Little Shop Girl

The only department she probably did not hit was furs. I hear she likes to shoot her own.

http://gawker.com/5067774/palins-real-american-shopping-spree

The Sweet Smell of Books

From time to time Carrie goes on Amazon.com and buys my entire wish list. It is always a great day when that box arrives full of shining book jackets, pressed pages waiting to be turned, stories waiting to unfold. Today is that day. I received the following:

Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer – I rented the movie a couple of weeks ago but didn’t get around to watching it but can’t wait to see it after a read the book.

Phantom Prey by John Sanford - I happened upon this series when I picked up a dusty old paperback in a used book store and was instantly hooked. I love Lucas Davenport the main character and each novel reads like an episode of Criminal Minds. After reading the first book I immediately gobbled up the rest in the series and now stalk his name for new editions.

The Brass Verdict by Michael Connelly - Another author I stalk! Love Harry Bosch and wish they would make a movie out of every novel in the series.

Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba and Then Lost It to the Revolution by T.J. English - I look forward to reading this one to get an image of Cuba pre-revolution. Ladies and Gentlemen dressed to the nines in casinos. Maybe some old fashioned Puzo style mob violence. A trip in time to be sure.

The Longest Trip Home: A Memoir by John Grogan- I had so much fun reading Marley and Me that I can't wait to see what Grogan comes up with in this memoir about growing up Catholic. Coming from an uber-Catholic family on my mother's side I am sure I will be able to relate.

The hardest thing is always what to read first. Do I read this one or save it for later since this author only publishes once every two years or so? Do I read this one first because I need to know what happened after the last novel? Truth or Fiction? Long or Short? The decision is agonizing. The great thing is if this was my only decision every day I would be in Heaven.

Directionally Challenged

Ask Carrie about any trip we have been on and she can tell you a tale of woe about getting lost due to my navigation skills. There was Tulsa, when trying to return to our hotel from the zoo, I turned the map upside down for a better perspective and we ended up on a turnpike heading to another state entirely.

Most recently we were driving from Taos, New Mexico to Blackwell, TX via Roswell. A pretty straight shot on the map but she turned when she should have gone straight (or as she tells it I did not tell her to stay straight and she was only following my directions). Again, we found ourselves on a highway in the wrong direction. Flustered by her anger I looked for an alternative route on the map and we headed South so we could head East then South again. The first leg South was okay. Two lane, paved. Then as we turned east the black top ended and we spent the better half of an hour on a bumpy dirt road with civilization no where in sight. She yelled. I cried. But in the end we pulled into Blackwell that evening safe and sound.

In recent days, weeks, months, years (you see I don’t know where to begin this journey) I have been traveling with a friend to the very depths of hell. Oh sure I have jumped off the path every now and again only to return with renewed hope that is quickly struck down. She has a disease my friend does. Her journey has taken her to the Hill Country, West, and East. Mentally and physically however she has gone South. In recent days she has tried to understand her needs, her actions and the effect they have on the world. I pray that she has turned. That her journey now may be on an emotionally bumpy, dirt road but soon she will be fly along smooth with the wind in her hair.

I’ve hit several bumps on my own journey. At times my inner voice tells me to look in the rear view mirror and regret, rue, hate myself for not avoiding the pot holes. It has taken years to realize this behavior does me no good. Only by looking forward can I move forward. I hope my friend comes to that realization and soon she begins to look at each new day as a new start. Several new starts and you have yourself a month, then a year, then years and before you know it you’ve traveled many miles that you would have never seen otherwise.

On a lighter note, I am going to ask someone for a Garmin Navigation system for Christmas. That way the next time we get lost Carrie can yell at the machine and I can sit comfortably in the passenger seat munching on beef jerky.

Rikki Tiki Drunki

If you were me you could say the following about this past weekend:

Friday night while house sitting at a friend's your tipsy (ok drunk) ass walked three doors down to the neighbors because you heard screaming coming from the backyard. You were thinking serial killer which is why you knocked on the front door politely only to be informed it was the homeowner's teenage girl and her friend swimming out back. You could have apologized and walked away acting every bit the idiot you are but instead you notice they are playing Wii and ask for a few tips on how to hit a home run.

On Saturday you would have had a few too many before attending a birthday party. At the party you would have fallen on a tiki torch catching your hair on fire. That's what you get for buying not one but two sizes smaller than you were a month ago while shopping for jeans and celebrating all day long (granted the store they were purchased in clearly has sizing issues but just to looking at the tag makes it worth it).

Sunday you would have spent the majority of the day (six or so hours) watching reruns of America's Next Top Model your new obsession. That is until your friends who clearly weren't at the party and don't know you accosted their neighbor invite you for a margarita which six hours prior would have been out of the question but now.....

Tagged

It's been so long since I signed in. There was a question for a minute whether I would even remember my password. Inspired tagged me and since I clearly can't come up with anything worth writing about on my own decided to play.

Six random things about me:

1. I am a germaphobe. For the past month a co-worker has been walking the halls coughing like a TB patient. I have a really hard time touching anything she comes in contact with and have been working up the nerve to tell our office manager I think she should take a medical leave of absence until that nasty cough goes away.

2. My closet looks like a war zone. When I want to find a pair of shoes I have to dig through piles and piles to find a pair. I try to straighten it every once in awhile but it always goes back to looking like a bomb went off.

3. I also almost never clean my purses out. Essential things like wallet, keys, phone and lipstick are moved from purse to purse that is filled with receipts, business cards of people I can't remember meeting but won't throw away in case I ever need to contact:

The Wine Society of Texas
Embark Landscape Services for a Certified Arborist
Cheryl Polson- Self proclaimed Master of Dreads/Locks
Sales Manager (Oilfield)
Spectra Energy- Team Lead Communications Services
Columbia University- Assistant Professor School of Social Work

There also must be a pound of pennies in each purse.

4. When I was really young I stepped into a huge ant pile and had bites from foot to knee on one leg. My parents wanted to put a baking soda paste on the stings but I wouldn't let them so they renamed it "Surpise" and I did.

5. I have fat feet. Shoes have to be as wide as snow shoes to fit them. My toes are like sausages.

6. I sleep with a stuffed cat named "Cat Man Dude" because I am a very tactile person and he is really soft.

Hmmm. Six random things about me and I really do seem crazy.

Happy Valentine's Day!!!!


This is the woman who stole my heart over ten years ago:This is the dog that stole my heart almost nine years ago:

This is Lucy who wants to rip my heart out for putting the catnip mouse on her:

This is a new addition to our happy home who has a big, soft place in my heart already:

Day One (Again)

We cheated last night. A cigarette or two but I’m not going to beat myself up about it because this is day three after all and one or two is still twenty-eight or so less than normal. I packed what I call my “substitute cigarette” bag this morning with snacks galore. If I so choose I can eat yogurt with Grape Nuts, popcorn, Cheetos 100 Calorie Snack Pack, fresh cherries, celery sticks, baby carrots or Gummy Bears. Oh, or pastachios. Frightening isn’t it? I also clipped back on the pedometer to see if I will make the goal of taking 10,000 steps today. Hard to do in an office environment, here it is 3:30 p.m. and I have 6,382 steps to go.

The really great thing about quitting this time is Carrie and I are really trying to do this together. We laugh about how much we want a cigarette. We went to a party last night and upon realizing that we arrived way too early to make an entrance we decided to stay in the car and “fake smoke”. Carrie offered me a drag of her invisible cigarette but I turned her down, preferring instead to fake smoke a whole one of my own.

So here I am back to square one on this nicotine free, smoke free, tar lung free quest. Wish me luck.

Day Two and Counting

Carrie and I have been away for the past week. A nice relaxing trip to the mountains filled with good food, laughter, stories, jokes, cocktails, cozy fireplaces, snow, sledding and shopping. We rang in the New Year with the knowledge that when we returned to reality we would quit smoking (again). We were supposed to come back last Wednesday but decided to stay an extra three days. I can’t help but wonder if it was a subconscious effort to put off the inevitable promise we made to ourselves.

Here we are however, day two of no smoking. This time around has not been as hard as the last. In lieu of cold turkey we decided to give the patch a go (again). We woke up yesterday with patches on the bedside table, urgently sticking them on lest we begin to crave a cigarette in our first three minutes of being awake. As on any other Sunday we went downstairs to have coffee and read the paper but that was not about to work. Sunday paper reading/coffee time is when we would sit and smoke. And smoke. And smoke. Then after the paper was read and we drank enough coffee to shake like leaves we would settle in for a trashy television marathon and you guessed it, smoke.

Yesterday was an entirely different animal. Most of the paper went unread as we took the Christmas tree down, rearranged furniture in the living room, cleaned out the fridge, did laundry, went to the grocery store for low cal snacks to satisfy our oral cravings, bought work out clothes (because we know we will feel so much healthier sometime soon) and generally did anything to keep our minds off of smoking. A couple of pluses to this non smoking thing:

1. We can sit inside restaurants instead of freezing our butts off on the patio just so we can smoke.
2. Our clothes don’t stink.
3. Our house doesn’t stink.
4. Our lungs just might heal before either of us gets lung cancer.
5. Next New Years we might be able to walk down the driveway at high altitude without feeling like we need an oxygen tank.

Hopefully this will all stick and we will both kick the habit for good. I hate setting myself up for disappointment so all I will say at this time is I’ll try.

Christmas 2007

It was a great time. Grandmother got mean and testy. Laurie's hair has started falling out because of the chemo but she was in good spirits. Morgan is wearing her new glasses like a badge of honor. My dad forgot the ham and had to drive back to Katy to pick it up then back to our house. My mom stayed and visited into the night. Jesse looked great! Ty loved his painting we bought him. My dad loved his kitchen gadgets. All in all it was a great time!

You’ve Been Talkin’ In Your Sleep

Carrie has been talking in her sleep a lot lately. Mostly she acts as if she is at work, answering phones, taking orders. I try to engage her in conversation but my knowledge of the products she sells is limited so she usually ends up laughing in her sleep at my inability to ask for anything other than a ladder. Occasionally something is so funny in her sleep she will sit up laughing hysterically but by the time morning rolls around she can’t tell me what was so funny.

This morning while we were snoozing, for the fiftieth time, she rolled over and pet my arm. Then she called it a “ham”. A HAM?! That is what I call my thighs when I am feeling fat. Ham comes from PIGS and PIGS are big and fat. I would have cried if I weren’t trying to squeeze an extra sixty seconds of slumber out of the morning. She must pay for the comment however. I don’t care if she was asleep. Only I can call myself a pig, fat, piggy, ham resembling, hog.

What I Miss

There’s One Every Year

We don’t send out Christmas cards most years but boy do I love receiving them. Every year there is at least one that is a real doozy. Two years ago it was my grandmother’s announcing she had a flasher at her window and in response bought a “pretty” gun. This year’s winner is from my uncle in Colorado. First let me explain that he is the sweetest man you will ever meet. He is mild mannered until you get him talking about politics or any tenet of the Catholic Church. He is very religious signing his letters “God Bless” or “Peace be with you”. He is everything the rest of this family is not so it came as no surprise to me when I looked through the mail yesterday that he had written us a Christmas card on a postcard he had leftover from a trip he and his wife took this summer. The postcard is from Virginia. Not your traditional Christmas scene but with a traditional Christmas message written in green to the left of the address. I have yet to receive my grandmother’s annual newsletter but if there are any juicy details I’ll be sure to share.

Happy National Bouillabaisse Day!

Actually it is my birthday but if you look on Wikipedia, you will also find that it is indeed National Bouillabaisse Day. A celebration of a Mediterranean soup or stew. Who knew? I turned 37 today. Here are some interesting (trivial) bits of information on the number 37:

It is a prime number (I am in the prime of my life).
The normal human body temperature is 37 degrees Celsius.
The number of slots in European Roulette (I love roulette).
Thirty-seven is the number of men that Dante Hicks’ girlfriend Veronica Loughran had fellated in the film Clerks (This little tidbit pops up on a lot of 37 sites. I’ve never seen the movie and now I may be too old if this is what it’s about).
Shakespeare wrote 37 plays.
Nixon was the 37th president (He was also president when I was born and the only president to resign from office)
Abe Lincoln was elected to the House of Representatives at age 37 (I work for a company named Lincoln...hmmm)
Amelia Earhart disappeared in 1937.


Enough about thirty-seven, what about December 14th?

In 1903 the Wright brothers made their first attempt at flight at Kitty Hawk on December 14th (I have a photo of Carrie and I on the very site).
In 1959 the Motown Record Label was founded.
Oh, and it is National Bouillabaisse Day. Have a bowl and celebrate!

My Gift to You

Found this in some old photos last night. Since so few people see this blog I figure I can post it without too much humiliation. Not sure what I was doing but I did come up with a few captions that might work with this photo:

"Why, why must I have mushroom hair?!"

"The Holidays Give Me a Headache"

"My Belly Button is Freezing"

"Please, Please Santa Bring Me an Easy Bake Oven"

If you have any captions let me know.

South of the Border Torture Order

I keep getting e-mails from Classmates.com to inform me that someone new has signed my guestbook. I don’t subscribe so I have no idea who has tried to contact me nor do I really care since I didn’t have all that many friends in high school. I was the class dork. The girl who never had the right clothes, I never had a Laura Ashley dress or parachute pants. I didn’t stand at the lockers chatting between classes instead I would walk and read from one class to another. So, it goes without saying that I have no idea why anyone would want to contact me twenty years later. Perhaps it is all the buzz about our upcoming twentieth reunion.

Next year we will be gathering again to see what/who/how everyone turned out. I went to my ten year. Morbid curiosity I guess. As we pulled up to the hotel where the reunion was taking place Carrie asked me who my friends were in high school, who was I excited to see again? I could not come up with one single name. She pried some more then finally let out a big sigh and asked “Am I going to the reunion with the class dork?” I had to tell her the truth. We went in anyway where, to add insult to injury, more of my classmates knew her from her mother’s modeling classes or church. Half of them probably forgot I went to school with them and thought Carrie did instead.

I received notification of the twenty year reunion a month or so ago. I mulled it over, obsessively, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to put myself through another night of humiliation. Today when I received my most recent “guestbook” tease I went back on Classmates to see if there was a reunion update. Our class (or at least the one person brave enough to take the reins of organization) has decided to have the reunion at a Mexican food restaurant downtown. It could not be worse for me. First, I hate smelling like a fried chip when we eat at Mexican food restaurants. Second, I am forced to eat Mexican food approximately three times a week by my cheese/guac/beef addicted girlfriend. It is as if the Fates decided that since everyone really liked Carrie more at these reunions they would arrange for her to have a grand ole time and leave me to sulk in a corner like a wet tortilla chip.

More Christmas Memories

While we’re on the subject of family and drinking (or family driving us to drink), I have been reminiscing on Christmas nights spent at my grandmother’s house. These days Carrie and I have everyone over to our house to avoid the divorce crawl all over the city to visit each of our divorced parents. We have been having family to our house for the last three years and have become quite expert at getting the food on the table then getting everyone the hell out of the house (although I am usually too drunk to notice what time this actually occurs).

My grandmother used to have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooked the entire meal by herself while the rest of the family found quiet corners to read the books they just received as gifts. Conversation was kept to a minimum at best. After dinner we would all play the latest games we received or our fall back standard, Boggle. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows my family that playing a word game with the whole “PHD/Masters in English” bunch is akin to attending an aerospace engineer’s conference and trying to fit in. Unless you are good. Really good.

We would play at the dining room table as my grandmother did every single dish by herself. She would whistle while she worked except for the frequent interruptions to take a sip or two of wine. By the time the dishes were done grandmother would be loaded and ready to rejoin the group. Problem was she really didn’t know how to play so she would peer over our shoulders and yell out words that weren’t on the dice. When we would yell at her to stop ruining our concentration she would smack her lips and laugh like crazy. It could have been revenge for having to do everything on her own or perhaps just good old fashioned fun watching someone blow their top out of frustration. I don’t know what her reason but it happened every year.

She doesn’t drink as much wine these days. She doesn’t drink any less either but her outbursts have tapered off a bit. As I write this I am reminded of her joining us for Mother’s Day brunch. The waiter filled her wine glass about half way which is pretty standard in a restaurant. My grandmother looked at the glass and said; “I want a full glass of wine. That’s only half a glass”. The waiter chuckled and was about to walk away when I quietly let him know that “She is not kidding. Fill her up”. A decision I deeply regretted when she grabbed me by the waist and told me I was getting fat.

Ghost of Christmas Past

The holidays are fast approaching. We have only just begun our shopping. I think there are four or five gifts waiting to be wrapped. The remainder is yet to be purchased. Carrie and I stayed home from the ranch this weekend and hung Christmas lights. The weather was 80 degrees when we started which did nothing to put us in the spirit of the season. An hour or so into the process it began raining which really put a damper on any spirit we started with. Just as we were finishing up one of the trees we had just wrapped strand after strand of lights around went dark. We tried every plug, contraption, “three tap” but every time we plugged it in the breaker would trip. In a desperate effort to be done with the whole thing we ended up wrapping new lights over the ones that wouldn’t work. Not a perfect solution but at least at night you can’t see the dead stands.

My mother came by to visit while we were decorating. We were telling stories about all of the “drinkers” in our family. Who passed out in a chair, who holed up in a hotel, etc. Just the thing everyone discusses when decorating to celebrate the birth of Christ. Anyway, she was telling Carrie about a relative passing out in a chair. Mouth open, head back eyes to the sky. Mom was saying no one realized she was passed out at first and everyone kept looking at the ceiling to see what she was looking at that was so interesting. Carrie asked if we took pictures and/or put stuff on her which brings me to the subject of this post.

You see, we are kind of a strange family. We don’t really have any mercy for people who fall asleep during family functions. Before my grandfather died, my mother would bring him to her house for the holidays. She and my stepfather would get him set up in the recliner in the living room and hand him a glass or two of white zin (no taste in wine either). Granddaddy would make it approximately two seconds into gift wrapping before falling dead asleep with his mouth wide open. When we would laugh he would smile in his sleep. This led to hours of fake laughing really loud to see if he would smile every time. He did. Must have been the wine. This one Christmas he fell asleep with his hand in a gift bag full of socks (I know, I know, but he didn’t NEED anything).

The laughing game became a little boring so we decided to take family photos. Carrie was a bit appalled being new in the family and not used to our sick sense of humor. At first she refused to take the photos until we all told her to come on and get with the program. Mom, my stepfather and myself all posed around granddaddy’s sleeping form. We gave him bunny ears. We sat on the arm rests and acted goofy. He never woke up. Every once in awhile I think about that Christmas and it makes me smile to have such a sick, but fun, family.

Wrapped up a like a........

I want to know how many people get this particular lyric wrong. In Blinded By The Light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band after "Blinded by the light..." what do you/did you think the next line is/was?

Dog Scramble

It started out innocently enough. The twins (twin heifers that saw Isaac as the perfect target):

Then they decided to aproach him for a meet and greet:

Then we heard the cry "Get Him!!!":

Game was on:

Satisfied they had made their mark, the girls stood smuggly in the lane:

Diving for Dollars

I haven't felt like writing lately. I didn't really have anything to say and the things I thought about saying I really didn't want anyone reading so this blog has been dormant. That is until today. My father called me a couple of days ago and informed me that my sister is trying to raise funds to get herself to the National Fencing Tournament in Miami at the end of June and would I help. I said sure but she would need to ask me and if he wanted me to solicit the help of friends he better have her write a letter. Who can resist handwritten childlike scribble asking for money? He had her sit down to write the letter and this morning when I got to the office the following was waiting for me:

Hi,
My name is MD and I am raising money to go to the United States national fencing tournament in Miami. I am 9 years old but have qualified to fence in the Y10 epee category because of my point scores in regional youth tournament so I will be fencing against twenty-seven other girls aged 9 to 11 from all across the country.
Thank You for your Help! (emphais on help hers not mine)
MD

I guess she threw that whole I am 9 but competing against older girls because I am so fantastic line because she knows people want to back a winner. I'm glad these girls are aged, it may work in her favor.

The whole experience got me thinking to when I was her age and decided I wanted to raise some money of my own. Mind you my efforts were not for some lofty goal like winning a National tournament. I wanted candy from 7-Eleven and knew the only way I was getting it was paying for it myself. I looked around our apartment and tried to think of what in the world I could sell and get me some candy. My mother's clothes? Probably not a good idea. The dog? Again not such a good idea. Then a light bulb lit up above my big mushroom haired head and I had the best idea. I would paint the oyster shells that made up our patio floor. Who wouldn't want a painted oyster shell?! I set about water coloring the shells one by one. At first I tried doing flowers or something fancy but it was taking too long so I moved on to more abstract form. Stripes I told myself was the ticket.

Once the shells were painted it was time to hit the road and peddle my wares. Without the benefit of a fancy display case and wanting to give my customers the benefit of choosing the painted shell that best suited their personal taste, I cleared off my mother's rolling butler cart. The fanciest shells went on the top shelf while lesser, smudgy shells were relegated to the bottom to be used as replacements when the cream of the crop ran dry. I knocked on every first story door in the complex. I can't remember the response I elicited but I do know it felt good to make my own money. Which I promptly blew on pixie sticks and giant Sweet Tarts at the 7-Eleven.