The thing about a blog is, for me at least, you use it for the stories that would get a little too long for Facebook or Twitter. So while this one is going to appear to be short, it's just too long to have on Facebook and let's face it, I was a little overdue on the blog posts.
Last week was our charity drive week. We chose to work with United Way and we had activities, auctions and food prepared in order to raise money. The money we raised would be matched by our corporate office and then handed over to United Way to be spread out among local charities.
Sounds good right? Well I went into this with a little bit of an unfortunately less than positive outlook. Why? Because my husband doesn't believe in "corporate" charities like The United Way. When I approached him about the charity, the first thing he did was point out how much the CEO made.
Let me be clear, Dan is NOT anti-charity. He just prefers to know exactly where his money goes. We both understand that large groups like the United Way can cast a much wider berth than a small group can. His concern is the recent uncovering of some less than giving charities that have recently been found to be hoarding a lot more money than necessary. Ultimately, we both decided that while we would not be donating to the United Way, we would instead direct the same amount of money to a local charity that we both agreed on.
While I felt good about our decision to donate to a more personal charity, I still had a week of lots of fun activities staring me in the face on a daily basis... and a recent cash increase thanks to a photo job I had picked up. Dan didn't need to know about that right? Would he be bothered by a couple games of Bingo and team trivia? Nah! Besides- I could potentially win PTO, lunch, gift cards and more! It was more of a calculated risk than anything and on top of it, I was donating with all my peers. Win-win!
As my wallet got thinner, I couldn't help but occasionally hear my husband's voice as he chastised me for "blowing" money on game after game of bingo. So when Thursday rolled around and found myself boarding the elevator with the United Way rep, I couldn't help it. What happened next was beyond my control.
First I held the elevator for her. I was going to maintain civility here!
As she stepped in and smiled her good morning, I let it out. The door hadn't even started to close.
"I'm sorry, but I have to just ask this- how much of our money is actually going to go to charity?"
She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. Here it was, I thought, she's trying to make up a number really fast!
"To be honest, I don't know the EXACT number." She started. I was already feeling the smug satisfaction rise up as I planned my move in relationship to this ridiculous answer, but what I heard her say made my blood boil. "I would say it's about two and a half percent."
Without hesitation, I thrust my arm out to stop the elevator door.
"What?? Get out." I said firmly.
Her eyes got big. "What?"
"Two and a half percent." I repeated. "That's it? Get out."
As I said- that's what I HEARD. Obviously, my pregnancy was having an adverse reaction to my hearing, in addition to making me a caped crusader because she just started laughing at me. Like REALLY laughing at me.
"Oh my gosh! No! EIGHTY two and a half!"
If the floor had an escape hatch, I would have used it right then and there. I contemplated exiting the elevator and allowing her to go up without me. Maybe she would forget what I looked like in the thirty seconds it took to get to our floor? Not much hope of that happening. How many pregnant women with with nervous boob sweat could we possibly have in the office? I was mortified. In a split second I had gone from feeling like I was saving myself and my co-workers from wasting their precious dollars, to feeling like the biggest jerk imaginable.
Luckily, this woman was nothing but nice. "I have people ask us that question all the time. Don't feel bad!"
I nodded, allowing the elevator doors to close. "Yes I'm sure, but have you ever had someone try to throw you out for your answer?"
"Nope. That was my first! Thanks!"
I don't think my face had returned to a normal color by the time I got to my desk. I am pretty sure I apologized at least three times throughout the morning. I bought breakfast and played more bingo to help ease my guilty conscious. I just about gutted my wallet in order to feel a little less like a raging lunatic.
I must have done ok, because at the end of the day, before everyone cleared out, the rep I had tried to toss out of the building stopped by and thanked me for everything. Apparently she too noticed my now deflated wallet and the pile of losing bingo cards on my desk.
So, short story longer, I plan to budget better for next year, keep my mouth shut and play along. And this Christmas, when the Salvation Army starts ringing it's bells, I will have cash on hand rather than loose change from my car's ashtray. Not that I still feel bad or anything.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
So your feet feel a little thick? Go see Sara!
Why hello there! Long time no talk! Please accept my sincerest apologies for the weeks of radio silence. You see, I'm terrible at keeping my own secrets. Other people's? Sure! Knowledge IS power right? But my own secrets? Forget about it! So when I was surprised to discover that I would be having a third baby, I had to shut down. If I hadn't, I would have been blabbing to the world about every little "exciting" development in my little embryo's day to day existence. I know many women out there are not fans of the whole pregnancy thing and to be honest, the first month is not my favorite, but after years of losses and missing out on the whole "alien in my tummy" feeling, I enjoy every iota of pregnancy. From the beginning when you feel so bloated and gassy you have to take your pants off the minute you get home, to the very end, when my feet swell up like inflated surgical gloves. It's such an amazing thing that we women do!
So enough of the mushy "I'm so blessed" stuff! Outside of creating a life today, I went out and got myself a little pedicure! I figure, as long as I can still see my feet and they aren't yet overflowing off the sides of my flip flops, I might as well pretty them up a bit. It actually Kerry's idea. I have to admit, it was fantastic timing. Just last night I was soaking each foot in it's own tub of Eucerin cream while I scoured Pinterest to find that "recipe" for the Listerine foot soak that apparently removes the outer layer of skin on your foot. (Sidenote- It makes you wonder doesn't it? Listerine cleans your mouth out and gives you minty fresh breath, but if you put your feet in it, the skin falls off? I didn't realize how serious they were about that 60 second swishing rule!) So her timing couldn't have been any better.
Now, I am going to be honest. I'm kind of a pedicure expert. Kind of. What I mean is, I've been around the block. That is to say, if every pedicure salon in town, were on one block, I would have been around it. Admittedly, a few new ones have popped up here and there, but the main staples in town have all touched my feet. I'm talking high end places like Day Lilly, where they offer you wine in a dimly lit room while your feet soak in scented bubble baths, to the filthiest of places, like JL Nails where the owner uses his overgrown fingernails to exfoliate your legs then has you soak your feet in the same water he has just dumped your dead skin and whatever the hell that was under his fingernails BEFORE he started scraping. If I haven't had it happen to me, I know someone who has had it happen to them. But today is not my day to rant about past stories of these places. (It's much better when I can tell it in person and you get to hear my wicked impersonation of said owner.) I only tell you this so you are aware of my qualifications and agree that I am quite equipped to judge any particular salon. So today, I would like to talk about Sara Nails.
Kerry, Sara (a co-worker who insists she never gets a good pedicure) and I popped in to Sara Nails for our lunch break today. It's a healthy hour long, but when you take into account drive time and the extra five minutes it takes to tell the "nail consultant" you need to be done quickly, you really only have about 40 minutes. I'm not entirely sure that the gentleman sitting at the front door ACTUALLY said that he could fit us in, or even that he ACTUALLY worked there, but we paraded ourselves in anyway, grabbed some polish and plopped down in the pleather "massage" chairs.
Things proceeded very quickly for Kerry and I. The employees must have known we meant business. Our feet were instantly immersed in lukewarm blue water and our massage chairs were cranked up to the same setting the terrorists use to get information out of men. It was less than amazing, but it would do. Sara on the other hand, got the seat with no lady. Kerry got the random guy from up front. At this point, I am assuming he worked there, but really- it could have just been some guy filling in for his wife or sister or something. At any rate, he immediately put on his latex gloves, pulled up his surgical mask and dove in. This guy meant business. Or at least he looked like it. Judging by the look of complete boredom on Kerry's face, the feel of rubber against her skin is not something she enjoys. (Hey Mr Kerry- word to the wise... ) My lady halfheartedly shot some goo on my foot, then lazily slapped the sole of my feet with a pumice stone. It tickled.
Still no lady for Sara.
Kerry's guy brought out his Pampered Chef cheese grater (Ok- to be clear, it's not REALLY Pampered Chef, but we did all debate over whether or not the PC Cheese grater would work on our feet and if it would void the warranty or not.) and began shaving off the bottom of her feet. My lady followed suit and started to grate at my feet.
Still no lady for Sara, but she was thoroughly enjoying watching the mountain of foot skin pile up in the towel in front of me!
At this point, Kerry's rubber handed guy is doing his best to massage her legs. We can tell that Kerry is almost confused, torn by her feelings of disgust, as the little latex covered hands squeeze and push on her legs, and the pleasure she feels in just having her legs massaged for the first time in a while! My lady has asked me to soak again, because my feet are pretty bad and while I couldn't quite understand her native tongue, I think I heard her say something about finding a belt sander...Meanwhile, at Sara's chair, the heavens opened and her lady has arrived!!
This has taken about 25 minutes at this point. Just so you are following along here.
Soon after, my feet are pulled out, rubbed down and the painting process has begun. The same is happening at Kerry's seat. The same is happening at Sara's. Wait- What? Is that right? Yup! Sara got the fastest AND the laziest "artist" in the "salon". We literally all finished within minutes of each other. In fact, as we left the shop, the lady who had worked on Sara was practically chasing after her to put on her top coat. It was almost like getting your pedicure in a drive through. (Now THERE'S an idea!)
I'm not here to put any business down. What Sara Nails lacks in class, comfort and health certifications, it makes up for with it's low cost and high tolerance for my disregard for my feet. Had I walked into Day Lilly with feet like I had earlier, they would have asked me for a doctor's note to ensure the safety of their employees prior to touching my feet. Places like Sara Nails, they don't care. Also- I would like to point out that I firmly believe that the cheese grater does a much better job on my feet, AND lasts longer, then the scented bubble baths and paraffin wax dips. So I totally give credit to places like Sara Nails in that department. All in all, I will go back again. I mean- it's only $25 and when they wear those surgical masks, I can't see the look of disgust on their faces while they work on my feet. :)
Thanks for sticking around folks! I hope that we can get this ride back up and running smoothly. Perhaps next time I will share the story of my progesterone supplements and being forced to take the stairs while the power was out? Or maybe that's too early in our relationship... :) Have a great night!
So enough of the mushy "I'm so blessed" stuff! Outside of creating a life today, I went out and got myself a little pedicure! I figure, as long as I can still see my feet and they aren't yet overflowing off the sides of my flip flops, I might as well pretty them up a bit. It actually Kerry's idea. I have to admit, it was fantastic timing. Just last night I was soaking each foot in it's own tub of Eucerin cream while I scoured Pinterest to find that "recipe" for the Listerine foot soak that apparently removes the outer layer of skin on your foot. (Sidenote- It makes you wonder doesn't it? Listerine cleans your mouth out and gives you minty fresh breath, but if you put your feet in it, the skin falls off? I didn't realize how serious they were about that 60 second swishing rule!) So her timing couldn't have been any better.
Now, I am going to be honest. I'm kind of a pedicure expert. Kind of. What I mean is, I've been around the block. That is to say, if every pedicure salon in town, were on one block, I would have been around it. Admittedly, a few new ones have popped up here and there, but the main staples in town have all touched my feet. I'm talking high end places like Day Lilly, where they offer you wine in a dimly lit room while your feet soak in scented bubble baths, to the filthiest of places, like JL Nails where the owner uses his overgrown fingernails to exfoliate your legs then has you soak your feet in the same water he has just dumped your dead skin and whatever the hell that was under his fingernails BEFORE he started scraping. If I haven't had it happen to me, I know someone who has had it happen to them. But today is not my day to rant about past stories of these places. (It's much better when I can tell it in person and you get to hear my wicked impersonation of said owner.) I only tell you this so you are aware of my qualifications and agree that I am quite equipped to judge any particular salon. So today, I would like to talk about Sara Nails.
Kerry, Sara (a co-worker who insists she never gets a good pedicure) and I popped in to Sara Nails for our lunch break today. It's a healthy hour long, but when you take into account drive time and the extra five minutes it takes to tell the "nail consultant" you need to be done quickly, you really only have about 40 minutes. I'm not entirely sure that the gentleman sitting at the front door ACTUALLY said that he could fit us in, or even that he ACTUALLY worked there, but we paraded ourselves in anyway, grabbed some polish and plopped down in the pleather "massage" chairs.
Things proceeded very quickly for Kerry and I. The employees must have known we meant business. Our feet were instantly immersed in lukewarm blue water and our massage chairs were cranked up to the same setting the terrorists use to get information out of men. It was less than amazing, but it would do. Sara on the other hand, got the seat with no lady. Kerry got the random guy from up front. At this point, I am assuming he worked there, but really- it could have just been some guy filling in for his wife or sister or something. At any rate, he immediately put on his latex gloves, pulled up his surgical mask and dove in. This guy meant business. Or at least he looked like it. Judging by the look of complete boredom on Kerry's face, the feel of rubber against her skin is not something she enjoys. (Hey Mr Kerry- word to the wise... ) My lady halfheartedly shot some goo on my foot, then lazily slapped the sole of my feet with a pumice stone. It tickled.
Still no lady for Sara.
Kerry's guy brought out his Pampered Chef cheese grater (Ok- to be clear, it's not REALLY Pampered Chef, but we did all debate over whether or not the PC Cheese grater would work on our feet and if it would void the warranty or not.) and began shaving off the bottom of her feet. My lady followed suit and started to grate at my feet.
Still no lady for Sara, but she was thoroughly enjoying watching the mountain of foot skin pile up in the towel in front of me!
At this point, Kerry's rubber handed guy is doing his best to massage her legs. We can tell that Kerry is almost confused, torn by her feelings of disgust, as the little latex covered hands squeeze and push on her legs, and the pleasure she feels in just having her legs massaged for the first time in a while! My lady has asked me to soak again, because my feet are pretty bad and while I couldn't quite understand her native tongue, I think I heard her say something about finding a belt sander...Meanwhile, at Sara's chair, the heavens opened and her lady has arrived!!
This has taken about 25 minutes at this point. Just so you are following along here.
Soon after, my feet are pulled out, rubbed down and the painting process has begun. The same is happening at Kerry's seat. The same is happening at Sara's. Wait- What? Is that right? Yup! Sara got the fastest AND the laziest "artist" in the "salon". We literally all finished within minutes of each other. In fact, as we left the shop, the lady who had worked on Sara was practically chasing after her to put on her top coat. It was almost like getting your pedicure in a drive through. (Now THERE'S an idea!)
I'm not here to put any business down. What Sara Nails lacks in class, comfort and health certifications, it makes up for with it's low cost and high tolerance for my disregard for my feet. Had I walked into Day Lilly with feet like I had earlier, they would have asked me for a doctor's note to ensure the safety of their employees prior to touching my feet. Places like Sara Nails, they don't care. Also- I would like to point out that I firmly believe that the cheese grater does a much better job on my feet, AND lasts longer, then the scented bubble baths and paraffin wax dips. So I totally give credit to places like Sara Nails in that department. All in all, I will go back again. I mean- it's only $25 and when they wear those surgical masks, I can't see the look of disgust on their faces while they work on my feet. :)
Thanks for sticking around folks! I hope that we can get this ride back up and running smoothly. Perhaps next time I will share the story of my progesterone supplements and being forced to take the stairs while the power was out? Or maybe that's too early in our relationship... :) Have a great night!
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Party like a rockstar... DeZ family style...
While Memorial Day is ultimately a time to honor those that have fought and/or fallen for our freedom, it's inevitable in my husband's family that we will dress up and act like fools. Seriously.
It all started innocent enough. A simple little Luau with grass skirts, tacky Hawaiian shirts and fancy drinks in coconuts. We all had so much fun that the following year we decided to try a Fiesta, then a western theme, then a pirate party, then a circus party (I skipped out on this one after my brother in law, done up in full clown garb, jumped out of the bathroom at me. I wish I had been the one in the bathroom.. Cleanup would have been a lot easier...) then a horror party, finally coming to this year where we went full on Hollywood. For those of you keeping track, you might be sitting at 7 years. Well, you would be wrong. I wish you were right, but unfortunately, you would be wrong.
You see, we had so much fun at the first Fiesta, that we decided to give it another go. We still had the costumes (yes I said costumes. When I said dress up, I didn't mean in our Sunday best. I meant costumes) and who doesn't enjoy some home made Chipotle style food? On top of that, I had recently been introduced to my new friend Patron, so this was shaping up to be a very good party. Little did I know, my sister in law, Chris had brought HER friend Jose Cuervo. I don't know if anyone else knew this, but Jose and Patron have a long standing rivalry with each other. You put the two of them in the same room together and things get very ugly, very quickly.
I went into this party with every intention of proving that Patron was by far the superior tequila. We started off with a friendly group shot. You know what Im talking about. Everybody lines up for that first shot, assuming that by taking the one shot they will not be considered a "pansy" and they can respectably back away from the bar with little or no grief. We started with the Patron. Dan was intent on showing everybody how great this stuff was and I had no problem being the guinea pig. After shot #1, Chris pulls her buddy Jose out. We decided to do an old school Coke/Pepsi style taste off.
Honestly, thats where things got fuzzy.
I vaguely remember telling one of my brother in laws that I loved them just like a real brother and then getting very "huggy" with him. This is the same brother in law who won't read my blog now because he says it's "Too much information". Hmpf.
I have a very foggy memory of sitting in front of a bowl of cilantro lime rice and eating a bite because somebody told me I needed to.
Then I clearly remember waking up in my bed, in a t-shirt, next to a bucket that reeked of something that wasn't supposed to be in my bedroom.
Over the years the story has been repeated so many times at family gatherings, that I feel like I saw it happen myself. Like one of those out of body experiences people have when they almost die.
I guess after we finished the bottle of Patron, we decided it was only fair to finish the bottle of Cuervo. I say "we" very loosely. The group that had started strong at around 15 had dwindled down to 3 of us. Me and my sister in laws, Belinda and Chris.
Normally at these parties, there are games played. In all the versions of the story I heard, nobody has ever mentioned a single game. I am pretty sure that the entertainment was the 3 of us, belly up at the bar, with me barking instructions on how to properly shoot your tequila. As if it mattered at this point. The pictures I have seen show wasted lime wedges strewn about, a salt shaker on it's side, my nephew drinking from a mexican candle and people in the background, pretty much staring in awe. Had you removed the bar scene, you could have easily replaced it with a train wreck or horrible car accident. That's what they were seeing.
The party started at about 2pm. At approximately 5pm, Linda had dissapeared and Chris was helping me stumble down to the house where I proceeded to retch wherever I felt like it.
I have to give Chris props. While my husband dry heaved every time I hurled, Chris was there, redirecting the bucket to catch my wild throws of vomit, hold my hair back and even change me out of my cute mexican dress. While Chris and I have had our not so loving moments, I do look back on this particular moment with some fondness. No matter how old and snarly and bitchy we get, I will always be able to tell her that she held my hair while I puked. Just like a good sister would. :)
Meanwhile, at the other end of the hall, the guy I said was like my brother, was stepping in the barf that his wife left for him on the floor by the bed. Unfortunately, when Belinda sneaked off, she wasn't given the same sister treatment I got, and Greg was left to clean up the mess. I would feel bad, but that's what she gets for sneaking off. At least my dramatic exit got me some cleanup in aisle three.
I haven't heard much more. I am sure that I said some horribly inappropriate things. I KNOW that I humiliated my husband and probably my son. Yeah- my kid was there. Super example. I know that my mother in law spent a good deal of time washing the vomit out of my dress. I also know that nobody has suggested the Fiesta again since then.
So while you are enjoying your barbecues and neighborhood gatherings, be reminded that somewhere, I'm desperately praying that somebody else in the family will pull a "Heather" and get completely annihilated. I thought I was close when a clown tried to Superman down the driveway a couple years ago, but it wasn't enough. That story still runs a distant second to when Heather forced Belinda to get so drunk they both puked all over everything.
I'm optimistic though. At this very moment, my husband is wearing a wig in his baseball uniform and getting drunk with a bunch of newly 21 year olds. My fingers are crossed that this might be my year.
It all started innocent enough. A simple little Luau with grass skirts, tacky Hawaiian shirts and fancy drinks in coconuts. We all had so much fun that the following year we decided to try a Fiesta, then a western theme, then a pirate party, then a circus party (I skipped out on this one after my brother in law, done up in full clown garb, jumped out of the bathroom at me. I wish I had been the one in the bathroom.. Cleanup would have been a lot easier...) then a horror party, finally coming to this year where we went full on Hollywood. For those of you keeping track, you might be sitting at 7 years. Well, you would be wrong. I wish you were right, but unfortunately, you would be wrong.
You see, we had so much fun at the first Fiesta, that we decided to give it another go. We still had the costumes (yes I said costumes. When I said dress up, I didn't mean in our Sunday best. I meant costumes) and who doesn't enjoy some home made Chipotle style food? On top of that, I had recently been introduced to my new friend Patron, so this was shaping up to be a very good party. Little did I know, my sister in law, Chris had brought HER friend Jose Cuervo. I don't know if anyone else knew this, but Jose and Patron have a long standing rivalry with each other. You put the two of them in the same room together and things get very ugly, very quickly.
I went into this party with every intention of proving that Patron was by far the superior tequila. We started off with a friendly group shot. You know what Im talking about. Everybody lines up for that first shot, assuming that by taking the one shot they will not be considered a "pansy" and they can respectably back away from the bar with little or no grief. We started with the Patron. Dan was intent on showing everybody how great this stuff was and I had no problem being the guinea pig. After shot #1, Chris pulls her buddy Jose out. We decided to do an old school Coke/Pepsi style taste off.
Honestly, thats where things got fuzzy.
I vaguely remember telling one of my brother in laws that I loved them just like a real brother and then getting very "huggy" with him. This is the same brother in law who won't read my blog now because he says it's "Too much information". Hmpf.
I have a very foggy memory of sitting in front of a bowl of cilantro lime rice and eating a bite because somebody told me I needed to.
Then I clearly remember waking up in my bed, in a t-shirt, next to a bucket that reeked of something that wasn't supposed to be in my bedroom.
Over the years the story has been repeated so many times at family gatherings, that I feel like I saw it happen myself. Like one of those out of body experiences people have when they almost die.
I guess after we finished the bottle of Patron, we decided it was only fair to finish the bottle of Cuervo. I say "we" very loosely. The group that had started strong at around 15 had dwindled down to 3 of us. Me and my sister in laws, Belinda and Chris.
Normally at these parties, there are games played. In all the versions of the story I heard, nobody has ever mentioned a single game. I am pretty sure that the entertainment was the 3 of us, belly up at the bar, with me barking instructions on how to properly shoot your tequila. As if it mattered at this point. The pictures I have seen show wasted lime wedges strewn about, a salt shaker on it's side, my nephew drinking from a mexican candle and people in the background, pretty much staring in awe. Had you removed the bar scene, you could have easily replaced it with a train wreck or horrible car accident. That's what they were seeing.
The party started at about 2pm. At approximately 5pm, Linda had dissapeared and Chris was helping me stumble down to the house where I proceeded to retch wherever I felt like it.
I have to give Chris props. While my husband dry heaved every time I hurled, Chris was there, redirecting the bucket to catch my wild throws of vomit, hold my hair back and even change me out of my cute mexican dress. While Chris and I have had our not so loving moments, I do look back on this particular moment with some fondness. No matter how old and snarly and bitchy we get, I will always be able to tell her that she held my hair while I puked. Just like a good sister would. :)
Meanwhile, at the other end of the hall, the guy I said was like my brother, was stepping in the barf that his wife left for him on the floor by the bed. Unfortunately, when Belinda sneaked off, she wasn't given the same sister treatment I got, and Greg was left to clean up the mess. I would feel bad, but that's what she gets for sneaking off. At least my dramatic exit got me some cleanup in aisle three.
I haven't heard much more. I am sure that I said some horribly inappropriate things. I KNOW that I humiliated my husband and probably my son. Yeah- my kid was there. Super example. I know that my mother in law spent a good deal of time washing the vomit out of my dress. I also know that nobody has suggested the Fiesta again since then.
So while you are enjoying your barbecues and neighborhood gatherings, be reminded that somewhere, I'm desperately praying that somebody else in the family will pull a "Heather" and get completely annihilated. I thought I was close when a clown tried to Superman down the driveway a couple years ago, but it wasn't enough. That story still runs a distant second to when Heather forced Belinda to get so drunk they both puked all over everything.
I'm optimistic though. At this very moment, my husband is wearing a wig in his baseball uniform and getting drunk with a bunch of newly 21 year olds. My fingers are crossed that this might be my year.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
It's 430 in the morning so I wrote a letter to Frigidaire. What did you do?
Dear Frigidaire-
First let me start this by saying that I truly love the looks and aesthetics of your Gallery series. When my husband first purchased your Gallery series refrigerator without my knowledge, I was very concerned that the stainless steel would be yet another thing in my house that gets covered in fingerprints and grime from unknown sources and being stainless steel, I would be unable to hide the grubby fingerprints under bills, homework, notes, photos and any other random piece of paper I found due to the fact that stainless steel didn't support magnets. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this is not the case and while I still find the occasional handprints in varying sizes, not only is it pretty simple to clean up, but I can actually still use my magnets to conceal said handprints with coupons I will never use. Yay Frigidaire!
I wish I could end my letter there. A nice solid "atta boy!" and be done. However I cannot. It's 4:30 in the morning and I had to get this off my chest.
Why the hell must the evil troll in your 10 pound capacity ice maker make all 10 pounds of ice at 4 in the morning? Trust me, I can appreciate having 10 pounds of ice available to me at the drop of a hat, but I am a grown mother of 2, not some 21 year old party girl. It's called the Gallery edition. Not the Club Scene edition. If I require 10 pounds of ice at 4 in the morning, it's not for another round of margaritas. It's because I have murdered someone and need to put their body on ice. At that point, I think a good lawyer could make a valid argument that Frigidaire is now aiding and abetting a crime.
I know what you're thinking. It's not THAT loud. A normal person should be able to sleep through it!
Ah yes. There you would be right, however, have you ever tried to GET to sleep with that thing making all it's noise? Let me paint the picture for you.
For the past few weeks, I have gotten very little sleep. We have a new bed that I despise. It's too soft, it's too hot, it's too high. The only positive to it is that it forced me to clean our bedroom and we have managed to maintain that for the few weeks. That's it. Every night is an exercise in patience as my husband assures me, it will get better. Every morning I wake up bleary eyed and sore and he assures me- it will get better. Well it hasn't. In fact, it has gotten worse. I wake up probably 5-7 times a night on my own and if my daughter is feeling like it, she will wake me up a few times as well. With every flip to the opposite side, I have to work. Because, like most people, I am heavier on top than the bottom, I constantly feel like my legs are up in the air. And not a good up in the air. I lay on my side for about an hour, then flip when I get too hot or my arm goes numb. If I attempt to lay on my stomach, which has been my preferred sleep method for 30+ years, I am arching my back like a performer for Cirque du Soleil. I am not a performer for Cirque du Soleil, so this is NOT my preferred sleep method.. Sleeping on my back is the equivalent of playing dead for me, so it creeps me out. The only way I have managed a heavy sleep is if I use my husband as a body pillow, but then I sleep so hard that I snore right in his ear and of course that doesn't last long. If God forbid I should get out of the bed, getting back in is a disaster. for every time I wake up, I get progressively weaker and clawing my way back to bed takes longer and longer each time. I'm 5'3 and my bed is about 4 feet off the ground. You do the math. It's miserable. So that is how I found my self tryong to get some much needed sleep on my 15 year old couch, in my living room, 10 feet from the ice maker. Every time I would start to doze off, that damned troll with his pick ax would decide we needed more ice.
I suppose some people would take a sleep aid to knock themselves into a comatose state, but I can't do that. I have a teething toddler and a husband who doesn't want to be physically assaulted in his sleep. Do you know what that is like? Just when I was getting comfortable with the idea that she would sleep through the night and I could try something mild like a Tylenol PM, she decides she needs more teeth. So last night I was up at midnight, 1 am, 3 am and 5 am. Tonight I was up at 10pm, midnight, and 3 am. Every time I would get her back to sleep and make my way back up the mountain my husband calls our bed, I heard that damned ice maker.
Let's be honest Frigidaire, I shouldn't have to take a prescription drug to sleep through the noise your refrigerator makes. I shouldn't have to be grateful when my husband's snoring is so loud it covers up the ice maker. That will only get me so far and when I have reached the end of the rope, I will begrudgingly need those 10 pounds of ice until I figure out what to do with his body.
It's a vicious cycle. If I want ice during the day, I need to let it run at night. If I want to enjoy my days, I need to sleep at night. I think the latter is probably more important to the general public, so how about you figure out a way to make ice a little quieter? Please? For my husband's sake?
Yours truly,
Heather
(Not yet in the FBI's criminal apprehension database)
First let me start this by saying that I truly love the looks and aesthetics of your Gallery series. When my husband first purchased your Gallery series refrigerator without my knowledge, I was very concerned that the stainless steel would be yet another thing in my house that gets covered in fingerprints and grime from unknown sources and being stainless steel, I would be unable to hide the grubby fingerprints under bills, homework, notes, photos and any other random piece of paper I found due to the fact that stainless steel didn't support magnets. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this is not the case and while I still find the occasional handprints in varying sizes, not only is it pretty simple to clean up, but I can actually still use my magnets to conceal said handprints with coupons I will never use. Yay Frigidaire!
I wish I could end my letter there. A nice solid "atta boy!" and be done. However I cannot. It's 4:30 in the morning and I had to get this off my chest.
Why the hell must the evil troll in your 10 pound capacity ice maker make all 10 pounds of ice at 4 in the morning? Trust me, I can appreciate having 10 pounds of ice available to me at the drop of a hat, but I am a grown mother of 2, not some 21 year old party girl. It's called the Gallery edition. Not the Club Scene edition. If I require 10 pounds of ice at 4 in the morning, it's not for another round of margaritas. It's because I have murdered someone and need to put their body on ice. At that point, I think a good lawyer could make a valid argument that Frigidaire is now aiding and abetting a crime.
I know what you're thinking. It's not THAT loud. A normal person should be able to sleep through it!
Ah yes. There you would be right, however, have you ever tried to GET to sleep with that thing making all it's noise? Let me paint the picture for you.
For the past few weeks, I have gotten very little sleep. We have a new bed that I despise. It's too soft, it's too hot, it's too high. The only positive to it is that it forced me to clean our bedroom and we have managed to maintain that for the few weeks. That's it. Every night is an exercise in patience as my husband assures me, it will get better. Every morning I wake up bleary eyed and sore and he assures me- it will get better. Well it hasn't. In fact, it has gotten worse. I wake up probably 5-7 times a night on my own and if my daughter is feeling like it, she will wake me up a few times as well. With every flip to the opposite side, I have to work. Because, like most people, I am heavier on top than the bottom, I constantly feel like my legs are up in the air. And not a good up in the air. I lay on my side for about an hour, then flip when I get too hot or my arm goes numb. If I attempt to lay on my stomach, which has been my preferred sleep method for 30+ years, I am arching my back like a performer for Cirque du Soleil. I am not a performer for Cirque du Soleil, so this is NOT my preferred sleep method.. Sleeping on my back is the equivalent of playing dead for me, so it creeps me out. The only way I have managed a heavy sleep is if I use my husband as a body pillow, but then I sleep so hard that I snore right in his ear and of course that doesn't last long. If God forbid I should get out of the bed, getting back in is a disaster. for every time I wake up, I get progressively weaker and clawing my way back to bed takes longer and longer each time. I'm 5'3 and my bed is about 4 feet off the ground. You do the math. It's miserable. So that is how I found my self tryong to get some much needed sleep on my 15 year old couch, in my living room, 10 feet from the ice maker. Every time I would start to doze off, that damned troll with his pick ax would decide we needed more ice.
I suppose some people would take a sleep aid to knock themselves into a comatose state, but I can't do that. I have a teething toddler and a husband who doesn't want to be physically assaulted in his sleep. Do you know what that is like? Just when I was getting comfortable with the idea that she would sleep through the night and I could try something mild like a Tylenol PM, she decides she needs more teeth. So last night I was up at midnight, 1 am, 3 am and 5 am. Tonight I was up at 10pm, midnight, and 3 am. Every time I would get her back to sleep and make my way back up the mountain my husband calls our bed, I heard that damned ice maker.
Let's be honest Frigidaire, I shouldn't have to take a prescription drug to sleep through the noise your refrigerator makes. I shouldn't have to be grateful when my husband's snoring is so loud it covers up the ice maker. That will only get me so far and when I have reached the end of the rope, I will begrudgingly need those 10 pounds of ice until I figure out what to do with his body.
It's a vicious cycle. If I want ice during the day, I need to let it run at night. If I want to enjoy my days, I need to sleep at night. I think the latter is probably more important to the general public, so how about you figure out a way to make ice a little quieter? Please? For my husband's sake?
Yours truly,
Heather
(Not yet in the FBI's criminal apprehension database)
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Like a good neighbor...
So I'm sitting out on my deck, enjoying my early Mother's day present of organic Pinot Grigio, freshly chilled in my new "wine cellar", working on my writing, while the sun sets behind me. It was one of those perfect moments that was only slightly ruined by the fact that my Mother's Day gift was alcohol once again. I have never thought of myself as a problem drinker, but as I look back on recent conversations, I do realize that I have asked a few people "Are you a drinker?" Not "Where are you from?" or "So what do you do for a living?" but "Are you a drinker?" Couple that with the fact that I giggled for 5 minutes over the onesie that reads "Mommy drinks because I cry" and I guess I can understand why my husband and 11 year old figured booze was the way to go. In all reality though, the reason I ask is to determine one's tolerance of me. I find that somebody with a mild "buzz" will probably appreciate my humor more than one who has not imbibed recently. But I digress. It was a perfect evening.
I was sitting perfectly to observe my new neighbors comings and goings. Having determined he was not a sex offender, (and that yes, he was a drinker) I was more or less being nosy and just trying to determine how quickly I wanted to put our house up for sale. I had already discovered, he drove a motorcycle, just like the last neighbor, but unfortunately, I discovered this after telling him what an asshole the previous biker had been. I don't want to assume that just because he rides a motorcycle that he too will wake us up at 2 in the morning while he revs his bike up. So i was feeling a little sheepish.
I needed some saving grace here. A way to still be a good neighbor and not that "annoying bitch who hates motorcycles". I needed to be cool.
I did what every red blooded Minnesotan would do. I stocked up the fridge with good beer. I made sure that we grilled good food so if we saw him, we could casually invite him over for a steak or lobster or whatever expensive piece of animal I could hands on. I really felt a strong desire to bond with this new neighbor.
So at 8pm last night, I was finally just relaxing on my deck, when I saw the cat. It was perched in the drivers seat of my neighbors very nice, very new truck.
At that moment, a million ideas went through my head. I could run inside, get shoes on, go over and let him know there was a cat in his truck. Too busybody? Yeah probably, plus the cat could leave while I was getting my shoes on and then I would look like an idiot. Should I run over, barefoot and scare the cat away? No, that seemed a little too intense and very much opposite from the "Cool neighbor" persona I was going for. I could yell for Dan to go get the cat, but that just seemed like the epitome of laziness. So I went for the bottom of the barrel. I unleashed my dog.
Dexter is a good dog, but he hates this particular cat. Running at the speed of light, he shot like a cannon over to the neighbors. The cat made the mistake of poking his head out the window and Dexter went absolutely ape shit, trying to jump into the bed of the truck and, I can only assume, rip the cats jugular out.
As I watch from the deck, praying that Dexter doesn't scratch up the side of the truck, my nice, non sex offending neighbor pops his head out, Im sure to figure out what the commotion is all about.
It's at this moment that Dexter, distracted by the fact that a man he doesn't know now lives next door, runs at the neighbor, teeth bared, barking and growling. I yell-no I scream- for him to shut the door, so Dexter doesn't attack him. I yell for Dexter to "get your ass over here!" (Like he is some disobedient 14 year old boy from the ghetto... yeah- that one always works) I can't chase after him. I'm barefoot and my one year old has gleefully watching all the action, to crying because I scared her with my hollering. Instead, I slam my hand into the deck. I shake my box of crackers like it's a treat. I swear. I ask nicely. Billy comes out and calls for the dog. I yell at Billy to go get him. My dog ignores me, aggressively barking at the bottom of my neighbors front steps. Effectively telling him, "You come out and I WILL rip your balls off!"
Meanwhile the cat slips out of the truck.
5 minutes later, out of breath and completely red in the face, Billy has the dog contained. The neighbor is peering out his kitchen window now.
"Sorry!" I call out with a shrug. "There was a cat in your truck!" I feel like I have just slapped him and told him there was a mosquito on his cheek, so I add- "For real!"
He just looks at me like I'm crazy and shuts his kitchen window.
I haven't seen my neighbor all day now.
I was sitting perfectly to observe my new neighbors comings and goings. Having determined he was not a sex offender, (and that yes, he was a drinker) I was more or less being nosy and just trying to determine how quickly I wanted to put our house up for sale. I had already discovered, he drove a motorcycle, just like the last neighbor, but unfortunately, I discovered this after telling him what an asshole the previous biker had been. I don't want to assume that just because he rides a motorcycle that he too will wake us up at 2 in the morning while he revs his bike up. So i was feeling a little sheepish.
I needed some saving grace here. A way to still be a good neighbor and not that "annoying bitch who hates motorcycles". I needed to be cool.
I did what every red blooded Minnesotan would do. I stocked up the fridge with good beer. I made sure that we grilled good food so if we saw him, we could casually invite him over for a steak or lobster or whatever expensive piece of animal I could hands on. I really felt a strong desire to bond with this new neighbor.
So at 8pm last night, I was finally just relaxing on my deck, when I saw the cat. It was perched in the drivers seat of my neighbors very nice, very new truck.
At that moment, a million ideas went through my head. I could run inside, get shoes on, go over and let him know there was a cat in his truck. Too busybody? Yeah probably, plus the cat could leave while I was getting my shoes on and then I would look like an idiot. Should I run over, barefoot and scare the cat away? No, that seemed a little too intense and very much opposite from the "Cool neighbor" persona I was going for. I could yell for Dan to go get the cat, but that just seemed like the epitome of laziness. So I went for the bottom of the barrel. I unleashed my dog.
Dexter is a good dog, but he hates this particular cat. Running at the speed of light, he shot like a cannon over to the neighbors. The cat made the mistake of poking his head out the window and Dexter went absolutely ape shit, trying to jump into the bed of the truck and, I can only assume, rip the cats jugular out.
As I watch from the deck, praying that Dexter doesn't scratch up the side of the truck, my nice, non sex offending neighbor pops his head out, Im sure to figure out what the commotion is all about.
It's at this moment that Dexter, distracted by the fact that a man he doesn't know now lives next door, runs at the neighbor, teeth bared, barking and growling. I yell-no I scream- for him to shut the door, so Dexter doesn't attack him. I yell for Dexter to "get your ass over here!" (Like he is some disobedient 14 year old boy from the ghetto... yeah- that one always works) I can't chase after him. I'm barefoot and my one year old has gleefully watching all the action, to crying because I scared her with my hollering. Instead, I slam my hand into the deck. I shake my box of crackers like it's a treat. I swear. I ask nicely. Billy comes out and calls for the dog. I yell at Billy to go get him. My dog ignores me, aggressively barking at the bottom of my neighbors front steps. Effectively telling him, "You come out and I WILL rip your balls off!"
Meanwhile the cat slips out of the truck.
5 minutes later, out of breath and completely red in the face, Billy has the dog contained. The neighbor is peering out his kitchen window now.
"Sorry!" I call out with a shrug. "There was a cat in your truck!" I feel like I have just slapped him and told him there was a mosquito on his cheek, so I add- "For real!"
He just looks at me like I'm crazy and shuts his kitchen window.
I haven't seen my neighbor all day now.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Life lessons from Jack Handy- Sponsored by KY Touch Massage
Ok- so in writing this blog, it has occurred to me that I should offer the public something. Anything. A service. An education. An opinion. So far my posts have been storytelling, so I hope that some of you have been entertained at the very least, but I could really roll some type of moral or life lesson in while I'm at it, right? I mean- we all learn lessons everyday, but do we necessarily share them with one another? I think that might be why people think I'm borderline crazy. Because I DO share. Sometimes too much. But I do it with your best interests at heart. I have learned many lessons that the general population hasn't thought about. For instance- did you know that the police will find NO logical reasoning for you driving and changing your shirt at the same time? (Even if you were 19 and pretty cute, in my humble opinion!) Or that you should really listen when your doctor tells you to not mix alcohol with your Ambien prescription? (They should also advise against social networking while taking it as well!) Some people may not even realize that when becoming a manager, there is no math test, so don't let your manager do math for you. (Even if she is your friend! There is no shame in checks and balances!) Maybe some of you knew these things, but I'm willing to bet that a few of you thought about each of those scenarios for a moment, so I've decided that passing along little nuggets of wisdom is really what I should be doing for now. If I can prevent at least one Ambien induced assault, I have done my job.
This evening was much like any other evening in Minnesota, in late April... Oh hell who am I kidding? It was yet another day in the world's longest winter season ever. After a brief thaw, we had yet another 5-6 inches bearing down on us. (Stop snickering, if that's all you have grown accustomed to... well that's another topic.) I was making a valiant attempt to pick my son up from school, but because my husband needed our SUV for some baseball related reason, I was driving his car. (For those of you taking notes- here's lesson number one.) The roads were so bad, heading back to my son's school, that I had to pull over. I literally, couldn't drive another foot, for fear of getting stuck in a ditch somewhere. With my daughter in the back seat, I just couldn't risk it. I'm pretty accustomed to winter driving, but in my husband, Dan's car, I was useless. I pulled over and called him and begged him to come get us. (That's lesson number one- there is NO shame in asking for help. Better to deal with your husband making snarky remarks about how women can't drive than to wind up in the ditch with a 1 year old!)
While I sat in the middle of Nowhere, I realized how incredibly tense I was. I must have been white knuckle driving the whole 15 miles, because as soon as I put the car in park, it was like my entire body turned to jelly. .
After Dan rescued me, I thought it was safe. I told him that my back was still "un-tensing" (Yeah- probably not a real word) and maybe I could get a back massage when I got home? Here's lesson number two. Never ask your husband for TOO much help. You need to properly reward them for each individual task BEFORE moving on to the next one. He unloaded the dishwasher? An emphatic thank you with balloons and streamers falling from the ceiling might be appropriate. He put gas in your car? Plan on sleeping naked. He watched the kids you both created together after he put gas in your car? Well that's going to require a lot of stretching before you can properly thank him. It's all common sense. Failure to adhere to this basic plan can only result in system malfunction... which is what happened tonight.
When we got home, I was ecstatic to find that Dan immediately went upstairs and found the KY Massage oil.
Ok- I'm going to break off here. I know what you're thinking, "Gee Heather, what do you have THAT for??" (Sarcasm dripping from every syllable!) But really! We had bought it a little over a year ago- really for massages! I was pregnant and in pain. I needed to get the knots worked out pretty regularly! Admittedly though, it was a pretty awkward purchase, especially when the pharmacist that my mom had worked with, when I was maybe 13 happened upon me in the "naughty" aisle of Target. "Well hello there!" he had said, before realizing where we both stood. I remember awkwardly searching for any kind of conversation. He was too. I blurted out "Hey guess what? I'm pregnant!" He nodded, slowly. I could see in his eyes that he wasn't surprised. That was generally the end result for girls who hung out in this aisle too much. What could he say? Perhaps- "Well congratulations- and good for you, still keeping things spicy!" No...instead he kicked into professional mode. "Well that's great. Are you finding everything ok?" The moment couldn't have been more awkward. I couldn't say yes, that implied that I knew my way around the condoms, pregnancy tests and lubricants. "Actually- I'm looking for massage oil" He nodded. "Sure sure" (Im still not sure if this was a dead air filler or if he didn't believe me.) He grabbed the KY Touch and handed it to me. "This one's good." Oh god what did THAT mean??? "Tell your mom I said Hi" I am pretty sure he knew that wasn't going to happen. "Oh hey mom- guess who I bumped into while looking for special massage oils?" So that's how I came to be the proud owner of a bottle of KY Touch Bali Moonlight Warming Massage oil. But I digress..
I shouldn't have been surprised that Dan didn't acknowledge my complaints of back pain, because he didn't hear it. His head was wired to only understand the next logical step, which would be for me to thank him for saving my life. He HEARD the words "back rub, but that was it". All I managed to do was put the idea in his head. With a big grin he held up the massage oil and a towel. "You wanna give me a back rub?" It was a very classy moment.
Realizing that this was really MY fault, I sighed and nodded. "Let me just slice up a mango really quick." I told him. He pulled off his shirt and sat at the counter patiently while I cut up my mango. (We are very hygienic in our house.)
Yes, I know. There was no "fault" here. But I have to give Dan credit. He just recently re-joined a baseball team after a 10 year hiatus. That's a pretty big deal and I'm really proud of him. I don't have any problem bragging about this accomplishment and I take a lot of pride in letting people know that my husband isn't just some outfielder. Oh nay nay, he is a pitcher. And not just any old pitcher. He is a highly coveted, southpaw. I am grinning while I write that. I know very little about sports and I couldn't tell you much more than the score at any given game, but I can tell you this- there is no uniform like a baseball uniform. Hockey and football? WAAAY too much padding. Basketball? Puh-lease. Thugs who couldn't manage anything more than saggy shorts and a tank. Golf? Gag- hi Grandpa! But Baseball? Not only does the uniform leave little to the imagination, but they send your imagination running wild by ACCENTUATING what you can't help but notice. Why more girls don't take in a good baseball game now and again is beyond me! So when my husband said he needed a good rub down on his shoulder, I happily complied.
It wasn't a big deal really. Billy and Emily were chasing the dogs around the living room while I worked the kinks out. I was very liberal with the oil. It made things so much easier. The air around us was filled with the scent of sandalwood and mandarin...and I guess whatever else Bali smells like in the moonlight. Not thinking, I reached over to the table and haphazardly grabbed a piece of mango. Now, for those of you who have never enjoyed a mango, I need to give one more lesson. Mangoes have a large seed in the middle that likes to surprise you with where it will actually be located. You can't cut through it, down the middle, so you end up cutting all around it and wind up with a couple big pieces and then some random scraps. I personally hate waste on such a delicious fruit, so I oftentimes cut the large pieces, whittle off whatever I can from the seed and if I'm feeling especially motivated, I will even chew the delicious goodness off the seed itself. The problem with that last part is that the further into the Mango you get, the stringier the flesh gets. It can almost get like corn silk, as was the case tonight. While I rubbed the knot in Dan's shoulder out with my right hand, I popped a mango piece in my mouth with the left hand. Unfortunately, it was the seed section. No worries. I just sort of chewed around the seed, until I started to get the hair like pieces in my teeth. The sensation of hair in my mouth, thoroughly disgusts me.(Yeah yeah- insert joke here i know.) I immediately spit the seed out, stopped massaging Dan's shoulder and used both hands to begin foraging for mango hair in my teeth.
Not only did I introduce the flavors of Bali Moonlight to my tongue, but I had apparently rubbed off a couple of Dan's hairs as well. It was awful. I was spitting mandarin, amber and sandalwood into the sink, gagging and pulling hairs, both male and mango out of my teeth. With every attempt at pulling a hair out, I re-introduced more KY. I frantically washed my hands, but as any good KY expert knows, it acts as a sort of water repellent. The water just beaded up on my hands and rolled down my arm. While I choked out broken sentences like "Dear God that one was yours!" and "It's all over my tongue!" Dan calmly walked over to the fridge and started to make a drink. Really? This was too much.
With my tongue hanging out of my mouth like a dog, I scowled at him. "I just got lube all over my tongue and you're making a drink??" (Well- it sounded more like "I jus god oob aww ober my tun and yo magging a dink??")
He shook his head "It's for you. Alcohol cuts the oil."
I was way to grateful to care where he had learned that little lesson... well until now. How did he learn that??? All of a sudden I'm thinking of ex-girlfriends and wondering which one taught him that! Actually, I should thank her, because the end result was me enjoying a black cherry SOCO while I wrote this blog and Dan ended up looking like a hero.
So the moral of the story here? Don't be reckless when using oils and edibles. Read the instructions, be sure you are ok with the possibility of one item getting where the other one should be, and proceed with caution. Tonight, it was I that experienced a foreign country in my mouth, next week it could be you.
G'night!
This evening was much like any other evening in Minnesota, in late April... Oh hell who am I kidding? It was yet another day in the world's longest winter season ever. After a brief thaw, we had yet another 5-6 inches bearing down on us. (Stop snickering, if that's all you have grown accustomed to... well that's another topic.) I was making a valiant attempt to pick my son up from school, but because my husband needed our SUV for some baseball related reason, I was driving his car. (For those of you taking notes- here's lesson number one.) The roads were so bad, heading back to my son's school, that I had to pull over. I literally, couldn't drive another foot, for fear of getting stuck in a ditch somewhere. With my daughter in the back seat, I just couldn't risk it. I'm pretty accustomed to winter driving, but in my husband, Dan's car, I was useless. I pulled over and called him and begged him to come get us. (That's lesson number one- there is NO shame in asking for help. Better to deal with your husband making snarky remarks about how women can't drive than to wind up in the ditch with a 1 year old!)
While I sat in the middle of Nowhere, I realized how incredibly tense I was. I must have been white knuckle driving the whole 15 miles, because as soon as I put the car in park, it was like my entire body turned to jelly. .
After Dan rescued me, I thought it was safe. I told him that my back was still "un-tensing" (Yeah- probably not a real word) and maybe I could get a back massage when I got home? Here's lesson number two. Never ask your husband for TOO much help. You need to properly reward them for each individual task BEFORE moving on to the next one. He unloaded the dishwasher? An emphatic thank you with balloons and streamers falling from the ceiling might be appropriate. He put gas in your car? Plan on sleeping naked. He watched the kids you both created together after he put gas in your car? Well that's going to require a lot of stretching before you can properly thank him. It's all common sense. Failure to adhere to this basic plan can only result in system malfunction... which is what happened tonight.
When we got home, I was ecstatic to find that Dan immediately went upstairs and found the KY Massage oil.
Ok- I'm going to break off here. I know what you're thinking, "Gee Heather, what do you have THAT for??" (Sarcasm dripping from every syllable!) But really! We had bought it a little over a year ago- really for massages! I was pregnant and in pain. I needed to get the knots worked out pretty regularly! Admittedly though, it was a pretty awkward purchase, especially when the pharmacist that my mom had worked with, when I was maybe 13 happened upon me in the "naughty" aisle of Target. "Well hello there!" he had said, before realizing where we both stood. I remember awkwardly searching for any kind of conversation. He was too. I blurted out "Hey guess what? I'm pregnant!" He nodded, slowly. I could see in his eyes that he wasn't surprised. That was generally the end result for girls who hung out in this aisle too much. What could he say? Perhaps- "Well congratulations- and good for you, still keeping things spicy!" No...instead he kicked into professional mode. "Well that's great. Are you finding everything ok?" The moment couldn't have been more awkward. I couldn't say yes, that implied that I knew my way around the condoms, pregnancy tests and lubricants. "Actually- I'm looking for massage oil" He nodded. "Sure sure" (Im still not sure if this was a dead air filler or if he didn't believe me.) He grabbed the KY Touch and handed it to me. "This one's good." Oh god what did THAT mean??? "Tell your mom I said Hi" I am pretty sure he knew that wasn't going to happen. "Oh hey mom- guess who I bumped into while looking for special massage oils?" So that's how I came to be the proud owner of a bottle of KY Touch Bali Moonlight Warming Massage oil. But I digress..
I shouldn't have been surprised that Dan didn't acknowledge my complaints of back pain, because he didn't hear it. His head was wired to only understand the next logical step, which would be for me to thank him for saving my life. He HEARD the words "back rub, but that was it". All I managed to do was put the idea in his head. With a big grin he held up the massage oil and a towel. "You wanna give me a back rub?" It was a very classy moment.
Realizing that this was really MY fault, I sighed and nodded. "Let me just slice up a mango really quick." I told him. He pulled off his shirt and sat at the counter patiently while I cut up my mango. (We are very hygienic in our house.)
Yes, I know. There was no "fault" here. But I have to give Dan credit. He just recently re-joined a baseball team after a 10 year hiatus. That's a pretty big deal and I'm really proud of him. I don't have any problem bragging about this accomplishment and I take a lot of pride in letting people know that my husband isn't just some outfielder. Oh nay nay, he is a pitcher. And not just any old pitcher. He is a highly coveted, southpaw. I am grinning while I write that. I know very little about sports and I couldn't tell you much more than the score at any given game, but I can tell you this- there is no uniform like a baseball uniform. Hockey and football? WAAAY too much padding. Basketball? Puh-lease. Thugs who couldn't manage anything more than saggy shorts and a tank. Golf? Gag- hi Grandpa! But Baseball? Not only does the uniform leave little to the imagination, but they send your imagination running wild by ACCENTUATING what you can't help but notice. Why more girls don't take in a good baseball game now and again is beyond me! So when my husband said he needed a good rub down on his shoulder, I happily complied.
It wasn't a big deal really. Billy and Emily were chasing the dogs around the living room while I worked the kinks out. I was very liberal with the oil. It made things so much easier. The air around us was filled with the scent of sandalwood and mandarin...and I guess whatever else Bali smells like in the moonlight. Not thinking, I reached over to the table and haphazardly grabbed a piece of mango. Now, for those of you who have never enjoyed a mango, I need to give one more lesson. Mangoes have a large seed in the middle that likes to surprise you with where it will actually be located. You can't cut through it, down the middle, so you end up cutting all around it and wind up with a couple big pieces and then some random scraps. I personally hate waste on such a delicious fruit, so I oftentimes cut the large pieces, whittle off whatever I can from the seed and if I'm feeling especially motivated, I will even chew the delicious goodness off the seed itself. The problem with that last part is that the further into the Mango you get, the stringier the flesh gets. It can almost get like corn silk, as was the case tonight. While I rubbed the knot in Dan's shoulder out with my right hand, I popped a mango piece in my mouth with the left hand. Unfortunately, it was the seed section. No worries. I just sort of chewed around the seed, until I started to get the hair like pieces in my teeth. The sensation of hair in my mouth, thoroughly disgusts me.(Yeah yeah- insert joke here i know.) I immediately spit the seed out, stopped massaging Dan's shoulder and used both hands to begin foraging for mango hair in my teeth.
Not only did I introduce the flavors of Bali Moonlight to my tongue, but I had apparently rubbed off a couple of Dan's hairs as well. It was awful. I was spitting mandarin, amber and sandalwood into the sink, gagging and pulling hairs, both male and mango out of my teeth. With every attempt at pulling a hair out, I re-introduced more KY. I frantically washed my hands, but as any good KY expert knows, it acts as a sort of water repellent. The water just beaded up on my hands and rolled down my arm. While I choked out broken sentences like "Dear God that one was yours!" and "It's all over my tongue!" Dan calmly walked over to the fridge and started to make a drink. Really? This was too much.
With my tongue hanging out of my mouth like a dog, I scowled at him. "I just got lube all over my tongue and you're making a drink??" (Well- it sounded more like "I jus god oob aww ober my tun and yo magging a dink??")
He shook his head "It's for you. Alcohol cuts the oil."
I was way to grateful to care where he had learned that little lesson... well until now. How did he learn that??? All of a sudden I'm thinking of ex-girlfriends and wondering which one taught him that! Actually, I should thank her, because the end result was me enjoying a black cherry SOCO while I wrote this blog and Dan ended up looking like a hero.
So the moral of the story here? Don't be reckless when using oils and edibles. Read the instructions, be sure you are ok with the possibility of one item getting where the other one should be, and proceed with caution. Tonight, it was I that experienced a foreign country in my mouth, next week it could be you.
G'night!
Friday, April 19, 2013
I bet Martha Stewart doesn't do that!
In an effort to keep the blood pumping on this blog, I hope to get on here at least every other day. Hopes and dreams are great and often don't turn out the way we planned, but it's a nice thought and really- how lazy would I be if I only did this a few times a month? Kind of like my gym attendance.... Anyway, there will be days where I introduce you to some of the characters in my life (and while they won't admit it, they are really the ones that make my life so interesting!) and other days, I might just bitch. Today I'm just going to storytell...
So I'm sitting in my car eating double stuffed Oreos and making a sundae... (see this is how an interesting story starts!) Ok- let me back up a bit... Over my lunch, I was doing what I do best. Last minute shopping. Actually, I shouldn't say I do it best, because I never come up with anything good and I always end up with the most random gifts. I give myself credit because I have never ran into a gas station for a gift, but I have come alarmingly close. Tonight was my friend Chelsea's baby shower. I had been asked to bring two appetizers. I had big plans. I had a delicious pasta salad in mind and some alarmingly delectable looking garlic knots. I imagined myself walking in with these amazing dishes that people would eat every last bite of and when they asked me how I did it, I would smile and shrug and tell them I just followed the recipe and it was just that simple. Instead, I bought a prepackaged meat tray and a case of soda. I don't even eat meat. Nor did two other guests. WTF?
Now, you might be assuming that my gift for the momma-to-be was just a gift card. There, you would be wrong. I have to give Pinterest credit where credit is due. If you scour that site for hours on end, days, weeks and months even, you occasionally stumble across something that even a monkey could do. The trick, is to look past the glitz and glamour. Or in my case, have your friend Kerry tell you it's so simple a monkey could do it. (Sidenote- she's at home right now putting together what I can only describe as "Pinspiring" words like "WASH" in the laundry room, "COOK" in the kitchen and maybe "WIPE" in the bathroom. Her husband probably ideas for in the bedroom as well.)
This brings me to my car, where I sat in the front seat, engine running, Bruno Mars blaring, while assembling an adorable sundae made out of onesies, washclothes, baby food and cotton balls. Because I didn't want to waste anytime stopping for food, I was eating double stuff oreos. Don't judge me. I've seen you eating your double cheeseburger while driving. Yeah- I saw that ketchup drip on your chin. I'm no worse and you're no better. Moving on... I'm eating and assembling when I hear a horn honk. A looong deliberate honk. I look around and realize there is a woman, about my age, impatiently sitting behind me, expecting me to move! Really? I get that its snowing and blowing and cold and I have the 4th spot in front of the door, but I don't see a time limit on my spot, so I go back to my project. A few seconds later- hooooooonk!
seriously! What is this ladys issue? I turn the music up and eat another Oreo.
Honk honk hooooonk!
This is quite literally the laziest woman in the world. I too am lazy though. There is no better fight than one between two sloth like individuals. So I casually put my car into reverse. She backs up a bit, suprisingly to allow me room to back up. I put my car back into park, eat another Oreo and go back to my project.
I wish I were a better lip reader because I'm sure she called me some names I hadn't been called before and I'm always looking for new words to add to my repetoire! She was obviously pissed. I don't normally go out of my way to "fight" people, but I had a project to do and there is no law against doing it in the Target parking lot!
After one more honk, she peeled off.
In the end, I had assembled an adorable gift that Martha Stewart would have been proud of, taught a lazy person a lesson and enjoyed a dozen cookies. I feel like I got the job done. Maybe I will start Pinning some appetizers that monkeys could make now!
Ciao!
So I'm sitting in my car eating double stuffed Oreos and making a sundae... (see this is how an interesting story starts!) Ok- let me back up a bit... Over my lunch, I was doing what I do best. Last minute shopping. Actually, I shouldn't say I do it best, because I never come up with anything good and I always end up with the most random gifts. I give myself credit because I have never ran into a gas station for a gift, but I have come alarmingly close. Tonight was my friend Chelsea's baby shower. I had been asked to bring two appetizers. I had big plans. I had a delicious pasta salad in mind and some alarmingly delectable looking garlic knots. I imagined myself walking in with these amazing dishes that people would eat every last bite of and when they asked me how I did it, I would smile and shrug and tell them I just followed the recipe and it was just that simple. Instead, I bought a prepackaged meat tray and a case of soda. I don't even eat meat. Nor did two other guests. WTF?
Now, you might be assuming that my gift for the momma-to-be was just a gift card. There, you would be wrong. I have to give Pinterest credit where credit is due. If you scour that site for hours on end, days, weeks and months even, you occasionally stumble across something that even a monkey could do. The trick, is to look past the glitz and glamour. Or in my case, have your friend Kerry tell you it's so simple a monkey could do it. (Sidenote- she's at home right now putting together what I can only describe as "Pinspiring" words like "WASH" in the laundry room, "COOK" in the kitchen and maybe "WIPE" in the bathroom. Her husband probably ideas for in the bedroom as well.)
This brings me to my car, where I sat in the front seat, engine running, Bruno Mars blaring, while assembling an adorable sundae made out of onesies, washclothes, baby food and cotton balls. Because I didn't want to waste anytime stopping for food, I was eating double stuff oreos. Don't judge me. I've seen you eating your double cheeseburger while driving. Yeah- I saw that ketchup drip on your chin. I'm no worse and you're no better. Moving on... I'm eating and assembling when I hear a horn honk. A looong deliberate honk. I look around and realize there is a woman, about my age, impatiently sitting behind me, expecting me to move! Really? I get that its snowing and blowing and cold and I have the 4th spot in front of the door, but I don't see a time limit on my spot, so I go back to my project. A few seconds later- hooooooonk!
seriously! What is this ladys issue? I turn the music up and eat another Oreo.
Honk honk hooooonk!
This is quite literally the laziest woman in the world. I too am lazy though. There is no better fight than one between two sloth like individuals. So I casually put my car into reverse. She backs up a bit, suprisingly to allow me room to back up. I put my car back into park, eat another Oreo and go back to my project.
I wish I were a better lip reader because I'm sure she called me some names I hadn't been called before and I'm always looking for new words to add to my repetoire! She was obviously pissed. I don't normally go out of my way to "fight" people, but I had a project to do and there is no law against doing it in the Target parking lot!
After one more honk, she peeled off.
In the end, I had assembled an adorable gift that Martha Stewart would have been proud of, taught a lazy person a lesson and enjoyed a dozen cookies. I feel like I got the job done. Maybe I will start Pinning some appetizers that monkeys could make now!
Ciao!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Don't run, but WALK! At least this year...
Good evening world! Im super excited to report that I have people looking at this! Some in Germany even! (Totally random following, if I do say so myself, but I will take it!) While I was worried that I wouldn't experience the self satisfaction of counting how many "Likes" or comments I got, like on Facebook, I was relieved to find a lovely little tool that shows me where everyone logged on from. At first, I was positive that most would be just me or my husband, but it's not! Yay! I had Ipads, Iphones, Androids, Windows and even a couple Blackberry folks logging on! I am an equal opportunity blogger!
So- lets get down to business! This week the office is abuzz with all the excitement of the upcoming Earth Day 5k and half marathon. We actually have people that are just chomping at the bit to run in one big circle on the pretense that doing so might save the earth. Ha ha ha. I don't believe it either.
I admit, I haverun power walked strolled the 5k myself. Twice. The first time, I started from a co-workers house, had a glass of wine then ended at her house where we finished off a bottle. I needed the bottle to shake off the shame I felt when I realized that many of my co-workers (and for some reason, their families?) were patiently waiting for me to saunter across the finish line, while chatting it up casually with 2 other less inclined ladies. They cheered. Probably because they could all go home now. The second year, I was with a little rowdier crowd. My team lead convinced us all to go to the local watering hole PRIOR to the race. Five of us intended to run. One bailed after the bar. I ran power walked strolled with one other girl. I managed to shave off about 7 minutes and felt pretty good about that little accomplishment. Year three I fully intended to shave at least another 10 minutes off. I had a plan. It involved so much more than just working out. I had a diet plan in place. I had an exercise routine. I lost weight and I have to admit- I looked good! My dear friend Kerry told me regularly how impressed she was with my resolve! My husband thought so too! So much in fact, that he helped me out with my exercise routine! We worked out together a lot! Ok that's a lie. I think he helped me out on the Bowflex once, bought me an elliptical and then got me pregnant. In that order.
Now I fully realize that women are totally capable of working out while pregnant, but I am not one of those women. Ask Kerry, who once while we were shopping (our preferred form of exercise- ask her husband, he'll agree 100%), quite delicately asked me
"Are you worried the baby is going to fall out?"
Me- "Um- nope"
Kerry- "Then why on earth are you walking like you have a really big pole stuck up there?"
It was true. After years of trying to have a baby, once I found out that this one was going to stick, I closed up like Duluth in the winter. There would be no year 3 5k for me. Instead, I delivered a very healthy baby girl and promised myself I would do the 5k in 2013.
This time I was a little more gentle on myself when devising my workout plan. I joined a gym, and became a regular. I would show up once, maybe twice a month. One time, I showed up three times that month. They asked me for my ID, so I am pretty sure they were convinced someone else was using my card, because really, nobody could be THAT dedicated. I worried that some might begin to look at me as a gym rat, so I have scaled back a bit to a monthly visit, where I check to make sure my card still works.
After that, I fell back into my tried and true method of training. Shopping. It was so much easier! Not only did it smell better, but I had a dedicated partner for this routine. Quite often, Kerry and I found ourselves out of breath and complaining of the sweat dripping down our backs, cracks and cleavage while we tried on clothes. We had to have been burning calories if we were sweating that much! While I'm sure I spent more on this routine than if I had say- purchased a trainer at the gym, it was definitely more fun. However, FUN is nowhere to be found in a true workout program. At least in my experience. This "program" I was on, has brought me to today. Three days from the 2013 Earth Day 5k and in roughly the same shape I was in 3 months after giving birth. Something was telling me that I might not do any better than I had in the past, but I figured I could at least have fun trying again.
My biggest concern? Find a suitable walking partner. I had lots of people that I knew were signed up that I could go with.
First there was Sheila. I had just started working on Sheila's team about a year ago and being from the same town, we have found that we can both have a good time together... if there is a beer, some good jokes and maybe a little eye candy involved. While Sheila swore up and down that she "probably couldn't run much" I knew better. She has a competitive streak in her and I knew I would get out there with her and all of a sudden she would bolt, fueled up on her Sugar Free RockStar Energy drink and a desire to be all that she can be. Big thumbs down from this girl.
Then there was Cassi. Tall, skinny, Cassi, who would probably wear something with little wind resistance and would do a lot of stretching at the beginning of the race. Cassi, whose walking strides tripled my own stubby little legs in a jog. Not only would she have left me in the dust, but I would have looked like one of the munchkins chasing after Glinda the Good Witch of Oz. "Take me with you!!" I would yell. No... She wouldn't do. I needed... I needed my Kerry.
Instant Messenger:
Me: Will you do the 5k with me on Friday? I have no intention of running. I just need a walking buddy.
Kerry: Whats the weather going to be like?
Me: Cold
Kerry: I'm tempted, but it sounds terrible. No. (Kerry has a very small window of opportunity where she will exude any energy outside. This window is approximately between the temperatures of 52 and 55.)
Kerry: Why don't you come over and we can walk on my treadmill?
Me: That will never happen.
Truth be told, it sounded awesome. I knew I would get over there and we would attempt to get on the treadmill, make fun of each other for sweating profusely, complain about how we had to wear two bras but all it really did was increase sweat production and our boobs still hit ourselves in the chin OR stomach if we ran too fast and then we would decide it was enough, watch tv and eat something she had prepared with her vast collection of Pampered Chef tools. I was SO close to telling her yes. I even went over to the coordinator to find out who was running so I could possibly offer my spot up to someone who had perhaps missed the deadline.
Horror of all horrors awaited me though. My BOSS was running. Not my team lead, not my manager, but my BOSS. Let's just call him Boss to keep things simple. The last thing I want Boss to think about me, is that I'm a quitter. So with slumped shoulders and the fleeting thought that maybe I'll break my leg or get pregnant before Friday, I turn to head back to my desk, however I am interrupted by the Heavens opening, shining a bright light into the office and the sound of angels singing. (Actually, it was just Sara telling me that she would walk with me, but I will go to my grave with the first version of the story.)
So now I have a walking buddy. I may not shave off any time from my walk, but Sara has a sharp wit that i thoroughly enjoy and since she never joined the gym after a traumatic wisdom tooth surgery, I don't have to worry about her bailing on me and leaving me alone to find my way around the circle.
Oh and I'm serious about getting lost on that big circle. My friend Sue accidentally ran a 10k not too long ago. It was terrifying for her. It was so cold that her phone died so she didn't have a GPS or music. We don't have the sun here in Minnesota, so she couldn't rely on that for guiding her home. It was a miracle she made it to the finish line alive. Tears of joy and relief were shared among many. This Friday I will be wearing a "Live Strong" bracelet in her honor.
Wish me luck!
So- lets get down to business! This week the office is abuzz with all the excitement of the upcoming Earth Day 5k and half marathon. We actually have people that are just chomping at the bit to run in one big circle on the pretense that doing so might save the earth. Ha ha ha. I don't believe it either.
I admit, I have
Now I fully realize that women are totally capable of working out while pregnant, but I am not one of those women. Ask Kerry, who once while we were shopping (our preferred form of exercise- ask her husband, he'll agree 100%), quite delicately asked me
"Are you worried the baby is going to fall out?"
Me- "Um- nope"
Kerry- "Then why on earth are you walking like you have a really big pole stuck up there?"
It was true. After years of trying to have a baby, once I found out that this one was going to stick, I closed up like Duluth in the winter. There would be no year 3 5k for me. Instead, I delivered a very healthy baby girl and promised myself I would do the 5k in 2013.
This time I was a little more gentle on myself when devising my workout plan. I joined a gym, and became a regular. I would show up once, maybe twice a month. One time, I showed up three times that month. They asked me for my ID, so I am pretty sure they were convinced someone else was using my card, because really, nobody could be THAT dedicated. I worried that some might begin to look at me as a gym rat, so I have scaled back a bit to a monthly visit, where I check to make sure my card still works.
After that, I fell back into my tried and true method of training. Shopping. It was so much easier! Not only did it smell better, but I had a dedicated partner for this routine. Quite often, Kerry and I found ourselves out of breath and complaining of the sweat dripping down our backs, cracks and cleavage while we tried on clothes. We had to have been burning calories if we were sweating that much! While I'm sure I spent more on this routine than if I had say- purchased a trainer at the gym, it was definitely more fun. However, FUN is nowhere to be found in a true workout program. At least in my experience. This "program" I was on, has brought me to today. Three days from the 2013 Earth Day 5k and in roughly the same shape I was in 3 months after giving birth. Something was telling me that I might not do any better than I had in the past, but I figured I could at least have fun trying again.
My biggest concern? Find a suitable walking partner. I had lots of people that I knew were signed up that I could go with.
First there was Sheila. I had just started working on Sheila's team about a year ago and being from the same town, we have found that we can both have a good time together... if there is a beer, some good jokes and maybe a little eye candy involved. While Sheila swore up and down that she "probably couldn't run much" I knew better. She has a competitive streak in her and I knew I would get out there with her and all of a sudden she would bolt, fueled up on her Sugar Free RockStar Energy drink and a desire to be all that she can be. Big thumbs down from this girl.
Then there was Cassi. Tall, skinny, Cassi, who would probably wear something with little wind resistance and would do a lot of stretching at the beginning of the race. Cassi, whose walking strides tripled my own stubby little legs in a jog. Not only would she have left me in the dust, but I would have looked like one of the munchkins chasing after Glinda the Good Witch of Oz. "Take me with you!!" I would yell. No... She wouldn't do. I needed... I needed my Kerry.
Instant Messenger:
Me: Will you do the 5k with me on Friday? I have no intention of running. I just need a walking buddy.
Kerry: Whats the weather going to be like?
Me: Cold
Kerry: I'm tempted, but it sounds terrible. No. (Kerry has a very small window of opportunity where she will exude any energy outside. This window is approximately between the temperatures of 52 and 55.)
Kerry: Why don't you come over and we can walk on my treadmill?
Me: That will never happen.
Truth be told, it sounded awesome. I knew I would get over there and we would attempt to get on the treadmill, make fun of each other for sweating profusely, complain about how we had to wear two bras but all it really did was increase sweat production and our boobs still hit ourselves in the chin OR stomach if we ran too fast and then we would decide it was enough, watch tv and eat something she had prepared with her vast collection of Pampered Chef tools. I was SO close to telling her yes. I even went over to the coordinator to find out who was running so I could possibly offer my spot up to someone who had perhaps missed the deadline.
Horror of all horrors awaited me though. My BOSS was running. Not my team lead, not my manager, but my BOSS. Let's just call him Boss to keep things simple. The last thing I want Boss to think about me, is that I'm a quitter. So with slumped shoulders and the fleeting thought that maybe I'll break my leg or get pregnant before Friday, I turn to head back to my desk, however I am interrupted by the Heavens opening, shining a bright light into the office and the sound of angels singing. (Actually, it was just Sara telling me that she would walk with me, but I will go to my grave with the first version of the story.)
So now I have a walking buddy. I may not shave off any time from my walk, but Sara has a sharp wit that i thoroughly enjoy and since she never joined the gym after a traumatic wisdom tooth surgery, I don't have to worry about her bailing on me and leaving me alone to find my way around the circle.
Oh and I'm serious about getting lost on that big circle. My friend Sue accidentally ran a 10k not too long ago. It was terrifying for her. It was so cold that her phone died so she didn't have a GPS or music. We don't have the sun here in Minnesota, so she couldn't rely on that for guiding her home. It was a miracle she made it to the finish line alive. Tears of joy and relief were shared among many. This Friday I will be wearing a "Live Strong" bracelet in her honor.
Wish me luck!
Monday, April 15, 2013
Test
So this is my first blog post. (Actually- it's my first from another site that I couldn't figure out, so I cut from there and pasted here!) Does it count if I don't have any "followers" yet or is this simply a way for us crazies to justify talking to ourselves? It will be interesting to see what sort of things I can find to talk about. It will be even more interesting to see what kind of people want to read what I have to talk about! Sometimes when I get on a wine induced rant, I find I get angry with myself the next day... this could get ugly...Speaking of ugly, I struggled a little bit on the profile pic. With things like Twitter and Facebook I ignored the suggestion for an actual picture of MY face, instead choosing to sub in my kids or worse yet my dogs, but this time, I actually tried. Unfortunately, Google disagreed with what I considered to be a good pic and literally told me there was no face in my images. LITERALLY!! Hey. I'll admit, I can have a bad face day like anyone else, but don't you think blatantly telling me there is no FACE in my chosen pic is a little harsh? Call me Phantom of the Blog I guess. I'll get my metallic half mask ordered up and learn to emphatically gesture with my cape while I criticize other bloggers. Anyway, I took the tried and true way out and slapped a picture of my little cherub up there. Google was much more forgiving of her image. Good for them too. I can tolerate Google telling me I am a faceless blob, but don't you DARE mess with my baby!
Anyway, I guess I should introduce myself! (Or pretend to since at this point, I'm still talking to myself.) My name is Heather. My age is nunyabizness, but let's just say that I am still lucky enough to be part of a target audience for what they try to pass as quality tv there right now. You know- after you get that big discount on your insurance, its the little things that matter. I live in central Minnesota with my husband, kids, dogs and fish. Trust me, you will hear a lot more about all of them as we continue. I work in the transportation industry, which admittedly, I didn't realize existed until I got the job, but if you know the industry, you will understand why some days I might appear to be a very cynical raging lunatic.The only things keeping me sane some days is the unlimited supply of free caffeine and a few select people who have been blessed to sit within earshot of me for a few years. I kind of consider myself a living example of what NOT to talk about with a driver. I am the oldest of three kids. Shockingly, my parents are still together. I say "shockingly" because staying together is not the norm anymore. Of course, if you know my mom, you wouldn't be shocked my parents are still together. Divorce was never an option. Death by suffocation, on the other hand, may have been... I enjoy writing and photography. That doesn't mean I am good at either one really, just that I find it fun to create. I'm hoping that translates into something enjoyable for somebody else as well. If I can make one person laugh, smile, roll their eyes, etc... I will be a happy camper.
So that's it for now. I'll try to get in and give you a little more tomorrow. BTW- I am not calling this my first official post. This is my TEST post. My first official post was promised to one of the aforementioned co-workers. ;) Hopefully I remember how to get here!
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