There have been some, for lack of a better word, ‘delicate’ issues going on in my life lately and surprisingly enough – one of them required me to check out the San Diego County Courthouse records. I got what I went for… then spent the next 4 hours completely and totally fascinated with the whole idea of ‘Public Records’.
I discovered that:
My dentist has 18 lawsuits of malpractice and personal injury against him.
My ex-boyfriend has a record…
So does his brother…
And so does his brother’s wife…
And so do his parents!
And so do the people we bought our house from.
Oh, and the lady who does my nails has one as well.
(It could be a mistake. There are LOTS of people whose names are spelled with 16 consonants and one vowel. OK fine. It IS her but she cuts cuticles like no one else so I’m NOT CHANGING!! I’ll just watch myself when she has a sharp object)
So what does all this prove?!?!
I sure can pick ‘em!
Oh snap… is that mom and pops I see on the listing too?!?!
Someone’s got some explaining to do….
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Proud sis...
Mike was on the news this morning fighting a fire. You can check out the article below:
http://www.nbcsandiego.com/news/15173899/detail.html?dl=headlineclick
He is in the picture on the right of the three firefighters. He's in some of the other images as well. Check him out!Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Me a hypochondriac? Nooooo….
I read an article in the oh so newsworthy magazine of Cosmo about a girl in her young twenties who went through menopause. The magazine described the symptoms in detail and offered support groups to those dealing with this so young in life.
The symptoms:
Hot flashes, insomnia, headaches, body shape changes around the abdomen, water retention, emotional ups and downs, and forgetfulness.
A few days later, I went to the theater with the girls to see 27 Dresses and as soon as we hiked to our seats, I was roasting. I yanked off my sweatshirt and started fanning myself. I looked around at the girls as they sat there peacefully in their thick sweaters and thought…
Oh. My. Gosh.
I have all those symptoms!
I am absolutely roasting in JANUARY, I can’t sleep, I had a nasty headache yesterday, I’m getting pudge in my tummy, I retain water, I’m emotional, and I forget everything!
I’m going through menopause!!
Then I start thinking about how much Chris and I want a kid. Well, I guess we could adopt. American adoptions are kinda out of the question though, it would take too long. I’ve always wanted a baby from Africa. They are very hip these days. I wonder if I should start that process because I heard it takes a while. Should I just go to africanbabies.com or something? Hmm. I wonder if they have those menopause support groups in Santee?
All this, and the previews still hadn’t finished.
By the time I got home, I was worked up to a tizzy. I burst through the front door and yelled to Chris, ‘Honey! I’m going through MENOPAUSE!’
Silence.
His eyes rolled to the sky and I literally heard him think, ‘Lord, why me? Why? She is absolutely nuts.’
He asked why I thought I was while desperately trying to hold back a snicker.
He failed.
I told him about the symptoms and how I had every one of them and he said:
1. You were wearing a sweater in a heated theater.
2. You’ve never slept well.
3. You didn’t drink water and you got a headache.
4. If you think that’s pudge, you’re stupid.
5. You retain water because you eat the equivalent of a salt lick daily.
6. There are therapy groups for the amount of emotional you are.
7. There is a lifetime supply of post-it notes all over this house that prove you have a bad memory.
Oh.
I guess I’m not going through menopause.
Bummer. I was really looking forward to that African baby.
The symptoms:
Hot flashes, insomnia, headaches, body shape changes around the abdomen, water retention, emotional ups and downs, and forgetfulness.
A few days later, I went to the theater with the girls to see 27 Dresses and as soon as we hiked to our seats, I was roasting. I yanked off my sweatshirt and started fanning myself. I looked around at the girls as they sat there peacefully in their thick sweaters and thought…
Oh. My. Gosh.
I have all those symptoms!
I am absolutely roasting in JANUARY, I can’t sleep, I had a nasty headache yesterday, I’m getting pudge in my tummy, I retain water, I’m emotional, and I forget everything!
I’m going through menopause!!
Then I start thinking about how much Chris and I want a kid. Well, I guess we could adopt. American adoptions are kinda out of the question though, it would take too long. I’ve always wanted a baby from Africa. They are very hip these days. I wonder if I should start that process because I heard it takes a while. Should I just go to africanbabies.com or something? Hmm. I wonder if they have those menopause support groups in Santee?
All this, and the previews still hadn’t finished.
By the time I got home, I was worked up to a tizzy. I burst through the front door and yelled to Chris, ‘Honey! I’m going through MENOPAUSE!’
Silence.
His eyes rolled to the sky and I literally heard him think, ‘Lord, why me? Why? She is absolutely nuts.’
He asked why I thought I was while desperately trying to hold back a snicker.
He failed.
I told him about the symptoms and how I had every one of them and he said:
1. You were wearing a sweater in a heated theater.
2. You’ve never slept well.
3. You didn’t drink water and you got a headache.
4. If you think that’s pudge, you’re stupid.
5. You retain water because you eat the equivalent of a salt lick daily.
6. There are therapy groups for the amount of emotional you are.
7. There is a lifetime supply of post-it notes all over this house that prove you have a bad memory.
Oh.
I guess I’m not going through menopause.
Bummer. I was really looking forward to that African baby.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Winning... is so very nice.
I more than doubled my money in Vegas.
I’m interested to see the reaction of my tax guy when I claim my Vegas winnings.
Heaven forbid I dupe the IRS out of taxing my 10 bucks.
Oh. You thought I won big? Well, to win big, you’ve got to bet big. I would hardly call 4 bucks in the penny slots, ‘betting big’.
As soon as I crossed the 10 dollar mark I cashed out. Thank heavens for those automatic ticket redeeming machines. I’d be too embarrassed to actually cash the ticket for 10 George Washington’s at a window with a real person.
As I started toward my room, I noticed a creepy guy standing by himself waiting for the elevator. He turned around, dirtily looked me up and down, and a disturbing smile spread across his face. I immediately detoured to the closest slot machine and dumped in a dollar of my hard earned winnings.
I lost the dollar in the poker slots but that may be because… I don’t know how to play poker.
Look. I didn’t have a choice of machines ok?!?! It was a girl emergency!
But I don’t count it as a loss anyway. It was a ‘no way in Hades I’m riding in the elevator with the gross man’ fee and I was happy to pay it.
A couple hours later, we were driving down the freeway. Pops was on a business call and I stared out the window at the strip… and noticed…
‘Uh. Is the Monte Carlo on fire?’
Dad glanced and continued his call – completely brushing me off by the way.
Thanks.
‘Pops, those are flames. That is a fire.’
And then pulled out my camera… because that’s how I roll…
…like a tourist.
An hour later we rolled by again...
Here's pops losing 3 bucks...
And me winning 10!
Seriously, we're high rollers. $7 combined.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Oooh, THOSE cards… oops.
Well, it’s been an interesting two days.
Before leaving, dad asked, ‘Do you have cards?’
‘No. But I loaded up my ipod and I rented a movie from itunes so I should be good. I’m not sure how good the movie is going to be but I’d rather watch a boring movie than stare at some of the freaks and geeks at the airport. Besides, I haven’t taken playing cards on a plane since I was 13… oh wait. Business cards?... Of course?’
My dad just stared at me as if he was trying really hard NOT to call me a complete moron.
I always have business cards – What else am I going to drop in those little glass ‘win a free lunch’ bowls at the front of restaurants?
Shoot. Did I just say that? I mean. I only use them for business purposes!
The first meeting went well. The guys were in their mid to late 20’s and fans of the Chargers. How could we not get along? And they were at the same Detroit game Chris and I were at – um hello?!?! That’s like… bonding.
Lunch went well too I guess – since I live for embarrassing moments. We had to make it a quick stop since we were running late. I tried to order an ‘All American Meal’ from McDonalds but the guy behind the register just stared at me blankly. I leaned closer and whispered, ‘It’s a happy meal without the toy and in a regular bag pretty much.’
Still a blank stare.
Brilliant.
‘You want a happy meal?’ He said curiously after staring into the ceiling dumbfounded.
The line was growing so I told him that was fine.
Yeah, fine if you don’t mind sitting among a group of business suited people with a Kid’s Meal connect the dots bag and a giant plush bunny.
Oh well.
My red cheeks still recovering, we walked into our second meeting, not remembering it was going to be with a conference room full of superintendents and some company big wigs.
Superintendent. Definition: The guys who make every subcontractor pee their pants in fear.
Company Big Wigs. Definition: The guys who make every superintendent pee their pants in fear.
Why don’t I have a job where I can just sit and look cute?
I mean, sure, my presentation section was only about 4.5 minutes long but it only takes about 4.5 seconds for me to turn bright red in fear.
But it went well in spite of me.
After the meeting finished, a superintendent walked up to me and said, ‘I have your picture hanging in my work trailer.’
‘My… my… picture?’ I stammered.
‘Yeah, right near our door where we can see it every day.’ He smiled.
‘Um. How terribly… uh… flattering? Where’d you get a picture? I asked.
‘Your co-worker e-mailed it to me.’ He grinned.
Mental note: Kick Katie in the pants immediately upon returning to the office.
There was more but this entry is long enough. I’ll update you later on…
‘Is that the… no…is that…the MONTE CARLO ON FIRE!!! I’ll get my camera.’
&
‘Heck yes, I more than doubled my money’
&
Food, food, food.
Before leaving, dad asked, ‘Do you have cards?’
‘No. But I loaded up my ipod and I rented a movie from itunes so I should be good. I’m not sure how good the movie is going to be but I’d rather watch a boring movie than stare at some of the freaks and geeks at the airport. Besides, I haven’t taken playing cards on a plane since I was 13… oh wait. Business cards?... Of course?’
My dad just stared at me as if he was trying really hard NOT to call me a complete moron.
I always have business cards – What else am I going to drop in those little glass ‘win a free lunch’ bowls at the front of restaurants?
Shoot. Did I just say that? I mean. I only use them for business purposes!
The first meeting went well. The guys were in their mid to late 20’s and fans of the Chargers. How could we not get along? And they were at the same Detroit game Chris and I were at – um hello?!?! That’s like… bonding.
Lunch went well too I guess – since I live for embarrassing moments. We had to make it a quick stop since we were running late. I tried to order an ‘All American Meal’ from McDonalds but the guy behind the register just stared at me blankly. I leaned closer and whispered, ‘It’s a happy meal without the toy and in a regular bag pretty much.’
Still a blank stare.
Brilliant.
‘You want a happy meal?’ He said curiously after staring into the ceiling dumbfounded.
The line was growing so I told him that was fine.
Yeah, fine if you don’t mind sitting among a group of business suited people with a Kid’s Meal connect the dots bag and a giant plush bunny.
Oh well.
My red cheeks still recovering, we walked into our second meeting, not remembering it was going to be with a conference room full of superintendents and some company big wigs.
Superintendent. Definition: The guys who make every subcontractor pee their pants in fear.
Company Big Wigs. Definition: The guys who make every superintendent pee their pants in fear.
Why don’t I have a job where I can just sit and look cute?
I mean, sure, my presentation section was only about 4.5 minutes long but it only takes about 4.5 seconds for me to turn bright red in fear.
But it went well in spite of me.
After the meeting finished, a superintendent walked up to me and said, ‘I have your picture hanging in my work trailer.’
‘My… my… picture?’ I stammered.
‘Yeah, right near our door where we can see it every day.’ He smiled.
‘Um. How terribly… uh… flattering? Where’d you get a picture? I asked.
‘Your co-worker e-mailed it to me.’ He grinned.
Mental note: Kick Katie in the pants immediately upon returning to the office.
There was more but this entry is long enough. I’ll update you later on…
‘Is that the… no…is that…the MONTE CARLO ON FIRE!!! I’ll get my camera.’
&
‘Heck yes, I more than doubled my money’
&
Food, food, food.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Happy Birthday Wes...
You are the craziest kid I know... but I have to love ya.
That's what aunties do.
And yes Cole, I know the picture is from Christmas 2005...
I can think of worse…
Our company had some meetings scheduled in Las Vegas for Thursday and Friday. Unfortunately I was chosen to attend.
Riiiight.
Like it’s ever ‘unfortunate’ to be ‘forced’ to work in Vegas.
Even if you never make it through The Strip, the food in that whole city is amazing. And, in case you missed it… I really, really, really, really, really like food.
Well, that and I like playing the nickel slots in the airport until about the 5th time they page my name to ‘PLEASE GET ON THE PLANE!’.
I was to fly up Thursday morning, attend meetings, stay over Thursday night, attend more meetings, and fly home late Friday.
Well, Friday’s meetings were rescheduled. ‘Unfortunately’ it’s cheaper to leave me there than fly me home a day early.
40 bucks on red?
I’m packing a bikini and kicking it poolside with a margarita on the Mandalay Beach.
Riiiight.
Like it’s ever ‘unfortunate’ to be ‘forced’ to work in Vegas.
Even if you never make it through The Strip, the food in that whole city is amazing. And, in case you missed it… I really, really, really, really, really like food.
Well, that and I like playing the nickel slots in the airport until about the 5th time they page my name to ‘PLEASE GET ON THE PLANE!’.
I was to fly up Thursday morning, attend meetings, stay over Thursday night, attend more meetings, and fly home late Friday.
Well, Friday’s meetings were rescheduled. ‘Unfortunately’ it’s cheaper to leave me there than fly me home a day early.
40 bucks on red?
I’m packing a bikini and kicking it poolside with a margarita on the Mandalay Beach.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The weekend…
It’s been a rough couple of weeks so Chris decided to take me on a date. Anywhere I wanted for dinner and any movie I wanted to see.
Not necessarily a smart decision based on the high volume of over the top chick flicks at the theater.
I wasn’t much in the mood for a crowd so we stopped for a high class dinner at Hilberto’s and went to see 'Juno' (I didn’t want to abuse Chris’ offer, lest he never offer again).
Despite the obvious signs of a potentially bad movie, i.e. an audience full of teenagers and the unhappy faces on guys who looked like they were dragged to the theater, the movie was f-a-n-ta-s-t-i-c.
Chris worked on Saturday and unfortunately I lack the ability to laze around without feeling overcome by guilt so I deep cleaned the house.
I scrubbed the toilets, the floors, the baseboards, the windows, the sills, the shower, the sinks, the mirror, the walls, the light fixtures, the toothbrush holders, the door handles… you get it.
As I pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer and walked back into the house, the smell of bleach assaulted my nostrils and I realized something…
The most comforting smell in the world to me isn’t cinnamon, or vanilla, or fresh laundry, or baked pie… it’s harsh cleaning products.
There is something so refreshing and relaxing about it. It puts a skip in my step. It’s the smell of clean. Germ free clean. But don’t get me started on germs because that’s a whole… well… just don’t get me started. I AM the one who did a semester long project on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and realized… I may have a teeny tiny little problem with it. Whatever.
Someday… a psychologist will make a case study out of me and you'll want my autograph.
I wonder if they make candles that smell like Lysol, Simple Green, or Clorox?
Sunday we mourned two terrible losses. I knew it would come eventually but I thought we had more time together.
The Chargers lost to the Patriots (Does anyone know where I can get a ‘I hate Tom Brady’ bumper sticker?!?!?) and Green Bay lost to… ugh… the Giants.
What a rough day.
I went immediately home and scrubbed the shower with Clorox… again.
Not necessarily a smart decision based on the high volume of over the top chick flicks at the theater.
I wasn’t much in the mood for a crowd so we stopped for a high class dinner at Hilberto’s and went to see 'Juno' (I didn’t want to abuse Chris’ offer, lest he never offer again).
Despite the obvious signs of a potentially bad movie, i.e. an audience full of teenagers and the unhappy faces on guys who looked like they were dragged to the theater, the movie was f-a-n-ta-s-t-i-c.
Chris worked on Saturday and unfortunately I lack the ability to laze around without feeling overcome by guilt so I deep cleaned the house.
I scrubbed the toilets, the floors, the baseboards, the windows, the sills, the shower, the sinks, the mirror, the walls, the light fixtures, the toothbrush holders, the door handles… you get it.
As I pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer and walked back into the house, the smell of bleach assaulted my nostrils and I realized something…
The most comforting smell in the world to me isn’t cinnamon, or vanilla, or fresh laundry, or baked pie… it’s harsh cleaning products.
There is something so refreshing and relaxing about it. It puts a skip in my step. It’s the smell of clean. Germ free clean. But don’t get me started on germs because that’s a whole… well… just don’t get me started. I AM the one who did a semester long project on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and realized… I may have a teeny tiny little problem with it. Whatever.
Someday… a psychologist will make a case study out of me and you'll want my autograph.
I wonder if they make candles that smell like Lysol, Simple Green, or Clorox?
Sunday we mourned two terrible losses. I knew it would come eventually but I thought we had more time together.
The Chargers lost to the Patriots (Does anyone know where I can get a ‘I hate Tom Brady’ bumper sticker?!?!?) and Green Bay lost to… ugh… the Giants.
What a rough day.
I went immediately home and scrubbed the shower with Clorox… again.
Keira has learned to clap... just in time to cheer for our Chargers.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Flashback Friday…
When John, Mike, and I were 13 and 15, one of my dad’s oh so responsible employees showed us how to build a potato gun.
Because everyone knows the combination of pipe, potatoes, a bottle of WD-40, and a flame tool are landmark in safety and you should share them with teenagers.
We made the biggest potato gun possible and spent our afternoons launching the potatoes into targets… *cough* the pool deck… *cough* the new trees… *cough* the house siding… (sorry ‘bout those dents dad)
On a particularly hot day, John filled the chamber up with Rave hairspray and WD-40. The fumes filled the air as he quickly spun the cap on and pulled out the matches. As soon as he touched the flame to the side, a loud BOOM exploded into our ears. Mike and I looked down to see John on his back, his shoes smoldering and the lawn burst into flames.
He hadn’t spun the cap on tightly and instead of launching the potato, the force rocketed the cap and the flame onto John’s shoed feet.
Responsibly… we laughed hysterically at John.
We laughed so hard, we overlooked the fact that the lawn was still on fire… in the middle of summer. About 60 seconds of laughing at John’s blackened shoes went by before we suddenly became aware that the fire was growing. And then we realized, if mom saw the fire, she’d never let us shoot another potato again.
Mike ran for the hose while John stomped out what he could. It’s not like his shoes could get worse.
Fortunately they got the fire out (hence the reason they are such good firefighters… they started young) but there was still a huge problem…
Now there was a huge black spot of charred lawn directly in front of the screen door that mom surely wouldn’t miss. We couldn’t think of a believable story for the burn spot and we certainly weren’t going to tell the truth sooooo…
We dug out the lawn, tossed it off the back hill so no one would find it, threw on some fresh dirt, then went inside and told mom the dogs had dug a patch of the lawn out and she should be mad at them.
As for John’s shoes? ‘Pssshhh. Mom, that’s a fashion statement. Don’t you know style?!?!’
Why do I believe there is a God? There is NO way I would have survived childhood in the country without Him.
Because everyone knows the combination of pipe, potatoes, a bottle of WD-40, and a flame tool are landmark in safety and you should share them with teenagers.
We made the biggest potato gun possible and spent our afternoons launching the potatoes into targets… *cough* the pool deck… *cough* the new trees… *cough* the house siding… (sorry ‘bout those dents dad)
On a particularly hot day, John filled the chamber up with Rave hairspray and WD-40. The fumes filled the air as he quickly spun the cap on and pulled out the matches. As soon as he touched the flame to the side, a loud BOOM exploded into our ears. Mike and I looked down to see John on his back, his shoes smoldering and the lawn burst into flames.
He hadn’t spun the cap on tightly and instead of launching the potato, the force rocketed the cap and the flame onto John’s shoed feet.
Responsibly… we laughed hysterically at John.
We laughed so hard, we overlooked the fact that the lawn was still on fire… in the middle of summer. About 60 seconds of laughing at John’s blackened shoes went by before we suddenly became aware that the fire was growing. And then we realized, if mom saw the fire, she’d never let us shoot another potato again.
Mike ran for the hose while John stomped out what he could. It’s not like his shoes could get worse.
Fortunately they got the fire out (hence the reason they are such good firefighters… they started young) but there was still a huge problem…
Now there was a huge black spot of charred lawn directly in front of the screen door that mom surely wouldn’t miss. We couldn’t think of a believable story for the burn spot and we certainly weren’t going to tell the truth sooooo…
We dug out the lawn, tossed it off the back hill so no one would find it, threw on some fresh dirt, then went inside and told mom the dogs had dug a patch of the lawn out and she should be mad at them.
As for John’s shoes? ‘Pssshhh. Mom, that’s a fashion statement. Don’t you know style?!?!’
Why do I believe there is a God? There is NO way I would have survived childhood in the country without Him.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
It's days like these that make me wanna cry...
It's houses like these...
http://sandiego.craigslist.org/csd/rfs/536853241.html
...That make my soul cry.
For those not in Sunny Southern Cali, this is a smokin' deal.
I'm suddenly feeling very, very, VERY upside-down.
Oh well.
http://sandiego.craigslist.org/csd/rfs/536853241.html
...That make my soul cry.
For those not in Sunny Southern Cali, this is a smokin' deal.
I'm suddenly feeling very, very, VERY upside-down.
Oh well.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
But I’m alive!!
I went to the dentist today to have two crowns replaced. Don’t be jealous OK?
I’m already deathly afraid of anyone who is legally allowed to drill your teeth out (Um, hello? The horror film ‘The Dentist’ was probably based on a true story!) and today’s experience didn’t make my phobia any less present.
You see, at my ghetto dentist, you would close your eyes to prevent any water being splashed in them. At this new high tech place, they give you huge yellow foggy glasses. The giant all plastic blind old people glasses.
Totally Hot, I know.
Then, my dentist is lovely, but I didn’t appreciate her conversation with the assistant.
‘Doesn’t she have beautiful skin?’ she said while pointing at me.
‘I’d kill for her eyelashes. She should be an actress or something.’ replied the assistant.
‘Her shoes are sooooo cute!’ The dentist said, muffled by her mask.
OK, two huge problems:
1 – Please don’t talk about me like I’m at a funeral parlor and you are preparing me for a viewing. I’m alive… and despite these gi-normous glasses that cover most of my face, my ears are still fully functional. Though, if you give me one more shot of Novocain, I’m not sure how much longer they will work – but trust me, I’m willing to take the risk. Load me up.
2 – I’m on to your little game. You are trying to make me feel better by developing a ‘connection’ from compliments. Let me clarify something for you - you could say I was hotter than Claudia Schiffer and I still wouldn’t like you. It’s not personal; it’s your pain inducing drill.
I survived, but barely.
Does anyone know how many Tylenol you can take just before it becomes toxic but way after it takes the pain away?
I’m already deathly afraid of anyone who is legally allowed to drill your teeth out (Um, hello? The horror film ‘The Dentist’ was probably based on a true story!) and today’s experience didn’t make my phobia any less present.
You see, at my ghetto dentist, you would close your eyes to prevent any water being splashed in them. At this new high tech place, they give you huge yellow foggy glasses. The giant all plastic blind old people glasses.
Totally Hot, I know.
Then, my dentist is lovely, but I didn’t appreciate her conversation with the assistant.
‘Doesn’t she have beautiful skin?’ she said while pointing at me.
‘I’d kill for her eyelashes. She should be an actress or something.’ replied the assistant.
‘Her shoes are sooooo cute!’ The dentist said, muffled by her mask.
OK, two huge problems:
1 – Please don’t talk about me like I’m at a funeral parlor and you are preparing me for a viewing. I’m alive… and despite these gi-normous glasses that cover most of my face, my ears are still fully functional. Though, if you give me one more shot of Novocain, I’m not sure how much longer they will work – but trust me, I’m willing to take the risk. Load me up.
2 – I’m on to your little game. You are trying to make me feel better by developing a ‘connection’ from compliments. Let me clarify something for you - you could say I was hotter than Claudia Schiffer and I still wouldn’t like you. It’s not personal; it’s your pain inducing drill.
I survived, but barely.
Does anyone know how many Tylenol you can take just before it becomes toxic but way after it takes the pain away?
Monday, January 14, 2008
My weekend?!?!…
I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.
But, I CAN be grateful. Out of all that could have gone wrong – electrical, roofing, etc – the problem was plumbing, which happens to be my man’s specialty. What would have cost the average Joe Blow upwards of several grand in city charges, backhoe charges, and labor charges - only cost us about $180 and a whole lot of arm strength from my fantastic dad and Chris who both put in an entire day of hard labor. Many thanks to those who stopped by to lend a helping hand.
Sure Chris was smiling, he was in the backhoe while my dad was 6 feet down a hole!
Jessie stopped by to help out. Dad was in the hole, you just can't see him.
Chris' family stops by to help put the yard back together.
But, I CAN be grateful. Out of all that could have gone wrong – electrical, roofing, etc – the problem was plumbing, which happens to be my man’s specialty. What would have cost the average Joe Blow upwards of several grand in city charges, backhoe charges, and labor charges - only cost us about $180 and a whole lot of arm strength from my fantastic dad and Chris who both put in an entire day of hard labor. Many thanks to those who stopped by to lend a helping hand.
Sure Chris was smiling, he was in the backhoe while my dad was 6 feet down a hole!
Jessie stopped by to help out. Dad was in the hole, you just can't see him.
Chris' family stops by to help put the yard back together.
And that's it. If you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I'm showering.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Pass the sugar free gum please...
Sorry, but I fail to see the problem...
http://body.aol.com/condition-center/digestive-disorders/news/article/_a/too-much-sugar-free-gum-linked-to-severe/20080111092909990001
Thank heavens I keep a bucket of sugar-free Dentyne Ice by my desk. I better get chewing!!
http://body.aol.com/condition-center/digestive-disorders/news/article/_a/too-much-sugar-free-gum-linked-to-severe/20080111092909990001
Thank heavens I keep a bucket of sugar-free Dentyne Ice by my desk. I better get chewing!!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Thank you Home Shopping Network...
OK, so I’ve felt a little awkward walking around the back lawn with a hose while brushing my teeth the last two mornings. A little less awkward than rinsing with Listerine while screaming, ‘AHHH! CRAP!! That water is cold!!’ at 5:15 AM but still awkward.
Sorry mom, I do say ‘Crap’ at 5:15 AM when I’m on a freezing dewy lawn trying to rinse out my mouth with slightly above freezing water. I try to make sure the neighbor kids don’t hear me, heck, I try to make sure no one hears me lest they come outside and see me flossing standing in my pajamas and slippers.
Chris and my conversations have become progressively more ‘interesting’:
Me: Hey sweetie, I’m running to Vons, do you need anything?’
Chris: I’m good thanks. What are you getting at Vons?!?!’
Me: Oh nothing, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.
Chris: Cool. Let me grab my slippers and I’ll go with you.
__________________________________________________________________________
Me: I’ll take a spicy chicken sandwich and a large fry
Counter lady: Anything to drink?
Me: Oh geez no.
Chris: I’ll take the same.
Counter lady: Anything to drink?
Chris: Definitely N-o.
___________________________________________________________________________
Chris: Hey babe, I’m thinking I won’t have to take out the sidewalk or the curb; I can just dig a tunnel!! Ehh? Ehh?
___________________________________________________________________________
But hey, HSN still brings joy to my day. Check out today's special: http://crafts-sewing.hsn.com/we-r-memory-keepers-crop-a-dile-400-piece-eyelet-setter-and-punch-crafting-tool_p-3113546_xp.aspx?web_id=3113546&ocm=sekw
I think I’m going to order the Crop-A-Dile and Bedazzle the heck out of my clothes.
Maybe I’ll make a shirt that says, ‘No thanks. I don’t need help. I’m just here to use your bathroom.’
Oh, and no, I um... totally don't um... watch the Home Shopping Network. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. I was flipping the channels and the remote control broke while on that channel. Um. Yeah. Totally.
Sorry mom, I do say ‘Crap’ at 5:15 AM when I’m on a freezing dewy lawn trying to rinse out my mouth with slightly above freezing water. I try to make sure the neighbor kids don’t hear me, heck, I try to make sure no one hears me lest they come outside and see me flossing standing in my pajamas and slippers.
Chris and my conversations have become progressively more ‘interesting’:
Me: Hey sweetie, I’m running to Vons, do you need anything?’
Chris: I’m good thanks. What are you getting at Vons?!?!’
Me: Oh nothing, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.
Chris: Cool. Let me grab my slippers and I’ll go with you.
__________________________________________________________________________
Me: I’ll take a spicy chicken sandwich and a large fry
Counter lady: Anything to drink?
Me: Oh geez no.
Chris: I’ll take the same.
Counter lady: Anything to drink?
Chris: Definitely N-o.
___________________________________________________________________________
Chris: Hey babe, I’m thinking I won’t have to take out the sidewalk or the curb; I can just dig a tunnel!! Ehh? Ehh?
___________________________________________________________________________
Neighbor comes over and quizzically looks at Chris who is digging in a waist deep hole.
Neighbor: What are you doing?!?!?
Chris: Digging a moat. You guys aren't allergic to aligators are you?
__________________________________________________________________
But hey, HSN still brings joy to my day. Check out today's special: http://crafts-sewing.hsn.com/we-r-memory-keepers-crop-a-dile-400-piece-eyelet-setter-and-punch-crafting-tool_p-3113546_xp.aspx?web_id=3113546&ocm=sekw
I think I’m going to order the Crop-A-Dile and Bedazzle the heck out of my clothes.
Maybe I’ll make a shirt that says, ‘No thanks. I don’t need help. I’m just here to use your bathroom.’
Oh, and no, I um... totally don't um... watch the Home Shopping Network. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. I was flipping the channels and the remote control broke while on that channel. Um. Yeah. Totally.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
What's next?!?!?
Last night my dogs ran away. Considering we have busy streets to the South and to the North, I wasn’t holding out that the dogs were still 3 dimensional.
This morning I checked online at the local shelters and found my dogs. I went to the shelter to find a line of only 4 people. ‘Sweet!’ I’m thinking, ‘I’ll be in and out in 10 minutes tops.’ Unfortunately those 4 people were there to adopt/claim/license/relinquish their dogs – all of which required: name, address, driver’s license, mother’s maiden name, license plate number, value of vehicle, name of father’s birth city, anticipated name of first born child (whew! At least I had THAT covered! Optimus Prime!), etc. 40 minutes and three gray hairs later, I get to the front of the line, pull out the tag numbers of my dogs, and smile expectantly.
‘How do you know these dogs are yours?’ The lady asked
‘They are the same color, gender, type of animal, type of breed, found in the same location, found on the same day as my dogs went missing, dogs. I can describe them if you want.’ I smiled.
‘You’re going to have to go out and identify them’ she said.
I go out (in the most uncomfortable shoes known to mankind I might add) and walk to the cage on the furthest reaches of the planet with the ‘Kennel Master’, look at my dogs and say, ‘Yup, those are my dogs’.
I go back inside and walk up to the lady who just sent me outside, who looks at me and says, ‘Mam, you’ll have to sign back in.’ I look behind me at the line, which was now 8 people, and wonder if crying in public is acceptable in this situation. 52 minutes later, I met with another lady who asked if I could prove the dogs were mine. I told her I could describe them perfectly and she said, ‘Did you look at the dogs?’ ‘Well, yes,’ I responded, ‘but that’s only because that other lady said I had to in order to claim the dogs.’
We debated for a good 20 minutes until she caved to contacting my vet, who very quickly identified the dogs. She then pulled out her keyboard and started reading off my list of fines…
Board
Food
Water
Staff
Licensing penalties
Quarantine fees
Unknown vaccination fees
And on and on and on
‘Well, your preliminary fines are $150 but I’m still waiting on some more numbers to compute.’ She said while typing.
‘$150?!?!?!’ I coughed.
‘$150 + for EACH’ she said definitively.
‘How much to give them to you? I don’t like dogs anymore’ I said seriously.
‘Look, if you license/vaccinate/microchip/neuter through us, we’ll make all these fines go away. I can do all that for 80 bucks.’ she said, sounding like a member of the mafia.
I pick up my dogs – minus their man parts – tomorrow.
THEN, I had to go to the dentist for an appointment I scheduled months ago. I switched dentists because I felt the other one was doing a poor job.
Judging by the ‘oh my’s’ and the ‘why did they do that’s’ said by the new dentist - I was right.
Those two crowns I got mere months ago and spent $1,500 on are actually causing damage and have to be taken out and replaced. The new filling? Has to be drilled out and crowned.
My bill?
I’m going to type this out so you feel my pain…
Three THOUSAND, six HUNDRED, thirty five dollars.
I just parked the value of a Ford Focus in my mouth.
I sat on the couch to watch the entire Season 2 of Grey’s Anatomy while eating a therapeutic gallon of Chocolate Malted Crunch ice cream from Rite Aid when Chris leaned in and said, ‘Hey hon, don’t use any of the bathrooms, sinks, toilets,… just don’t use any water at all. The plumbing pipes are messed up and I won’t be able to fix it tonight. You can’t take a shower tomorrow and you’ll have to wash your face with the hose. Sorry babe.’
‘That’s fine’ I said with an eerie smile, ‘I’ll just use the bathroom at Rite Aid when I go back to get the second - and necessary - therapeutic gallon of Chocolate Malted Crunch.’
If you notice a little more pudge on my rump… just don’t say anything - its therapy.
This morning I checked online at the local shelters and found my dogs. I went to the shelter to find a line of only 4 people. ‘Sweet!’ I’m thinking, ‘I’ll be in and out in 10 minutes tops.’ Unfortunately those 4 people were there to adopt/claim/license/relinquish their dogs – all of which required: name, address, driver’s license, mother’s maiden name, license plate number, value of vehicle, name of father’s birth city, anticipated name of first born child (whew! At least I had THAT covered! Optimus Prime!), etc. 40 minutes and three gray hairs later, I get to the front of the line, pull out the tag numbers of my dogs, and smile expectantly.
‘How do you know these dogs are yours?’ The lady asked
‘They are the same color, gender, type of animal, type of breed, found in the same location, found on the same day as my dogs went missing, dogs. I can describe them if you want.’ I smiled.
‘You’re going to have to go out and identify them’ she said.
I go out (in the most uncomfortable shoes known to mankind I might add) and walk to the cage on the furthest reaches of the planet with the ‘Kennel Master’, look at my dogs and say, ‘Yup, those are my dogs’.
I go back inside and walk up to the lady who just sent me outside, who looks at me and says, ‘Mam, you’ll have to sign back in.’ I look behind me at the line, which was now 8 people, and wonder if crying in public is acceptable in this situation. 52 minutes later, I met with another lady who asked if I could prove the dogs were mine. I told her I could describe them perfectly and she said, ‘Did you look at the dogs?’ ‘Well, yes,’ I responded, ‘but that’s only because that other lady said I had to in order to claim the dogs.’
We debated for a good 20 minutes until she caved to contacting my vet, who very quickly identified the dogs. She then pulled out her keyboard and started reading off my list of fines…
Board
Food
Water
Staff
Licensing penalties
Quarantine fees
Unknown vaccination fees
And on and on and on
‘Well, your preliminary fines are $150 but I’m still waiting on some more numbers to compute.’ She said while typing.
‘$150?!?!?!’ I coughed.
‘$150 + for EACH’ she said definitively.
‘How much to give them to you? I don’t like dogs anymore’ I said seriously.
‘Look, if you license/vaccinate/microchip/neuter through us, we’ll make all these fines go away. I can do all that for 80 bucks.’ she said, sounding like a member of the mafia.
I pick up my dogs – minus their man parts – tomorrow.
THEN, I had to go to the dentist for an appointment I scheduled months ago. I switched dentists because I felt the other one was doing a poor job.
Judging by the ‘oh my’s’ and the ‘why did they do that’s’ said by the new dentist - I was right.
Those two crowns I got mere months ago and spent $1,500 on are actually causing damage and have to be taken out and replaced. The new filling? Has to be drilled out and crowned.
My bill?
I’m going to type this out so you feel my pain…
Three THOUSAND, six HUNDRED, thirty five dollars.
I just parked the value of a Ford Focus in my mouth.
I sat on the couch to watch the entire Season 2 of Grey’s Anatomy while eating a therapeutic gallon of Chocolate Malted Crunch ice cream from Rite Aid when Chris leaned in and said, ‘Hey hon, don’t use any of the bathrooms, sinks, toilets,… just don’t use any water at all. The plumbing pipes are messed up and I won’t be able to fix it tonight. You can’t take a shower tomorrow and you’ll have to wash your face with the hose. Sorry babe.’
‘That’s fine’ I said with an eerie smile, ‘I’ll just use the bathroom at Rite Aid when I go back to get the second - and necessary - therapeutic gallon of Chocolate Malted Crunch.’
If you notice a little more pudge on my rump… just don’t say anything - its therapy.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Danged Technology…
I’m not into the whole idea of ever changing technology. It’s not that I don’t or can’t understand it, I just don’t like it. It seems like when I finally get comfortable with something, they change it and I have to relearn everything.
When it comes to cell phones, I’m probably worse. My cell phone was just shy of 3 years old and the only reason I finally caved to a new one was because my old one broke beyond repair.
I feel like I’m the only 27 year old who watches those commercials featuring the cell phones designed for senior citizens (I.E. the Jitterbug with the huge number buttons, the big green ‘send’ button, the big red ‘end/power button’, and NO camera) and exclaim, ‘I want one of those!’.
I went to the cell phone store and spent the required 14 hours there. I’m pretty sure you could take a Greyhound bus across country, stop for a few days in Graceland, and return, all before I even got to the front of the line.
They suggested several phone options, pointing out the extras on each such as MP3 players, camera phones, and video capabilities. The problem is, I’m not one of those people who pull out their cell phone, watch a u-tube video of flatulent monkeys, while listening to Mariah Carey on the MP3 player, while taking a picture of my friends, while talking to my mother on speaker phone, while texting my brother.
Heck, I didn’t even send my very first text message until a few months ago. It was just easier to throw the phone at my brothers and say, “Dude, can you reply to this?”
Then, when I finally figured out this whole stupid texting thing, I couldn’t speak the language… and trust me… it’s a language. I’m probably the only person who actually writes, ‘I’ll see you later’ with the apostrophe or for that matter, more than 5 letters. When a friend sent a message saying, ‘C U L8R’, I had to Google it to figure out what the heck she meant.
Forget the Spanish to English dictionaries, I’m going to compile a Texting to English dictionary and make millions off people like me.
I ended up with one of those RAZR phones – what, is using an ‘E’ so last year? Oh wait. It’s probably more texting language that I don’t get. Anyway, I tossed it into my purse and left forgetting, of course, that they have the phones set on default rings and volumes. I’m in the back corner of Target enjoying the silence when a sound straight from the ‘Gentleman’s Club - Pure Platinum’ screeches from my purse at decibels audible from space.
Because that’s not embarrassing.
Then, because everyone in the world knows one of the most annoying sounds is someone changing their ring tone, I had to leave the ‘stripper’ tunes on my phone until I could get home.
Thank you Colegate for calling three times.
I finally did get home and for the very first time, assigned custom ring tones.
For you Cole, Hells Bells by AC/DC.
The only problem is, sometimes, I’d rather hear Hells Bells than Colegate or Kashmir by Led Zeppelin than Chris so if I don’t answer your call….
It’s because I’m dancing.
When it comes to cell phones, I’m probably worse. My cell phone was just shy of 3 years old and the only reason I finally caved to a new one was because my old one broke beyond repair.
I feel like I’m the only 27 year old who watches those commercials featuring the cell phones designed for senior citizens (I.E. the Jitterbug with the huge number buttons, the big green ‘send’ button, the big red ‘end/power button’, and NO camera) and exclaim, ‘I want one of those!’.
I went to the cell phone store and spent the required 14 hours there. I’m pretty sure you could take a Greyhound bus across country, stop for a few days in Graceland, and return, all before I even got to the front of the line.
They suggested several phone options, pointing out the extras on each such as MP3 players, camera phones, and video capabilities. The problem is, I’m not one of those people who pull out their cell phone, watch a u-tube video of flatulent monkeys, while listening to Mariah Carey on the MP3 player, while taking a picture of my friends, while talking to my mother on speaker phone, while texting my brother.
Heck, I didn’t even send my very first text message until a few months ago. It was just easier to throw the phone at my brothers and say, “Dude, can you reply to this?”
Then, when I finally figured out this whole stupid texting thing, I couldn’t speak the language… and trust me… it’s a language. I’m probably the only person who actually writes, ‘I’ll see you later’ with the apostrophe or for that matter, more than 5 letters. When a friend sent a message saying, ‘C U L8R’, I had to Google it to figure out what the heck she meant.
Forget the Spanish to English dictionaries, I’m going to compile a Texting to English dictionary and make millions off people like me.
I ended up with one of those RAZR phones – what, is using an ‘E’ so last year? Oh wait. It’s probably more texting language that I don’t get. Anyway, I tossed it into my purse and left forgetting, of course, that they have the phones set on default rings and volumes. I’m in the back corner of Target enjoying the silence when a sound straight from the ‘Gentleman’s Club - Pure Platinum’ screeches from my purse at decibels audible from space.
Because that’s not embarrassing.
Then, because everyone in the world knows one of the most annoying sounds is someone changing their ring tone, I had to leave the ‘stripper’ tunes on my phone until I could get home.
Thank you Colegate for calling three times.
I finally did get home and for the very first time, assigned custom ring tones.
For you Cole, Hells Bells by AC/DC.
The only problem is, sometimes, I’d rather hear Hells Bells than Colegate or Kashmir by Led Zeppelin than Chris so if I don’t answer your call….
It’s because I’m dancing.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
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