Oh, I... Have you got nothing to say?

Weddings bring people together in celebration of two people's commitment.
Two great friends of ours got hitched this past weekend. Although there were a couple of SNAFU's, you know what happened, so I won't bore you with details about the flowers or dresses. A horticulturist I'm not and one look tell you I'm a far cry from "fashionista".
I'll get to the good stuff.

We all have 'sets' of friends. Friends from each of your personalities make up these different sets: college, work, childhood and bars. The wedding this weekend brought us together with people I had heard about for years, but had never met.
I swear, I am obsessed with these people. We'll call them The 441.
The 441 is made up of: Eggs and his wife Beauty; Cook and his wife Cool (also a Beauty, but that would get confusing).
We hit it off so well, I'm still not sure if they liked me or if they were blowing huge amounts of smoke up my ass.
You know, when you meet somebody and it goes so well -laughing, joking, serious, compliments, etc- you aren't sure if it was real? I spent almost 3 days with the New York crew, The 441, and I felt so comfortable; as if we'd known each other for years but freak circumstances like nuclear winter had kept us apart.
Hopefully they felt the same way about me. I swear, I want to visit them and vice versa. If I were closer, I think I'd stalk them. Instead, I'll just obsess. It's easier and cheaper; and we all know how I feel about being cheap.

A damp city rests... and I am awake.

The rain, sogging, sloshing, steaming, swamping, sucking the life right out of the city has finally seemed to stop.
Midnight in DC and I await my family. I haven't seem Moms or Sis since Christmas and they can't get here fast enough. Biding my time took the form of cleaning, a job I procrastinated until I knew they would be late.
You see, Moms and Sis wanted to take the train all the way from Bumpkin, WV to the big city and Amtrak is running about 8 hours behind schedule.
I'm exhausted from crazy, manual-laboring flood prevention, but I am grateful not to be stuck on a train for hours and hours.
Moms and Sis have got to be over the novelty by now!
They'll be fine...
The cleaning is squeaky; I managed to squander away my day and still get everything done. Clean sheets and comfy beds await their sleepy heads.
The Mister is snoring lightly on the couch beside me. He is so peaceful it doesn't seem right to rouse him into going to bed. Those water-filled buckets must have exhausted him, as well. Sometimes I take it for granted that he gets tired, too.
The Mister is stirring and I am going to lead him towards a more comfortable place to rest his weary head.
sweet dreams...

Blog-astinating.

A very special "Thank you!!" to Mrs. Doubtfire for helping me out yesterday. She rocks in a very cool, specific way. And yes, her boobs are fine. Damn fine. (read "Inherently Tidy" for an introduction and explanation)
*************************************
After spending the past two days bailing water out of my Mother-In-Law's basement crawl space, I am ready for a break. All I can say is that I'm glad she was out of town. She's a very (how should we put it?) high-strung, overbearing perfectionist, and as far as I'm concerned, downright scary. Thank goodness for cruises.
Like I wrote, I need a break. I want to yoga, take a bath and eat jello. But there is no break. Oh, no! This morning, I drove home with the express hope the water does not spill into the finished part of MIL's basement. I came home because today, my mother and sister are coming all the way from West-by-god-Virginia to visit. Moms will be leaving tomorrow to present at a conference in New Jersey and Sis will be staying for a week and a half. I'm very excited to spend time with Sis; she turns 16 this summer and I want her to have a great time.
Let's be clear, my apartment has become home to dust-bunnies that could chew your leg off. Perhaps because it's an old building, I have to dust twice a week to keep up with the bunnies. I have not been home since last Thursday and had not dusted since the Monday before that. It's been a week and a day and the bunnies have multiplied.
I've got work to do; lots of it.
The thing is, I'm tired. Exhausted from trudging up and down MIL's stairs, hauling buckets and not sleeping.
And here I am blog-astinating. Why dive in to the grunge when I can wait until the last minute to clean and lose my mind simultaneously? It will be quite the spectacle, I'm sure. We've all been there... that dark place where there's so much to do you just don't know where to begin. Slowly I am creeping up to that place.
Wish me luck! I'm off to do something else that doesn't need done. Maybe I'll alphabetize the dvd's. That's at least a little productive...

Hell or High Water?

Hi Bloggers. This is Mrs. Doubtfire, yes, the one and only. After you read the below, you will understand why you are graced with me posting the below entry...I quit my job yesterday, so already, people are asking me to do things like this! hahah, kidding, kidding...And in case your curious, my boobs are fine...in fact, they are damn fine if I must say. Have a great day and enjoy the below entry from your host, DC Super Powers! (who is quite super in real life too)

***************************************************
As I sit here in the floor of my mother-in-law's basement with a keyboard in my lap, I am grateful for a few things.

1. She is on a two week long cruise
2. I do not own a house
3. I do not have a basement with water gushing in
4. Most importantly, I am thankful I do not have dial-up.

Dial-up internet, people. Dial. Up. How am I to work in these conditions??
Yesterday, due to the torrential downpour, The Mister & I decided to come check on MIL's house. Thank goodness we did. Her basement was filling with water.
Manning ourselves with buckets and a wet/dry vac, we went to town. As soon -I swear to fucking Titan- as soon as we finished the sky let loose again and refilled the freaking crawl space.
"Whew! Thank goodness that's done... oh. my. god. NOOOO! It's coming in faster."
Necessity birthed invention, and after a little pow-wow and ingneius MacGyver styling with an old pond pump and we managed to rig a system to pump the water into the drain.
BUT at 11pm, we realized it had to be turned on every hour. Last night we stayed here at MIL's house with her pretty pink rooms and fucking bows and doilies everywhere. Gag. Wretch. Not to mention we had the nieghbors calling for two hours because this is Potomac and apparently that means nosey fucking people watching out for your house. God forbid they use their extra keys to check on your basement.
I can deal with trudging into the basement to pump water every hour.
But dial-up? DIAL. UP. I HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO DIAL-UP.
The Mister is off to work and here I am to pump, pump, pump water out of the basement.
I really wanted to tell you about my wonderful wedding weekend, but that will have to wait; especially since my mother and sister are coming to visit tomorrow. Who cares if my own place needs tending to before they arrive? Moms is going to find dust and GAH! a water ring in my bathtub. She's cool, and maybe I can get the young, Sis to help clean a little while she stays for two weeks. That's what kids are for, right?
DIAL-UP. FUCKING. DIAL. UP.

J-E-L-L-O!!

I don't care what anybody says... I am an adult and it is okay for me to eat J-E-L-L-O for breakfast. And since I can't shower, I deserve a jiggly strawberry treat.
The plumber is here. Again. For the second time this morning.
This ordeal began at 8am (technically, the ordeal began a week ago), and I have not been able to take a shower today. He's a nice fella and had to come back to caulk around the new fittings. The drying time of said caulk?

24 Hours, my friend.

Looks like I'll be able to take a shower tomorrow, just about the time I should be fixin to leave with The Mister for a Southern Maryland wedding. It's just too hot to be this yucky!
If I had known, I wouldn't have worked out this morning!
Gross and gross.
Maybe I can tape some plastic around the new caulk and MacGyver my way into the shower.
Yippe-ki-ay, Buckaroo, I'm one dirty cowgirl who's gonna go wrangle a shower no matter what it takes.

Running With Scissors.

Tonight, The Mister is in for a surprise. When he returns from a heated day of dragon slaying doldrum, I am going to liven things up by wetting my head, draping a towel around my shoulders and requesting he cut my hair.
Yes, I -a real life Super girl- am going to entrust my hair in the hands of my scissor-wielding husband.

I have many reasons for this:
1. I am cheap.
2. How hard can it be? I just want the ends trimmed a little.
3. I don't care THAT much about my hair.
4. If it looks bad, I'll go shell out the dough to have it cut properly.
5. I like to live on the edge.

We shall see how this goes...

Subtomatoan Homesick Blues

Tomatoes have always been my favorite food. Even when I was very little, if ever I would slip off, it was more than likely Moms would find me in my Papaw's garden eating tomatoes. There I would hide among the vines, chomping away on that wonderful juicy goodness. The tomatoes you can find in the city are okay, but they aren't fantastic.
Every summer I wait to pounce on the Whole Foods and Ballduci produce section for that brief moment when they have Heirloom Tomatoes; or as I prefer to call them: the closest thing to perfection one could ever hope for. My Papaw grew heirlooms and I believe it's time for a little tomato history lesson.
Heirloom Tomatoes have many distinguishing features and some are up for debate. There are a few different kinds of heirlooms, and I'm going to tell you about Family Heirlooms...
Family Heirloom tomatoes are literally grown from the seeds of yesteryear. Tomato seeds were spread either naturally, a tomato would fall from a vine and the seeds would begin to grow, or farmers and gardeners would save the seeds of truly wonderful tomatoes and plant them the next year. Primarily, in the grocery store, we have hybrid tomatoes with seeds created to be heartier and stand up to transport, bugs and other such things.
Heirloom seeds are not manipulated, gathered from tomatoes, saved, and planted year after year through many generations. Every year, tomato seeds are saved for next year's planting, thus preserving that particular varietal. Most heirloom varietals are over 50 years old.
Papaw grew tomatoes from the seeds grown by his father. My favorites include Yellow Zebra, Earl's Faux and the Hillbilly; each is amazingly different. Earl's faux has a big, zesty acidic flavor. The Hillbilly is very sweet and I suspect embodies the reasoning of why a tomato is really a fruit.
Yellow Zebra is quite special as it is the tomato my Papaw taught me about when he first found me in his garden, tomato juice up to my elbows and spread, along with my grin, from ear to ear. Rather than chastise me, Papaw told me it was his favorite, too and explained how 'Pop', his father, had planted the same tomatoes so many years before. The Yellow Zebra is a glorious combination of red and yellow, blending perfectly the zesty and the sweet. Much like Papaw, the Yellow Zebra is candy on the inside with a big bit of bite to make sure you won't ever forget about it.
Heirlooms come in a rainbow of colors including green, purple, red, brown, yellow, orange, stripes and speckles of every combination. Many are downright ugly; last week I witnessed a woman at the market point to a beauty and compare it to intestines. She made a face and turned on her heel. After a brief inspection, I rescued the offender who later made for a delicious meal. With the many colors of heirlooms, the best way to tell if one is ripe is by feel and smell. Unlike the regular hybrid tomatoes from the grocery store, you cannot tell by color. A green tomato can be very ripe and a purple tomato nowhere ready to eat. If it is fragrant and soft to the touch, it's ready. Hold them; smell them; wait for them to tell you they are ready.
And I am ready to make my way back home for some good hugs and great tomatoes.
Is it any wonder heirloom tomatoes make me homesick?

Pictures!

I just figured out that perhaps my picture-posting-problem was my internet browser and switched from Firefox to Safari.
Can't get anything by me, it's only been a few weeks. Maybe my super powers need to gravitate northward to the motherboard.
Despite my stupidity, pictures are back!
Here's me in the studio yesterday with my new, bionic eyes and not-so-golden glam hair:


(please excuse the lack of eyebrows, I hadn't drawn them on yet...)

Compliments.

There are people in this world who just can not take a compliment.
I am not one of those people. I cherish them, cling to them and remember them always.
I may feign an "Oh, stop. Thank you." but I won't brush it off. My blush will let you know I truly appreciate what has been said.

Once I was told, "Your back is like a playground..." A girl does not forget that kind of flattery. And that is a story for another post.

This weekend, I was given a really great compliment.
Sunday, Hunglish and I were taking a break from studio work and recapping the weekend. On Friday late afternoon, I went to Hunglish, J and OO's house to hang out. Hunglish and J were hanging out before Hunglish went to bartend and The Mister had just called to say he'd be working late.
These are guys who grew up with my husband. It could be weird for their friend's wife to be hanging out without their friend, but they make me feel like I fit. And, I enjoy going over to their house to play.
Back to Sunday... Hunglish was smoking in the parking garage of the studio and I needed some air. He said something to the effect of, "I'm glad you're my buddy and not just 'The Mister's wife' who is cool. I mean, I think we're buddies. You're like a little dude." I thanked him and agreed that I thought we were cool. Then Hunglish topped it with, "The boys and I have talked about this before and we like hanging out with you just as much as The Mister. Like we don't have you over just because you're his wife."
Why, thankee, Hunglish!
It was a compliment that could have been weird, but was given with surprising finesse. I'm hanging on to that -whether or not he was stoned out of his mind and has no recollection of what he said, I'm keeping that tucked in my back pocket.
(By the way, Hunglish, smoking cigarettes is gross and will kill you. Another Super Powers PSA, only because I care.)

This is me and Hunglish in the aforementioned parking garage. I let him hold the camera.

Super Clean!

After my last posting about not being able to turn on the water, I decided there was nothing Super about being a weakling.
So, I did what any other girl with the name Super would do. I stripped down naked, stood in the tub, focused my bionic eyes on the target, gripped firmly and turned.
The water came on and I *scrubby scrubby* reveled in my shower.

Ye-haw, I'm a little bit Super after all.

However, it would be misleading without mentioning... It may be true that I had to get out, dry off and muster together a little more Super in order to turn the damn thing off. It may have taken me quite a bit longer than I'm comfortable reporting.

Still, I AM CLEAN!

Dirty girl.

Yesterday was a disaster. My shower faucet has been leaking a small, steady stream for a few weeks now and the landlady finally called the plumber. She told me to be ready for him at 9:00am and she, along with the plumber, did not arrive until 12:45. They did not leave until 5:00pm. And it seems they've left another disaster in their wake.
If you can't tell, I do not like my landlady in the least. Landlady is slow to make repairs, always asking me to do favors ("Could you put up signs saying the water will be turned off tomorrow? Could you and The Mister shovel the walk? Could you wait two more weeks for your leaking ceiling to be fixed?"), and knows we are at her mercy for paying very little rent. She is not just the landlady, she owns the building. Don't even get me started about the birds living in my kitchen vent... yes, they are still there and as she told me yesterday, "Well, they are not the bird-flu kind of birds, so you are fine."
So they were late to fix my shower. The plumber was very nice and kind even as Landlady got bitchy when he told her he could not complete the job. (Let's be clear here; if anybody should have gotten bitchy about that, it should have been me. But I was nice.) It seems the hardware for my bathtub is as old as the building, built in 1937. This hardware is no longer made and actually broke off while the plumber was trying to fix it.
The knobs to turn on the water are now just sticking out of gaping holes in the wall with no collars to keep water from getting into the wall and running down into my neighbor’s ceiling. I have to wait until the plumber can find the appropriate replacement parts. But, hey, the spigot no longer leaks!
While waiting, I taped some plastic around the holes. So it really is not a problem.
My real problem is I can not turn on the cold water knob.
I took off my clothes like I normally do when I take a shower (although, I should mention I went through a strange thing a few weeks ago when I kept forgetting to take off my socks and got in the shower this way. Naked save for socks. Three days in a row.). I pulled the shower curtain back, grabbed the hot-water knob while turning, felt the water coming out of the faucet, grabbed the cold-water knob while turning, and my wet hand slipped right off the knob hitting me in the forehead. SMACK!
I dried my hand and forehead and tried again with the cold water. It wouldn't budge.
I stood in the tub, used both hands to twist with all my might. No freakin' way.
The Mister called me around 9am this morning to ask me how my morning shower went. "If I could take a shower, I would let you know. But I cannot turn on the cold-water knob!"
"I wondered if you'd be able to because I had a dickens of a time turning it on."
I consider myself fairly strong for being a bit on the wee side. But damn that thing is just NOT going to budge. And I cannot take a shower.
Maybe I'll call Hunglish to come over and turn the thing on for me. Or maybe I'll just call it a wasted day, put on a baseball cap and waller in my own filth. Yummy. Blech!

Cruel Intentions

The wedding this weekend was wonderful. I may write about it later, but for now I have more pressing issues.
I have this friend and --good lord, I don't even know how to start this.
First, let's give her a name... Grumpy? Brash? Hard-to-Take? OCD? Bitch? Okay, okay, perhaps my current feelings are getting in the way of a good name.
She'll be: Boldy.
Boldy and I have been friends almost 10 years. When we first met, I though she was brash and a bit hard to take; then I got to know her and found she was a great girl once you got past the hard candy shell.
She and I moved to this area around the same time; me for work, her for law school. After I met The Mister and his best friend, Jersey, it became evident that Boldy and Jersey would make good friends, if not more. Jersey and Boldy hit it off, got jobs in California, lived there for a couple of years and have now moved back. They have been dating for about 4 years and are engaged.
Since they moved back, I have no idea who Boldy has become. She has always been blunt and bold, but now is condescending and cruel.
It began with little things; things I can't remember but at the time struck me as 'off'.
Then, it came to a point a few weeks ago when I called her cell phone. I knew that The Mister and Jersey had plans after work, so I called Boldy to see if she'd like to get together. It was five minutes after 5:00pm. I called her cell, thinking she wouldn't answer if she was busy.
Here is how I recall the conversation:

ring ring
Boldy: Yeah.
Super: Hello!
Boldy: ...
Super: Oh, it's me, Super. [very uncomfortable]
Boldy: Yeah. I know. [very brisk and condescending]
Super: Uh, okay. I'm sorry to bother you, I can call later.
Boldy: Well, what do you want?
Super: I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out this evening, but I'm sorry to bother you.
Boldy: I'm at work and I'll probably be working late.
Super: Okay. Have a nice day.
click! - she hung up, and I cried

Frankly, if you are in that bad of a position, DON'T ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE. Her tone, her briskness, her condescension was just cruel. The way she spoke to me made it clear she was trying to make me feel inferior. I am already sensitive to not having a paying job; I can make myself feel bad enough without anybody else trying to help.
However, at the end of the day, I can rest my head knowing I am a good person.
This is just one example of why I no longer want to have her in my life. Nobody who goes out of their way to make others feel badly is worth my time. The Mister has talked with me about it and even told me Jersey has voiced concerns about Boldy's way of talking down to people. Boldy has not always been this way.
At first, The Mister wanted me to talk to Boldy because he thought she could not possibly know what she was doing. There are two reasons I don't want to talk to her. First, I do not want (nor do I think I should) to put myself in a position where Boldy could treat me the way she has been. I just don't think it's worth it. Second, I'm afraid to. I have never claimed to be brave and now is not the time for me to start.
After this weekend, The Mister has backed down and asked me to write a letter - whether or not I plan on giving it to her.
Boldy and Jersey were at the wedding and on our way home, The Mister mentioned he had noticed the way Boldy spoke down to people (not just me).
These feelings of resentment have me in a bind. The Mister is great friends with Jersey and although I do not think Jersey would put up with being talked down to, I hope Boldy does not treat him this way. Jersey is a great guy.
It makes me sad to feel I have lost a friend. Yes, it is my choice, but she is not the friend I once knew. Of course, I will still be nice and kind, but I will avoid any situation that would put us together alone.
There are not many people I consider true friends. This situation makes me realize how much I miss and love Wino, Capitall, Drinky and Red. It also makes me appreciate the friends I have here, such as Hunglish, J and Ooter. Although we may not be close, I do think they are truly good people. I am thankful for them.

Has this happened to anybody else? Any thoughts?

S.N.A.F.U.

Yesterday's hair coloring went well in that although the color is decidedly NOT that described or shown in pictures, it still looks good. "#19 Golden Glam" does not say "strawberry blond" to me, and let me make that clear, far more strawberry than blond. Still, it looks nice with my complexion, so I have no real complaints.
The self hair coloration could have been my big snafu of the day, but oh, no; that was saved for the evening after The Mister and I arrived home.
Today begins the Wedding Madness! Actually, it has been downgraded from Wedding Madness to Wedding Liveliness or better yet, Wedding Excitement. The Mister (more like, The Mister Popular) was supposed to be in three weddings this lovely June. One of those weddings has been cancelled. Personally, it is my belief that you have until the "I do." to say, "I don't think so.” It would be far better to spoil one day for 300 of your closest friends than to ruin the rest of your life. I wish this particular couple the absolute best and appreciate their strength to call it off or put it on hold.
And we are down to two weddings this month, which is far more manageable.
Last night while putting my rehearsal dinner and wedding outfits together, I noticed a big stain on the front of my only-thing-I-own-appropriate-for-an-11am-wedding-dress.
"OH MY FREAKIN' NOOOOO!" This was a bad situation, as I really do not have a lot of clothes and most of my wardrobe is made up of jeans and tee-shirts, everything else is black. The wedding this weekend is at 11 o'clock in the morning, and this makes black seem a bit morbid. I own one dress suitable for such an occasion and come Thursday night, a stain appears.
At first The Mister Popular and I tried to rationalize a little, "Maybe you won't be able to see it in daylight... open the curtains, let's see it in sunlight." GAH! The stain showed up worse. "Does your little sweater cover it? Could you just wear it all day?" GAH! The sweater was two inches shy. "Do you have anything else you can wear?" GAH! The closet was ill prepared.
By this time it was 7:30pm and I was desperate, "What time does the mall close? Do you think we can find something? Can we do this?"
Jumping in the car, my mind was stressing. You see, I'm very hard to shop for. It's not because I'm picky (you can tell by the clothes I wear, I am definitely not picky); it's because I'm small and curvy and twenty-eight years old.
My size is why "Petite Sections" were created. However, my age dictates that pants with elastic waistbands are never okay. The clothes found in most Petite Sections have a certain flare only appreciated by the Blue-Hairs. Add that up with my frugal/cheap ways and you may have a bit of a problem. Stores with petite clothes that are young, classy and (hopefully at least a little bit) cool tend to be a little more expensive.
While in the car, I came up with a game plan. It was going to be tough as shoes are a serious commodity when your feet are size 5. I was going to have to find a dress that would go with shoes I already had. "Let's start at Hechts, move to Ann Taylor and see how that goes. I don't want to spend much money." In my heart I knew Hechts would not have anything that would both fit my body and my personality and that A.T.'s would have something that would fit and be classy, just not cool. There's a little bit of funky that resides firmly in my heart.
The Mister Popular was reading my mind, "Super, you need a nice dress for a wedding, you may need to expand your budget a little. It's okay and I know you are going to have to drop some bank."
I grumbled something like, "We'll see about that..."
Neither place had anything that even fit, let alone anything I didn't like.
"C'mon, Super, let's go to Nordstrom's, they have Petites."
Trudging along behind, I already felt defeated and was trying to think of alternate solutions.
As we neared Nordy's, I first saw the "SALE!" sign and got a little inspired. It's safe to say that after trying on four dresses in A.T., I had stopped looking at price tags.
We had only been in the mall a half-hour, that's how small the small-sections are.
Nordstroms Petite Section is great, but they are a really lacking in dresses. After perusing the entire section, I found ONE dress that seemed to fit the bill, but would it fit me? It was black and white print and flirty. I tried it on, walked out of the dressing room where The Mister's smile told me everything was going to be just fine. To beat it all, it was far less than for what I had prepared myself. Thank goodness for sales!! Quite frankly, I felt quite hott in this little number.
Have a wonderful weekend and I'll write about the Wedding Excitement when we get back!!

#19 Golden Glam

In an attempt to remain cheap and still cater to my vanity, I am going to color my own hair today. Yesterday I went to the drug store to peruse the isle of hair color. Good gracious, have they got all sorts of brands, colors, kits and caboodles!
At first it seemed safer to go with a semi-permanent (What does that mean? Semi-permanent is like almost-pregnant; you either are or you aren't.) Although the risk factor seemed lower with semi-permanent, I decided if I was going to jump in the pool, I may as well jump in head first. Let's see if I pull a Busta Rhymes and break my neck.
My selection was Clairol's Herbal Essences Bold 'N Brilliant Color, color #19: Golden Glam or Dorado Radiante. It is a "Level 3 Permanent" (?) and the box tells me it will allow you to, "express yourself fearlessly... with permanent color that won't trash your hair!"
Now that is speaking my language: it won't trash my hair.
We shall see what happens after I don my "professional colorist gloves" (which are very similar to the 100 count packages I buy for activities like toilet scrubbing) and let the goo sit on my head for twenty-five minutes.

Booooo!!!

That's "Booooo!!!" in the "You suck!" sense, not "Booooo!!!" in the "I'm gonna scare the piss outta you!" sense.

Blogger has gotten on my very last nerve. I (along with many others) can no longer post pictures and it seems the system toolboxes are not going to do anything to remedy the situation.

Today I have made a decision: I am going to create my own website.
As soon as I do that, I'll let you know. In the meantime, I'll keep posting little ditties here to keep you updated on my progress.

I am usually a nice person, however, I hate Willard Scott. I think the world would be a better place without him. Willard Scott is the devil.
Even when I was a kid he seemed oogy. He just creeps me out and I don't get a good vibe from him. When he's on the Today Show, the channel must be changed.
If the channel is not changed I am forced to run screaming from the room, "Noooooooo, not Willard!!!!!" He just doesn't seem nice, and something in my gut makes me hate him.

Let's give this a shot...

After a weekend of letting blogger work on it's picture posting problems, let's see if the issues have been resolved.
...
BASTARDS!!!!! I suppose I'll just have to put fun links in my posts to keep you entertained.
************************************************************************
This weekend was just Nice. You know those times when everything seems hectic as if the madness will never end? The Mister & I are going through one of those times and it looks like there's no respite to be seen throughout the summer. The Mister, or as he seems to be of late: The Mister Popular, is in many weddings this season and the first is coming up on Saturday. About a month ago began the shower-madness and I am just about Done with all this crap.
So... back to our lovely weekend. We started Friday evening with a date at Jaleo and far too much Sangria. Fantastic! Just the two of us enjoying ourselves with no presents, bows or "Oh thank-you; this S'more maker will really come in handy!" followed by a fake smile.
Saturday included a little bit of a rough start due to the aforementioned Sangria. After a yummy breakfast, we went to an early afternoon showing at the Avalon.
The Avalon is the oldest movie house in Washington, DC, and I am now in love with this place. In 2001 the wonderful neighborhood residents donated money, time and business sense to create a non-profit organization that saved this grand old cinema from destruction: The Avalon Theater Project. The ATP worked diligently over the next few years to restore the theatre to it's full regal glory, complete with the highest quality sound, screen, and projection capabilities.
We saw The DaVinci Code and although the book was my least favorite of Dan Brown's books, the movie (in my humble opinion) did it better than justice. I only have two complaints.
First, what the crap is up with Tom Hanks's hair? It's just all wrong.
Second, there was a lack of true climax. The movie kept my attention far better than the book, and it moved well; it just did not climax for me. This is not a terrible thing; the story took me about 3/4th's the way up the mountain, stayed there for quite awhile, enjoyed the view and then we hiked back down. Overall, I enjoyed it.
However, my enjoyment of the Avalon itself far surpassed my enjoyment of the movie. It was my first time visiting this gem in the city and surely it will not be the last.

It could be worse...

I could be bitchy. Instead, when my hormones rage, they rage towards tears.
Not only have I not slept well since getting Zapped! (frankly, I'm terrified of damaging my eyes in my sleep), now it's time to deal with the Time before My Time.
Readers, just fucking deal with it; yes, I'm writing about it.
I get weepy and sensitive, paranoid and self-conscious. All I want is hugs and to be told I'm pretty, even though I'm not a "hugger" and I really don't really feel it.
Just a little reassurance would be nice before I burst into tears over the best commercial in the World [click here, scroll down a teeny bit, download 'the perfect toy' & watch]. That Petsmart commercial with the little weenie dog who has his purple stuffed weenie friend, Bo-bo --sweet lord, that commercial was made for me. It evokes nearly every emotion I'm capable of:
Inexplicable Joy - that little guy & his friend make me damn near explode with glee
Anger - the lady should't take his friend away while the little guy sleeps, let him say "Goodbye"!
Longing - there's an empty space on the couch beside me, a place my very own little guy should be
Relief - in no way could I handle the responsibilities of a little guy

That Petsmart commercial is a 90 second roller coaster of emotion on a good, emotionally stable, day. Today is not that day, and I think I should just go back to bed.

"Your image has been added." My ass!

I have not been posting because I have not been able to upload pictures.
This is making me a very pissed off Super.
I have checked the blogger help site and YAY! it's not me and my freaking internet ignorance. (For a brief moment, I thought perhaps having my eyes Zapped! had fucked with my mind and I had picture-uploading-amnesia. This is not the case.)
Once the issue is resolved, I'll be up and blogging again.
Speaking of pictures...
This past evening The Mister took me Jaleo for yummy Spanish tapas. It reminded me of when we first got back from Spain and Moms wanted nothing to do with looking at our pictures. She was weird and evasive about the pictures and at one point said, "Maybe I should censor them before you show your little sister." Freaking bizzare.
It was only after we realized she thought we were saying "Topless Bars" instead of "Tapas Bars" that she would peruse the vacation pics.

Super Sis To The Rescue!

I have a little sister who is turning 16 in August. Sis is 5'9", thirteen years younger than I and eight inches taller. No fair. It's strange to think about, she was in kindergarten when I was a senior in high school, nine when I graduated college, and thirteen when I got married.
Sis told me last week she can't really remember me living at home and that I feel more like an Aunt than a Sister. She didn't mean it badly, but the more I think about it, the more it makes me sad. Not too sad, though, because I'm one hell of a cool Aunt if that's how she's gonna think.
Sis is going through a little rough patch as her first boyfriend just broke her heart. Luckily, she's got her head on straight and knows this part of her life is somewhat just a bump in the road. Sis is aching inside and I just want to take the hurt for her.
It's true she needs to go through these things on her own; in the end it will make her a stronger woman, but it doesn't make me feel for her any less.
Blech! Fucking High School sucked.
Doo-doo-do-dooot!!! Super to the rescue!
The Mister and I are going to kidnap her (with mom's permission, of course) for the week of July Fourth. A fun-filled week with Super Big Sis is just what she needs. I wish I could go get her now, but school ends today and The Mister is in two weddings this fine month of June. She'll just have to hang in there for a month.
It's a little strange... never have I said that I want to visit my family in West-by-god; it has always been a should or need to situation, but recently, I've felt a certain want to. The only problem is The Mister can not go any time soon, and without him, I have homicidal tendancies towards my mother (Moms). Somehow his presence makes me behave and hold my temper.
The last family trip I went on was during my sixteenth year on this earth. After that god-awful beach trip, I stayed home alone. As an adult, I've always come up with excuses, too. That last family trip nearly killed me and I hated every minute of it. For awhile I was convinced I hated the beach, but have since realized, I simply hated my family at the beach.
Moms is neurotic. She goes on vacation and can not allow herself to relax. That wretched trip she spent washing towels and loading the dishwasher. According to her, nobody else could do it properly and therefore she revoked our "priviledges".
Aunt Jane says Moms just doesn't know how to have fun. I saw her let loose once about a year ago when she came to visit. We took her out to a Spanish restaurant and she did not realize Sangria had alcohol. It was the best time I've ever had with my mom. She didn't get drunk, just tipsy enough to relax. If only we could just pump the stuff into her vains...
This August, I'm looking forward to a trip to the beach with my older brother (Bub), his two kids (sadly, the wifey can't get off work) and the aforementioned Sis. Honestly, I think we are going to have a great time. The three of us have never done anything like this before.
Sis being so much younger made it impossible; Moms would not trust her baby with her first and middle borns. Sis will be turning 16 at the end of the trip. I really do think it's going to be a smashing time and something she could really use: A respite from the semi-reality of High School.
Oh, the woes of a fifteen-year-old.
Any readers out there with ideas for a cool sixteenth birthday gift?

AND CAN ANYBODY TELL ME WHY I CAN'T POST PICTURES ANYMORE?
No pictures = No fun! booooo!