Smells Like BBQ!

Big day today folks!

I got my braces off... But like most things in my life, it's rather anti-climatic. You see, I imagine things in my head to be so much more wonderful then they actually turn out to be... Bummer right?

So yeah, the whole removing of the braces was rather uncomfortable... It's kind of like having each tooth put in a vice in order to pry off the tiny adhered bracket... The technician clamps it, then pulls And then SNAP! Your tooth vibrates for a while with the force. After the removal of the brackets a Dremmel like object is used to sand off the excess bracket glue. I've never had the pleasure of a root canal but at times, it kinda feels like their sanding the root of your tooth off... Hmmm, fun!

Oh, and somewhere in the midst of the removal, a permanent wire was placed behind my bottom teeth... An interesting fete of engineering which involved floss to hold it in place and an extra pair of hands. And now I feel like I've got this big bulky sand papery thing in the bottom of my mouth that my tongue just can't seem to leave alone. *damn tongue*

So I saw my teeth briefly before 'IT' happened...

You see, I have (not very surprisingly) THICK GUMS!!! And why not, I mean everything else about me is THICK! So my orthodontist recommended I have some of my gum tissue removed, for cosmetic purposes. And because I AM that vane, I said, "Go for it!" Because I mean, why go through a year and a half of orthodontia only to have people notice your gums instead of your teeth?

So after my braces came off I had 'Laser Gum Surgery'... This procedure involves having your gums painted with a numbing gel and then having them shaved back with a laser. It's like Star Wars meets......... Well, if I could think of a famous dentist I would... But I can't. Anywho, while the laser is burning away the gum tissue, there's a smell that begins to fill your nostrils and I can only describe it as BBQ... But it's BBQ without the seasonings and sauce and the funkiest kind of meat you can imagine. Trouble is, now (3 hours later) I just can't seem to get that smell out of my sinuses and no matter what I eat or how many times I brush my teeth, my mouth still tastes like death.*

As for appearance... I won't even show my husband what my newly unclad orthodontia looks like because my gums are so hideously grotesque! Imagine if you will, allowing your dental hygienist clean your teeth with a X-acto knife instead of that metal pick she normally uses. The doctor says it should clear up in a few days, so until then, I'm the sullen looking gal over there in the corner.

*I tell you all these things dear Internet, because I couldn't find ANY description of the procedure ANYWHERE when I went looking for it. So if YOU happened upon this blog because you were searching 'Laser Gum Surgery' for more information... There you go and You're Welcome!

Pushing

It's like I'm pushing a boulder uphill, through deep snow, with the wind in my face. I'm frustrated so I drew a picture... I really rock that paint program.

What does one do when they're giving 110% and it feels like the people around them... The very people one is trying to help... Quite simply don't give a shit! Should one just throw their hands up in the air, walk away and have all the hard work they've already invested be for naught?

Last night we were watching the last installment of the Lord of the Rings saga and even though I've seen the entire trilogy, I really can't keep it all straight (is it Narnia they're fighting for, is that Dumbledore, where's Willow?) I've mentioned before how that whole back and forth struggle to get that damn ring to the fires of Mordor is just too frustrating for me to bear. But last night while I was busy working on this stuff, this stuff that sometimes feels so pointless, I find myself wondering if I'm just wasting my time... Anyway, while I was working away, I asked my husband, "What's with that guy, that king guy, why does he want to burn the body of his son when his son isn't even dead, what's that guys problem anyway?" To which my husband replied: "He's given up, he's a giver upper, he's a big wuss!" Meanwhile, I'm watching poor Gandalf (who's no longer grey but all white now), ride hither and yon, putting (quite literally) fires out everywhere. I mean, how many battles can one guy fight, am I right? And then when one of the hobbits (Mary, Pippen, Lucy... whoever) starts talking about dying, Gandalf makes even the end sound so wonderfully wonderous (and he should know, he's white afterall) that he convinces that little hobbit to be brave and well, just happy to be a part of it all (you know, because Peter Jackson is going to make a killing on this whole franchise along with anyone associated with it.)

So, long story short. I have to ask myself, am I a big wussy quiter like that king with the itchy torch? Or am I like Gandalf, ready to fight each battle as it arises, keeping my eye trained on the big picture?

Nope, I'm just a huge geek, working hard, looking for answers and pushing... Always pushing.

3 Days More

You know, an answer would be nice!

I'm still managing the Artist Co-op I mentioned a while ago.

You see, it goes like this...
In November the owners of the shop conceded to giving several artists a 'cut rate' for the opportunity to sell items out of their building for a 2 month period... A building they've been trying to sell for the past 2 years and would otherwise be empty and a complete drain of money without the Co-op.

The owners originally agreed to a 2 month lease, facilitated by the local Chamber & Alliance. In 3 more days the lease will be up. However, 2 weeks ago I submitted a letter to the owners asking that we might sit down to negotiate staying at the shop and possibly moving forward with a month to month agreement. As of yet the answers I've received have been vague and non-committal.

3 days... In 3 DAYS!!!

We need answers people... ANSWERS!!!

I'm not very good at living with frustration and unanswered questions.

My Mood In Food

The above photo pretty much sums up where my head is right now.
Because of Halloween?...... Nope!
Because my braces just got tightened?.... Possibly, but No. *damn my mouth hurts*
Because my house is a pig sty?....... Any other time, Maybe.
Because I've got a meeting tomorrow with a group of artists to open a co-op, in a huge shop on Main street, for the holiday season.... Which means there's like a million and one details to consider and a paltry sum of art for me to sell?...... Bingo!

So why am I spending precious time blogging?....... Here's an answer for you, why does a deer freeze in the headlights?

I'm Trying.... I'm REEeeeAaaaalllllLLLYY Trying

So the boy still doesn't have his drivers license... The reason being, he has to accrue 60 hours of driving time before he's able to apply.

60 HOURS!!!

Yes, he needs the practice but dammit, I'm the one riding shotgun 99.9% of the time!

I'll say it again...

60 HOURS!!!

Today he was driving to school and was nearing the point where he needed to make a right turn.... but.... he.... was.... STILL... IN.... THE.... LEFT.... LANE!!! I had made a pact with myself when getting in the passenger seat of the car that I would NOT say ANYTHING during THIS trip.
a) Because I sound too controlling.
b) He's got to make responsible decisions for himself.

So here we are... STILL IN THE LEFT LANE... When my daughter says, "Hey, aren't you going to get over?" and yes, I couldn't help myself, I immediately echoed her words.

That's when he went, "Huh? Uh, Oh yeah... I forgot where I was going."

?????????????????????????????????????????????

He of the Million Dollar Mouth

I just wrote a check to the dentist for $780.00

Seems if you get your wisdom teeth out and get your teeth cleaned in the same year? You max out your dental coverage for that year. So when my son had to have 4 cavities filled at, get this, $195.00 EACH!, the bill comes out of our pocket.

Further proof that our kids will be living with us forever because there's NO way they're going to be able pay to take care of their teeth... Of course, if you've ever seen some of the folks who live in our county?... You might come to the understanding that dental health isn't deemed all that important around here.Yep, I think they're going to fit right in.

Worth the Orgasm?

I'm helping out with our towns annual 'Fall Fest'... I've got another meeting today.

*hanging head in despair* Why?... Why?....... Why do I get involved in these things?

I say yes when I'm asked to attend a meeting, while at said meeting, I raise my hand or say I'll help do thus and such and then I go home and figuratively kick myself in the ass repeatedly until the next meeting when I do it all over again. Then I ultimately push my entire life aside to do shit I didn't want to do in the first place.

My friend Rose had the perfect analogy for this situation. She said, "Embe, it's like an orgasm. At the meeting they fill your head with all this, 'Oooo, you're SO talented and SO creative, we need you, we love you!'... It's the orgasm! Then you gotta spend your time giving birth to the project... Carrying it around in your womb, morning sickness, swollen ankles, general all-around discomfort and then, labor and delivery... That's the really HARD part. Ya know, it's really not worth the orgasm when you end up pregnant EVERY goddamn time!"

My friend Rose, she's such a freakin' philsopher.

Ignorance of the law is not a defense...

Yesterday we joined our friends from TNS summer camp for a trip to Rehoboth Beach. This is an activity we've taken part in each August for the last several years. And let me say here, I enjoy the company but the actual sand, heat, bath house grunge and boardwalk thing don't, for me, equal a Good Time.

*I bitch a lot about the opportunities I'm given to go to interesting places, don't I?... I'm sorry, but that's just how it is... I'm a snob when it comes to cleanliness and creature comforts.

I make this trip every year because, like I said before, I enjoy the time spent with nice people... and because extra drivers are a necessity... also, because my kids really enjoy it. Having said that, there was an element to our trip yesterday which wasn't all that enjoyable... Especially for my son... He had another run in with the police. (what is it with that boy?) Oh, I just realized I didn't blog the story of his run in with the law back in March... Long story but the gist is he was picked up an taken to the police station, in the back of a squad car, for sitting blindfolded 10 ft. off the side of a road.... Which ISN'T illegal but when a cop gets a little freaked and you don't answer his questions fast enough, and said cop thinks teenagers are ALL degenerates... Well, that's reason enough to take you down to the station.

Anywho, last night, not 4 minutes after we made our way onto the boardwalk, I look over to see my son standing there with an officer breathing down his neck and an outstretched hand saying, "Give me the laser pointer." Seems my brilliant and light obsessed son was showing off his laser pointer to a few of his friends. He wasn't doing anything as nefarious as aiming the beam into the eyes of oncoming tourists, he was merely shining the light on the nearby dune reeds in order to display the unique patterns that resulted. However, when a cop sees a teen with a laser pointer it MUST be confiscated. It's the LAW! I've been searching the web but I'm hard pressed to find the actual ordinance... However, if a uniformed police officer tells you to hand over an object that is illegal, I guess you don't have much choice but, to do just that, hand it over.

I couldn't help but get involved as I watched my son give the officer his $80 pointer. EIGHTY DOLLARS??? Yes, E-I-G-H-T-Y $$$!!! He bought it with his own money a few months back and yes, I thought it was a stupid purchase but it's his money. So anyhow, I piped up and said, "Bud, isn't that a really expensive item?" And he replied with, "Yes, yes it is, it cost me $80." The officer then turned to me and said, "Are you the parent, I didn't realize he had a parent right here." Like I guess that makes a big difference because it somehow makes the illegal act MY fault... The boy is 19, but yeah, he looks like he's 16, so I guess that makes me responsible. After a brief conversation with the officer about my son knowing to never point his laser pointer at anyone or in anyone's eyes, the officer graciously gave me the laser pointer to 'hold' but kept the batteries. Seems fair right? I mean, my son did break the law... A law which he had NO idea existed but like the title of this post, 'Ignorance of the law is not a defense'... One can still be held accountable for a law broken even though one didn't know it existed.

So here's the rub... And you just knew there was one, right? Turns out, the Rehoboth boardwalk is rife with laser pointers. Seriously, you know that commercial where all the diabetic test strips rain down from the sky, fill the gutters and slip down the sewers? Well, Rehoboth boardwalk is like that with laser pointers. Rehoboth boardwalk is the freakin' Katrina of laser pointers. For a town with an ordinance to BAN laser pointers, they're sure liberal with handing them out. I watched to 30 something year old guys play an arcade game which awarded them BOTH a laser pointer in a matter of 3 minutes... And what did they do when the machine spat out their prizes? Well of course they opened them up, popped in the batteries and trained their beams on one another and the arcade walls around them. While walking down the boardwalk I got hit with so many red and green beams of light, I might as well have been playing laser tag... But where are the cops then?

So let this be a lesson to you folks... Life, it's just not fair and sometimes it's just plain inappropriate, like the parents we watched, who stopped and paid the henna vendor to create a design on the lower back of their 8'ish year old daughter... That's right, a 'Tramp Stamp' on a girl who isn't even out of grade school! When she's 10 maybe her mommy will buy her a stripper pole. Perhaps that's who the officer should've been reprimanding.

F#@&ing laser pointer!

Cracked

My husbands cousin was in town on business and professed a desire to see The Liberty Bell. Now I'm gonna let you all in on a little secret here... I despise Philadelphia. If you've ever been there, you most likely know why... If you haven't? Well, let's just say 'The City of Brotherly Love' is a misnomer.

However, I'm an amiable kind of gal so a quick drive north to see an overrated piece of American history, for a favorite cousin, wasn't too tall of an order. Traffic was actually pretty sparse and the GPS helped me locate the historical district without incident.

We were however, a bit confused as to exactly where we needed to go to actually see the bell. So we waited an interminably long time to speak with a very chatty park ranger. 'Ranger Rick' gave us directions but informed us that the queue would be interrupted by a visiting VIP between noon and 2:00pm. I stated we were VIP's but 'Ranger Rick' didn't miss a beat and stated that yes, we were and as such, other, less notable, historical landmarks were awaiting us. Ever hopeful we'd get to glimpse the 'bell' before the forced closure we trekked across the street, only to meet up with a line which surely wasn't about to move fast enough for us to see anything more than a lengthy wait in the summer sun, before they closed everything up for the VIP.

Who was this mysterious 'Vacation Crasher'?

We decided to ride the 'Duck Tour'... An amphibious vehicle which takes you around the city and on to the Delaware River... And NO, I didn't do the Macarena, but I did blow on the duck billed kazoo like trinket the tour bestows on all its passengers. Note: Pictured here is neither myself, nor my cousin. Found this via Google search.

Side note: Somewhere, right now, there are mother's of kids who took the tour that are either screaming, "For GOD SAKES, quit blowing on that thing!" or they've already ripped the duck bill out of their child's mouth and have smashed it into a hundred pieces under their shoe.

On the Duck Tour, we saw some lovely historical landmarks whizz by at 10-15 mph... We also bore witness to a hairy bare ass, when some clown mooned us along the riverfront... Awww Philly, just another reason to love ya... Um yeah, so following the tour, it was evident the VIP(s) were making their entrance because streets were closed down and the line for the Liberty Bell viewing had magically disappeared. Unimpressed by VIP's who'd spoiled our plans we wove our way through the gawkers and hoofed it down to South Street, where we had a relaxing lunch. An hour or so later, when we got back to 'Liberty Place', the cops had gone and the line to see that damndable defective bell had increased by roughly 500 people? 700 people? a 1,000 people? It was hard to tell because the 1/2 mile queue wrapped around itself.... Great, juuuuuuust Great. We decided to pack it in, pay our $16.25 parking fee and head home. Nice picture eh? Had to find it through Google image search because we didn't get anywhere near the damn thing.

But! Just WHO was that VIP? None other than Michelle Obama along with Malia & Sasha. How lovely that she could share a bit of American history with her girls after a 130 mile drive on the taxpayers dollar, during the height of the summer tourist season... Oh well, guess that's what it's like to lead a life of privilege.

*My thanks to Chris for his thought provoking comments on this post.

Just a few more gray hairs...

Yesterday my bachelor buddy and I took a drive down to the Swedish particle board wonderland that is known as Ikea. Since our neighbor from Sweden is just an hour down the interstate, this seemed the perfect opportunity for 'Computer Boy' to log some driving time... Not to mention the chance to jockey for lane positions with a plethora of 18 wheelers.

It should be noted, the boy had driven on the interstate only once prior to our trip yesterday and that was with his driver's training instructor... So needless to say, this was going to be a first for ME.

Things started off a little rocky when he nearly missed the turn to get to the interstate. A turn our family has taken umty-gajillion times! But I guess if you're a passive passenger like my son, you tend not to notice things like, where the vehicle is taking you at any given time.

I should also mention that our trip TO the interstate had the added joy of being tailed by an irate driver who didn't much like the fact that my son was unwilling to IMMEDIATLY turn right at that red light. Thanks for the horn dude, like this trip wasn't stressful enough already.... Aye Carumba! I made a mental note to, in the future, always try to be tolerant of other drivers.

Anywho, our trip down the interstate was blessedly uneventful but that still didn't manage to allow for relaxing even one muscle in my body... Remember? Control FREAK!

Now the problem with getting to Ikea FROM the interstate, is that one must cross 3 lanes of traffic almost immediately after exiting. How does one teach a new driver how to merge across heavy traffic coming at you from behind? I don't know and I wasn't ready to try. So I had him make a right at the light and then make a U'y.

Once we were in IKEA we sat on a couch for 10 minutes so we could just TRY to relax. Apparently I make him tense... Really? Who knew? After a tour through the labyrinth that is IKEA we ate ourselves some Swedish meatballs and I began to mentally prepare myself for the ride home. Initially he said he was too tired and asked me to drive. I tried not to display any visible signs of relief, but then he changed his mind. So then I tried not to display any visible signs of stress.

I didn't mention this earlier but to get to IKEA, one must drive across the 'Millard E. Tydings Memorial Bridge', a bridge that spans the Susquenhana River and to anyone who might be a bit squeamish about high bridges, it's a terrifying ordeal to cross. Was I tense going over it southbound? You bet! Was I tense going over it northbound? Well I was pretty much okay when we were in the center lane but when the boy changed lanes... mid-span... for no apparent reason... to the slow lane... the lane right up against the guardrail... which is FAR TOO CLOSE to a certain drop of death to the river below... Well I was Freakin' TERRIFIED!!! Especially since the boy has a habit of riding the right side of a lane marking. Now because I didn't want to make any sudden moves or comments which could result in him losing focus... We're talking CRITICAL focus... I somehow shakily peeped up with, "Could you move to the center of the lane more, puhleeeeeeaaassee!" You know, I think he made that lane change on purpose!

Good news though, I lived to blog about it.

Life Lesson at the Tip of My Finger...

Yesterday I spent a glorious afternoon propped between two lawn chairs on my deck, reading a book. The weather was absolutely fabulous, a cool breeze, a glass of iced tea and a blank 'To Do' list.

Whilst I lounged there reading away, I was interrupted by the tug of skin at my fingertip... "Damn, a hangnail!" I pulled at it a bit until it felt uncomfortable. I thought to myself, "You know, you should run upstairs and grab a pair of clippers to take care of this." I argued back with myself, "But I'm so comfortable sitting here, *whiny voice* I don't waaaant to get up." Back and forth, back and forth, this little argument played out in my mind until I finally made the decision to pull at the hangnail until it opened a sizeable painful opening on the side of my finger.

Had I taken the 2 or 3 minutes to run upstairs and clip off the offending tag of skin, I wouldn't be left feeling the nearly constant annoying burn, of the open cut on the side my index finger on my right hand... That would be the same hand I use for just about EVERYTHING I do.

2 or 3 minutes of physical effort were saved but I'm paying for it with a day or two of pain.

Passenger Seat Hell

*If you eventually read this son, I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold the angst in any longer so I'm putting out to the universe.

He's completed the 'Instruction' part of the Driver's Training School. Now he's on to the actual 'Driver's Training' and that's all well and good, as long as I don't have to play the role of 'Instructor.' I know he wants to practice... I know he needs to practice... It's just the Practicing that's got me all tied up in knots.

It's become obvious that I just don't have what it takes to sit silently and let the learning take it's course. I'm a control freak... Doesn't he know that... A Control FREAK! So when he stops a half-mile short of the stop sign, I want to say, "Why are you stopping HERE, a half-mile from the stop sign?" And when he turns a corner while shuffling his hands along the steering wheel, I want to say, "Haven't you EVER paid attention to how Dad and I steer when we drive?"... Or when he creeps down the road with a line of cars stacked up behind him... Or when he took that turn too fast... Or that other turn too slow?... Or when he made that turn yesterday going the wrong way on the divided street and then yelled at me because I told him to go left without pointing out the street was in fact divided, even though this surely wasn't the first time he'd been on that street, how was I to know it was the first time he'd actually been paying attention?

I try to relax and not pay too much attention, even sit back and close my eyes, you know? I mean, I doubt he's at the point where he's going to hit anyone, but he's definitely at the point where he's most certainly annoying 99% of the other drivers on the road. But he's gotta learn, right? He's gotta learn. And I have to just stick a pin in it, in order to keep myself from going off... But DAMN, it's not easy for a Control Freak like me.

*Shaking head* Nope, it sure aint easy, for a Control Freak like me.

Those annoying Rat Bastards with bushy tails

We're bird people... BIRD people I tell you!

We're definitely NOT squirrel people!

However, the squirrels are pretty thick headed and haven't managed to figure that out yet.

Our dog Anna has made that clear by chasing them off the deck.
We've made it clear by building squirrel tossing contraptions, only to have them wait in line for the E-ticket experience thrill ride.
We've shot them with water pistols, which I think they quite enjoy.
And now?
Now I've taken to throwing rocks at them. Oh CALM DOWN! Not rocks really, more like pebbles... And believe me, this really is a fairly benign squirrel deterrent, mostly because I've got the throwing arm of a 2 yr. old. (Yes, there's a reason I was always picked last for team sports, in gym class.)

Yesterday however, I ACTUALLY pelted one of the bastards. Well, pelted might be too strong a word. I hit him.... in the leg.... with a stone.... and he merely looked at me, with those little rat bastard beady eyes, as if to say, "Really?" and just stood there.

Today, they're double teaming the feeder... And just to cement the fact I've fallen into the deep side of crazy, I've begun talking to the little shits. Our exchange this morning went something like this:

Squirrel on feeder: "Hey beyotch, look at me, I'm eatin' all yur seeds!"

*Okay, the squirrel isn't really talking to me... I haven't gone that far 'round the bend, BUT if he could talk, that's what he'd be saying... I'm quite sure of it.

Me: *giving him the evil eye* "Oh no you don't, you rat bastard!"

Squirrel: "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it bitch?"

*I run to grab more pebbles out of the planter that contains the dusty fake plant in the corner of the family room... Opening screen door with all the dexterity of a highly trained ninja... Um, I mean a spastic clown... I stumble out onto the deck... Squirrel fakes right and with the nimbleness only a squirrel can possess, jumps off the deck onto the stairs and sits on the bottom step below, while his tag-team, rat bastard, friend bounds from under the deck below.*

Me: "Now I've got ya, right where I want ya!"

*I begin lobbing stones in the squirrels general direction... Sure, I mean to pummel them, but my uncooperative throwing arm makes this task nearly impossible.*

As I 'try' to hit my mark the squirrel, sitting comfortably on the bottom step looks up at me as if to say: "Yo bitch, you're not really serious are you?... 'Cause even if I ate ALL your seeds and my ass grew to the size of the backside of a barn, you still couldn't hit it!"

You know, I don't want to kill 'em or anything. I just want them to leave my bird feeders alone... But it's 'Game On' now you rat bastards, 'cause I will NOT be mocked by a squirrel.

Want to buy a magazine?

So Saturday my son answers the door and of course, tells me it's someone for me....
*yeah right, thanks a lot... Why not Dad, he's right over there.*

So, not having had a shower yet and looking like shit, I go to the door, where our trusty watch dog Anna is keeping the stranger at bay.

"HI, My name is Troy! How are you today? I don't think we've met, I live in the neighborhood and your neighbor Dave ..."

*I'm thinking, Dave who, I don't know any Dave? and 'Troy' noticing the perplexed look on my face, begins to describe 'Dave'* "

...Yeah Dave, really tall guy with red hair."

*Still no clue... Later come to the conclusion there is no 'Dave'*

Troy starts up again, "Anyway, 'Dave' just purchased some magazines... You see, I'm selling magazines to earn my way to Holland with my soccer team... Have you ever heard of the (some random name I've never heard of)... No? I met another guy in the neighborhood who plays and knows of us, but anyway... Part of why I'm here today, is to build communication skills, how am I doing?"

*blink, blink,...* "Um good."

Troy smiles enthusiastically and says, "Alright, high five!" and raises his hand.

*I lamely give him a high five.*

Troy continues his spiel about his desire to play soccer in Holland. I'm thinking to myself, "Hey dipshit, I'd like to play soccer in Holland too! and I don't even play soccer... But I've got a damn near better chance of putting money towards my own trip to Holland, before I'd give you any." But I didn't say that... Instead I chatted him up.

"So..." I said, "Let me ask you something...., if you really want to get to Holland so badly, why don't you just get a real job which I'm sure will pay you much better than this magazine gig?"

Troy prattled on about team effort and people skills so I asked him my next question... "Yes, but isn't the majority of the money for the magazines going to the publishers?" That's when he whipped out his little black 'wallet' with the carefully folded and laminated list of available magazines. Then he showed me a price break down of how much of the money from each magazine sale goes towards his trip and his lodging while in 'Holland'.

Troy explained that nearly the entire amount of my subscription price for 'Off Road Magazine' a $38 value for a 1 yr. subscription is broken down to $18 for air fare and $16 for lodging. He then pointed out that the publisher made their money on the shipping cost of the magazine, which was $15 (!!!).

"So let me get this straight Troy, I pay $53 for a magazine I neither want, nor need, so you can kick a ball around Holland?" *No, I didn't really say that, but you know I was thinking it, along with, What the HELL makes him think I'm even remotely interested in Off Road ANYTHING??? Oh, it's because I haven't taken a shower yet.... Yeah, I'll bet that's it.*

What I did say to Troy was that I just didn't need ANOTHER magazine. So Troy stepped it up a notch.

"While I understand 'You' might not be interested in any magazines, we have a program where you can purchase books for The Children's Hospital."

I sighed and said, "Troy, I already donate to St. Jude's and I hope with that money, if they need books and magazines for the kids, they will be able to purchase them."

Then Troy informed me about the magazine program for the men & woman serving overseas... And believe it or not, his brother in Fallujah!

*Yeah Troy, SO sorry about your 'Brother'... Sure hope he makes it home 'Safely'... But he won't be seeing any magazines from me.*

That's when I decided to end my conversation with Troy and said, "I'm really not interested, I've got my own kid getting ready for college... but hey, good luck with that trip to Holland."

Troy thanked me for my time but then added one last request. "Say, you wouldn't have something cold to drink, would you?"

*Now, let me break in here a moment and say this... I know what you're thinking, "You didn't really break down and give this smarmy character a drink, did you... DID YOU?" In my defense, I'm the type of gal who in the winter will run out with a cup of hot chocolate for the trash men or a cold soda in the summer for the mailman... I don't like to see people suffer from extremes... And while the weather was 'Anything' but extreme on Saturday, how was I to know that 'Troy' wasn't parched from all his door to door salesmanship?*

So I told him I had a Diet Pepsi and you know what the little prick said? "You got anything other than diet?"

I know, I should've slammed the door right then and there and in hindsight that's EXACTLY what I would've done but instead I said, "No, that's all I have." I certainly wasn't going to give him that last Ginger Ale in the fridge *small victory for me!*

My husband was a little miffed I gave up one of his sodas and proceeded to inform me that the 'asking for a soda thing' is a sales trick. "Even if you don't make the sale, try to walk away with Something... is an important sales technique." he said.

I just saw it as a huge victory that I wasn't roped into buying a magazine. 'Cause lord knows I've been down that road before... Or I should say, I've opened that door before.

On The Move...

For the past several nights I've had dreams I'm moving... Not, Moving... In the sense I'm gettin' down with the groove, but Moving... In the sense I'm packing boxes and that's a lot, A LOT of work! I tend to wake up more exhausted than when I went to sleep.

The other night in my dream I was so DONE with packing boxes and all the drudgery of it, I just broke down sobbing to my husband... I was sobbing so hard, I woke myself up as a result. Now, I don't know about moving like SOME people know about moving... I'm looking at you Stacie... But I'm well aware of just how much work is involved.

We moved 20 yrs. ago from California to the East Coast and while that move wasn't a great deal of physical work (the company paid for packers and movers.), the mental anguish of putting all your possessions, including your car, on a truck to be driven all the way across the U.S. leaves one a bit nervous... Crate up your 2 beloved dogs and stick 'em in a cargo hold on the plane that's taking you to your destination? Even more nervous... Hoping there are no glitches with the closing on the new house you're moving to? Stomach cramp inducing nervousness... And on top of all that my husband was starting a new job! Me? I just wanted to get pregnant, which worked by the way.... So yeah, that move was pretty intense.

It'll be 6 yrs. in September since our BIG move from Delaware (a mere 28 mile move.) I call that one the BIG MOVE because we did it mostly ourselves... There were no 'packers'... Which in a way is good because I really didn't need anyone boxing up my bedroom trashcan again, with the trash still inside... Oh those packers, they're a goofy bunch! No, this time we did all the packing ourselves and because there was so much shit to pack, the majority of the work was mine. Oh, and in case we haven't meant, I'd like to introduce you to my control freak tendencies via how to prepare to move your shit:

The new house gets mapped. Each room in the new house is assigned a code initial or initials: K=Kitchen
MB=Master
Bedroom B=Basement
etc.

Each initial is color coded (brightly colored index cards in all the colors of the rainbow worked well for this.)

The items in each room are boxed up and labeled with their correct color and code.

Before the movers arrive at the new house a large piece of paper is taped to the doorway of each room (my husband said the giant letter G attached to the entrance of the Garage was a little over the top as he was sure the movers knew which room was the garage.) The map of the house is also posted where the movers can plainly see it.

This method worked perfectly. Everything was in its place. I just wished I'd labeled what was IN the boxes a little better because that 1/2 hour we spent trying to find the dog leash when she really needed to go out, was the only emotional breakdown I had throughout the entire moving experience.

So why the dreams about moving? I know I've kvetched about the roach thing and the woodpecker thing but seriously??? I haven't considered moving as a result... Not really... And in this housing market? No Way!

So last night I dreamed I was getting rid of furniture. I had a woman interested in buying a couch I used to own years ago... Damn, it was an ugly couch! And this woman really wanted my old ugly couch. She was telling me that it would exactly match the wallpaper in her home but she was worried about how much I was asking for the couch and if she could afford it. I felt SO sorry for this woman and her obvious lack of taste that I just told her the couch was free... "Yes, FREE... Please go ahead, you love it, it'll match your home, it's yours!" And then I spent another 10 minutes telling her how to clean it up (Upholstery cleaner, a scrub brush, set it out in the sun to bleach it back to its original gleaming white....) Poor lady.

So I ask you, what the hell is that all about?
I consulted the online Dream Dictionary and here's their interpretation, which I think is a bit to simplified and I'm doubtful has anything to do with why I'm dreaming about this stuff:
Moving
To dream that you are moving away, signifies your desire or need for change. It may also mean an end to a situation or relationship; you are moving on. Alternatively, it indicates your determination and issues regarding dependence/independence.

Selling
To dream that you are selling something, indicates that you are undergoing changes in your waking life. You may be experiencing difficulties in letting go or parting with something.�Learn to compromise. Alternatively, the dream may be a pun that you are "selling" yourself short.

Airport Security and the Absent Minded Boy

Did I already tell this story? Well I did, but I don't think I told it here and today's post over at the House of Lime brought it back to mind.

I find the pressure of getting on a plane and being flying a very minimal thing as compared to the angst of going through airport security. Why? It's such a high pressure situation. An, 'am I doing everything correctly so as not to piss anyone off' task. Believe me, there are a LOT of people you can piss of. To name a few, The security personnel (there's a lot of them), The people in line behind you (a lot of them too!) and sometimes even the people in front of you (don't accidentally push their things around, they'll snap at you like hungry gators.) I ALWAYS try, maybe too hard to be as amiable as possible... Let's face it, I'm a people pleaser and people who make a raucous horrify me.

So, there we are heading out to California, going through airport security. Since my son is a bit too old to have his mom fishing through his pockets to make sure he's emptied them of all paraphernalia, I trusted him to 'know what to do.' However, we are talking about the classic example of 'The Absent-Minded Professor' here... A boy who is very often completely detached from the circumstances surrounding him. So, this is what it looked like:

Security Guy to Son: "Step forward please."

Son: *steps forward*

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Security Guy to Son: "Son, do you have a belt on."

Son: "Um, yeah.... Uh, wait... I think it might be my PDA."

Me off to the side, safely through security: "Are you kidding me?"

You see, I just couldn't believe that he would go through all the measures of placing his lap-top in a bin, removing his shoes, placing his back-pack on the conveyor belt and then FORGET he had an electronic device IN HIS POCKET!

Why should it bother me so? It's this lingering sense of responsibility, that I know I really should let go but just can't because I'm such a control freak.

Fast forward to 10 days later when we're at LAX getting ready to go through security. I tell the boy to have his i.d. ready and ask him if he's taken his PDA out of his pocket.

Son: *feels pants pockets and says* "Uh, yeah... yeah I did." *feels jacket pockets* "But wait, I didn't take my extendable fork out of my jacket?

Me: *with a great sense of horror* "YOU WHAT?... Are you freakin' kidding me?"

I mean, I could only surmise what they might do to you if you're carrying around a projecting fork? Couldn't you put out a pilots eye with something like that and take over an entire airplane? They've pulled people out of line for nail clippers... What would they do to someone carrying an extendable fork?

So the boy gives me that 'Don't have a cow Mom' face and begins to empty his pockets of the nefarious fork and a screwdriver/wrench thing he carries around... And after that, I just quite watching... And I'll just quickly mention that he DIDN'T have his i.d. OUT of his wallet and ready like I told him, which resulted in a 15 minute argument about what having your i.d. OUT really means.

Screwdriver Wrenches, Extending Forks, PDA's and any other symbols of possible terrorist activity aside, the boy obviously made it through security and safely home but I swear I have seen at LEAST 16 new gray hairs as a result.

What the hell does EMJECOPXXO6 spell?

So Cousin, Daughter and I decided to head into D.C. on Saturday for a 'Photo Safari' so to speak.

You know those BEAUTIFUL photo collages that depict letters of the alphabet? They look something like this:


Well, the following is MY attempt at recreating this concept:












So there you have it... EMJECOPXXO6... Pretty DAMN impressive eh?
Hey, it's a LOT harder than it looks and let me tell you why...
It's VERY difficult to pinpoint the letter of the alphabet your photographing and extract it from all other 'noise' in the composition. Then you must take into account that each photo must be cropped to the same size for framing... Unless you want to get all 'wild & crazy' and cut your own mattes and crap... AND, just TRY to find the ENTIRE alphabet in one go... C'mon I DARE you (Chris & Stacie)

The Greenening

I thought it would look nice. I mean, I REALLY thought it would work. I spent ALL day yesterday painting... ALL DAY! Give it a chance I thought, you know it always dries darker. Today when I look at the walls I want to cry. Seriously, the master bath looks like a cross of either a mental hospital or an ice-cream shop.

What will I be doing today?
*sigh*
Repainting.

Smells Like Fear

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to serve our small downtown district as the chief organizer (heh!) of the 'Decorating Committee.' I scoff at the idea of me being the leader of anything and find it especially hilarious that I have one single person (my friend Lorie) to help with the project of beautifying our town. Oh, and did I mention the budget for this task is like butkus? Yes folks, though we lack an in house Rumplestiltskin, we WILL be trying to spin straw into gold.

So here's the thing. I've been kinda dragging my ass on getting anthing started. As a clever ruse I've been blaming it on the weather, which has been rather cooperative in that department (thanks, 6" of snow!) So for the last few days I've been kind of obsessing over what exactly I should do and how I should get the ball rolling. Then last night I had a dream and it went something like this:

I shit my pants... yes, that's right, filled 'em. Though I didn't realize it right away, I knew something just didn't 'feel' right. Eventually things started getting REAL messy and as I worked at cleaning up the trail of feces I had left behind, I noticed I was surrounded by people I didn't know, all grimacing at the mess I had made.... And then I woke up!

Now, if that's not foreboding? I don't know what is.

When 'Sticky' Just Won't Stick

I've been working on those 'Birthday Invitations' for Newlywed Girl and it's probably inappropriate for me to complain about a job where the client can read about it but...

WHAT THE HELL GOOD IS AN ADHESIVE THAT DOESN'T ADHERE?

There that feels a little better. Now that I've spent an entire day re-doing EVERYTHING I'd accomplished yesterday.

At least I can report that the job is complete.