Eh. Today is Wednesday.

Today I had to go to The Mister’s savings bank in Potomac. It was a good day to take my new eyes for a spin. Driving is great and it's starting to sink in that my perfect vision is not going to go away.
Mother-in-law lives in Potomac and although I’ve never really been struck by duty before, a certain sense of daughter-in-law duty struck me. I called her knowing she usually does not get out of bed until well after 10:00am and hoping today was no exception.
Wouldn’t you know it would be just my freakin’ luck she’d be up waiting for a plumber? I had to stop by; for pete’s sake, I’d called her.
So I popped on by to Mother Powers’s and tried to donate a little time for a good cause. The Cause being the fact I’m a horrible daughter-in-law who has really fallen by the wayside since Mother Powers dragged me, The Mister, Sister Powers (aka insane-get-out-of-my-way-if-you-don’t-want-me-to-mow-you-down-with-my-stroller woman) and her brood to Disney Hell: Land of the Damned.
It’s been about a year since that fateful trip, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m not quite over it. Over it or not, I probably ought to make nice for the sake of The Mister.
My short visit went well, and Mother Powers’s hair is just as big as usual. Thankfully, the plumber showed up to run interference thus making my escape all the easier.
After the visit, I was famished; being nice really works up an appetite, so I puttered over to hit CPK at the Montgomery Mall. It was busy, and a bar stool was offered. For me, sitting at a bar is second nature as long as my glass is full. A nice lady chatted me up and while we sat talking about Spain, the woman next to her dined-and-dashed! She was a 45-ish cranky looking woman, dressed a little odd in an eclectic way, who sat down, ordered and left without paying.
Other than the episode of That 70’s Show when Donna and Eric are left at a nice restaurant after the crew dashed out on them, I’ve never actually seen somebody do this.
While talking to the little old Spanish lady, it occurred to me the woman over her shoulder was eating a little strangely. She angrily stabbed her salad as if the lettuce had committed a crime and it was her job to inflict punishment. Freaking bizarre.
Then she -poof!- disappeared. Did she have to go poop and was just taking awhile in the bathroom? No. Did she see somebody across the way she knew? No.
She just ate and vanished.
As Jay-Z said, “Poof! Vamoose son-of-a-bitch.”
After stuffing my face and paying, I wandered around for a bit. I hate to shop, but I bet you could tell a lot about a person by following them through a mall. Seeing what stores they enter, notice or blow right past. Me? I stopped in four stores: Papyrus, Express (only because I saw a neat dress in the window that they did not have), Hallmark, and Old Navy.
Ultimately, I’m a pretty cheap person. I’m not cheap in the “Five dollar, love you long time” kind of way; I’m cheap in the way that allows me only to visit that super-cute purse at Coach, but not actually buy it. Today my purchases included 4 cards and 2 shirts; both from the Little Girl’s section of Old Navy. Here’s my rationale of shopping in the land of the wee:
1. I have super small shoulders, and if the shirt fits, wear it! (My ass and its roundness does not permit me to shop below the waist in the Kid section. Alack, alas, sigh…)
2. Most importantly, Kid clothing is way cheaper than Adult and as I mentioned before, I am cheap.
Overall, it was a somewhat strange day. I did two things out of the realm of Super-normality. I visited my Mother-In-Law and I went shopping.
Tomorrow has got to be better.

Zapped! Part V

This is my final Zapped! installment. After my post-op visit yesterday, I learned that I am actually 20/15. That's right, I have bionic vision. This was to be expected of course; my body doesn't take much cajoling to eek out its full Super Power Potential.
The Mister is not as fanatical about picture taking as I am. He took a few the day of the surgery and this was taken while driving me, The Corpse, homeward:
Super Corpse with nametag for identification lest I forget who I am. I'm pretty sure I don't have a double chin in Real Life; this being a Fake Life, of course.
Though I look it, no, I'm not dead; I was given two Valium and a Tylenol PM after the surgery. That'd knock a grown man off his horse, let alone little me. Hell, I think I'm still woozy.
Over the past five days, I have also become bionically spoiled by The Mister. It got off to a rocky start as he developed a nasty sinus infection and was not as enthusiastic about my needs as I had hoped. Part of me really wanted him to say, "I would looooove to help you wash your hair while you hold a towel over your new bionic eyes!" Instead it was more, "Sure. Whatever you need. "
But two doses into his antibiotic, he snapped to attention and took care of me like a champ. It probably didn't hurt that my solution to Rule #3 (No water in or around the eyes for 1 full week.), was to take a bath, suds up my hair, hold a towel over my face while The Mister poured water over me with a big spouted mug. At first he was skeptical, then waaaaay too excited. All I wanted was to be clean; all he wanted was to jump in with me. "No splashes! The Mister behave yourself lest I go blind! Surely you read the Rules!"
Alas, I can only be so heavy-handed when I've been given a Vicodin. (They really do load you up with the drugs! Good thing, too, because I've set self-restrictions on self-medicating until my eyes are completely healed.)
It's been a good ride, but The Mister is done with spoiling me. It's time for me to repay the favor and fully thank the man. It will take awhile because The Mister was really wonderful. Thankfully, tonight is my first night without having goggles taped to my face. Let me tell ya', that is sure to put a chink in your chain. Aside from the raw-tape-ripped-off-spots on my forehead and sticky residue on my cheeks, those huge, taped-on, goggles have kept me from fully enjoying my Vicodin induced sleep. Tonight's the night!

Zapped! Part IV

My apologies for being away so long. It's been five days since my last confession.
I had my lasik eye surgery this past Wednesday and everything is awesome.
I freakin' 20/20!! My previous contact prescription was 7.25/6.75.
I can only blog for a moment because I'm still a little light sensitive; but as soon as I'm up and running I'll tell you all about it complete with pictures.
Here's a small preview:This is me after taking vallium but before going into the surgery room. The doctors kept telling me I didn't have to wear the bonnet, but after the vallium, I replied, "Oh please, I like blue."
The Mister kicked ass taking care of me, even though I think he secretly enjoyed taping the goggles to my face at night.

And for my encore...

Saturday was Drinky's birthday. I don't call him Drinky because he eats a lot; however, I do think perhaps it should have been my nickname for the weekend. *See this post for an introduction.*
Not only was it Drinky's birthday, his sister graduated from college, his brother was in from California and these people know how to Party. We'll call the family: The Dranks. They take their debauchery seriously and to top it off, they are great friends and good people in general.

The massacre was held at the family A-Frame house by the river. The A-Frame is a small cabin with a dock beside a field and is basically a party place. This is where I've attended a few parties and you know to expect a bit of mayhem when The Dranks decide to throw down here.

The Mister, Wino, Capitall and yours truly showed up around 8pm because we knew the real party would begin after dark. There were lots of people, a bonfire, food, fun and amazing amounts of alcohol. The Mister and I took a six-pack to share as we wanted to be alive and well the next day; we had to drive five hours home and it's no fun with a hang-over. Believe me, I've done it a gazillion times so we tried to plan ahead: no insanity, drink only the bottles we brought.

The best laid plans... After I had four of our six beers (and The Mister still does not know this), I began re-filling my bottles at the keg. This was at the prompting of Drinky's stepmother who is quite the hott amazing woman. I wish I had a picture, although I'd probably keep it to myself. As she pointed out, I wasn't breaking the rules if they were still the bottles we brought. You have got to love a woman can be this smart even when she's three-sheets.

The party was complete with a big ol' karaoke getup. We all hung out, sang birthday songs with helium making us sound like the lollipop guild and in general had a wonderful time. Here's Drinky and wife Red singing a little ditty called, "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" -This is "their song" nobody wants to know where their new baby was created and therefore, nobody will ride in their car. Red's looking pretty hott for having a baby a mere 3 months ago! Hell, I think she's looking hott, regardless.
The Mister brought out his "Humpty Dance" and by request, Jay-Z's "Give It To Me". The Mister has lots of practice; he was in a hiphop band for six years. He's a great musician and performer, and as Daddy Drank said, "Wow, The Mister! We had no idea you could do that!"
I wish I could say they were the only people who rocked the mic on this brisk evening.
At some random point, I decided to try another First to tack onto the list of things I have done once but should never repeat. I trotted myself up to the dj and made a request.
Although I've been told in the car that I sound remarkably like a young, Jackson-Five, Michael Jackson, I never intended on proving it by karaoke-ing "I Want You Back" by the aforementioned Jackson Five.
The next time anybody sees me stumbling towards a microphone, lure me away with a drink.

Zapped! Part III

Yesterday (Monday) I had my Zapped! pre-op visit. It went well and the procedure is tomorrow.
I will try to write about the rest of my weekend before getting Zapped! Apparently, I'm not supposed to be in front of a computer for a couple of days post-op. I may have The Mister post something to at least let you know I've not been maimed. We'll see.
I have much to tell because I still haven't mentioned the Drinky & Red Show on Saturday night. What a hoopla and so much fun! I even karaoke'd -- for the most part anyhow.

***BTW, Zapped! is not what it's actually called. After many questions/comments, you should know that I'm calling it that because I think it's funny.***

Hands were shaken; shots were taken.

What an insane weekend! Excuse my hiatus, The Mister and I went to Ohio for a long, crazy weekend. It was something we both needed, especially The Mister as he’s been working a shit-ton lately.
As I posted briefly on Friday, we went to a South African wine dinner and it was awesome. The chef at the hotel researched South African food and according to Wino and Odd Duck (both of whom have spent much time there), he did a bang-up job.
Of course, after the wine dinner, we all went out drinking; however it was less refined and very uncivilized. You can dress us up, but…
Friday turned out the be full of First-Times for me and The Mister. We went to Wino and Capitall’s house around 8:00pm and it was a free fall from that point onward.
The first First-Time of the evening involved Absinthe –or as we began calling it: The Green Machine. Absinthe is not sold in the U.S. and if you make it through customs with it, you are a lucky bastard because it is not FDA approved. Wino managed to get through with two bottles from his past trip to South Africa.
Here’s how it works:
1 shot of Absinthe
1 shot of water
1 sugar cube
1 tumbler
1 fork (supposed to be a special flat slotted spoon, but a fork works)
Fire
Place the fork across the tumbler and
put the sugar cube across the fork’s slots.
[Thank god for pictures!]
Pour Absinthe over the sugar cube
and light it on fire.

After the sugar melts a bit,
pour the shot of water over it
to extinguish the flame.

Drop the cube into the tumbler
and mix it around.
and DRINK.

Certain kinds of Absinthe tastes like anise or black licorice. I hate anise, but agreed to do a shot if Capitall would show me her boobs. Hands were shaken and for the show I got, many shots were taken. Capitall has hott tits. I showed her mine, too and got the best compliment of the year, “Super, you’re actually a lot bigger than I expected! You’re very unassuming.”
Wahoo! Score one for Little Super.
I’m going to try to describe the sensation of Absinthe. Sweet motherless crap. The Green Machine causes a fucked-up I’ve never experienced before. I was freakin’ giddy; we all were. Although, none of us actually felt drunk, we were far from sober and it was just a light, happy consciousness. It was a clear and present drunkenness. It makes you feel something between being High and being Drunk, but without the wobbly, out-of-control feeling.
Unless you are Odd Duck, who was the most entertaining of the evening. I knew he played the blues but had no idea he had so many filthy songs in his repertoire. (Note the cut on the side of his nose; after post wine dinner drinking the night before, he went out and got in a water balloon fight -at 4:00 in the morning.)

We finished off one bottle and let loose playing music, laughing and –honestly it’s a little foggy because of what happened later, but I took many pictures.
Here is my favorite taken by Odd Duck:

After we said goodnight to Wino and Capitall, we went with Odd Duck to another friends house. Yes, it was one o’clock in the morning, but why not?
We arrived at Smiley’s and I pulled out my bag of goodies. Then Smiley gave us the tour of his house; it was complete with a mostly-sound-proof studio/music room. As all of us are musicians, we manned our posts and jammed for about two songs until Odd Duck broke a couple of stings. Smiley was on drums, Odd Duck on guitar, The Mister on bass and yours truly on a fabulous Fender Rhodes keyboard.
I’m actually a mallet keyboardist (think vibraphone or xylophone) and it’s been years since I played a piano. I think I did a pretty okay job and was really getting into jamming when Odd Duck stopped –he was down not one, but two strings. Four strings do not a guitar make. It was great fun while it lasted.
Here we are, post jam (note the crazy smoke! Whoosh.):

Around 3:30, The Mister and I went home to my father’s house and straight to bed where I had the most fantastical dreams of –I’m a bit embarrassed to say- sixsomes and music. However, my dream orgy only had six people; the next day, Wino told me he had a dream in which there was a party of about six-TY (60) and an orgy ensued. I did not mention my mere sixsome dream because it just paled in comparison.
I think it was the Absinthe.

If you pour it, we will come...

Surprise! I'm in Ohio again; this time, it was a surprise for my dear friends Wino, Capitall and Odd Duck (see post "Cookouts, Kitchens, Cars & Crows").
Wino and Odd Duck have a wine importing business -good friends to have- and hosted a wine dinner last night. The Mister got a couple of days off and "Why not? Let's go!" we jumped in the car. It was the best surprise I've pulled off to date.
Part of the surprise hasn't even happened yet as we still have to show up at Drinky and Red's big ol' throw down tomorrow. We got the invite and I'm certain they don't think we're coming in from DC for a party. Mwahahaha!
Things have already gotten of to a bang-up start; and I'll have lots to write about when I get home.

Zapped! Part II

Today I visited my amazing eye doctor for a final visit before my pre-op. After my pre-op this coming Monday, I will have my eye correction surgery on Wednesday.
While there, we had a 'heart to heart' and honestly, my eye doctor is really wonderful. I feel confident about my decision and being in her care. I suppose there's a reason she's listed in Washingtonian's best.One funky thing though... I wasn't prepared to have my eyes dilated today, but she wanted to "check one more thing...". This picure was taken four hours later. After various tests and our talk, she gave me a pair of inserts for my glasses. I only have one pair of glasses and they are not tinted in any way. Upon leaving, I stumbled around and got lost looking for my car. No joke. I called The Mister as he helplessly tried to assist me, "Do you see any street signs?" In all honesty, I'm pretty sure there must have been signs; however, the sun was shining and my pupils being the size of dinner plates didn't allow me to have the wherewithal to look upward. At one point, while standing on a corner, I tried to look to the sky where a street sign should have been and I tumbled over. Whoops! There I was, knees on the sidewalk. Never good when you're alone and it's daylight.
The Mister was in distress, "And you're going to drive when you find the car?!"
"No, The Mister, I'm going to sit in the car and talk to you until I feel it's okay. It's not far; it's fine. I'm fine. By the way, this is a really nice neighborhood... Really pretty."
I stumbled around and found my way back to Massachusetts Avenue and past the Crate & Barrel. There were people around, but I couldn't see well enough to tell if they were staring and pointing at my oh-so-hott-sun-protection-inserts. I'm really surprised these things haven't caught on.
Then somehow, I wandered through a crowded parking lot that appeared out of nowhere. And, poof!, there was my car parked on the street just as I had left it.
While tottering around looking for my car, I tried my best, but I gotta tell ya'...
It's very difficult to feel glamorous when you're wearing these:

A More Perfect Union...

Sunday marked the end of something special. For seven seasons, I have been entertained by The West Wing. It began as a wonderful program with amazing writing that kept me on the edge of my seat. As things in my World, specifically my Country, changed drastically around me, it became an escape: a place I could pretend existed; a place that was governed by idealistic standards; a place that doesn't necessarily exist today.
The West Wing was a ritual and the only program I have ever scheduled around. Wednesday nights were 'date-night' for me and The Mister. When we first met six years ago, The Mister had never seen The West Wing but to impress me, he watched along. It didn't take long for him to get enthralled, too.
Being young and poor, our ritual consisted of making dinner, opening a bottle of cheap wine and whisking ourselves away to A More Perfect Union.
We fell in love cooking together and sharing an ideal program with our ideal views. The West Wing always led to great conversations that gave us insight to each other (a bottle of wine didn't hurt either).
Last year the move to Sunday night threw us off a bit, but we adjusted. We are still looking for a special something during the week. Something to fill the void and give us another ritual. Our lives are different now; we're married, for starters. My job has changed insanely and The Mister is full of work responsibility. We do cook together and certainly enjoy our fair share of adult beverages, but we will definitely miss our time with The West Wing.
I'll admit, I cried and drank far more than the bottle of cheap wine. Honestly, it's part of the reason I didn't write my goodbye yesterday: I was too hung over to process it. I felt like I lost a friend.
So long President Barlett; farewell C.J., Josh, Toby, Charlie, Donna and Sam... it's been a great time. Adieu.

Pirate's booty.

Recently, Oprah had a show based on helping the masses with their fashion disasters. Granted, Oprah has had her fashion faux pas (see left), she's gotten herself together in the past few years. As an almost-but-not-quite fashion disaster, and very much a masochist, I watched. Essentially, everything I do is wrong and nothing short of a new wardrobe will fix me.
There was one tip, however, that I can adhere to. Oprah told me to cut the pockets out of my pants, at least the pockets that bunch and cause said pants to look “unsightly” around the personal area. Looking at myself, I realized, “I am That Girl: the girl with the bunchy pockets. Oh, Oprah, thank you for saving me!”
I grabbed my scissors, dropped trow and snipped away. It was much better although I must remember not to put lipgloss in my pockets lest it falls to the floor. How embarrassing.

Moving onward to my underoos. (I hate the word ‘panty’ and prefer the word ‘roos’.) When avoiding roo lines, I will often dismiss the roos altogether. Going commando, free-balling, call it what you will, I’m not the biggest thongaroos fan. I’ll wear them if necessary, but I’d rather go sans-roos.

The very same night I cut the pockets out of my pants, I was sans-roos. The Mister arrived home to find me at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Never has he ever put his hands in my pockets, but like a homing pigeon, he walked up behind me, kissed my neck, shoved his hands down my pockets straight through to Yours Truly.
I slid to my knees splashing soapy water everywhere, “Oh sweet jezuz! What are you doing?”
Eyes wide and sparkly, “I don’t know…but it’s great!!”
It was as if The Mister was a Pirate and stumbled unknowingly upon his treasure.
Shiver me timbers, indeed!

Where I'm from.

The World got bigger when I moved to the city. Not only was it eye-opening to see, hear, breath and experience all the things not offered in rural America, it was eye-opening to meet people who were different than those I've always known. In very small towns there isn’t much by way of diversity. Everybody looks the same, goes to the same school, church and grocery store. There’s an occasional kook that everybody enjoys because he would provide regular entertainment.
“There goes Uncle George, again. Is he wearing a purple bathrobe and yellow slippers? Lordy! It’s twenty-three degrees outside, I hope he’s got on warm socks...” and we’d wonder what his momma would be wearing without her robe and slippers. Other than a wacky neighbor, most people were the same with modest backgrounds with families that worked hard for what they had.
The lack of diversity also meant a lack of judgment. Many people assume that Poor White America is a rubber stamp for Racist. Where and how I grew up, this could not be further from the truth. We would never judge people based on Race, Income, Geography, etc; many in hopes that you would not judge us. The community was kind, loving and welcoming to all.
Moving to Washington, D.C. was a bigger jolt than I’d imagined. Public transportation is a phenomenal idea, as are taxicabs. Where I grew up, we had neither. All activities outside of the home revolved around having a car because things were so spread out. I don’t come from a place with sidewalks, and D.C. with all of the museums, clubs, and restaurants, there was much more to do than just look out for Uncle George. People in D.C. are from everywhere imaginable and most had fantastic stories to tell. Being a bit naïve, I’d talk to anybody who had time. Through work, I met some good people who took me under their more experienced wings.
Lena was my age and we had great fun. We partied together and she taught me many things. My education began with “You don’t have anything but jeans? We’re going shopping!” and continued right on through to, “Sweetie, I think you should get some tweezers. We’re going shopping!” She ‘City-fied’ me enough that when my mother came to visit, I walked into her hotel room and she drew in her breath and said, “Super, you look so… glamorous.”
If I had known that the purchase of black pants, a hairdryer and tweezers would have made me glamorous, then I would have gotten them when I was twelve (my least glamorous year, thus far). The statement and how my mother was taken aback made me feel very self-conscious and almost sad; later that night, I cried. I’m still a country-mouse, I swear!
My first experience with the not-so-nice aspects of city living came when Lena took me to meet some of her friends. We were going to go see a local band and we met up at her boyfriend’s house in a suburb of the city. There were five of us: two girls and three guys (Nate –the boyfriend, Mike and Timmy).
We decided to all ride together, so we piled into Mike’s BMW. They all seemed nice and as we pulled out of the driveway, Timmy asked if we could stop by his house to get some cash. We were driving out a curvy road that reminded me of home when Timmy giggled nervously and said to me, “I hope you don’t mind, my family lives in a dump. It’s a trailer. Real small.” Immediately, I assured him it made no difference to me what kind of home he or his family lived in, “Seriously, I grew up in West Virginia.”
Timmy then said, “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, y’know?” I breathed deep, smiled, told him it was no big deal and that my brother and his family lived in a trailer behind my mom’s house. He smiled back at me.
When we pulled up to his parent’s mansion, my face grew hot and I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car, “I’ll just wait here,” I whispered. Lena stuck her head into the backseat and tried to assure me “They’re not mean people; they didn’t know. It’s a joke they always tell.” After promising the laugh would come tomorrow, I convinced Lena I’d be fine in a moment.
By the time the boys returned, it was behind me; although not so far behind I wouldn't write about it years later.
My brother has a new house where his kids have a big yard with a swingset. But that is not why I'm not ashamed anymore. I'm not ashamed because I love my family and where I grew up helped shape me into the woman I am today. I don't define myself by where I have lived my life, rather how I have lived my life.
Those boys should have been ashamed; they assumed everybody was like them. Where I'm from, you don't make those assumptions because you never know a person's situation.

Thursday!

My favorite day of the week has always been Thursday. Once you've made it over the hump there's nothing but smooth water ahead. Even if you dread the weekend because spending a day with your Mother-In-Law is like finding half a worm in your apple, at least you can enjoy Thursday.
This year, I've another reason to love Thursdays. The yard-men come on Thursdays.
The sound of a lawn mower/weed eater/leaf blower just makes me hott.

It's not that I want to go join in and push around a lawn mower; but maybe they'd let me just sit on one awhile.

Awaking my Wonder Woman.

Inside each of us is a Wonder Woman; have you found yours?
(For those less secure fellas, substitute Super Man for Wonder Woman; however, I'm pretty sure that makes you a little less Super.)
Although I've been up less than an hour, I'm pretty sure there's a crank in my pants.
The pounding in my head is not deserved. This is no hangover; it's simply how I woke up. [The Mister is having a rough morning, as well. Colds maybe?]
I just looked down, and indeed it is true: I am wearing cranky pants disguised as my underoos. Yes, dear reader, this blog is being typed while I'm in my underoos.
You see, it's not often I sleep in. Although I've nowhere to go, 7:30 is my wake-up time. During my slumber last night, somebody broke into our apartment and rolled over me with a truck; therefore, I was going to try to sleep in. The Mister kissed me goodbye and was off to work. Rubbing my temples and rolling over, I dozed off for a measly three minutes.
Then the phone rang. In a half stupor, I found my glasses, located the phone and answered thinking The Mister had seen my Little Guys and wanted to brighten my day [see 'Such Stuff As Dreams' blog].
Some lady on crack was calling about the Mastercard and asked for The Mister as the only credit card we have is in his name. Crack lady was trying to tell me our bill was late and we owed eight-hundred odd dollars right this very moment, "And I'm gonna help you pay it. Are you The Mister's wife?"
"You didn't see my Little Guys? Take me off your list."
She explained she was from the credit card company, and we had put ourselves on the list, "Now I know you're just waking up, but I can walk you through this. I just need your checking number."
"No you don't. This isn't right..." groggily my sleepy guts told me to run away.
Crack lady then quoted a card number over the phone then added the last four digits of a social security number.
"Ma'am, you've got the wrong The Mister. If there is a late balance on anything, I won't be giving any information over the phone; I'll handle it online."
"Are you still in Washington, DC on 16th Street."
"No. We've never been there. You are wrong. Don't call us again."
"Is this The F. Mister?"
"No."
Please note, she gave me a very wrong name, The Mister goes by his middle name. Also, I knew she had the wrong balance and it was not late; the card was just paid off.
Regardless, everything felt wrong about that phone call. Somewhere out there, a Mister on 16th Street is getting scammed or having his identity stolen.
Be smart people; don't ever give out information over the phone. Even if you are dead asleep in your underoos.


**This has been a Super Powers Public Service Announcement. You are welcome. I'm going back to bed; my work here is done.**

Mother Nature, I'd like a word.

It seems you've had some troubles for the past fifty years or so, and frankly, you've got to give a little to get a little. Last spring (scoff!), you kept us cold well past June when a topcoat is an unreasonable request. Then you had the nerve to make up for the cold in one fell swoop of blistering hot nastiness some called August.
I know, I know... "Global Warming" and all that jazz (and like jazz, you are about as predictable).
It's May and not only has the weather been uncooperative with a yucky bout of cold rain in the forecast, but you've prompted a bevy of birds to inhabit my kitchen vent.
What's up? Sure, my complaints are nothing compared to the residents of the Gulf Coast you lashed out on last fall, but overall, what is this really about? Is it our overall unthinking wastefulness? Is it our blind consumption? This is about George, isn't it?
Well, let me tell you, sister, we're just as pissed; so maybe you could just eat some dark chocolate and get yourself back in sync. Trust me, dark chocolate always works.
Please, just don't tell me to back off and 'Build a Little Birdhouse In My Soul' because there's already one in my kitchen, thank you very much.
[Mother Nature at her best.]

Zapped! Part I

Wearing glasses sucks. I've had glasses since I was a very little kid and contact lenses since I was the tender age of ten. I almost ALWAYS wear contacts, unless something drastic happens people should not know I wear glasses. Now I've got a few weeks ahead in which I can no longer wear contact lenses.
Being "legally blind" without lenses is something I have dealt with as long as I can remember. In the middle of night, upon waking up to pee, my first instinct is not to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom; oh no, first, I must feel around my nightstand for my glasses. Most likely, I will have to tinkle like the dickens and will knock the glasses off the nightstand in my frantic fury. My Super Powers do not work in the dark so I have to rouse The poor, slumbering Mister because I have become Velma from Scooby-Doo.
Friday I went for my first Zapped! consult/testing. My amazing eye doctor (found her when having a terrible eye problem a few years ago and Sibley ER doctor's were stumped), sat me down, dished the dirt and (yippee!) I'm gonna get Zapped!
For the next few weeks though, I must endure the wrath of glass. Frankly, they hurt my little button nose, but after this I'll be glasses and contacts free!
At any rate, I'll be able to see when I wake up. Taking a shower will have new meaning! Free at last! But for now, I'm stuck wearing glasses. Just a few weeks left to go.
[Thank you to the two great guys who complimented my glasses yesterday (J and Hunglish); I know they're cool, but I still hate to wear them. =-) ]

Such stuff as dreams are made on.

When the weather is icky, it's tough to get moving. This past weekend was good, although a bit too much. Too busy, too populated, too drunk, too much.
Saturday we started the day with a trip to the DC DMV Inspection Station. Yeehaw! What a fantastic journey; the next time you've got a Saturday morning to waste, have your car inspected.
Of course the rest of Saturday afternoon was spent watching cooking shows on PBS. That really is what Saturday was made for. From 2:00 to 5:30pm, I've got everything I need in life: The Mister, snacks, Julia Child, Jaques Pepin and a skinny j. However, I did have to ditch out of cooking class early to make it to recess: a tame, but fun, bachelorette party.
The party was just a few girls getting together at the bride's house with lots of drink and filthy girl talk. The Mister picked me up and refused to get me "nuggets from Donald's house" no matter how much I begged. He insisted, "You'll be so mad at me tomorrow if I let you have mcnuggets." To which I drunkenly replied, "So you'd rather have me mad now?"
"I made hummus; you like hummus. We'll get you some at home."
"Mister, why do you hate me?? Hummus sucks. Fuck hummus. I want Donald's."
Many people live out their fantasies after a few drinks; my fantasies are about Chicken McNuggets. In the meantime, I think hummus is the new hangover prevention because I woke up alive.

While driving to the studio on Sunday with The Mister and Hunglish (our 6'6" friend who makes me feel like a townsperson in Gulliver's Travel), I saw my little guys. A lucky-ass bastard in our neighborhood has two mini-weenie dogs (it should be noted, that I accidentally typed "gods" instead of "dogs" there; although I worship the little guys, they are not quite deity-esque). I am somewhat obsessed with miniature daschunds and there they were.
The Little Guys are the two cutest mini-weenie's ever; I've been stalking them for almost a year now, but hadn't seen them in almost two months. The Little Guys were walking their owner up Tunlaw and I almost exploded with joy.
"LITTLE GUYS! LITTLE GUYS! IT'S MY LITTLE GUYS!" I screamed from the backseat. I was breathless. "They're alive! Oh my god, they really aren't dead! Just look at them!"
The Mister and Hunglish asked if we should stop so I could go meet them.
"Oh, no. Don't stop... You can't touch a dream."

The Birds (1963)

If you are a bird lover, do not read this post. You will probably end up hating me…eh, fine by me. Read on.

I hate birds. They are dirty, nasty, noisy, dumb creatures. They should die.
My hatred began after my sadistic uncle watched Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" while babysitting me. (And people wonder why I'm such a skittish adult.) Ever since, I've had nothing but disgust, disdain and fear of birds.
In our kitchen there is a vent that as far as I know, has never worked. This lovely spring, a couple of birds moved in; a husband and wife team, if you will. I pounded on the wall beside the vent, yelled out the window for them to 'Find another fucking home!’ and even threatened to torch the little nest they'd built in MY vent.
I've been bitching about these damn birds for weeks. While I was away in Ohio, it seems the wife-bird decided to hatch herself a little family. Like most bitches, she waited until her competition (yours truly) was out of the way to make her move. Now I'm really pissed. All day the little wretched birdies squawk and damn, if they aren't loud!
The Mister and I are not having children; ever. We are firm in that decision. And now two stupid procreating birds override me. I hate birds.
Believe it or not, there is a tiny piece of my heart not covered in ice, and I've stopped pounding on the wall.
Although I could say it is because they're baby birdlings, the truth is: I saw the movie. I'm outnumbered. Those bitches will come in and get me.

Chatty Man.

The Mister is chatty. He is also the friendliest person I've ever met. Often I wonder if he asked me to marry him because he's so damn nice.
Every place we go, he makes a new friend. Bars, restaurants, grocery stores, emergency rooms: a new buddy waits. It's amazing. Although I'm nice, I'm not that nice. Less people equal less hassle as far as my thinking goes.
The Mister also talks a lot. If he gets on the phone to Philadelphia, where his fellow friend in chattiness lives, it could be hours. They are like 12-year-old girls in that respect; manly girls who talk about circuits and the newest audio equipment, but girls nonetheless. (Thank god his Philly friend's wife and I get along so well. We email like normal people.)
I just got off the phone with The Mister (fucking finally) after saying, "Bye! You're holding up the works. Just hang up the phone and you can talk when you get home. I love you. Bye!"
I've got a very sneaky suspicion there's a tired, unsuspecting soul tromping home from work who will see The Mister's kind eyes and sit next to him on the Metro. They'll be friends in less than sixty seconds.
...well, I should probably straighten up for the new friend The Mister brings home.

I want to be Snuffy when I grow up.

Aloysius Snuffleupagus

Have you ever looked at your life, I mean really looked at your life, and thought, "How the hell did I get here?"
With the Spring comes re-birth and awakenings. And I'm not sure how I got here.
Six years ago I was the most career-oriented person I knew. Six years ago I worked for 364 days straight and didn't think twice about it until my boss made me take a day off. I had a few friends that were fun to have around; in my spare time all I did was party.
Now, I'm married, and a stay-at-home writer -although the latter is to be debated. I write, but have never published anything. I do still party and am pretty sure 'fun!' will never leave me.
Really, it's all I have that makes me Me. I enjoy people, I can make them laugh (I can make myself laugh, too, but that's not really a talent), and I can be serious when the occasion calls. Usually I can be serious; if somebody falls or farts, I will laugh.
The Mister works a job he loves; he is amazing and talented and I am the luckiest girl in the world because he picked me. And I don't want to let him down.
I stay home and write stories. I keep the house super tidy, but I hate to clean. Cleaning used to be release for me, now it's something I dread with clenched fists waving in my yellow rubber gloves.
Technically you could call me a housewife because I have no actual income. Better yet, let’s whip out the term “homemaker” –ouch. Frankly, I have a life that many people would give their left arm for. We are financially good and although we’d love to have a house, we won’t risk debt by leaving our apartment.
I feel as if I hold us back.
Because of that, there’s no way The Mister could be pleased with me; aside from the entertainment factor I provide. I haven’t actually published anything and I’m at a point where I’m not so sure I should try. (So many reasons. I won’t go into it here.)
In the meantime, I'm not going to worry about where I went wrong, but rather, how do I fix this? The biggest problem is I don't know what I want. In so many ways I'm happy with my self and my life, but I cannot figure out what I want to do. Or how to not become a disappointment.
It's the "What do I want to be when I grow up?" question and it seems I've found myself in a Grown-Up life without answering the question.
Sesame Street prepared me for many things, but not this.
For the love of god, Big Bird what do I do??

*******************

I originally wrote this post over a week ago but never published it. Tonight, The Mister and I were having dinner when he surprised me by saying, "It's okay with me if you're a homemaker."

Out of fucking nowhere. It makes me feel better by knowing we still have a wonderful connection and The Mister really knows my heart. It also takes a bit of stress off my shoulders; however I've a pretty good suspicion the only stress I had was put there by me.

I'm just not so sure how I feel about being a Homemaker. I won't stop writing, but do I have to wear an apron?

After our conversation, I let The Mister read this. He said I should publish it simply for the fact so many people are in the same boat. So here it is.

Cookouts, kitchens, cars and crows.

CROW: not to be performed drunk

The Players (all are my amazing friends):

Drinky – a fun, witty man. Married to Red. New father of baby girl.
Red – amazing woman, keeps Drinky in check. Just had baby.
Wino – knows how to make you feel important. Way fun. Husband of Capitall. Has a wine import business.
Capitall – Love her! Creative, fun and complete physical opposite of me. (Capitall’s name comes from her husband who says together she and I look like Capital I and Little i)
Odd Duck – Business partner of Wino. Wacky guy. Bizarre but great sense of humor.

*In usual fashion, I will shoot my wad early and get to the good stuff.*

With a last minute decision in my back pocket and just enough money to cover the important things (gas and adult beverages, though some claim they’re the same thing), I took off for Ohio. Dad said my bedroom was ready; all I had to do was get there.
My trek began on Saturday and the plan was to stay until Monday or Tuesday. The drive was easy and gorgeous. On the way, I received a voicemail from Drinky and Red. They wanted me to come straight to their place for dinner, drinks and to see the product of their last drunken encounter: their new baby.
We had a great evening and Red is looking fantastic as a mother. Drinky was up to his usual hijinks and is such a loving father. I was impressed.

The rest of my stay was wonderful, nice and relaxing until Tuesday – the day I was supposed to leave.
I met up at 11:00am with Wino and Odd Duck for a quick cup of coffee before hitting the road. The sky was dark and imposing and due to my bad eyesight, I was having misgivings about driving in bad weather.
“So you’re not gonna stay for tonight’s cookout?” Wino said.
“Of course I am. What can I bring?”
The decision couldn't have been easier and it was no big deal to carry my little red suitcase back up the stairs at daddy’s house.
Wino picked me up and we got supplies at the Giant Eagle. We picked up Capitall from work and headed towards their homestead.
While unpacking the cookout supplies, a rumble of thunder shook the windows. The sky let loose as Odd Duck pulled up. He jumped out of his car and the short walkway was just long enough to leave him soaked. Wines were opened and we all pitched in fixing dinner, hanging out in the kitchen and wandering about the porches (they have TWO porches, lucky ass bastards).
After an hour or so, the four of us sat on the front porch enjoying our food (beef, corn on the cob, cucumber tomato salad, and more wine). We were just finishing the meal when Wino said, “Odd Duck, is your car running?”
Odd Duck and Capitall both looked at Wino like he was an idiot and said, “No, it can’t be running!” Then we all looked at Odd Duck’s car. Capitall then pointed out there was exhaust coming out of the back… but, no…YES! We were in hysterics, falling off the porch hysterics.
Odd Duck had indeed left his car running for well over an hour and from there the tone was set for the rest of the evening.
We took our plates to the kitchen, something was dropped, more laughter and mayhem. It was too much and I said, “We need a calm person here.” And dropped my ass into a yoga Chair position while breathing deeply.
Odd Duck was interested and asked, “You really are serious about this yoga thing; it’s not just in your blog?”
Capitall and I made ourselves into Trees and then did forward bends.
I asked Odd Duck if he’d like me to teach him some things when he was sober. It was just the prompt he did not need.
“Oh I know lots of yoga! Watch this… [lunges forward and wraps his arm around his head]… HUP HUP HUP!... [claps hands and bends over]… HUP HUP HUP!...”
Capitall is crying and Wino is having a heart attack.
Deciding to join Odd Duck, I go into Downward Dog with my ass in the air.
Odd Duck shouts, “There ya’ go! HUP HUP HUP!”
Then I felt something brush the side of my arm and look to see Odd Duck’s foot –upside down- on the floor beside me. He had gotten on his back and thrown his feet over his head.
“HMP HMP HMPH!”
He sprang up and started copying my moves. We did Cat into Dog Tilt, then Down Dogged with our asses up. We Planked, we Triangled and then I started to do some difficult things. Between laughs, Wino exclaims, “Oh this is gonna be cool!”
Just as I started to go into Crow (see pic at top of post), my cell phone rang. I sprinted to catch it, because I’d not heard The Mister’s voice all day.
Upon my return, I heard a thump. Odd Duck had apparently seen enough to give Crow a shot, but kept falling forward on his head. [SMACK] “HUP HUP HUP!”
He finally gave up, took a breath and sat down.
It was the best cook out ever.

Go west, young man!

This past Friday, I made the last minute decision to head west to Ohio.
I was born in Marietta, Ohio and the town is like no other I've ever been. My parents divorced when I was one or two-years-old; my mom packed us up (me and my brother) and moved us to a rural area in West Virginia. My brother, Giggle Man, and I would visit our dad in Marietta every few weekends and for the summers.
I've always loved Marietta; there is a spirit that is free and fun. That is part of the reason why I chose to go to Marietta College when the time came.
I just got back from my journey this evening and I've got lots to tell... It was a great visit and I'll tell my stories after an evening with The Mister and a good night's sleep.

Spring Day In Ohio
by: Continental Drifters
It was on a spring day in Ohio
That's where all of the plans were laid
Where they teach ya how to smile
And be a good girl every day