So Secret Squirrel and I went to Jack's First Show on Friday night. We had a great time counting mullets and breast implants. The music was fantastic too!
The Stray Cats (original lineup! EEeeeeeeee!) started off, and they were the highlight for me. They were totally on top of their game. Of course Bryan Setzer has been busy with his orchestra and other stuff, so he's never stopped singing and performing, but the three of them put on an amazing show. There were only a few people who had obviously just come to see them- the Bettie Page bangs and tattooed sleeves and pompadours were pretty thin on the ground- but the whole audience caught on quickly and most of the floor section was on their feet after the first song. And they played my favorite, Fishnet Stockings, which was really unexpected.
Any group who has been around since the 1980's and can still vault over their drum kits and stand on the upright bass while playing...mad props. You guys are killer!
The Pretenders, to be fair, also played a wonderful set. (No Middle Of The Road though... hmph) However they flunked the "Know Your Audience" portion of the evening. Chrissie Hynde gave a shout out to all the animal activists in the audience.
This was met with an almost deafening silence. You could see her brain processing- Ok, you're in Fresno....maybe they didn't get it? So then she gave a shoutout to the vegetarians. Which perhaps isn't what you would want to do at a concert when ZZ-Top is the headliner, and you're following a rockabilly act, and you're in one of the only conservative patches of California.
There was booing. There was hissing. Secret Squirrel and I were still cool with her, until she stuck out her chest and flexed and said, "Well, I guess if you're not a vegetarian, you don't want to look like THIS!
Okay. For the record, she does look great, although a big part of that is due to the long shaggy bangs that cover a multitude of sins. (As I said to Secret Squirrel- Yeah, that's a pretty good long-range plan...if nobody's ever seen your forehead, who's to say how wrinkled it is? You could be a Shar-pei under there.)
However, the way not to endear yourself to your audience is to imply that they're a bunch of obese assholes.
And it may have had an unintended effect on Secret Squirrel and I. We skipped ZZ-Top and went to a steakhouse, where we both made a concerted effort to order the reddest meat we could find.
Showing posts with label adventure awaits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure awaits. Show all posts
Monday, August 20, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
Releasing My Inner Dork
So, this is the month. The month of Harry Potter. And thank heavens, because I really could use some distractions right now!
I am a big enough fan to need to go to every single midnight movie and book release, but luckily not dorky enough to have a wand with my name on it, so my friends and The Man generally humor me.
Yes, we already got the tickets for the midnight showing on Tuesday. Now I just need to pre-order my book, so I can get book 7 at midnight the night before as well.
Yes, I am a large child.
I am a big enough fan to need to go to every single midnight movie and book release, but luckily not dorky enough to have a wand with my name on it, so my friends and The Man generally humor me.
Yes, we already got the tickets for the midnight showing on Tuesday. Now I just need to pre-order my book, so I can get book 7 at midnight the night before as well.
Yes, I am a large child.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
I know. I suck.
There hasn't been a lot to talk about, which is why I have been gone. I know it's a big disuption in the lives of both my faithful readers!
Well, when I say there hasn't been a lot....there's a lot of stuff that is just sort of....you know, neither here nor there. There's a whole lot of "waiting and seeing" going on.
Truthfully, I am still not sure what to write about.
Oh, except that I am becoming the militant fat chick.
I have been going out a lot more with the girls, and none of us is precisely what you'd call thin. And I am really sick to death of the prevailing attitude among certain people that if you weigh more than a buck twenty-five, you shouldn't be allowed to show your face out on the streets of our fair (HA!) city. There have been a few incidents in the last few weeks, and I guess this one was just the proverbial back-breaking straw.
We were all hanging out, I was sitting on a barstool and my friend was swaying to the music they were playing in the bar. For the record, there was a lot of alcohol floating through our respective veins, but we were just talking and laughing with each other.
There was a mixed group of girls and guys in their early 20's seated in a booth a few feet away. And so I guess when one of the guys said, "Hey baby, shake it, don't break it!" and he and his buddy went into peals of derisive laughter, they didn't expect us to hear them.
I heard, and I was fueled on several shots of Bushmills whiskey. I hopped off my barstool, walked deliberately towards the booth, and flipped them off in an elaborate fashion, then walked back to the stool and re-parked.
I kept an eye on the booth for the rest of our (short) duration there. The three young women looked absolutely mortified. All conversation at their table ceased for the next 30 minutes.
The ironic thing is that the guy who made the comment was trying to talk to a girl who was beautiful, but not skinny either. After the incident, she wouldn't even make eye contact with him.
Was I wrong to even acknowledge it? I don't know. It certainly wasn't the most mature reaction. But I am sick to death of overlooking things. Plus, I am beginning to think that if jerks like this were called out on their behavior more often, they would learn how to behave themselves in public.
Well, when I say there hasn't been a lot....there's a lot of stuff that is just sort of....you know, neither here nor there. There's a whole lot of "waiting and seeing" going on.
Truthfully, I am still not sure what to write about.
Oh, except that I am becoming the militant fat chick.
I have been going out a lot more with the girls, and none of us is precisely what you'd call thin. And I am really sick to death of the prevailing attitude among certain people that if you weigh more than a buck twenty-five, you shouldn't be allowed to show your face out on the streets of our fair (HA!) city. There have been a few incidents in the last few weeks, and I guess this one was just the proverbial back-breaking straw.
We were all hanging out, I was sitting on a barstool and my friend was swaying to the music they were playing in the bar. For the record, there was a lot of alcohol floating through our respective veins, but we were just talking and laughing with each other.
There was a mixed group of girls and guys in their early 20's seated in a booth a few feet away. And so I guess when one of the guys said, "Hey baby, shake it, don't break it!" and he and his buddy went into peals of derisive laughter, they didn't expect us to hear them.
I heard, and I was fueled on several shots of Bushmills whiskey. I hopped off my barstool, walked deliberately towards the booth, and flipped them off in an elaborate fashion, then walked back to the stool and re-parked.
I kept an eye on the booth for the rest of our (short) duration there. The three young women looked absolutely mortified. All conversation at their table ceased for the next 30 minutes.
The ironic thing is that the guy who made the comment was trying to talk to a girl who was beautiful, but not skinny either. After the incident, she wouldn't even make eye contact with him.
Was I wrong to even acknowledge it? I don't know. It certainly wasn't the most mature reaction. But I am sick to death of overlooking things. Plus, I am beginning to think that if jerks like this were called out on their behavior more often, they would learn how to behave themselves in public.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Whack-a-mole
I went to a new dermatologist to see if she could do anything about my acne, and maybe check a skin tag on my eyelid.
I left with stitches. Evidently, there were suspicious moles on my back. So they removed the "most abnormal" one, and it is heading to a lab, along with the skin tag.
So if you have any moles, or just haven't been checked for awhile...get thee to the dermatologist! Point 'em out!
Did I mention that I already have a dermatologist, but he will prescribe no meds for me because I am trying to get pg? Oh, and he has never even looked at my moles.
Of course, the crappy dermatologist is the one that my insurance will cover. Not the dermatologist who actually DID something. I should have known when I saw her spiffy salt-water fishtank that I was in over my head.
Fun fact: they did tell me that I have about 50% fewer moles than most of their other patients.
_________
I got the call from the headhunter last night. He wants me to come up with an eight week series on reptiles. I have a meeting with him next week. I am excited!
In other news, crazy guy my sister was seeing is actually who he says she is. Evidently her digging and background checks almost got him fired. D'oh!
We still haven't decided whether or not he is gay. I will have to clue her in on the Grrrl Genius method: You ask who his favorite female character was on Gilligan's Island. If he says Mary Ann, he's straight. If he says Ginger...well, you're in trouble!
I am going to be gone this weekend...I haven't made a lot of contingency eating plans. We'll see how I do.
I left with stitches. Evidently, there were suspicious moles on my back. So they removed the "most abnormal" one, and it is heading to a lab, along with the skin tag.
So if you have any moles, or just haven't been checked for awhile...get thee to the dermatologist! Point 'em out!
Did I mention that I already have a dermatologist, but he will prescribe no meds for me because I am trying to get pg? Oh, and he has never even looked at my moles.
Of course, the crappy dermatologist is the one that my insurance will cover. Not the dermatologist who actually DID something. I should have known when I saw her spiffy salt-water fishtank that I was in over my head.
Fun fact: they did tell me that I have about 50% fewer moles than most of their other patients.
_________
I got the call from the headhunter last night. He wants me to come up with an eight week series on reptiles. I have a meeting with him next week. I am excited!
In other news, crazy guy my sister was seeing is actually who he says she is. Evidently her digging and background checks almost got him fired. D'oh!
We still haven't decided whether or not he is gay. I will have to clue her in on the Grrrl Genius method: You ask who his favorite female character was on Gilligan's Island. If he says Mary Ann, he's straight. If he says Ginger...well, you're in trouble!
I am going to be gone this weekend...I haven't made a lot of contingency eating plans. We'll see how I do.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Head Hunted
I am not good at being positive about myself, but this week has been a pretty good week. This has been an amazing few days at work (note to self...consider that you would have to leave your job if The Man's job offer pans out).
So far today, I have had two teachers interrogate me about any other classes that I teach, so they can be sure to book me.
"We want YOU!" they said. "Can we request you? It'll be next year. Are you booked already? If you are, we'll wait."
I can hardly believe this. Am I booked next year? Are you serious?
Three years ago, I was working at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named. I was practically glued to my desk covering for my boss, who was never in the office. I worked my ass off and got no credit, appreciation, or recognition. My boss was one of those people who took the credit for your accomplishments, but if you screwed up! The finger of blame would descend upon you. (Now, imagine that you are having to run interference with Vice Presidents of the company for this person. Holy Crap!) I came home ANGRY every night. I was constantly stressed out. I felt completely value-less as an employee, and the harder I worked, the more useless I felt.
Now I go to work in a different place every day, but the schools are are becoming more and more familiar. I am getting a lot of "repeat customers' through my company, people like those teachers mentioned above. It's a great feeling to be appreciated. To me, that is worth more than a title change or a 3% raise. (which, when you're making $12.00 an hour, is so ridiculous as to be laughable.)
The kids are also wonderful. Sure, there are stinkers, but on the whole, it's a fantastic feeling to walk into a classroom and 25 kids start shrieking, "She's here! She's HERE!" with manic glee. They want me to see that they've lost a tooth since that last time I was there. Or to tell me they got a book on volcanoes, and can they show me? Or they saw Jurassic Park, and can scientist really do that thing with the bug in the amber? Is that what I do in my lab? Or do I blow things up? Blowing things up is cool. Hey, did I bring rockets this week? What do I have in my big crate to show them today? Are we going to make a project today? What is it?
At the end, I get the occasional hugs, and loud choruses of thank you's. They all want to tell me what their favorite part of the presentation was, and when I am coming back. When I head across campus, kids from past classes will see me, and evidently tell their friends. It is like being a rock star, or Spongebob Squarepants or something. I have been mobbed a few times, which is just hilarious.
And as of yesterday, my worlds have started to collide. I showed up yesterday at a new tutoring job. The boys didn't recognize me without my lab coat, but when I mentioned that I taught science, their eyes got big. "You helped us make volcanoes in our class!!!"
These two boys are ten (and adamantly opposed to having a tutor). I had no problems with them after that. I figure, if you can hold the attention of a 10 year old boy, you can basically do anything.
So today, I finished up class, and headed out to the parking lot. I got stopped by a grown woman, which is unusual. (Adults usually give me indulgent smiles and a wide berth, like I am wearing a Big Bird costume.)
"Did you teach my daughter's class yesterday?!" She didn't stop for an answer. "That little machine you gave her...I can't believe everyone in her class got one! We all played with it, even my husband. It was fascinating! What a fantastic program you have! Do you do birthday parties?"
I chatted with her a little and gave her a flyer. I continued rolling on through the parking lot, and was reaching for my car door when a white Saturn swept up next to me and the driver dramatically announced, "Wait!!! Are you Jenna? I need to talk to you!!!"
Um, OK. Guy knows my name. I waited.
The upshot is, this guy wants me to work for his company and develop and run the science section of his after-school programs for a school district. He says he wants to talk to me, and that he is sure he can pay me enough to make it worth my while to leave my current company.
I gave him my number, since I am sure it can't hurt if I talk to the guy and see what he's going on about. But I am still in shock. And part of me is wondering if he followed me or got a tip off or something...I mean, what are the odds? Granted, I do tend to be paranoid. But...!!!!!
I suppose I should be happy that my life isn't boring.
So far today, I have had two teachers interrogate me about any other classes that I teach, so they can be sure to book me.
"We want YOU!" they said. "Can we request you? It'll be next year. Are you booked already? If you are, we'll wait."
I can hardly believe this. Am I booked next year? Are you serious?
Three years ago, I was working at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named. I was practically glued to my desk covering for my boss, who was never in the office. I worked my ass off and got no credit, appreciation, or recognition. My boss was one of those people who took the credit for your accomplishments, but if you screwed up! The finger of blame would descend upon you. (Now, imagine that you are having to run interference with Vice Presidents of the company for this person. Holy Crap!) I came home ANGRY every night. I was constantly stressed out. I felt completely value-less as an employee, and the harder I worked, the more useless I felt.
Now I go to work in a different place every day, but the schools are are becoming more and more familiar. I am getting a lot of "repeat customers' through my company, people like those teachers mentioned above. It's a great feeling to be appreciated. To me, that is worth more than a title change or a 3% raise. (which, when you're making $12.00 an hour, is so ridiculous as to be laughable.)
The kids are also wonderful. Sure, there are stinkers, but on the whole, it's a fantastic feeling to walk into a classroom and 25 kids start shrieking, "She's here! She's HERE!" with manic glee. They want me to see that they've lost a tooth since that last time I was there. Or to tell me they got a book on volcanoes, and can they show me? Or they saw Jurassic Park, and can scientist really do that thing with the bug in the amber? Is that what I do in my lab? Or do I blow things up? Blowing things up is cool. Hey, did I bring rockets this week? What do I have in my big crate to show them today? Are we going to make a project today? What is it?
At the end, I get the occasional hugs, and loud choruses of thank you's. They all want to tell me what their favorite part of the presentation was, and when I am coming back. When I head across campus, kids from past classes will see me, and evidently tell their friends. It is like being a rock star, or Spongebob Squarepants or something. I have been mobbed a few times, which is just hilarious.
And as of yesterday, my worlds have started to collide. I showed up yesterday at a new tutoring job. The boys didn't recognize me without my lab coat, but when I mentioned that I taught science, their eyes got big. "You helped us make volcanoes in our class!!!"
These two boys are ten (and adamantly opposed to having a tutor). I had no problems with them after that. I figure, if you can hold the attention of a 10 year old boy, you can basically do anything.
So today, I finished up class, and headed out to the parking lot. I got stopped by a grown woman, which is unusual. (Adults usually give me indulgent smiles and a wide berth, like I am wearing a Big Bird costume.)
"Did you teach my daughter's class yesterday?!" She didn't stop for an answer. "That little machine you gave her...I can't believe everyone in her class got one! We all played with it, even my husband. It was fascinating! What a fantastic program you have! Do you do birthday parties?"
I chatted with her a little and gave her a flyer. I continued rolling on through the parking lot, and was reaching for my car door when a white Saturn swept up next to me and the driver dramatically announced, "Wait!!! Are you Jenna? I need to talk to you!!!"
Um, OK. Guy knows my name. I waited.
The upshot is, this guy wants me to work for his company and develop and run the science section of his after-school programs for a school district. He says he wants to talk to me, and that he is sure he can pay me enough to make it worth my while to leave my current company.
I gave him my number, since I am sure it can't hurt if I talk to the guy and see what he's going on about. But I am still in shock. And part of me is wondering if he followed me or got a tip off or something...I mean, what are the odds? Granted, I do tend to be paranoid. But...!!!!!
I suppose I should be happy that my life isn't boring.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Deal with the Devil
Cue fiddle music!
The Man is nearly done with his Business/Marketing degree.
I am really proud of him, and when he is done with school, it will be my turn to go back and finish my English degree and get my teaching credential.
So we are at this huge family shindig, and well...
I guess I would have enjoyed it more if we didn't feel like the poor relations.
My sister is a lawyer. My brother is in real estate. If we expand to extended family, you get a few major judges, a big time buisnessman or two, a few more lawyers, and a computer mogul. There are a smattering of teachers who are on the edge of retirement, married to the posessors of the aforementioned Big Impressive Jobs. They live in the Bay Area, they have vacation homes and brand new cars and designer clothes and timeshare condos in Hawaii. The younger ones all have kids. And they all look like they live at the gym.
My husband is in the military. I work with kids in a part-time capacity. We squeeze by every month, mainly because I quit my full-time job at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named, and because The Man's college education is freaking expensive. We have no kids. We're not into wine or gourmet meals. (They're nice, but not really a part of the big equation for us.) In short, we have nothing in common with most of these people.
Anyway. These people love me, and they don't intend to make me feel "small." And it pisses me off to no end that I couldn't just sit back and enjoy myself, without constantly comparing and analyzing everything.
There were moments that were awkward..."You've NEVER had a massage before?!!!" This was uttered in a tone like I had just swung in on a vine, wearing a loincloth.
There were moments that went beyond awkward to agonizing. Like the part where someone offered to sell me her three-year-old son, who was acting up, at a discount. It was one of those laughing things that mothers say because their kid is on their last nerve. I just sort of laughed and said, "Name your price!" in a jokey way. It was worse because I am sure her husband took her aside and talked to her afterwards, because she was visibly uncomfortable around me after that.
I guess I do have a point, and I am getting to it.
The Man was constantly asked if he was going to have to go back to the Middle East. They would thank him for all he did, thank me for giving up my husband for six months to defend our country. They's ask what was going on with us, so we'd tell them about his college, eventual job search, etc.
The Man has a job offer from a family member. However, it's a loaded proposition. We would have to to move to the Bay Area, but lodging is provided, which is a big part of the cost up there. The huge down side is that it's a trailer park, which we would have to live in. It bothers me more on the level that we already have a house, and I already feel like a "poor relation". Let's face it, there would be something of a stigma attached to it. And I am not sure how much I want to work for family. I worry that if we hate it, we couldn't just change our minds.
The upsides are huge too. Stigma or not, we would triple or quadruple our current income. This place may be a trailer park, but it has a fantastic location, with a view of the bay. SF is right there, and housing would be free, which means that we would be able to take care of our debts and have huge financial freedom in one fell swoop. Family would be close by, especially if my parents move to the Carmel house when they retire. We would be able to save money to buy our dream house fairly painlessly.
The more I look at the up and down sides, the main drawback (let's face it) is "What Will They Think?" Which is a crappy way to run your life. There is a lot of time to think things over, there are a bunch of details that we don't have yet.
Thw more I think about it...My main condition would be that we keep our house. I have so many friends here, and I am not giving up being a homeowner.
I know this is disjointed...I am just so incredibly conflicted, it is making my head spin!
The Man is nearly done with his Business/Marketing degree.
I am really proud of him, and when he is done with school, it will be my turn to go back and finish my English degree and get my teaching credential.
So we are at this huge family shindig, and well...
I guess I would have enjoyed it more if we didn't feel like the poor relations.
My sister is a lawyer. My brother is in real estate. If we expand to extended family, you get a few major judges, a big time buisnessman or two, a few more lawyers, and a computer mogul. There are a smattering of teachers who are on the edge of retirement, married to the posessors of the aforementioned Big Impressive Jobs. They live in the Bay Area, they have vacation homes and brand new cars and designer clothes and timeshare condos in Hawaii. The younger ones all have kids. And they all look like they live at the gym.
My husband is in the military. I work with kids in a part-time capacity. We squeeze by every month, mainly because I quit my full-time job at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named, and because The Man's college education is freaking expensive. We have no kids. We're not into wine or gourmet meals. (They're nice, but not really a part of the big equation for us.) In short, we have nothing in common with most of these people.
Anyway. These people love me, and they don't intend to make me feel "small." And it pisses me off to no end that I couldn't just sit back and enjoy myself, without constantly comparing and analyzing everything.
There were moments that were awkward..."You've NEVER had a massage before?!!!" This was uttered in a tone like I had just swung in on a vine, wearing a loincloth.
There were moments that went beyond awkward to agonizing. Like the part where someone offered to sell me her three-year-old son, who was acting up, at a discount. It was one of those laughing things that mothers say because their kid is on their last nerve. I just sort of laughed and said, "Name your price!" in a jokey way. It was worse because I am sure her husband took her aside and talked to her afterwards, because she was visibly uncomfortable around me after that.
I guess I do have a point, and I am getting to it.
The Man was constantly asked if he was going to have to go back to the Middle East. They would thank him for all he did, thank me for giving up my husband for six months to defend our country. They's ask what was going on with us, so we'd tell them about his college, eventual job search, etc.
The Man has a job offer from a family member. However, it's a loaded proposition. We would have to to move to the Bay Area, but lodging is provided, which is a big part of the cost up there. The huge down side is that it's a trailer park, which we would have to live in. It bothers me more on the level that we already have a house, and I already feel like a "poor relation". Let's face it, there would be something of a stigma attached to it. And I am not sure how much I want to work for family. I worry that if we hate it, we couldn't just change our minds.
The upsides are huge too. Stigma or not, we would triple or quadruple our current income. This place may be a trailer park, but it has a fantastic location, with a view of the bay. SF is right there, and housing would be free, which means that we would be able to take care of our debts and have huge financial freedom in one fell swoop. Family would be close by, especially if my parents move to the Carmel house when they retire. We would be able to save money to buy our dream house fairly painlessly.
The more I look at the up and down sides, the main drawback (let's face it) is "What Will They Think?" Which is a crappy way to run your life. There is a lot of time to think things over, there are a bunch of details that we don't have yet.
Thw more I think about it...My main condition would be that we keep our house. I have so many friends here, and I am not giving up being a homeowner.
I know this is disjointed...I am just so incredibly conflicted, it is making my head spin!
Ah, Sonoma!
My cousin's husband threw a huge bash for her 40th birthday this weekend. And when I say bash....
I may still be in recovery for the hangover. But when someone offers you 40 year old port, you can't say no, can you? Can you?
It was a three-day thing, with brunches, continental breakfasts, tours of wineries, dinners, desserts, cooking classes, cheese plates, wine tastings, massages....you name it. All sponsored by my cousin's husband. Let's just say the house in Sonoma is next door to Danny Glover's, and I spent three days feeling like a bumpkin in town on the egg money. Albeit, a very well dressed bumpkin.
Anyway, we took the convertible.
We pulled up to the Fairmont Sonoma Mission Inn and Spa.
We saw this, and I said, "Well, GOLL-LEE!"
I am being pretty self-deprecating, but we had a great time. I had my first massage, which was lovely, and we ate and ate and ate and ate and ate. And drank and drank and drank. I knocked a few "dranks" aff because I stopped after the boozefest at the winery the night before we left. I couldn't take it anymore. The sad thing is, I was done by the end of the second day. I just wanted to be home in our nice squishy bed, in close proximity to Crystal Lite and regular, every-day chicken breast meals.
The worst part were the photographers, capturing our every move. I am dreading getting the link to those pictures. There are some pix of me that we took, and I look like I have been inflated. There is no nice way to say it. I could feel it happening on a daily basis, and it was hard to avoid, what with the squab and the rack of lamb and the chicken ctuffed with ham and gruyere cheese and slathered with cream sauce. Holy Mackerel.
So, the atonement starts today. (yet again) I am getting on the treadmill as soon as I finish this!
_____
Update: I went on the treadmill and didn't die. FitDay has been implemented. My water jug has been dusted off. The Battle of the Bulge is officially back on!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
iiiiiiinteresting
So, I went shopping.
And I managed to find the ultimate bra (yes, really) and my very first pair of Seven Jeans.
Photos shall be forthcoming.
Well, of the jeans. But probably not the bra.
And I managed to find the ultimate bra (yes, really) and my very first pair of Seven Jeans.
Photos shall be forthcoming.
Well, of the jeans. But probably not the bra.
Friday, February 23, 2007
It is clean!
My car!
It's seriously unbelievable.
This is an old pic...because I still have to get the car washed. I have been using the car for work for awhile now, and it has transformed my sassy 'vertible into...well, a dump truck. A filthy, dirty dump truck.
There are always big plastic bins stacked to the rafters in there, along with plastic kids toys and odd scientific paraphenalia. The last straw is that, for many of the classes that I do, sand is a requirement.
So of course, a few bags have broken open on me, but it's usually just a minor annoyance.
Then last week, I was turning left behind another car, and I guess they wanted to make an immediate right turn into a shopping center, and a pedestrian stepped out right in front of them. They slammed on the brakes. I slammed on the brakes. And the 5 lb. container of sand in my passenger seat exploded and dumped all over the passenger side of my car.
Seriously. It filled the entire area at least two inches deep, even back underneath the seat. Crap.
I have been avoiding cleaning it, due to the fact that my car is always full of the plastic crap. However, my car needs desperately to be smogged, so today was the day.
All I can say is, thank heaven for my Dyson vaccuum cleaner. If you're on the fence re: getting one of these babies- look no further. It's worth the price.
That thing is amazing. All the sand got sucked up in short order, and I could even use the attachment to get under the seat, and to excavate the creases in the leather seats, too. The resulting desert got dumped back onto our patio via the amazing cannister system. It took three trips to get all of it, but it worked like a charm.
So we are taking a teensy road trip this weekend. Let's hear it for Carmel!! I am looking forward to sunshine. I don't know if I'll get it though.
We are taking Mom up with us on Saturday morning. The Man will be driving. It should be...uh, interesting. But we will be helping them get the kitchen done: mainly, tiling. And yes, I plan to make sure that The Man will employ his newfound knowledge in our home too...the tile in this kitchen has got to go.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Oh those crazy kids!
Naturally, the weekend that everyone selected for "cold weather" camping seems to have broken a few cold weather records. I am still trying to get warm!
Otherwise, I had a pretty good time,but the good stuff is too boring, so let's get to the whiny stuff!
I didn't feel _too_ old, which is saying something, as I suspect I was the only one there over the age of 30. The Man hits the big three-oh next month, and it's all downhill from there, including two brothers who came with another young-ish couple. The oldest brother was 22, and his little bro was a sweet, blond and babyfaced 17. I just wanted to feed him spaghetti and tuck him into bed like a little baby. I suspect that this is proof that my hormones are in overdrive.
The dogs were, surprisingly, fine. Everyone seemed to love them. They were tethered to the truck in the daytime, and then got to come near the campfire with us at night.
There were a few potential bombs that I just defused or ignored. We played Apples to Apples, which is the bomb diggity- I love that game. However there was a lot of this: "Ok...I don't know who this is." And then they show me a card, because I am the resident old woman of the hills, so I should know. And the name on that card? Cary Grant. CARY GRANT. AIIIIIIIGH!
Also, my husband's brother's wife (not to be confused with my brother's wife) kept saying freakish things, but with perfect candor. Example A: "Your hair is so beautiful. It makes me want to kill you in your sleep." Uncomfortable Pause "Just kidding!!!" Or Example B: "You are so cute all the time. It's really annoying! But you're nice, so I can't hate you. Uncomfortable PauseJust kidding!!!" And then she would laugh.
And I would try to chalk it up as verbal diarrhea instead of outright bitchery. She's kind of like Luna Lovegood, in a way, but every occasion where we hang out is rife with comments like this, and she just sort of blurts this stuff out
Another thing, the guys on this trip are techie guys. There was a lot of "My router is bigger than your router" or whatever. And the subject of feminism came up, and the group consencus was pretty much, "bitter man-hating lesbians with armpit hair, blah blah blah". Until I spoke up and said that I was a feminist. Since I was the only woman there wearing makeup, and since I am neither visibly hairy, man-hating, nor bitter, they backed off a little after that.
In fact....well, what can I say. MAMA HAS STILL GOT IT! Mostly because I am stupid and oblivious, but hey.
Yeah. I forgot that if you baby and feed a 17 year old boy, they inevitably try to follow you home. I didn't really think about it, but we played a lot of games on the camping trip- Apples to Apples and Association, and since he was usually sitting next to The Man and I, I tried to use cues that were within his realm of experience. Partially because I am nice and I could see that he was feeling awkward, and partly because I died a little inside every time he asked "What's Devo? Is that like TiVo?"
Add to that the fact that everyone (Including the 17-year old, I am guessing) was drinking.
We were playing Association, and my brother-in-law said something like, "Dork", so I said The Man's name, (because that's one of our pet names for each other), and he grinned and said, "My wife is a bitch!" and we both laughed. And then it was my pet 17-year-old's turn, and he said, "Can I have her then?"
Of course, everyone found this hilarious, mainly because A. Everyone is DRUNK, B. I am a little less than exactly twice his age, and C. The Man is twice his size and is known to be extremely posessive and could snap him like a toothpick.
And OK, I was secretly delighted. (So much for feminism- Flattery will evidently get you quite a bit of slack!)
Delight turned into slightly drunken trepidation when I was staying up late with the girls and the little guy attached himself to me like a barnacle. The Man was visibly wary, yet amused by this, and lurked within our tent with the flap open so he had a clear view of the proceedings. As soon as I finished the last gulp of my drink, I made the most graceful exit possible, and he went off to his tent by himself.
The Man: I hope you are proud of yourself. Poor little guy.
Me: heehee! He's my BABY.
The Man: How wasted are you?
Me: heeheeheebwahahahaaa!
The Man: Yeah. This is hilarious.
Me: That little boy thinks I am HOT. HOTT!
The Man: Sweetheart, he's 17. He thinks farm animals are hot. He's probably gone off to hump a tree or something.
Me: heeheehee!
The Man: (relenting) I think you're hot too, you know. Not that you care.
Me: Hey, obviously, I do care. I am in the tent with YOU, so you have nothing to complain about.
The Man: OK, watching him try to hit on you was kind of cute.
Me: I actually found a semi-gallant 17-year-old. Too bad that the 17-year-old girls don't appreciate gallantry.
The Man: I hate to tell you, but the predatory women will have him jaded and bitter by the time he turns 21.
Me: Well, that sucks.
The Man: I always thought so.
We got up this morning and packed up the caravan, because The Man had to work today. My little 17-year-old ran over to me and gave me a huge hug.
"I hope I see you again soon! You were so cool. I am going to miss you!"
And all I could think of was, "Awwww.....They're so cute when they're that age!"
Otherwise, I had a pretty good time,but the good stuff is too boring, so let's get to the whiny stuff!
I didn't feel _too_ old, which is saying something, as I suspect I was the only one there over the age of 30. The Man hits the big three-oh next month, and it's all downhill from there, including two brothers who came with another young-ish couple. The oldest brother was 22, and his little bro was a sweet, blond and babyfaced 17. I just wanted to feed him spaghetti and tuck him into bed like a little baby. I suspect that this is proof that my hormones are in overdrive.
The dogs were, surprisingly, fine. Everyone seemed to love them. They were tethered to the truck in the daytime, and then got to come near the campfire with us at night.
There were a few potential bombs that I just defused or ignored. We played Apples to Apples, which is the bomb diggity- I love that game. However there was a lot of this: "Ok...I don't know who this is." And then they show me a card, because I am the resident old woman of the hills, so I should know. And the name on that card? Cary Grant. CARY GRANT. AIIIIIIIGH!
Also, my husband's brother's wife (not to be confused with my brother's wife) kept saying freakish things, but with perfect candor. Example A: "Your hair is so beautiful. It makes me want to kill you in your sleep." Uncomfortable Pause "Just kidding!!!" Or Example B: "You are so cute all the time. It's really annoying! But you're nice, so I can't hate you. Uncomfortable PauseJust kidding!!!" And then she would laugh.
And I would try to chalk it up as verbal diarrhea instead of outright bitchery. She's kind of like Luna Lovegood, in a way, but every occasion where we hang out is rife with comments like this, and she just sort of blurts this stuff out
Another thing, the guys on this trip are techie guys. There was a lot of "My router is bigger than your router" or whatever. And the subject of feminism came up, and the group consencus was pretty much, "bitter man-hating lesbians with armpit hair, blah blah blah". Until I spoke up and said that I was a feminist. Since I was the only woman there wearing makeup, and since I am neither visibly hairy, man-hating, nor bitter, they backed off a little after that.
In fact....well, what can I say. MAMA HAS STILL GOT IT! Mostly because I am stupid and oblivious, but hey.
Yeah. I forgot that if you baby and feed a 17 year old boy, they inevitably try to follow you home. I didn't really think about it, but we played a lot of games on the camping trip- Apples to Apples and Association, and since he was usually sitting next to The Man and I, I tried to use cues that were within his realm of experience. Partially because I am nice and I could see that he was feeling awkward, and partly because I died a little inside every time he asked "What's Devo? Is that like TiVo?"
Add to that the fact that everyone (Including the 17-year old, I am guessing) was drinking.
We were playing Association, and my brother-in-law said something like, "Dork", so I said The Man's name, (because that's one of our pet names for each other), and he grinned and said, "My wife is a bitch!" and we both laughed. And then it was my pet 17-year-old's turn, and he said, "Can I have her then?"
Of course, everyone found this hilarious, mainly because A. Everyone is DRUNK, B. I am a little less than exactly twice his age, and C. The Man is twice his size and is known to be extremely posessive and could snap him like a toothpick.
And OK, I was secretly delighted. (So much for feminism- Flattery will evidently get you quite a bit of slack!)
Delight turned into slightly drunken trepidation when I was staying up late with the girls and the little guy attached himself to me like a barnacle. The Man was visibly wary, yet amused by this, and lurked within our tent with the flap open so he had a clear view of the proceedings. As soon as I finished the last gulp of my drink, I made the most graceful exit possible, and he went off to his tent by himself.
The Man: I hope you are proud of yourself. Poor little guy.
Me: heehee! He's my BABY.
The Man: How wasted are you?
Me: heeheeheebwahahahaaa!
The Man: Yeah. This is hilarious.
Me: That little boy thinks I am HOT. HOTT!
The Man: Sweetheart, he's 17. He thinks farm animals are hot. He's probably gone off to hump a tree or something.
Me: heeheehee!
The Man: (relenting) I think you're hot too, you know. Not that you care.
Me: Hey, obviously, I do care. I am in the tent with YOU, so you have nothing to complain about.
The Man: OK, watching him try to hit on you was kind of cute.
Me: I actually found a semi-gallant 17-year-old. Too bad that the 17-year-old girls don't appreciate gallantry.
The Man: I hate to tell you, but the predatory women will have him jaded and bitter by the time he turns 21.
Me: Well, that sucks.
The Man: I always thought so.
We got up this morning and packed up the caravan, because The Man had to work today. My little 17-year-old ran over to me and gave me a huge hug.
"I hope I see you again soon! You were so cool. I am going to miss you!"
And all I could think of was, "Awwww.....They're so cute when they're that age!"
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Because Civilization is overrated.
The Man and I are going camping this weekend.
(I just called and cancelled the acupuncture appointment. Who knew? I was double-booked!)
This will be our first camping trip together. That rumble you hear may be the approaching hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Anyway. Camping is something that The Man's brother and his wife and their friends are into. They have repeatedly invited us to come, and we have always dithered about it and turned them down. Usually what it came down to was that my husband didn't want to go, because he is a total homebody.
It wasn't until there were repeated comments about my propensity for girlieness, AKA high heels and makeup and their incompatibility with camping, that made me realize- they thought it was ME! They thought I was the one who was putting the kibosh on the whole thing. (I do not want to speculate that my husband may have used me as an excuse to deflect blame...but he's done it before.)
So...we discussed it, and decided that maybe camping would be a good way to get out of the house a little more and spend positive time with The Man's brother and his friends. Hence another goal that we both made as a unit this year- we are going to entertain more often (more than the yearly event at Christmas Eve, anyway)and also to make an more of an effort socially (this one is mostly him.)
So The Man asked for, and received, a tent for Christmas. We made a list of stuff to bring, including dogs (why? WHY? He just wants to bring them.) The Man checked the campsite info, and realized not only that dogs are allowed, but the place has Wi-Fi. The irony of this is killing me, but he of course is delighted by it.
I went through my stash of cold weather clothing, because we will be in Big Sur and it will be freaking COOOOOLD. This is when I realized that I am inadequate, clothingwise, for camping. I have one plain black V-neck wool sweater. And about 30 more that are made of cashmere, lacy, and/or sparkly.
I do not own any sweats. I do have some tracksuits from a bygone era, but every time I wear them my sister-in-law has a tendency to make innocent comments about "looking like J-Lo", and I really want to avoid an international incident.
I do have jeans and sneaks and hiking boots. (Oh, and one black thermal top with a skull and crossbones on it. I don't know where it came from, which is a little freaky-deaky.) I suspect that the reason I can't find my silk long underwear is because I inadvertantly donated it to DAV. (Oops.) So I am not completely screwed.
My hair will be a big old snarly curly creature of the night, because we'll be close to the ocean, so I won't have to worry about styling it, because running a brush through it will be impossible. Makeup will be minimal. No biggie. I can do this.
Hehe....plus, If all goes completely awry, we totally have a backup plan. I will have access to a house in Carmel for the weekend. (Shhh...don't tell on me.)
(I just called and cancelled the acupuncture appointment. Who knew? I was double-booked!)
This will be our first camping trip together. That rumble you hear may be the approaching hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Anyway. Camping is something that The Man's brother and his wife and their friends are into. They have repeatedly invited us to come, and we have always dithered about it and turned them down. Usually what it came down to was that my husband didn't want to go, because he is a total homebody.
It wasn't until there were repeated comments about my propensity for girlieness, AKA high heels and makeup and their incompatibility with camping, that made me realize- they thought it was ME! They thought I was the one who was putting the kibosh on the whole thing. (I do not want to speculate that my husband may have used me as an excuse to deflect blame...but he's done it before.)
So...we discussed it, and decided that maybe camping would be a good way to get out of the house a little more and spend positive time with The Man's brother and his friends. Hence another goal that we both made as a unit this year- we are going to entertain more often (more than the yearly event at Christmas Eve, anyway)and also to make an more of an effort socially (this one is mostly him.)
So The Man asked for, and received, a tent for Christmas. We made a list of stuff to bring, including dogs (why? WHY? He just wants to bring them.) The Man checked the campsite info, and realized not only that dogs are allowed, but the place has Wi-Fi. The irony of this is killing me, but he of course is delighted by it.
I went through my stash of cold weather clothing, because we will be in Big Sur and it will be freaking COOOOOLD. This is when I realized that I am inadequate, clothingwise, for camping. I have one plain black V-neck wool sweater. And about 30 more that are made of cashmere, lacy, and/or sparkly.
I do not own any sweats. I do have some tracksuits from a bygone era, but every time I wear them my sister-in-law has a tendency to make innocent comments about "looking like J-Lo", and I really want to avoid an international incident.
I do have jeans and sneaks and hiking boots. (Oh, and one black thermal top with a skull and crossbones on it. I don't know where it came from, which is a little freaky-deaky.) I suspect that the reason I can't find my silk long underwear is because I inadvertantly donated it to DAV. (Oops.) So I am not completely screwed.
My hair will be a big old snarly curly creature of the night, because we'll be close to the ocean, so I won't have to worry about styling it, because running a brush through it will be impossible. Makeup will be minimal. No biggie. I can do this.
Hehe....plus, If all goes completely awry, we totally have a backup plan. I will have access to a house in Carmel for the weekend. (Shhh...don't tell on me.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
