have it your way...

I have a pet peeve.  And my pet peeve is a direct result of my husband’s pet peeve.  We feed off of each other in a sort of pet peeve banquet.  And truth be told, I’d rather eat what I ordered instead…just the way I want it, if that’s not too much trouble!

If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m talking about the drive-thru window at any fast food restaurant, pharmacy, or any other establishment that actually has a drive up window. 

Specifically, I’m talking about Dairy Queen.

After dinner this evening, Mike and I decided to live dangerously and go out for ice cream.  There were a few options available, but after a quick deliberation we agreed on Dairy Queen.  I had a wicked craving for a Reese’s peanut butter cup Blizzard, and a diet Coke.  The irony of that combination is not lost on me…but it’s what I wanted.  So we traveled the short distance to the local DQ, and queued up to the drive-thru menu. 

Even before we pulled up to the speaker, Mike predicted that the voice would demand our order immediately.  We had clearly been there before.  And he was quite correct.  No sooner had we pulled up to the menu when the voice in the speaker unapologetically demanded that we “go ahead with your order now.”

We both laughed, but I think that I was the only one who actually found it humorous.  Mike considered the demand to be added pressure to decide quickly. 

The problem lies in Mike’s pet peeve. 

Mike hates the drive-thru window.  Any drive-thru window.  And his discomfort borders on a full blown phobia.  And because of that, he approaches the speaker with the most basic of needs only.  He will not order anything that even remotely requires any special attention.  No “special order” burgers (minus the pickles or mayonnaise.)  No requests for “light ice” in a drink.  And no unnecessary delays in ordering.  You see...these things run the risk of messing up the order. 

In fact, as we sat at the speaker at Dairy Queen, the pressure of choosing his ice cream was too much for Mike.  He just asked them to give him another of what I wanted.  And my request for “light ice” in my diet Coke was completely ignored.

I find his drive-thru quirk to be extremely irritating—especially when I’m the one who wants to “hold the pickles” and go “easy” on the ice.  But as we all know, I try to look to the positive side of things, so I look for the fun in the whole situation as often as possible. 

It is because of this that Mike won’t let me drive when we go to Dairy Queen anymore.  Especially after the time I chose to use a funny accent in the drive-thru and proceeded to order everything as if I was a cross between Rain Man and Forrest Gump.  I told them I wanted my ice cream “to go” but I would have my drinks for “here”.  I’m sure the people inside the Dairy Queen got a good laugh out of the moment, but Mike shrank into the passenger seat, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to disappear into the upholstery. 

Another time I ordered our entire meal at a Burger King and then cancelled everything, just to redo the entire order…exactly the way I had originally ordered it…minus the pickles and half the ice, of course! It was all in good fun.

He didn’t find it funny at all.

So tonight…after he rushed through our order, ordering himself the exact same ice cream as I ordered, and cup of ice masquerading as a diet Coke...Mike stated that he wished he had gotten something more simple.  He was really just craving a bowl of plain vanilla ice cream.  I asked him why he didn’t order what he wanted, and he said, “When ordering in the drive-thru, the less said the better.  The more information you give them, the more chances they have to mess up your order.”

So the moral of the story seems to be that Mike would rather have a perfectly ordered Reese’s peanut butter cup Blizzard than a messed up bowl of vanilla ice cream.  Even though he didn’t really want the candy in his ice cream.  I sort of wonder what he was worried they would do to his plain vanilla…but I didn’t want to mess with his flawless logic this time. 

Besides, I need more time to figure out how I can turn that into some sort of funny prank down the line.  I’ll let you know what I come up with!

Until the next time…I’ll be trying to fall asleep after that all that candy and diet Coke!

just one day and already I’m over it

The best part of the modern break-up is the fast recovery time.  It would appear that when you keep your friendship strictly on a Facebook only basis, you miss the loss just a little bit less. 

That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t miss most of my friends in a terrible way.  I certainly would—even if we don’t take our friendship out of the box all that often.  But others are really just filler, I guess.  I suppose I just had to put things into perspective. 

Perspective or not…the rest of you need to stay put!

It would have been nice to have a few friends around today.  I was pitifully bored.  But I found things to do.  I make pillows that look like black cats (for Halloween) and I made a few more grain sack pillows for those snuggle nights on the sofa. 

It was very artistic of me…in a domestic kind of way.

I think tomorrow I will try something less domestic, and more artistic, in a writer kind of way.  Right after I take my daughter to get her senior pictures taken…and take the dog to the park…and make dinner…

Is it any wonder I can’t finish anything?

Until the next time… I really need to focus!

with modern technology comes the modern break up

I have to hope that if my husband ever decided to divorce me that he would at least send me a nicely worded email rather than simply sending a text message...or worse...deleting me from his Facebook friends.

I'm kidding of course.  Mike already deleted his Facebook account. His reasoning? The social network was infiltrating too much of his life. I can't argue with his logic.

Especially after this morning.

Like I do most mornings, I woke up and checked my Facebook page. It's part of my routine. While I am debating my day and contemplating getting out of bed, I pull up Facebook on my phone.
I don't know when it occurred and I'm not sure what made me notice the change, but I discovered that I had been deleted by a friend.

I wasn't exactly sure what this meant. Could it mean that we aren't friends anymore? And why did this happen? Is it possible that it an accidental deletion? Or could it be that I was so unimportant to this person that I didn't even rate a quick text message to warn me?

Perhaps it is time for me to re-evaluate how I use my social networks and maybe even who I consider my friends. This entire episode reminds me of a familiar nightmare where I'm back in high school and I keep telling everyone I don't belong. "I've already graduated." I cry.  "I'm someone's mom...not a high school student."

And I'm not. I'm a grown up. We grown ups are supposed to behave more maturely than that. We don't "text message break-up"  We have the decency to say..."I don't want to be friends anymore".  Even if it is much easier to do it in secret. It's  what separates us from the adolescents.

Well most of us anyway. 

I guess the problem with social networks is that you tend to forget you're dealing with real people and not just thumbnail images. It's often hard to remember that pressing that little button doesn't just turn off the picture...it sends a message to a flesh and blood human being. And maybe "delete" isn't the message you wanted to sent.

Then again maybe I'm just being overly sensitive. It's just a computer program, isn't it? Or is it just a watered down, dissociated version of reality where people don't have to care about the feelings of other people because they aren't really talking to each other.

I suppose I'll figure it out...I'm a fairly intelligent person.  Even if I do have a Facebook page.

Until the next time...I'll still be checking my Facebook everyday for comments from the people who didn't delete me!

girls will be girls

Tonight was a girls only evening with my girls and their friends. 

We made lasagna and watched Practical Magic in honor of Halloween.  We have decided to watch a Halloween themed movie every night until October 31^st.  The girls made carrot cake AND brownies, so I will have to put my willpower on overdrive if I intend on avoiding those delights.

Having fun aside, I can’t say I’ve done anything constructive today. 

I spent time visiting with my kids—even Spencer made an appearance—and rearranged some furniture in the keeping room.  I didn’t make the pillows I planned on making, and I didn’t clean out the refrigerator.  I may not have gotten much done, but I feel somehow satisfied just the same.  It was a good day—not an eventful day, so I have nothing much to write about—but a very good day.

Tomorrow I am going to de-clutter the entire kitchen.  An ambitious endeavor, but I am going to do my best to get it done.  I’ll keep you posted.

Until the next time…just one little brownie before heading off to bed!

the most expensive apple dumpling in Georgia

Today was the last day of the annual Ellijay Apple Festival in the North Georgia mountains.  And because it was the last day, we just had to go.  The Apple Festival only comes around once a year, so we piled into the Land Rover—Mike, Mady and me—and headed to Ellijay. 

Our first stop was the auto parts store for power steering fluid.  It didn’t matter that we already had a bottle in the cargo area…this was a different kind.  A better kind.  A kind that was designed to help stop leaks.  Mike filled the power steering well in the parking lot and we headed to our next stop…the gas station.  Because half a tank is not sufficient when one is planning a day trip. 

After filling up, we drove in silence for more than an hour...after a mild tiff threatened to derail the entire day.  But like all minor disagreements, it was forgotten by the time we were pulling into the parking area for the festival. 

There was a small fee to park, which we paid with a smile.  Our excitement had washed away any remaining irritation as we got out of the car and hurried toward the main gate.

This was the first time we had been to the apple festival.  In years past, we had gone to Ellijay only to miss the excitement by a small margin.  This year, we were just on time and prepared for fun.  We walked through the maze of people to the entrance only to discover that there was a fee to get in.  We had gone to a lot of festivals in Georgia, but this was the first one that charged admission. 

No matter…we were too excited to turn back now!

Mike paid the fifteen dollar entrance fee, again with a smile.  

The smells wafting toward us as we stepped through the main gate were delectable.  We had saved our appetites for just such an occasion.  The first item on my agenda was to find the food vendors.  We could see people walking around with bowls filled with apple dumplings a la mode, and couldn’t wait to find the tasty apple treats! 

I decided that we should eat real food before filling up on sweets, so we sought out something savory to satisfy our hunger. 

The mild irritation showed its face again as we walked through the rows of food vendors, unable to decide on one over another.  We were in line to get a burger when my husband shifted gears and headed off in a different direction.  Either, the line was too long, the price was too high, or our collective indecision got in the way.  This went on for several minutes until finally we split up to looked for food separately. 

I took Mady with me and Mike headed off to find something “healthy”.  He has been quite committed lately to healthy eating, so I couldn’t fault him for that…I just doubted that he would find anything that qualified at the Apple Festival. 

Mady stopped at a long line that sold corn dogs and chicken strips, so I queued in behind her.  The tent directly beside us sold chili dogs at a much lower price, and they had a shorter line, so I suggested we just get chili dogs, chips and a drink. 

“I don’t like chili dogs.” Mady said, making a face.

“I don’t either.”  I replied.  “But we can just get hot dogs without the chili.”  It sounded like a good idea to me, and way cheaper too!

“I don’t like hot dogs.”  She said finally, turning back to the line selling chicken strips and corn dogs.

I could hardly argue with her.  If she didn’t like hot dogs, I couldn’t force her to eat one.  No matter how short the chili dog line was.

When we finally reached the front of the line, Mady ordered a corn dog. 

“I thought you didn’t like hot dogs?”  I asked…that nagging irritation coming back with a vengeance.  I could have saved time and money by getting a hot dog in the other line.

“Corn dogs aren’t hot dogs.” She said with a straight face.

Just for the record…corn dogs are ABSOLULTELY hot dogs.  Hot dogs dipped in batter and fried rather than tucked into a bun. 

Mady slathered her “corn dog” in ketchup and ate it from its stick while I ate my horrible chicken strips, wishing I had jumped out of the line to get a naked chili dog after all.  Just about then, Mike wandered back with his bowl of red beans and rice (the healthiest thing he could find apparently) and we set out to investigate the rest of the sights. 

There was a wild life sanctuary exhibit hidden inside a large tent, and after spending two dollars each, we found ourselves looking through cages at the rear ends of a black bear, a mountain lion, and a groundhog.  The groundhog managed to remind me of my failed diet attempts during the six more weeks of winter, which made me crave the apple dumpling I’d seen as we entered the gates roughly three quarters of an hour earlier.  We renewed our quest to find the sweets, and wandered through the hot sun to find the holy grail of apple treats. 

There were tents with fried pies, tents with caramel apples, tents with apple cider, and tents with apples in bags, but not a single tent that had apple dumplings (a la mode).  I felt like I was wandering through the desert searching for water.  The hot midday sun beat down on us, cancelling out the coolness of the fall air.  I had left my hat in the car, and I could feel my skin burning.  I just wanted my apple treat so we could go home. 

We aimlessly wandered by tents selling souvenirs, but the only souvenirs I would have liked to have purchased were the giant bears and owls being created on site by a man in a cage in the center of the midway.  He was carving the waist high statues out of tree stumps with a chainsaw.  He wore a leather mask and heavy gloves and it sort of reminded me of a horror movie…without any of the blood. 

We were about to abandon our quest and leave the festival when (on our way to the exit) we stumbled upon the tent with the apple dumplings a la mode. 

We got in line, mouths watering, and gladly paid five dollars each for our highly sought after prizes.  We wandered to the fringes of the festivities to find a set of bleachers along the fence where we could sit and eat our treats in peace. 

The thing about cravings is…sometimes once you get what you were longing for…you realize it wasn’t really worth the wait. 

They weren’t bad per se.  As Mike said while we were eating…I make a better crust.  And the apples were a little too tart.  And is there ever really enough ice cream on a hot piece of pie?  Not really.  But we had gotten what we came for…even if that wasn’t what we realized we were coming for.  We didn’t leave with anything more than what we came with…but somehow we had spent a lot of money just the same.  After buying power steering fluid, half a tank of gas, paying for parking, and gate admission, plus the wild life sanctuary, three meals with drinks, and three apple dumplings a la mode, we were out more than a hundred dollars. 

Those turned out to be the most expensive apple dumplings I have ever had. 

I did get a few pictures of a bear butt, a mountain lion tail, and a sleeping groundhog (I think that’s all they do) for my troubles. 

Oh, and one pretty decent blog…priceless!

Until the next time…I’ll be going on a diet!

we argued about mayonnaise, peanut butter, music and religion…

My daughters asked me the other day how I was able to still be friends with my best friend from college.  We don’t talk very often.  I rarely see her.  And yet, when we get together it’s as if we were never apart.   We finish each other’s sentences, laugh at the same silly things we always laughed at, and argue about the dumbest things. 

I told the girls a story about my first college spring break.  It was at the end of my sophomore year at the University of Pittsburgh and my best friend Mary Lou and I decided to take a Greyhound bus from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. 

Let me just say that spending fifteen hours trapped on a bus with anyone will make you just a little stir crazy.  The bus stops along the way were terrifying in their nastiness, and I think we visited every disgusting bathroom at every stop we made.  Add to that a heavy dose of OCD—I had some of my  favorite songs on repeat (on the only cassette I brought with my walkman) that we both listened to using two pairs of headphones—and a very limited budget.  We couldn’t afford to splurge on food.  We had to choose very wisely. 

Our room had a kitchenette, so instead of eating out, we decided to shop for food and eat in for most meals.  This would have been ideal if not for the fact that we couldn’t agree on what to buy. 

After more than twenty years, I would guess that she would still say I was being unreasonable, but if you are a mayonnaise person you just won’t eat Miracle Whip!  She would have been happy getting Miracle Whip to serve two purposes—as a sandwich spread, and as a salad dressing.  I was adamant that it would serve neither purpose in my world.  We had the same argument over which brand of peanut butter to buy.  Somehow we managed to find a compromise, but the trip to the grocery store set the tone for the entire trip.  We capped off the week by having a heated disagreement about religion. 

And then we had to ride fifteen hours back to Pittsburgh on the bus! 

This was the part of the story when the girls asked me how Mary Lou and I were still friends after all these years.  “It’s simple.” I told them.  “We just had to accept that we could never share an apartment.”  Or spend more than a weekend together without a break.

That’s just how friendship is…you make adjustments to accommodate each other.  Good friends are irreplaceable, but hardly perfect.  We make mistakes—sometimes even big ones—but true friendship is like a marriage, you’re in it for better or worse.  You accept each other’s flaws for what they are, and you love each other anyway.  I don’t know what I would do without my friends…even the ones who drive me absolutely crazy after just a few days of togetherness.  My friends have been there for me in my darkest moments, and I certainly hope they known that I will be there for them in theirs. 

Unconditionally.

Until the next time…I’ll be giving thanks for my wonderful friends, both far and near!

is that an ambulance coming or just a migraine?

It’s Friday night.  And an exhausting Friday it has been.  I had so many things in mind to write about, but I have decided to postpone all of my deep thoughts for another time.  For another day when I have time to gather things into one cohesive idea instead of the random thoughts coursing through my head at this moment in time. 

My thoughts…my feelings…are rushing by like the flashing lights of an approaching ambulance.  So many things have happened in the past few days…things that aren’t mine to share. 

The things that are mine to share…

My girls are getting geared up for the homecoming dance tomorrow night.  This will mean a day of primping and pampering to the extreme.  Elegant hair, painted nails, and just the right make-up, all must be tended to.  And the dresses we bought months ago must be pulled out and put on—the perfect jewelry and prettiest shoes as the finishing touches. 

The hair will be messed up from dancing within the first hour…the shoes abandoned even before that.  I often wonder why we bother to buy pretty shoes when they all but go barefoot for much of the night.  But that is not a topic to bring up to two teenage girls on the eve of the big dance.  And the homecoming dance is nothing if not a thinly veiled dress rehearsal for the prom less than six months away.  So we have to get it right or no one will be happy. 

My husband will miss out on all of the pre-dance fun…he has to take Mady to a chorus audition near the airport.  He will not be forced to endure the intensity of two teenage girls trying to prepare for the all importance homecoming festivities.  Instead, he will be surrounded by hundreds of teen and pre-teen girls all vying for the same few spots in a statewide chorus competition.  I’m not sure which one of us has the hardest task tomorrow.  I’ll just say, I’m glad he didn’t ask to trade places. 

And so, with all that I have in store for me tomorrow…and after all that I have had to think about today…I am going to bed. 

Tomorrow is another day…and all things heal themselves in time…

Until the next time…I’ll be letting nature take its course and having faith and trust in good karma!

it really does keep you warmer, you know...

Well, it finally happened. 

I have drifted off to the dark side…or rather the less than groomed side.  It started out with a simple lack of mascara.  One day I just stopped wearing it.  Then after a while it was nothing but lip gloss.  I told myself I was just letting my natural beauty shine through.  But I knew what it really was…just a little dose of lazy. 

The next thing to go was my fashion sense.  I used to dress so nice.  But since I don’t have to work every day, I pretty much stick to jeans, tank tops and flip flops.  When I ran out of my expensive girlie deodorant, I just decided to use the extra deodorant I bought for my husband.  Sometimes I don’t even bother to wear perfume. 

But today…today I dipped into a new low.  I have no excuse for myself.  None. 

I wore Capri pants without taking the time to shave my legs.  I could lie and say I didn’t notice, but the truth is, I knowingly pulled those Capris on with the full realization that I had a good week’s worth of stubble.  I could have taken the few minutes it would have taken to shave my legs.  It wouldn’t have been that much of an inconvenience.  I just didn’t feel like it.  It used to be a regular ritual along with my morning shower.  But now it was a just larger dose of that same lazy. And the worse part of it was that I was having lunch with two of my best friends today, and I didn’t even make an attempt to look my best. 

The good news is that my friends love me whether or not I look like a rock star.  I could have gone in sweat pants and they wouldn’t have cared.  But I need to start caring. 

For me.

Otherwise, the next step could be no showers…no deodorant!  I can’t let it get to that.  And I can’t keep telling everyone that I’m just trying to build my “winter coat” or that I’m going vintage European.  It’s time to go stock up on razors, and mascara.  It’s time to pull out my cute fall sweaters and put myself back together again. 

But I think I’ll wait until tomorrow afternoon to get started on that new project.  It’s supposed to be cold in the morning, so I’m planning on wearing a nice warm pair of sweat pants and a big sloppy sweater until it warms up a little. 

A girl deserves to be warm…doesn’t she?

Until the next time…I’ll be sporting my vintage winter coat for one more night!

I wonder if Hemingway had to help his kids write book reports...

Being a writer has many perks. 

I have an instant escape vehicle that transports me to faraway places without having to leave the safety of my bed…or my pajamas.  I can engage in adventures that I would never be brave enough—or foolish enough—to engage in within the boundaries of the real world.  And I can be anyone I want to be—from the heroine to the villain. 

But being a writer is not without its drawbacks. 

When you are a writer, everyone wants you to help them with their research papers…essays…or dissertations.  The thing is…I really don’t mind helping.  In fact, I like it.  It makes me feel useful.  Needed.  If I was a mechanic they would ask me to change their oil, so proofreading or helping them write a paper is much easier…and cleaner. 

Until they assume that I will write the whole thing. 

And hey…my days of having to do homework are long past me.  I don’t want to research a paper.  I don’t want to read a boring book and then do a report on the contents.  Especially when I can’t take credit for the A. 

Then again…once I get started, I can’t stop myself.  The writer in me takes over.  I start to get excited about the topic.  I suddenly feel the need to make everything sound perfect.  And I’m hooked!  They’ve got me…and the perfect paper begins to take shape.

And I still can’t take credit when I get an A. 

Oh well…I suppose I should just stick to creating interesting characters…and writing blogs. 

And maybe the occasional research paper here and there.  You know…just because…

Until the next time…I’ll be working on a little romantic comedy for a change.

sorry wrong number

We’ve all done it.  Picked up the phone, dialed a number we’ve dialed dozens of times before to talk to someone we talk to on a regular basis, only to discover that we had misdialed and have now inadvertently shared our entire day to a complete stranger in a less than a minute. 

Thankfully, we were interrupted before we got to the really juicy parts. 

Admit it…you’ve done it too. 

But just imagine getting the wrong number on a much grander scale.  Imagine it in 3D.

The girls were invited to sleep over at a friend’s house recently.  The girl had recently moved to a new neighborhood—one that we were very familiar with, but had never visited. 

The girls had the address so we entered it into my infallible GPS.  The course was mapped and we were on our way.  Within a few minutes, we were pulling up to the driveway to drop the girls off.   They had just got off the phone with their friend, and they mentioned that the girl lived in a house with a very steep driveway, and perhaps we should just drop them at the bottom. 

It WAS a very dark night, and it WAS a very steep driveway.  But we were driving the Land Rover, with four wheel drive, and we weren’t about to leave the girls to walk up the driveway in the dark. 

So up the driveway we went, and once the girls were safely out of the way, we turned around at the top and headed back down into the night.  They aren’t small children anymore, so walking them to the door isn’t usually necessary, especially when dropping them off with a well known friend, so we left straight away.   But just to be sure, as we were exiting the neighborhood, I dialed one of their phones to see if they got in ok.    

As it turns out, we had left them at the wrong house. 

The GPS may be infallible, but apparently, I’m not the only one with shoddy night vision.  Instead of dropping the girls at house number 950, we dropped them at house number 980.  Steep driveways all look alike in the dark, I guess. 

Luckily, their friend only lived a few houses up the street. 

After a momentary bout of guilty conscience, Mike and I got a good laugh out of the whole thing.  The girls found it funny, so why shouldn’t we.  It brought back memories of a similar incident that occurred on Halloween a few years back…

All four kids were out trick or treating together, with Spencer (as the oldest) supervising.  He drove them to our old neighborhood, where there are far more houses and therefore more opportunities for candy.  The thing about the old neighborhood is that it’s pretty popular with the trick or treaters, so it can get pretty crazy out there.  When Spencer decided that he had spent enough time out with the kids, he told them it was time to go. At that very moment, a car that looked exactly like ours drove up and paused in front of the same house the kids were passing.  Mady walked up to the car, opened the rear passenger door and proceeded to get in.  To a total stranger’s car.

Apparently, the people in the car were just as shocked as Mady when she sat down in the backseat with her loaded bag of candy.  It never occurred to her that since Spencer had driven them, our car would still be in the driveway at home.

Spencer relayed the story as best as he could while laughing hysterically the whole time.  And poor Mady knew that she would never live that story down…not as long as Spencer draws breath. 

I suppose it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one prone to such embarrassing idiocy.  Even if perhaps it does happen to me more often than the average person. 

I’m not complaining…for every embarrassing moment, there is a really good blog just waiting to be written!

Until the next time…I’ll be dialing the phone very carefully!

blogtober game night

We are thoroughly immersed into the month of October, and therefore, we have made it to the monthly “book club/game night.” 

My excitement started a week ago when I got the reminder email and everyone in the group was referred to as their blog names.  Mrs. Jones, Miss Congeniality, Mrs. Weenie, Picasso Pina Colada, Token Tom, Mrs. Blog (me), and our newest addition to the book club, new neighbor Mrs. Newbie. 

You know you’re doing something right when the blog becomes part of the evening. 

Tonight, we zipped through the book topic…honestly; I didn’t even remember what the title was this time.  I know that’s even worse than not reading it, and I will truly try to read the book next month.  I was just excited to get to the game. 

The game was another laugh fest called Imagine If, and again, we played using our “blog” names.   Mrs. Weenie won again this month…but the important thing to note is that Mrs. Jones has yet to win a game—something that I’m sure she would like to change in the very near future.  We are quite competitive…in a non violent way.  There was no pie thrown.  No drinks spilled.  But lots and lots of laughs. 

I feel lucky to have such a great bunch of friends.  I’m looking forward to our next gathering.  That will be at my house, for the annual Halloween party.  I still have a lot to do around the house to get ready.  I’d better get decorating!

I wonder what I should be this year?  Any ideas?

Until the next time…I will be hanging spider webs from the chandeliers!

a walk, a dog, and a brand new pillow

How can a little walk take so much out of you?

I woke up sore this morning.  I don’t know if it was the walk or the tripping that caused it, but after such an eventful weekend, it was nice to just get things done around the house for a change.  I had been working on some pillows for the sofa, so I finished those finally.  And I cleaned up a weekend’s worth of dog hair and stick bits.  Indy likes to bring sticks in from outside; of course, his sticks are more along the lines of huge limbs that crumble into kindling when he gnaws on them.  Imagine getting one of those stuck in your foot…

So after my extra long two mile walk for Light the Night, a whole lot of housework, and two days worth of tracking down a runaway dog (Joey managed to escape the fence two days in a row!) I’m pretty worn out, but I feel like I got a lot accomplished this weekend.  Instead of a long blog, I’m just going to leave you with a few pictures of the charity walk…(and my French linen pillow!)

 

Until the next time…I’m still recuperating! 

light the night

I think if I really tried, I could move.  The problem is that I don’t really want to move.  I want to stay where I am, cuddled up on the sofa with a blanket, a pillow, and a glass of strong wine. 

Ok, so I don’t actually HAVE a glass of wine, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

This evening was the Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in downtown Atlanta.  They say it was only a two mile walk, but as I limped across the finish line an hour and a half after we started, I was certain it was closer to fourteen.  

My feet actually started hurting the minute we walked out of the parking garage.  I should have rested, knowing that I had to walk tonight.  But instead, I ran myself ragged all day, wearing flip flops, and only switched to socks and a pair of old sneakers after we parked.  My feet went into immediate rejection mode the minute I laced them up. 

It was a long walk to Centennial Olympic Park where the walk was scheduled to commence.  Mike wasn’t sure of the way, so we crossed street after street, trying to determine which direction to go.  We did this by jaywalking the entire way.  Of course, I protested loudly, informing Mike that we were breaking the law and would surely be arrested!  They actually do stop people for jaywalking on city streets. 

Apparently not tonight. 

The entire Light the Night Walk was an exercise in organized jaywalking.  The city streets were partially shut down for the hundreds (possibly over a thousand) people walking.  Cars honked, people shouted, and I felt a little like a character in a movie. 

Except that my feet hurt. 

It wasn’t a fast paced walk; it was more like herding cattle.  We were packed in like sheep, shuffling down the uneven pavement at random speeds.  I tripped over a few speed bumps in the dark—bumped into a few strangers—caught the toe of my sneaker on a sewer grate.  It was no wonder that my body was starting to ache. 

After an hour, my knees were killing me. 

Aches and pains aside, I had a really great time.  It was for a great cause, of course (our team even exceeded its donation goal!) but on top of that, it was an opportunity to see the sights of Atlanta from a perspective one rarely gets to view.  The city lights, the towering buildings, the history—up close and personal.

I took a lot of pictures.

I’m very glad I went, but after an hour and a half of walking through the streets of Atlanta, I was ready to sit down…or collapse…and we still had to walk back to where we had parked the car.  If only we could be 100% sure where exactly that was. 

I trudged through street after darkened street, this time without the pageantry, to the parking garage where the car was waiting.  We stepped into the elevator, exhausted from the events of the day, and pushed the button to go to the level we thought we had parked on. 

We walked up to where the car should have been but it wasn’t there.  It hadn’t been stolen.  We were on the wrong level.  Mike suggested walking up to the next level.  I didn’t even have the energy to protest loudly.  He just nodded and we went back to the elevator.  Up one more level, and around the corner to another bank of empty spots.

Back to the elevator.

One more level up…one more empty space.

We looked on eight, nine, and ten before going back down to seven where the car waited in the same place we had left it.  I can’t remember when I have been so happy to be back in the car.  I just wanted to go home and climb into bed. 

After stopping at the grocery store for food and writing my blog, of course.  And now that those things are completed…off to bed I go! 

Right after I take a few Advil…

Until the next time…I’ll be waiting for the morning after stiffness to set in!

bad wings

It is no secret that I love wings.  I love them more than what is probably healthy.  Mike and I try to have one date night a week, and we usually go have wings on that night.  We almost always go to the same place—the Olde Towne Tavern—my favorite place for wings.  I have eaten the most perfect of wings at Olde Towne, and from time to time, I have also eaten some fairly mediocre wings there, but tonight I ate the worst wings I have ever had, at my favorite wing place of all time. 

I was so upset by the state of my wings that I felt like misquoting Shakespeare and shouting, “Et tu, Olde Towne?” 

It all started with a ten minute wait for a table. 

There was live music in the bar, so I couldn’t be upset about the wait.  We have played musical restaurants on many a Friday night over longer waits, so ten minutes didn’t seem like much time at all in the grand scheme of things.  I would have waited twenty minutes without batting an eye, or feeling the temptation to run to the next restaurant down the road. 

The time flew by. 

We were barely seated when the waitress stopped by to get our drink orders, and our drinks came back within a few minutes.  She took our dinner orders and disappeared into the crowd just like every other busy Friday night at the tavern. 

So far there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

As per usual on a Friday night, Mike was running thorough the last few stragglers from his work email on his BlackBerry, while I flipped through the screens on my new android smart phone.  I lost track of how much time we spent on our phones, alternating between that and critiquing the one man band in the other room.  He was no John Mayer, but he wasn’t bad.  The waitress refilled our drinks promptly when they were down to near the bottom, and disappeared again. 

I clicked on the Kindle app on my phone to read a few pages from a book I’ve read a dozen times before, while Mike responded to a few more emails.  We are huge multi-taskers, so we managed to carry on a light conversation at the same time.  Before long, I was slurping down the last of my Diet Coke and the waitress was back with a refill.  I was now on my third caffeine filled, artificially sweetened soda and I was well aware that I would be hard pressed to fall asleep tonight.  Mike was on his third beer, and I was also all too well aware that we had yet to receive our food. 

We scanned the room, trying to determine if the tables around us had come in before or after us and if they had their food or not.  It was a busy night, for sure, but not so busy that so much time should have passed without as much as a French fry or a carrot stick to munch on.

Mike used his deductive reasoning skills (and an email timestamp) to figure out how long we had actually been sitting without our meals (over an hour as it turns out), as I tried to flag down the waitress with no luck. 

The previously attentive waitress was now nowhere to be found.  Trays of food were flying about the room, visiting every table but ours.  My stomach was growling and my nervous system (pumped full of anxiety causing caffeine) was in overdrive. 

After what seemed like another hour, but was probably only a few minutes, the waitress finally passed by our table and I was able to grab her attention.  She seemed oblivious to the fact that we had not received our food as of yet and vowed to check with the kitchen.  We translated that to mean that she forgot to put our ticket in, and after watching her leave our table and run straight to the open kitchen with a freshly written ticket, I was certain it was a valid theory.

Our food arrived within a few short minutes, and we were told that due to the “kitchen error”, the manager would be discounting our meal. 

It was the least they could do, because after waiting for more than an hour for my favorite wings off all time, I was left miserably disappointed.  These were not the wings I had waited so patiently for.  These were not the wings that made me salivate at the mere sight of them.  These were barely edible wings.  They were dry.  And there was no flavor at all.  The only saving grace was that they were filling.  I was no longer hungry, if not satisfied. 

Somehow the manager must have known the magnitude of my disappointment, because our food was completely taken off the bill.  We paid for my bottomless Diet Coke and Mike’s three beers, and yes…I left a tip…and we left. 

I suppose there are worse things in life than bad wings.  In my usual habit, I will look to the bright side of things.   At least it gave me something to blog about tonight. 

Until the next time…I’ll be lying awake after drinking enough caffeine to keep the entire math department of Georgia Tech awake during midterms!

chim chim cheree

I had a chimney sweep in my house this morning.  It was almost like a scene out of Mary Poppins…except for the modern tools, and the lack of an English accent.  Actually, it was nothing like Mary Poppins.  I had high hopes, but no one broke into a song and dance routine. 

The doorbell rang at nine-thirty, disturbing what could have been my first eight hours of sleep in ages.  But it’s not like I could complain…I was the one who set the appointment.  

I wanted to get up. 

I was going to get up. 

I didn’t. 

Mike got up so I could try to sleep longer.  But it’s hard to sleep with three dogs going off like a Chewbacca car alarm. 

I was excited to have a clean chimney.  All week long, the cold nights had me craving a nice warm fire for a perfect cap on the day, but my chimney was dangerously overdue for a cleaning.  Today my chimney was sparkling clean and the weather turned hot.  Irony?  I’m not sure…but I have a firebox filled with logs that will be collecting dust for the next several days.  The forecast is calling for sunny skies and warm temperatures all weekend.  I suppose I should be glad.  It will still be cool at night.  Not quite cold enough for a fire but cool enough to sleep comfortably under a nice big blanket.  My kind of night.   

And I can’t forget that I will be walking on Saturday night.  A warm day followed by a nice cool evening will make for a great time. 

I think I might go for eight hours again tonight.  Just because I haven’t been successful doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying, right?  If I start right now, I might just have a chance. 

Wish me luck!

Until the next time…I’ll be cuddling up under a fuzzy blanket for eight hours!

countdown to the cancer walk

There are only three days left before Mike and I embark on the two mile Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  I don’t know if I’m ready or not.  In fact, I think I may be coming down with something.  It’s hard not to catch something when you live in the same house with sick people.  But sore throat or not, I will be walking on Saturday night with the hundreds of other people walking for the cause.  We are still hoping for more donations in the next few days as we are trying to raise as much money as possible for cancer research. 

I might need to make a quick trip to the shoe store tomorrow to look for a pair of comfortable walking shoes.  And we all know how much I love to shop for shoes.  Right.  I might rather come down with a case of strep throat. 

Oh well…it’s for a good cause. 

Until the next time…I’ll be shoe shopping!

bingo was his name-o

Well…we’ve had more reasons to say that fall is officially here lately, but I’m adding just one more.  Both of the girls are sick. 

Nothing says welcome to fall like a good old fashioned case of strep throat.  So we’ve stocked up on the antibiotics and codeine cough syrup, and we’re ready to hunker down for a few days.  Lucky for me, I’m immune to strep.  And keeping the girls indoors for the day gave me a chance to actually work on the Halloween decorations around the house.  My front porch is now equipped with skulls, gargoyles, and a few nasty ghouls to greet the neighbors. 

Now I just need to finish up on the inside. 

While I was decorating, I also started the first official pot of chili of the season.  This too is a work in progress as (and anyone who knows chili knows this) chili is always better on the second day.  Luckily I made enough for two days worth so we will be eating chili tomorrow night too. 

After dinner, Mike and I wandered off for a little “grown-up” time and found ourselves at the local Irish pub on Bingo night.  And let me just say that I love Bingo!  I hadn’t played in years. 

My mother used to take us to play Bingo at the local community center when I was a kid, and I have not quite outgrown the thrill of hearing the numbers called out and realizing that I have won.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get bingo tonight.  But it was still fun.  Even Mike seemed to enjoy himself.  He got so excited that he called out “bingo” once when he didn’t even have bingo. 

All in all, not a bad Tuesday…outside of the strep throat, that is.  But you just can’t have everything, can you? 

Tomorrow is another day.

Until the next time…I’ll be playing bingo in my sleep!

of all the ridiculous things to argue about…

What does it say about you when you run out of real issues to argue about, so you start arguing about made up ones?  I don’t know if this really counts as an argument per se, but it definitely would fall under the category of “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

The day started out pretty good.  I spent a good portion of it catching up on my housework.  It was a long, mostly unproductive week on the homefront last week, so the house was looking pretty bad.  Sure, I did laundry and dishes.  I even found time to sort through some of the mail.  But mostly, I failed to get to the core of the matter…the dust and pet hair.  The weekend was spent on outside tasks, like fixing the damage to the fence after the tree fell through it.  Mike did most of the work, but I did help…a little.    So I owed the house a thorough cleaning, and today I gave it a solid start, at the very least. 

I tackled the kitchen, washing every dish and pan until they practically sparkled.  I cleaned the counter tops of every crumb and spill, and swept and vacuumed the floors until not a stitch of dog fluff remained.   I carried the sweeping into the keeping room where I moved the furniture around to vacuum under it, making sure no stray tumbleweed of loose pet hair would come rolling out when the air in the room got stirred up. 

I even cleaned the cat box in the laundry room until even the cats weren’t sure they were in the right place. 

And then, in a stroke of genius, I made a deal with my daughter’s boyfriend.  I would get Chinese take-out for dinner for everyone if he would pull the weeds in the front yard.  I knew this was something my husband was not looking forward to doing, so I figured it would be a nice gesture.  A win-win situation, if you will. 

As it turns out, my gesture was greatly appreciated.  Not just bargaining for the yard work, but the Chinese food too.  My husband had mysteriously developed a craving for Chinese food that very day…and coincidentally, he craved the very thing I ordered for him to eat.  It was beyond perfect.  The house was clean…the yard was manicured…and dinner was ready when he walked through the door.  I was back in his good graces, yet again.

That lasted almost two whole hours, until we began the conversation that was our ultimate undoing.

Mike made a passing comment about how he wouldn’t mind having a live-in gardener for a few months…until the yard and the garden was brought back to where he needed to be after a summer of neglect.  He said we could provide room and board, and a small wage.  It sounded like a great idea…in fact, it sounded like something I had thought of some time ago.

I used to have this fantasy where we had a live-in English couple.  The woman, a sweet white haired lady in her middle sixties, did the cooking and cleaning…and her husband tended to the garden and the grounds.  I had even named them— Henry and Eloise. 

Of course, Mike and I agreed that we could never afford a proper English couple.  They would be much too expensive.  He suggested that perhaps a nice Honduran couple would be more affordable.  We didn’t get around to naming them.  Instead, we were talking about how much we would pay them, in addition to their room and board. 

I didn’t think we should pay them much if we were offering them room and board too. We went back and forth for a few minutes, trying to iron out what would be a fair wage.  We disagreed on how much was too much.

Mike got angry with me for underpaying our make-believe Honduran couple and told me I was being selfish.  The entire conversation turned into a full blown argument.  We didn’t speak for the rest of the night. 

I’m not exactly sure how to respond to the argument.  Do I apologize for being unfair to our pretend employees?  I mean…I might have paid them more if they had been real.  What do I know about paying live-in servants?  I’ve never had one.  I don’t know what the going rates are these days for Honduran couples who live in your home while cooking, cleaning, and tending to the yard work.  What value do you put on the room and board, anyway?  Am I supposed to provide transportation and cell phones?  And if I do, doesn’t that allow me to pay them just a little bit less for the privileges I am providing them?  Doesn’t it?  And ultimately, without doing any real research, am I really being so selfish…or am I just uninformed? 

I suppose I’ll ask him tomorrow…if I dare broach the subject again.  Who knew he would be so attached to the couple that he would be that concerned for their welfare.

I guess he just wanted to be fair.  I’m sure he wouldn’t want to take advantage of someone.  They are human beings after all…

Even if they are just pretend human beings. 

I guess I’ll just cook and clean the house myself…it’s a lot easier that way.

Until the next time…just call me Eloise!

the great salad experiment

Mike decided to challenge me today, to prove that there is a method to my madness. 

The inherent problem in that logic is that I have many methods to my madness…depending on the situation, and the degree of madness involved.  In today’s particular instance, he was referring to the specific way I like my salad prepared at Moe’s Southwest Grill. 

Apparently, I make odd requests.  

I like my salad in a bowl—no tortilla shell salad bowl for me—with extra lettuce, half a portion of beans and just a pinch of cheese (because if I cut the calories there, I can get the cookie for dessert) lots of chicken, and extra salsa, onions and cucumbers.  Plus two creamy chipotle ranch dressings (even though I rarely eat more than the first one).  The guys at Moe’s know me when they see me coming.  They already know what I’m going to ask for before I ask.  My husband thinks that’s funny.  That was when he decided on the “experiment.”

He would have me order two salads precisely the way I like it.  One for me, and one for him.  He told the man behind the counter to make his to my exact specifications.  No deviations.  He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. 

Or so he said. 

I think it was an elaborately put together scheme to get me to eat a salad instead of a hamburger.  Maybe even a chance to poke a little fun at me for my quirkiness.  I don’t know if he learned anything by eating the salad the way I like it, but I learned that he likes his salad better his way—lots of beans, less chicken, jalapenos, and almost no dressing.  Oh, and no cookie.  That’s fine.  To each his own.  I like dressing.  And cookies.  And most of the time I like my husband too…even if he has a little madness of his own.

This weekend wasn’t overly long in the grand scheme of things, but all in all, it was a pretty good weekend.  I’ll be sad to see it end.  Then again, there will be another weekend in just a short several days away. 

I’ll be ready!

Until the next time…I’ll be decorating for Halloween all day tomorrow!

blogtober cry

Why do we (humans…specifically women) feel that we are not whole without the validation of someone else?  Don’t get me wrong…I love my husband, and I know he loves me…but why do I feel as if have to seek his approval to feel fulfilled?  Realistically, I know I don’t need it.  Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t want it.  But emotionally, I crave it—almost to the point of irritation—especially when I don’t get it. 

Gah!  Being a woman is confusing.  I do not blame men for being clueless to figure us out. 

Needless to say, Mike and I were out of balance today.  That isn’t to say we were arguing…more like…not meshing.  It happens.  Just about once every month, in fact. 

Shall I just say that hormones are evil? 

And it’s not just my hormones causing distress in my house this beautiful Blogtober weekend…all three girls appear to be suffering from the same affliction.  There is nothing scarier than being trapped in a house with four females all experiencing the rollercoaster of emotions that is PMS.  So is it any wonder that the sole man in our house was lit up like a cat walking across a static-filled fleece blanket? 

Perhaps I exaggerate. 

Still…it was a tense Saturday.  Even if it was nice at the same time.  It was a contradiction all the way around.  The weather was spectacular…beyond perfect.  But the climate indoors was frosty.  We spent as much time as possible under the crystal blue October sky.  A little yard work…a few errands…some time with the dogs.  All interspersed with minor bickering.  And a few irrational tears. 

Mostly mine.

I suppose I can find solace in the fact that it wasn’t just me.  The girls each had a minor falling out with their boyfriends too.  It definitely makes it easier to blame PMS when a pattern emerges to support it.  I’m glad my puppy is a boy…no fluctuating hormones to deal with there. 

I hope.

Until the next time…I’ll be meditating with midol!