I May Have Heels and You May Be Closer But I Will Win

Not everything in my life is a competition, however, I will admit that sometimes I see a competition where none exists. At other times, I create a competition that might not otherwise have been there.  For example, the other day I had to go to an ATM by our house on my way to court because I have to park where they only take cash. Again with the cash only! I never have cash.  So, anyway, I pull up to the corner bank in a dubious area and ponder parking in the fire lane since it is a walk up ATM and the parking spots are about six feet away. Since this bank was near where I got a ticket last year, I decided not to take my chances and park legally.

Into the first parking spot I went. Just as I was turning my car off, this minivan pulls up and parks in the fire lane. The van is a mere two feet from the ATM and I am pissed! Because of my good citizen ways, I am going to have to wait for another person to use the ATM.

Unless I beat them there first, that is.

Just as the guy was getting out of his car, I was out of mine and running in high heels and a suit.  I jumped a curb, ran through some grass and some bushes and got to the ATM in time. I resisted the urge to yell out "FACE" or some other sort of "nah nah" sentiment and hurried my transaction along.  I turned to find the guy leaning against his car.

Guy: You beat me.

Me: Yes, but you got that awesome parking spot.

Guy: But you are wearing a nice suit.

Me: Touche

Okay, I didn't actually say that last thing, but he did compliment me on my suit. I only slightly felt like an ass.  I also felt like an Olympic athlete.

Then I went to the car to catch my breath.

Who's Running Who?

I just fed the cats upstairs in my office while walking on tiptoe so as to not wake the dog. Jersey now runs my life.

Vicky has been notified.

It's Ms Psychic If You're Nasty

I would like you all to know that I am truly psychic. How do I know this, you ask? Well, just this morning I was driving to the office and stumbled upon an old 90s Janet Jackson song. Which one is not important (mainly because I cannot remember). What is important is what I thought at the time, which was:

"I wonder what Janet is up to these days. She is so off and on with her recording and performing. Heck, the last time I saw her perform was after MJ died. She sang his songs SO good. Hmmm...I wonder if there is going to be increased pressure from her now that MJ is dead. Will she have to go around singing his songs all the time? It must be hard to have a sibling die. I wonder how she is doing. Will she ever recover?"

As you can see, I have quite the stream of consciousness. I then thought about the 1,567,823,000 things I had to do at the office and promptly forgot the exchange until JUST NOW when I saw a commercial for Janet's first live interview since MJ's death where they will address what she is doing now, how she is feeling, and what her plans to perform are. And it is on TONIGHT.

I am totally psychic.*

*Please refrain from pointing out that the reason I even heard the Janet Jackson song was because of the interview airing tonight. I can refute that theory with hard evidence.**

**My hard evidence consists of the fact that I was listening to Sirius at the time so there was no pressure to advertise or to conform*** like the regular ol' FM stations.

***Sirius may not conform but it sure does play the same songs over and over. Really. There has to be more than the 100 songs I hear on the 90s channel released in that time period. TEN YEARS PEOPLE. TEN YEARS. FIND A NEW SONG!

Crime Watch Wednesday: Man's Got Balls!

This week's Crime Watch Chronicles brings us a story of something we all wish we could do...send projectile objects in our neighbors' direction:

A woman reported that her neighbor was hitting golf balls in the middle of the afternoon. Unfortunately for the woman's father, the neighbor was not on the golf course, but in his backyard at the time. The woman reported that one of the balls nearly hit her father in the head. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to reach a resolution with said neighbor. Police discovered a golf net in the suspect's backyard facing the woman's house as well as some golf balls in her yard. The suspect would only admit to one ball having gone into the woman's yard. Probably the one that nearly brained her father.

That guy has balls. I kid. No, really. Not only does he send flying objects directly into his neighbor's yard, but he also aims right for it. Yes, he had a "net", but the net was facing her house. And it couldn't have been a very good net, seeing as how many balls made it into her backyard. Then there's the whole hitting-the-ball-when-someone-is-in-the-yard thing. I am sure that was "accidental."

This story has given me many great ideas. Or at least one. B has golf clubs. B has balls.* We have a neighbor that won't cut his grass. We have neighbors that didn't want to let us get air.** I can hit a ball with a club. However, I cannot guarantee in which direction it will go.

At this time, I would like to apologize in advance to the hip young couple that lives across the street (who invited us to game night last weekend, which we didn't attend because B was working and I was doing something better***) for the golf ball through the window. It was really intended for the guy behind us.

Fore!

*Golf balls, people. GOLF BALLS.

**We got air anyway. It is so quiet, they cannot hear it. They now LOVE us and think we are geniuses. I am still bitter.

***Something better was falling asleep in front of the TV. Good times!

All's Well That Airs Well

You may not know this, but our house does not have central air. NO AIR. Have you been around lately? It is hot has Hades in these parts and we are all feeling the heat.

Long before this heat wave we decided that air was in order. Also, a new furnace would be a good idea since ours is about 20 years old, huge, and makes the worst noises when it is running. Efficiency is the order of the day so we were all set to get them both installed. Then we discovered we needed our neighbor's permission to put the a/c on the side of the house. Our 90 year old neighbors. Our 90 year old neighbors that don't have air themselves. (Thanks city!) Can you guess what happened?

B spoke to them first planning on feeling them out. That went something like this:

B: We are thinking of getting air.

Old Ass Neighbor: Oh! That's not a good idea.

Old Ass Neighbor: That will bring down property values.

Old Ass Neighbor: I don't think the city will allow it.

Old Ass Neighbor: Nope. Not good.

B: .....

Yep. That went well. I was sent in next to "charm" them. That didn't work out so well either. In fact, rather than being the charmer, I turned out to be the ambushee. I came home one day to change clothes before going to the doctor and was waved over by Mrs. OAN. She told me she had a "construction guy" (seriously she pronounced it like it had quotes) over to work on her house. Thinking this was the perfect opportunity to charm her, I opened my mouth to say "speaking of improvements..." but it was too late. Her next sentence was out: "I want you to talk to him about some ideas WE have about YOUR air." Oh joy.

The next 15 minutes dragged by as I listened to the "construction guy" give me such options as under our kitchen window. Um, no. We call that the driveway. Then they took me to the FRONT of the house and told me to stick it behind a bush. This bush, in fact. Where the tree is:

Although I said I didn't think the city would go for that, they were not deterred. However, their "construction guy" could not focus. He was insane. He looked like a homeless person and drove a beat up old rusty Pontiac. He told me stories of the neighborhood. All of the work he did. More stuff, but unfortunately or fortunately, I could only understand one out of every four sentences. I did clearly understand him when he said he worked Special Ops out of the nearby airforce base. It took a lot to hold my composure. The same would be true when he pulled out 10 huge pictures of planes from his portfolio. Mrs. OAN had asked him to get me a business card. That is what I got instead. 10 pictures, 8 of which were identical. Mrs. OAN rolled her eyes. Mr. OAN told me that my furnace was not old. I assured him it was. Mrs. OAN called Mr. OAN senile as in "Oh be quiet, you are senile." I finally got a business card, without really wanting one, when "construction guy" informed me that his email address was captain pig. How professional. Excusing myself with a "I will take this under consideration", I thought I had escaped. Oh no:

Construction guy: You really should get more than 1 estimate for work of this nature. (Oh NOW he decides to be some kind of professional)

Me: I got 5 estimates. Do you think FIVE estimates are enough?

CG: Oh, well, yes.

[as I am walking away]

CG: Do you have any kids?

Me: Um, no.

CG: Kids get hot.

OMFG are you kidding me? Did he think we were considering whether or not to GET air? No. F the kids man, WE get hot! The man was NUTS. I immediately told B and told B when he got home he better go over there because there was no charming and we clearly weren't getting any permission and that guy is NUTS. What did B do?

He hid from them inside the house.

Which led me to the public library to search for the ordinance so we could find some place, any place, to put it without Old Ass Neighbors' permission. With heavy hearts, and the information that we would have to blow through four walls in our basement, we resigned ourselves to put it under our kitchen window. And we were sad.

Then B decided to try one more time. For reasons unbeknown to us, OANs gave in and gave us written permission to put in on the side. They were concerned about noise and I guess B gave them enough info to ease their mind. Or they decided we weren't going to back down. I don't care about their reasoning. I just want air.

Really....look at Chester. Doesn't he look like he is dying?

Now why he decided to spend the hottest day of the year UPSTAIRS and rolling around is beyond me. And if you are looking for his boy bits (pervert!) I blurred them out. Chester is modest you know. Can't you tell? Look how shocked he looks at my capturing all of him:

Yeah he is fat and hot. He will be glad when we get air. B will be glad so he can sleep at night. I will be glad so I can sit at the computer and write witty posts for you without melting. Or read without melting. Or watch TV without melting. Or just not melting.

Air, sweet, air. I love you!

Catch Me If You Can Copper!

The latest edition of the Crime Watch Chronicles in our paper involved a drunk driver who nearly collided with police, but not in the way you would think.

You see, Ms. DUI was driving erratically giving the police the impression she might be intoxicated. Thus, they attempted to pull her vehicle over. Like a good soldier, the woman slowed down gradually and came to stop on a residential road. However, she mistook "reverse" for "park" thereby causing the officer that pulled her over to have to quickly reverse his vehicle as well as call the backup vehicle and tell him to reverse. Gives a whole new meaning to "backup" doesn't it? The woman reversed a full two car lengths before the officer put on his siren and she stopped.

Needless to say, she was arrested because she was too intoxicated to even perform any sobriety tests.

As soon as I read this story it reminded me of my own story about being pulled over by the cops, although I was not drunk at the time. This story is legend in my family and even B knows it.

You see, I was a young 17ish girl driving like a fool down a busier-but-still-residential street when I spotted a police car heading toward me. At that exact moment, my car actually caught air from the huge bump I hit and I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough, the cop was attempting to do a U turn to pull me over. So I did what any rational 17 year old would do.

I ran.

Yep. I put the pedal to the medal and took off! What was I hoping to accomplish you wonder? I just wanted to get home which was a few blocks away. Why, you ask? Because my Dad worked in law enforcement and I was convinced he could get me out of this. You know out of the whole fleeing and eluding the police and everything (see fingers, I told you I mostly elude and not allude).

So I sped and make totally erratic and dangerous turns until finally I stopped about one house away from mine as my Dad was walking out of the front door. Gold!

The cop was PISSED! My Dad was PISSED! I was 17 so I was surly and foul. But, I did not get a ticket. I did get grounded for over a week and a lecture on being nicer to cops that pull me over when I am FLEEING THEM.

But I didn't get a ticket.

Many years later and just a few months ago at a family dinner, B asked my Dad about this story. We all laughed and then my Dad said "it was actually rather smart of her."

Gold!

*Please note that I never would endorse fleeing or eluding a police officer for any reason let alone something as stupid as speeding. However, I was 17 and stupid and hormonal and ...enough said.

Ding Dong the Drapes Are Gone!

I am sure I do not have to post an original picture of our master bedroom drapes for you regular readers to remember how atrocious they truly were. But, for those of you new to the blog, I will post one so you don't have to follow a link.

Look at these beauties that the prior owners left us:

You are loving them, I know it. With that carpet, what is not to love? Well, we hung on to them WAY too long. It was easy - they were there, they fit, they kept out the cold and the light and, more importantly, we did not know what to replace them with.

Until we visited Ikea to buy my desk. Then we found what I thought were the perfect drapes. I immediately walked over and stroked them and declared the shopping trip a victory. Soft, with the gray from the room, but also cream, black and blue. Take a look:

Quite the improvement, right? So you are thinking, well Dani those are awfully LONG. Yes, they are. They only came in one size. You know what that means? Dani has to hem them. Think about THAT for a moment. Dani does not even sew. Lucky for me the Swedish must know this and provided some handy little strips that I am supposed to iron on to hem them. As you can see, I have yet to do this. However, it will be done soon as I keep tripping on the ones by the larger window and I would hate for B to take a big spill in the early morning hours.

And just because I love how they look with the sun shining in, here are some more shots:

This is my favorite - sun and a breeze coming in. So romantic in a conservative stripey way.

Before I could stop him, B sent the old drapes to the great garbage pail in the sky. I thought we should have sent them to Goodwill. B had a different opinion "Who would want THOSE?"

Probably people that were too lazy to get anything else for four months.

You know, us.

They Say It's Your "B" Day

Saturday was B's birthday and I decided it was a good time for a scavenger hunt, especially since we have more than one floor now. As B stated later that night, if I had attempted to do this while we lived at the condo, he would have discovered all of his presents as soon as he walked in.

So, once he told me he was going to be out of the house that morning and once I realized I had two birthday cards and two gifts for him and that my parents had given me two cards, a present and scratch off lotto tickets for him as well, the idea was born. As it turns out, I was able to theme a lot of the presents. I don't know who had more fun, B actually doing the hunt, or me following him around saying "And WHERE do you have to go next?" as if I didn't know.

The first note was taped to our back door and gave the rules of the hunt - basically follow the notes and don't do anything else.

The first note also directed B to the second note which was taped over our mail box. Inside the mailbox were two cards, one from me and one from my parents. Both had scratch off tickets inside.

Next stop was under the fish tank in the living room (yes we currently have not one, but two fish tanks). There B found another card from my parents and one of his favorite gifts - a gift certificate to the fish store!

Next stop - all the way down to the basement to the tool bench of course! There along with this orange note was a gift card to Home Depot. You know B loved that present. Especially when he requested shovels for his birthday - SHOVELS????

Next, B found himself back up two stories in his office where he received two more books to add to his collection.

Finally, the hunt ended down on B's laptop with a note and a scratch off ticket. But the love did not stop there. Under the table I gave B a note on red paper listing the 35 reasons I love him. That, you don't get to see.

B enjoyed the hunt and thought I was quite clever. Now I will have to come up with something fun and crazy for next year. Heck, this is the most creative I have been since I decided to surprise my brother with a scrapbook for his 30th birthday. We all know how that turned out....oh, you don't? He will be turning 34 in May. I have five pages done. I am shooting for his 40th.

After the fun scavenger hunt, we met up with some of B's friends who were celebrating someone else's birthday. Fun was had by all, but especially by this guy who decided to wear ALL of the party hats on his head/face at once. 14 to be exact.

He looks like a rhinoceros.

Happy B Day B!!

If It Ain't Broke, it Can't Be Fixed

As I have shown you time and time again, B likes to GET THINGS DONE around the house. He paints, he pulls up carpet, he fixes showerheads, he starts fires (in the fireplace of course), he fixes the stairs, he hangs blinds...you get the picture. He is a fixer. Hence, he has the tool room that debuted yesterday.

Where am I in the grand scheme of things? Apparently I am the breaker. Not intentionally of course. Just by happenstance. I am the one that will say at any given moment:

"The shower pressure is too low. I think it is the washer" (it wasn't)

"I cannot get my blinds to work. They are stuck" (they were not stuck)

"The door won't open with my key" (I was turning it the wrong way)

"I need a hook to hang things on"

"The wireless isn't working"

and the list goes on. B always comes to the rescue and then some. Then there came the day I really broke something and B wasn't around to fix it.

I came home from work and it was absolutely freezing out. The new house can be quite drafty so I am always checking the thermostat to see what the temperature is. If it is anywhere near 60 or if I cannot feel my fingers, I turn it up. I had just walked in and was aggravated about how cold it seemed to be so I went over to the thermostat and attempted to turn it to see what the temperature was.

Let's stop right there. At that point in time, the thermostat was hanging from the wall because B was in the process of putting it back together. There is also no good lighting in that spot to see what it was, hence the turning it.

Satisfied that the thermostat was at a good temperature and hearing the heat, I headed upstairs. An hour later I was absolutely freezing like nothing before so I went back downstairs to find that the temperature dropped. And I did not hear the heater. Strange.

I tried to turn the heat up but I never heard that "click" that comes on when you set it to a temperature higher than what it is at. And the furnace never came on. Back upstairs I went. Another hour passes and I find that I am wearing a thermal, two turtlenecks, a sweatshirt, long johns, pjs, socks and my Uggs and I am STILL freezing and I realize something just isn't right.

Back downstairs to discover that the temperature has dropped even more. Fearing that the furnace has died, I start to panic. That is when I notice that one of the two little wires coming from the thermostat is not coming from the thermostat anymore. It is totally detached. Huh, I wondered. Was that supposed to be attached? I text B:

Me: Are both wires supposed to be attached to the thermostat?

B: Yes

Me: Damn! I pulled one out. Do you know where it goes?

B: No, but there should be a little hole that is slightly pulled out

Huh? I look and there are about 10 holes and none of them look "slightly pulled out". Concerned for my safety, I type:

Me: If I try to put this back will I get electrocuted?

B: No

I then instant message my sister in law:

Me: If I try to put a wire back in the thermostat, will I get electrocuted?

Jenny: No*

Meanwhile, B is texting me again:

B: Get a small Phillips, make sure there is no wire stuck and put it back in.

And that is just what I did, minus the "check to make sure there is no wire stuck part". I was too petrified when sparks were there. Me and the tiny Phillips found hanging on the tool room wall fixed the problem. The problem I created, but I fixed it. I don't think I have ever heard a sweeter sound then that furnace firing back up.

Maybe I am a MacGuyver after all. Or not. I don't recall MacGuyver ever breaking something.

That he admitted to, at least.

*Don't ask why I thought my sister in law needed to confirm that I would not get electrocuted. I just needed confirmation.

Would You Like a Shell With That?

Recently, realizing that I had quite a few taco kits in our pantry at home and thinking that B might like some tacos after having to put up with chicken the past couple of weeks, I sent him a text to see if he could pick up some fixings. A short while later I got a call from B:

B: What kind of text was that?

Me: What do you mean?

B: "If you pick up beef, shredded cheese and lettuce, we can have tacos tonight."

Me: Yes...

B: What else is left? The shells??

Me: Yes, and the spices, both of which we have in the pantry

B: So basically you want me to pick up everything necessary to make tacos except for the shells?

Me:....and the spices

[At that point, I could barely even contain my laughter as it was apparent how ridiculous my text really was. And I was laughing even harder inside knowing that I had thought about leaving off the lettuce so he wouldnt think he was buying everything.]

B: Okay. You know what?

Me: What?

B: If I pick up steak, we can have steak tonight.

The Evolution of Our Bedroom

Sometime last week I posed the question as to which room everyone thought we chose as our bedroom.  Phishez guessed correctly! In fact, she was the only one to guess but that is okay. We chose the crazy drape room as our bedroom quite by accident.  You see, when we went to move in, B and his friend discovered that the floors were still wet.  So the bed was the only piece of furniture that made it to the second floor before the discovery and it ended up in the crazy drape room.  We spent the night in there and then realized the room was quite large for our purposes and that we could even fit our dressers in there.  So the room went from looking like this:

To looking like this after the paint job:

And like this after the dressers were put in and pictures were hung:

Yes, we still have those ugly drapes. We will have them for a little while longer as I attempt to get curtains and/or shades for the rest of our many windows. Ugly they may be, but they keep out the cold and darken the room nicely. So they stay for now.

Now, if you will remember, B made up a "rule" about the bedroom and laundry baskets. Clearly that rule was made in order to keep the room looking neat.  To that end, I submit to you Exhibits A and B:

Exhibit A - my dresser:

Exhibit B - B's dresser:

Who needs rules??? That's what I thought.  I told B I planned on posting these shots to which he exclaimed "That's not fair! You had to time to clean your area up!"  No, it had been like that the whole time, with my keeping my laundry in the laundry basket and hamper.  He finally acknowledged that was its usual condition.  Meanwhile, his dresser still looks like this with an occasional cleaning.

Maybe I should institute a rule...

New Year, New Me?

Not so much. I do get super excited about the beginning of each new year. Like last year, when I decided it was going to be a great year, only to have it tarnished upon getting to the office.  I also don't much like resolutions because I never follow them.  However, that does not make me any less excited about the new year and the new possibilities. In fact, I get so geeked on that first day, I am liable to make anyone nearby, usually B, physically ill.

This year, I was going through my things when I found no less than 7 journals, all but one blank. This is very amusing to me because every year I ask for another journal. It is an obsession. Writing in them? Apparently not so much.  Except that one.  There was ONE page written on. Of course, January 1, 2008 where I declared my exceedingly high optimism for the upcoming new year. I also noted B's thinking I had knocked my head or was high or something.  That, however, was not the highlight of that one and only entry. That would be where I declared that 2008 was the year of organization...for me...and my parents!

BWAHAHHAHHA.  I can assure you that neither of us are organized. In fact, I do not think B has ever laughed as hard as he did when I told him that.  Nor my Mom. Sadly, we all got a good laugh out of this.  Another year, another laugh.  No progress.  Maybe this year? After all, I have dubbed it the Year of Productivity.  Although I have not written it down as a single entry in a big fat journal, so it might not count.  Hmmm....

And B does not seem to understand that time has passed.  On his way out the door the other day he yelled up "maybe you should get some organization going" to which I replied:

"Nah! That was last year. It's 2009 now."

And so I will go forth and will try to be productive.  This may also include organization as a necessity, but don't tell B...I wouldn't want him to think these goals roll over every year like growing interest or something.  After all, a girl has to have time to blog too.

Happy 2009!!

One Fish, Two Fish...

Yesterday's post about our Christmas tree reminded me of our fish tank. Well, it was actually the photo. You can see just a little part of it in the Christmas tree photo.  Let me tell you a little back story.  B has always had a fish tank.  It is his thing.  Prior to this recent one, he had a small tank the equivalent size of say a 20" TV.  I have no clue about gallons and such.  That tank lasted quite some time until it developed a big crack and dumped massive amounts of water on to our floor.

Despite the fact that I am almost always in the same room with the fish tank, I did not notice. I did, however, hear a bunch of cracking, kind of like someone walking on ice.  Upon hearing this, I would get up and investigate, but never quite figured it out.  A few days into this, B remarked how much water the fish tank was losing. Yep, that was because the water was on the ground, in our carpet to be exact.  The fish tank was cracked along the entire bottom.  I am so oblivious.

A new fish tank had to be obtained right away.  B could not live without one and the fish were dissatisfied living in my dishes in the sink.  Actually, I was a bit dissatisfied with that as well.  Off to Craigslist B went a searching.  The next day he tells me he has found a tank, is off to pick it up and will need my help when he returns.  Great.  Upon his return, I hold the front door open for him as he brings in a tank the equivalent size of a plasma TV.  I say "oooooh" and "ahhhh."  That's when he tells me he really needs my help.  I look puzzled and go downstairs to find the hugest base/cabinet thingy ever. And it is wood.  Like 1980s wood.  I say "Oh my GOD that is ugly."  B looks a bit surprised and maybe a little hurt, so I say no more.  Instead I assist him in lugging this thing up.  B remarks about my surprising strength, which he does anytime I move anything:

"I can't believe you carried that big computer monitor all the way up the stairs by yourself"

" I can't believe you carried that huge TV into your parents' house all by yourself"

"That cabinet was heavy, you are more woman than I thought."

But I digress.  B assembles the fish tank and it looks like this:

Kind of ugly 80s wood, right? But I have to admit that it looks okay in our house. Much better than the former fish tank. This one elongates the wall or your eye or whatever other secret interior design language I do not know. It really made the living room look better, in my opinion. Score one for B.

However, this just made me notice more that the inside was, shall we say, colorless. B goes to great pains to "decorate" for the fish, but it all looks like green, brown, and nothing. Take a look:

I bring this up to B and he says it is not a salt water tank, apparently it is a fresh water tank. Thus, it won't look bright blue with colorful fish and many colors like the bottom of the ocean. To which I respond, "so it looks like the bottom of a lake?" Tell me that doesn't look like the bottom of the lake. I guess it doesn't matter because the fish don't mind. 

You know who else is a big fan? Chester. It is like we upgraded his entertainment center from a 20" TV to a plasma and he cannot get enough. He spends most of his days "watching" the fish tank and trying to catch one fish he has his eye on. A colorful red one. B thinks it is because the fish moves fast. I think it is the only spot of color in the lake that Chester can see.  So he must try to "get it" with his paw on the glass.

Let's hope this one doesn't crack.

The One Where I Am Mistaken for a Nurse...

We got free flu shots at the office the other day.  Such a great benefit until you stop and wonder - are they doing this to be kind or to insure that none of us get sick so that we are in the office every day?  Very slick, office people. Very slick.

So I head into the room where there is some assembly line action. Fill out form, rotate, sign paper, lift up sleeve, get jabbed.  The pharmacist for some unknown reason has about 5 smiley star pins on his lapel.  Who knows what those were for, however, it did make me wonder if he pulled out the "special" white coat for us? Was he getting dressed in the morning and thinking "I need the extra special professional look. Hmmm...I know! I will use the coat with all of the smiley star pins!"  Someone asked him for one of the pins, but he said he forgot to bring them. I think he forgot they were all stuck to his coat.

Anyhow, somehow I became the official hand-holder-calmer-downer person.  Like that official title?  I just happened to be sitting next to someone about to be poked when she grabbed my hand and asked me to hold hers.  So I did.  And, honestly, this guy was pretty good. That needle was in and out before you knew it and I swear you did not even feel a pinch. Maybe that is why he had so many stars.  So the other woman in the room had been petrified since she walked in. She told us numerous times that she is deathly scared of needles, can barely be in the room when her daughter gets shots and is terrified. I ask her why she is there. I mean really. You might just rather get the flu then go through such torture.  So I kindly ask her if she wants me to hold her hand since I am now proud of my new position and title.  She takes me up on the offer.  At the last minute, she decides she is strong enough to do it herself but informs us she doesn't want to know when the needle is going in.  I calmly talk her through it and she erroneously figures as to when she is being stabbed and makes a face which prompts me to say "You know that it is all done? The needle was out by the time you made that face."  She exclaims "wow, that was painless" and strolls out like it was never that big of a deal.  Smiley starred pin guy thanks me for my service, does not offer me a pin and so I am on my way.

I stroll back to my office wondering if I should just become a nurse and ponder what a little white hat would look like on me.*  Apparently, I was not the only one that thought I would look good in a nurse's hat, because the secretary outside my office asked me the following:

Her:  Dani, is a virus contagious?

Me: A virus?

Her: Yes, is it contagious?

{pause}

It is important to note that this is a woman with three grown kids whom I could only imagine have been sick at some point in their lives. Multiple times I am sure. Did she never learn WHY they were sick or HOW they got sick? Color me puzzled.

{resume}

Me:  Yes viruses are contagious. That is how you get sick.

Me: Are you worried because of that boy's rash?

Her: Yes.

{pause}

The day prior someone in our office brought her boy to work because he had a "weird" rash and could not go to school. So she brought him to our office.  Makes sense. She then went around showing everyone the rash. Some people touched it. I call them stupid.  I did not touch it but did look at it.  Some people declared it was ring worm. It was not ring worm.  It was a rash due to a virus he had. Hence this conversation I am having.

{resume}

Me: I don't think you have to worry.  He had a bacterial virus.

Her: [blank look]

Me: There are different types of viruses - airborne like cold, flu or bacterial, which I believe you can only get if you come into contact with the rash, skin, mucus, whatever.

Her: okayyyyyy

Me:  Why do you think you caught it?

Her: Well I am itchy.

Me: You are itchy because you are thinking of his rash just like you were itchy the other day because you saw a bug.

Her: You are right

Me: I know.

So there you have it. I am a nurse disguised as a legal professional. Who knew.  Who knows if anything I said made any kind of medical sense either, but it sure sounded good.

*I know nurses don't wear those hats anymore but I like the retro look, k?

You Can B So Judgical

Did you know that judgical is not a word? It sounds like it could be one. Kind of like dramatical which is not a word either.  Go figure.  I knew it was not a word but I ran across it in one of those annoying captcha code things on the internet and just knew it was the perfect word for the title of this post. Plus, I like made up words anyway. Unless they are being used in a professional setting or in a serious manner.

B came home the other night and said "your hair is long, it looks long" with wonderment and amazement in his voice.  Inside my head I yelled "victory!" and raised my arms to the sky.  Well, not really, but inside my head.  Why are we getting excited about my hair? Let me take you back about four years or so...

B and I were dating.  I was in San Antonio on a work trip with my friend E.  For whatever reason, I decided I wanted to cut my hair short. This may have stemmed from the fact that I have super fine baby hair that just lays there and really does not do much else.  But in any event that is what I decided.  E told me I should ask B after all he was "my boyfriend."  Okay. Sure. What the heck. I call B who says "whatever" and "it's your hair." That B. He played things really cool when we were dating. All nonchalant and relaxed.  Actually he is pretty nonchalant and relaxed. Except when it comes to my hair.  But back then? He was playing it cool.

So I cut my hair short. Pretty short in fact.  When my dad picked me up from the airport without any fair warning, his exact words were "wow that's short!" or something to that effect.  B never said a word. It was my hair after all.  This held true when I got highlights. I would get some noncommittal "whatever" before it was done and some throw away comment like "oh that's blond" when it was finished.

Fast forward to six months after we were married.  After growing my hair out for the wedding, I cut it again. B did not say a word.  By now I was used to this and thought "wow, my super cool boyfriend became a super cool fiance and is now a super cool husband."  Until the dreaded day in November...when I cut my hair shorter than it had ever been.   I remember quite well what B said to me before I left:

"Don't come home with a soccer mom hair cut."

But you see, I had a super cool husband who used to be a super cool fiance and before that a super cool boyfriend who didn't care that much about my hair because, after all, it was my hair (which he continued to say while we were married). He was nonchalant and relaxed.  I wanted shorter, cooler hair. Something with pizazz!  Wowza! Or some other crazy zingy word.  Instead I became:

Pat Benetar

I totally had Pat Benetar hair.  I am not kidding.  And I love Pat Benetar.  And I actually loved my hair. The thing is, I did not really look like me which would freak me out when I looked in the mirror sometimes.  Now, when I see pictures I think it was kind of cool (although there are not that many pictures at all). 

B hated it.

Hated it.

Every pent up feeling he had for all of my hair cuts came out in full force.  I had to sit and listen to how he told me not to come back looking like that. And queries as to whether I really liked this hair. And how long until this is fixed? And he cannot believe he let me invite my hairdresser to the wedding celebration in September.  And from there on he was going to go with me to the hairdresser EVERY TIME to insure this didn't happen.

As you can tell, he was no longer nonchalant and relaxed.  He was irrational and ticked off. It probably didn't help that he had to go on our honeymoon with me and my new hair.  Despite the fact that most people loved it (although B swears that they all lied to  me and that only he, the one who truly loved me, would tell the truth), I never quite accepted it either. I did not hate it as much as B did, but it didn't feel like me.  So I decided to grow it out.

That was over one year ago.  

I have not been to the salon in one year for fear that (a) if I trim even one little bit, it will stop growing and (b) B will want to accompany me and demand to talk to the GIRL WHO BUTCHERED HIS WIFE'S HAIR and who really wants THAT scene?  So it has grown. Not as quickly as I had hoped, but we have come a long way baby.   

So when I hear that my hair is long or looks long, yes I consider it a victory.  The longer it grows, the less we are reminded of the Pat Benetar haircut and all is well with the world.  B goes back to being the super cool husband and I go back to being the wife that does not look like a soccer mom.

Now, what color highlights should I try? After all, it IS my hair.  

The Write Way

Today is election day. I know, you probably hadn't noticed.  Personally, I am excited for all of the campaigning and ads to stop. Then I can go back to my ad free life watching The Hills.*  But before that happens, voting must occur.  So, I have decided to write myself in as candidate for President of the United States of America.  Why not? I think I have the experience.  After all, I was President of a group at law school.  And, I was actually a successful write in candidate for student representative my first year.  That's a winning combination if I ever heard one.  Let me take you back about 9 years or so....

We were in the middle of a full fledged campaign for student something or another at school. There were probably about four candidates for the spot in our class although I only remember two of them and for two reasons.  First, they were my friends (yes both of them).  Second, they were running on a platform together although there was only one spot...and only one of them could win...so technically they were running together, but against, each other. Confusing, I know.

In the midst of all of this confusion, a few people remarked that I should have put my bid in for the spot.  The more remarks were made, the more I thought they were right. Why wasn't I running?  Well, alas, it was only two days before election.  Too late to do anything but ponder what could have been.  However, someone wiser than me, an upperclassman, suggested I should be a write in candidate. After researching and getting a permission slip or something, it was approved.  But how does one go about becoming a write in candidate - how do you get the word out?

Campaign posters were out.  We were told that I could put them up but the other candidates made such a stink that I modestly declared they "weren't necessary."  For the next two days, I and my upperclassman friend, proceeded to spread, via word of mouth, my message. That message consisted of "elect me" or something equally benign yet clever.  Word quickly spread like fire. Why, I don't know. Everyone wanted me to win, although perhaps not my opponents. The day of the election was upon us and we did not stop campaigning.  In fact, I sat by the election table introducing myself to everyone.  My opponents - the together yet against each other team - despite being my friends** did not trust me so they, too, sat by the table.  After a long hard day/night, the tally was in.

I won.

Yep - I, a write in candidate, two days before election, with no signs, won. Victory.  The power was ALL mine.  Never had I been so successful, wanted something so badly, that I took it and seized it, trampling foes and friends alike in my thirst.  I was riding high.

Until my first meeting.  That is when I realized being a representative was annoying as hell. All anyone did was bitch and moan and nothing good happened.  Victory quickly became lackluster enthusiasm which dwindled to pure hatred.

I imagine that might be what it is like to be elected President of the United States.  At least, that is what I will tell myself when my write in candidacy campaign fails.

UPDATE: Another candidate has declared his write in candidacy. He may win on cuteness alone.

*Yeah I like mindless TV. Who doesn't?

**Not much of a friend was I? Running against them like that. However, how could they even explain their dual platform for a single election? So puzzling.

Fall is the Season for Falling.

This weekend B and I accompanied the family to an old time Halloween trick or treat event. You can see some pictures here.  We walked through the village with all the employees in costumes, some even scary.  And we got to trick or treat - as adults. How fun is that? I wasn't even wearing a costume. I am such a spoil sport.  You can also see the treats we got here.

Now, I must say, my family-in-law is no less warped than I which is why I really love them. Let me give you an example.  My nephew starts crying, probably because he was the only one in costume yet he was stuck in a stroller not able to see a thing.  My brother in law took him out to carry him. My sister in law then pushed an empty stroller - well not entirely empty, full of everyone's trick or treat stash.   We enter a VERY dark drawbridge where we have been told there may be a monster. I don't like that. Monsters are not that big of a deal.  Being jumped at and screamed at in the dark on a bridge scares the bejezus out of me.  So, I tell B that he must hold my arm because I am scared. 

B then proceeds to announce to everyone that I am scared because I do not like drawbridges where you can see in between the panels.  Okay, that is true. But I hadn't even noticed that until he said it. I am sweating right now just thinking about it.  B, fondly remembering the terrifying story I told him about my childhood and how I cried all the way across one of these bridges and almost refused to go back, decided it would be funny to try to TRIP ME!  Are you kidding me? My husband is cruel. Plain and simple.

The best part, however, came upon exiting the dark drawbridge. For some reason everyone was screaming inside the drawbridge for no apparent reason (other than I who was screaming at B for being so cruel) until we exited. Just as the crowd quieted down, my sister in law announced "my baby's gone!" to which we all immediately laughed knowing my brother in law had him.  Those around us were not laughing. In fact, we even got a few dirty looks.  Geez, kind of ruins the whole trick part of trick or treat, don't you think people?

I must say, though, that this event was much better than our trip last Christmas when I did not have long johns, froze my butt off and also tripped and fell - to the ground.  My brother in law was kind enough to tell us to watch our step and remind me of that fall this time around.  I like to think he was being kind and protective. Unlike B who, had he remembered, would have said "don't fall" knowing that I would indeed, fall.  Which all stems from this story:

It was our first year together in the fall. We decided to go on a date to the apple orchard.  B thought it would be a good idea to walk down by the river.  On the way up, for no apparent reason, B said "be careful, don't fall" to which I immediately tripped and fell. In the dirt. Which was wet. And it was raining. I looked like a total disaster.  There have been a couple of times since that episode where I have immediately fallen upon B telling me to "watch out", "be careful" and "don't fall."  It is like some bizarre trigger and he knows it and uses it to his advantage. In fact, he may have said it last year at Christmas.  

I wouldn't put it past him.