing Tom noticed about Sam? A: Her typing speed. (My favorite part was that I would never have thought of that answer, and two of my friends that had never met each other both said it. This is what happens when your relationship starts via blog.)
While on the topic of weddings, I've been attempting to do a lot of planning. I know a lot of my readers are getting or have recently gotten married. Dudes, what the hell?! It is SO expensive! My parents are paying for it, but if you've met my parents you know that it's like squeezing pennies from a turnip. That doesn't even make sense, and that's why it's applicable. It's almost impossible. And I don't like doing it. Every other day I say, "screw it, we're having sandwiches and iPod music." Because seriously, DJs are making several hundred dollars an hour. And I understand that they have equipment blah blah blah, but they're not buying new equipment for every performance. Actually, Tom is in charge of the DJ and I've been pretty impressed with his bargaining skills. We're down to $800 from a quote of $1500. At this point I'd marry him just for that.
So far I have ordered my wedding dress (finally), we have a reception site (cheap), but one which will require us to rent pretty much everything including tables and chairs (expensive), and we have the church. I am pretty much appalled by the amount of money the church is charging us...AND apparently we have to deal with some crazy music lady. I'm a step away from City Hall.
The best thing about March has been my living situation. My landlady is out of town. For a MONTH. I have been parking in the driveway, playing music at whatever volume I damn well please, and sleeping in as late as I like because there's no 3 year old in clodhoppers running back and forth down the hallway. It's heaven. I've also been able to have people over. So far it's only been Tom's family, but hopefully we'll extend it out before she gets back. We've been having Trivia Nights on Saturdays. We were playing Trivial Pursuit, but people were frustrated with 1. the difficulty of the questions and 2. the fact that Trivial Pursuit (when played the right way- something we never did in my childhood) NEVER ENDS. Seriously. The game takes hours. So, we purchased the Mental Floss trivia game. It's an easier, shorter, more fun version of Trivial Pursuit created by the same guys who do the Mental Floss Magazine in Birmingham, AL. It's a great magazine, and I'm loving the game. You should buy it. Really.
Also in March, John came to visit! Yay! It's always nice to have people visit...even nicer when they treat you to dinner. We went out not realizing it was restaurant week. We went to this little place in the North End that Tom and I had taken C and P to when they visited. The food was awesome. Not so awesome was the fact that I hadn't realized we'd be trekking all over the city and therefore wore some high-heeled boots. I think I ended up walking a couple miles that night. My feet were bruised the next day. Thank goodness I was on call the next day and was therefore able to wear comfy sneakers to work. Also, John had a Kindle 2 and it looked awesome. This post is becoming a gift-guide.
It's almost April and it has FINALLY warmed up. I'm pretty excited. Tom spent all weekend sick as a dog, so hopefully that will be his one bout of illness for the year and we can enjoy the Spring and Summer now :)
I'll try to keep this thing updated, but there are no guarantees. There are days when I think, "Should I blog, or lie down on the couch and take a nap?" and those that know me are not surprised by the way that plays out. Every. Time.
Also, why does my blogger now have a tab that says "Monetize"? I just noticed that...going to investigate. Laters :)
This year for Lent I've decided to give up daytime television. It's not that I'm particularly attached to daytime TV...it's more that I'm here in the daytime and so is the television. I don't think this would be an issue if I didn't have cable...I hate soap operas and would certainly turn the television off before watching one....but I do have cable. Which means that I can watch "Monk" reruns...or stand-up comedy...or Food network. Which results in a lot of time staring at the television screen over the soft glow of the computer in my lap.
I've decided to not let myself turn on the television until Tom gets home around 6 PM every day. This is going to (hopefully) result in my reading more books, doing more work, and killing less brain cells. It's going to be good, right?! I think so.
An unfortunate side effect, however, is the time preceding Ash Wednesday. I have until February 25th to watch as much daytime television as I like. Which in itself isn't much, but I have some inexplicable need to turn it on now because my mind is saying "You're not going to be watching it for a whole 2 months! You should watch it now!" And thus here I am, blogging, while telling John O'Hurley and the Collay family that "TIME OFF" is something that a boss would say no to. Damn Family Feud.
It's okay...3 more weeks...brain cells regenerate, right?
Yesterday it was almost 60 degrees here in Boston. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I had my coat on, but it wasn't buttoned...I was wearing a sweater and a thermal undershirt but I didn't have to put on a scarf. These are the things that pass for warmth up here in February. So, I thought we'd finally turned a corner. Then last night the weatherman said the word "accumulation". I promptly stuck my fingers in my ears and started singing the theme from "The Love Boat." Because it felt like Spring yesterday, and therefore it is Spring.
Today I'm getting ready to go to a meeting at work. I put on my corduroys, socks to my knees, a turtleneck and a sweater. And before I walk to the door I think, "I'll wear my light jacket today...because it is Spring. And I'll wear my dress boots...because the ice melted yesterday." And I left the house. I climbed in the car... and snowflakes began to fall.
SNOWFLAKES!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!
Defiant, I started the vehicle and drove to work. I parked in the deck, and decided to walk to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street for coffee. I shielded my eyes so that the falling ice crystals wouldn't impale my corneas and still I denied. I walked into the office, did my work, packed up my things and got ready to brave the weather again. I thought, it's snowing but it's not that cold...it can still be Spring. I walked toward my car with my backpack, keys in hand, refusing to give in to my rage at the groundhog.
And then I slip. And I fall. Because that is what happens when you're wearing boots that have no tread and 3 inch heels in the snow. I effing hate winter.
