When We Remember We Are All Mad . . .

I am in the great white north (AKA: America's Dairy Land State) until next week - visiting the parental units, other family members, participating in two epic bike rides and loads of other whatnot's. The husband joins me tomorrow. There is much to tell, such as the husband digging up our backyard, to then discovering a concrete swimming pool in our backyard, in turn leading him to rent a jack-hammer and now having a backyard swamp which is heavily guarded by southern alligators and prehistoric mosquito's. But that is a story that will wait until my return to the Longhorn City . . . .

Unfortunately, the [Tanning] "Butler" had nothing to do with it.

All I Wanted To Do Was Just Grab Him & Kiss Him

Tonight, the husband and I were driving. We were on our way to his weekly bicycle criterion race when he turned to me and said, "when I dropped you off at the airport last Thursday, all I could think of was how much it sucked . . . . I thought . . . . I'd really miss her if something happened. What would I do? Who would love me as much as she loves me?"

All I could think of was how lucky I was to have him too.

Get That Fruity Pebble on the Phone

Hmmm. I have been tagged by Alli (yes, she's running and hiding from me at this very moment, but I will find her. Rest assured). Though, not to shirk my duties as a dutiful blogger - here are the 7 things one may not know about me:

1. I am a major history buff. I am especially enamoured by the Medieval era (AKA: Western Civilization). I am not a lover, as is well known, of the Military Channel that the husband insists (to my great aches & pains) on watching (uh. bor-ring), but every so often there's a good bit of yesteryear . . . *shhhhh. don't tell him*
   
2. I am infatuated with zombies, aliens and ghosts. They may or may not exist, but they make for damn good movies or TV! Have I mentioned, "Sean of the Dead" recently? Right. It's a fantastic movie! Also, I secretly watch "The Ghost Whisperer" and "Most Haunted" every Friday night. If I have to go out during those times I am covertly depressed. Yes, I have TIVO - it doesn't matter, I'm still mournful.
   
3. Scuba diving in the ocean is one of my favorite things. If I could live underwater I would not think twice. And if any of you know what it is like to breath while being 60 to 80-feet underwater watching whole other eco-worlds of fishes, turtles, shrimps, sharks, eels, lobsters, squids and/or corals, you know what I mean. That is my pursuit of happiness.
   
4. I went sky-diving once. I wasn't frightened . . . . . . . . . until I hit the ground and realized what I had just done. My dad didn't talk to me for 3-days afterwards. I will never do that again. It was a one time deal.
   
5. I make friends easier with men. They are much more approachable, non-judgemental, easy going and not as snarky as the ladies. I do believe that men and women can be friends - you have to have the same goals in the relationship to have it work though. I also think this is why I highly value the little group of girlfriends I have. They are important to me because I have so few.
   
6. Since I was 4-years-old, I've wanted to be a veterinarian. I regret that I never tried.
   
7. I know most of the lines to "The 40-Year-Old-Virgin". I first saw that with my parents. When it was over, I looked at my little sister as well as her husband and asked, "did I just see porn with my parents?!"
   

There's more, but you will have to wait until I've been tagged once more.

Take Me Down To Paradise City

Welcome to South Beach Miami!

Linda and I getting ready for the tropical sun.
The Ritz-Carlton's beach front.
Even our toe's were lounging.

We had the chance for "luxurious lotions" provided by a personal Tanning Butler.
Who wears short shorts? !
(Why didn't I think of this? This butler is under employment by the hotel. He does exist and will pose for pictures. We did not take advantage of said services though.)

Kristin and Linda being sea monkeys in the Atlantic ocean.
I found a shell and brought it home with me.
The paparazzi photographer has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar!

We didn't just drink alcohol, but it was nearby. . . .




Apply lipstick and gloss - the final touch!

This was our second day in Miami. We shopped until we dropped, hit the beach (where it started to rain an hour into our sun worship), had some cocktails, ate some Italian and had a few more drinks.

I have to note that there is nothing that I've ever seen like South Beach Miami culture! I absolutely loved it - could not live in it, but I could not resist it for our brief moment in time either! It was perfect for a quick holiday. The sounds, nightlife, Cuban/Latin culture, food, drink and being able to walk everywhere was such an enjoyment! Being able to do it with old friends was priceless!

People who inhabit South Beach would die in my Longhorn City as they would consider it mild and meek compared to what they live and know. That might even be an understatement. . . . Plus, living in the Bible belt causes things to close down operations by 9 or 10 o'clock sharp - no exceptions. Not even the stores close at that time in South Beach. Imagine my excitement of being able to go to dinner at 10 PM as well as finding a cute pair of shoes at 11 PM! I loved that!

This Tank Doesn't Run on Empty

I am home. Back from South Beach Miami. I know this because I'm back to poo-patrol, flower drenching, ball throwing for the canines and flooding my own kitchen. All completed within one hour of one another. Quite an accomplishment if I do say so myself.

But first I took a much needed nap . . . . 2-hours later . . . .

The reality of home hit me when I awoke from my daytime slumber only to notice the patio flowers gagging for life. They had not been watered since my departure. This is not the husbands fault as I forgot to tell him that this must be done. On. A. Regular. Basis. For example, daily. I had already left the husband to his own devices which include feeding himself and I am almost entirely sure that that diet consisted of no less than constant Taco Bueno. He also had to take care of the entire menagerie, which consists of feeding the gatos and perros as well as potty breaks for the barkers and scooping the kitty litter. These are new chores for the husband, so I can understand not completing each one to the mark of "complete satisfaction." He did what he could on top of working so that I may participate in this much needed weekend getaway. Therefore, I cannot and will not complain that he almost killed my flowers. This week will be the deciding factor as to whether or not the back porch garden lives and the husband is newly knighted, Sir-Killer-of-All-Things-Beautiful.

Fast forward or backward. Whatever. . . . .After I came in from the drenching of the flowers, setting sprinkler systems for the newly planted bushes and the most non-coveted dirty job of poo-patrol, I noticed that my one house plant was also in desperate need for water. One would tend to think, "that's easy enough" and it is. It takes less than 5-minutes to water the flower. Or so I thought. In my sleep-deprived-zombie-like-no-coffee-consumed-today-haze, for all I know, I could have sat there watering the plant for over 10 minutes. I hope I did not. All I really know is that I cannot be entirely for certain.

Anyhow, all chores are completed for the day, I sat down to catch up on my fellow cyber space friends and contribute a bit myself. Another hour passes. I think I hear dripping during this time. Yet, I ignore said sound only to putter into our kitchen much later to find it mostly flooded. First, I panicked: who pee'd?! Uh. Wait. The entire floor is wet. . . .is. this. water? And then, where is the water coming from? Where is the leak? OhmyGoditisthedishwasher! I knew we should have had that archaic beastly possessed appliance replaced months ago. Now, it's gone and totally died while throwing up it's last meal on my entire kitchen floor. *sigh*

Mopping begins. And further inspection of our ancient dishwasher ensues. I found the water was not coming from our old dishwasher. Awesome. It was; however, coming from my one houseplant. I guess you could say I was a wee bit overzealous in watering the poor thing. I also, in my 1/4-functioning brain, somehow knew that the husband had not run the dishwasher as plates, silverware and glasses are not a requirement for Taco Bueno. Weird thing to flood your kitchen by watering your one and only house plant. [If you're asking me why I only have one house plant, it's because of the husbands cat. This cat thinks anything living and green is worthy of being his most delicious meal. If you remember, this one and only living plant is a cactus. Sir-Chew-On-This hasn't quite figured out how to chew on this, which, to use Martha's word's, "is a good thing."]

Sir-Chew-On-This formally known as Sir Pee-On-This or Pontius.
The husbands Cat.

Finally, South Beach was fantastic! I loved it! More so, I loved seeing my high school friends again. We had loads of catching up to do. Eighteen years worth. We had even more laughter and smiles. I have lots of stories, but I am tired. For now, you'll have to be okay with a few pictures until I can do a proper catching up. Until then, all you really need to know is that I'm still sparkly! I loved learning that my friends are still beautiful (from their insides to their outsides), healthy, successful, completely happy, awesome mother's and still so full of laughter.

Three Amigas

The mojito. My daily South Beach Drink.

This is a South Beach Chicken for Ian: All Chickens! All the Time!

One last shout out: I know that you are all wondering about my eyeballs. They are not healed. I wore my glasses in the land of the skinny beautiful people. I even wore a tankini. Both of which were psychologically damaging - for me and the people around me, I'm sure. Not to deviate too much as I usually tend to do, the eyeballs are still on both medicines. A third may now be attempted, which may seriously include the spork. While in SB Miami I attempted to wear my contact lens's twice. The first time successfully. The second time not so much. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally got one lens in my eye. The eyeball felt a searing pain, as if someone stuck a lit bottle rocket up my nose and it exploded in my eye. This caused me to take out the lens and succumb to a hatred of all-things-contact-lens's. Hexing and vexing followed. As you know, I am quite good at this. Regardless of my cursing skills, it will be quite sometime before I ever undertake that beauty regiment again. Here's me refusing to wear my glasses trying to read Ola's menu - I am officially an old person (and it's not due to the Dirty Martini's you see):

You Need to Get Here Quick to Dispose of the Body II

Eyeball Update:

The eyes are still hurting. The husband, last night, decided to take a longer examination of said body part. He has since determined that additional medicinal treatment is necessary. I am leaving in a few moments to pick up my antibiotics. Pray to the medicine god's this works or I'll spork my eyes out myself.

After this I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to donate them - if even for medical science.

You Need to Get Here Quick to Dispose of the Body

Last Thursday night I went to bed. Granted, I had prepared, in my usual routine for sleep, that which consists of wash face, take out contact lens', sterilize contact lens', moisturize face, feet and hands as well as brush teeth. I'm fanatical about this routine. It was not an un-normal night, insofar that this is what I do every single night. Except for the fact that my eyes hurt. A lot. They hurt so much they were perfectly bloodshot - the exact shade of America's stop sign. Both of them. There was something additionally a bit unusual about this as well, but I'm going to spare you the [gross] details of what was found in my right eye aside from my contact lens. The husband found it when I decided to show him my wholly and utterly red eyes. This made me want to vomit. The husband laughed and said, "these things happen." Contrary to what you might be thinking, he wasn't being mean. The husband, on occasion, thinks I'm a bit of a drama queen (What? Me? Never). Anyhow, once he got me past the I'm-gonna-puke-drama I rinsed and dried my eyes once more. Not giving too much thought to them, I managed a deep sleep without interruption until the next morning when the husband called me at 8 AM . . . .

The phone was ringing. I couldn't open my eyes. Try as I might, I could not pry them open and this finally wasn't a time that it was due to my eyeballs being tired. Through the power of touch I managed to find and pick up the phone. Feebly, I managed, "my eyes are crusty." At that, the husband deemed this was an important enough issue that he had me seek medicinal treatment. I wasn't even bleeding!

You must understand that in order for the husband to treat any of my major medical problems that I just know will lead me to certain death, I have to have a bone sticking out of my body. As most everything can be treated with Tylenol or Ibuprofen. Seriously. Even blood doesn't always get me the treatment I know I deserve.

***Take for instance, the time I found myself figuring out that I was bleeding to death by Saran-Wrap. A jagged-edge cut to the thumb. It was a big cut. One that could not be ignored. Blood was flowing down my hand and arm, to which resulted in the husband saying, "You're fine. Get over it." And he proceeded to continue to dry the dishes. I'm sorry . . . . WHAT? ! The days of my mom's, "poor baby - let me help you" flashed and then suddenly disappeared before my very own eyes. Did the husband not understand my predicament for medical care? "Um. What if I bleed to death?" "You won't bleed to death." "What if I die from loss of blood?" "You won't die from loss of blood." "What if I do?" "Baby, you won't . . . ." Interrupting, "well then, envision my death resulting in lack of medical care!" "Baby! Go sit down on the couch!" And that was the end of that. ***

My point is, is that it takes more than my blood to get the husband moving. Friday morning I found myself with a new prescription and goopy eyes that stung like a bee. I felt like Shallow Hal with conjunctivitis of the eyes. As I walk down the street children run and hide behind their mothers. People look at me and their eyes start to water. It is bad enough I have to wear my glasses with my eyes melting out of their sockets, but the added evil of no makeup. I am a mess for sure.

In the end, it is now Tuesday and I feel as a fire ant has punched me fifty-times in my left eye. It's still swollen and red. The medicine still stings both of my eyes (the husband assures me that once my eyes are cured, the stinging from the medication will stop. This is how; apparently, I will know I've been cured of this affliction) and I am still regulated to my glasses sans makeup. I've attended three public functions in this manner - meeting those of whom I've never previously met. I wonder what they think? Does she not wash? Does she not know her eyeballs are dripping down her cheeks? What is with the no makeup? Scary gal this one is. Note to self: stay away from her.

I've never had an eye infection before. Never have I had pink-eye and I do not have that now. The husband said it's most likely caused from my contacts. This is strange. I am meticulous when it comes to my contact lens's. I only wear them for one month though the eye doctor assures me I can wear them for two. I only started wearing contacts at the age of 34 - I'm a late bloomer, I know. I sterilize them every. single. night. What went wrong? And more importantly, why isn't this goop clearing up? I have to fly to South Beach Miami on Thursday - the land of the skinny beautiful people - with my face dripping off. It's bad enough I have to wear swimwear, but now I've got diseased eyes. Stick a spork in me now.

Vain? Yes. But I think it's justified. My eyeballs are melting. I have the right to be upset.


*** Apologies to the readers who have read this story in a past Christmas letter. Also, the husband is not a cold hearted beast. He does, on occasion, help me. He did bring me some paper towels with instructions to press hard and keep my arm above my heart. The bleeding did eventually stop. I knew I needed stitches; the husband said "no. you. don't." And, I didn't. ***

Shout Out to the Mama Who Gave Birth to My 7lb. Behind

Happy Mother's Day to my Mom!

Top 10 Reasons Why Mom C. Rocks:

10) She gave birth to moi. Duh.

9) She never made us eat liver & onions.

8) She can hang with my friends and they like her.

7) She taught me manners and how to set proper tables.

6) She made me eat vegetables.

5) She taught me to sew, glue, paint, draw and cook, but not all at the same time.

4) She taught me to be kind to others, love animals and enjoy the flowers.

3) She loves my dad.

2) She is a righteous nana.


. . . . and the number one reason Mom C. rocks . . . .

1) Because of my mom I will never have to visit Dr. Phil.

When (and if) I ever become a mother, if I'm even a glimmer of what my mom is, if my heart is as big as hers and if I turn into her, then I'll consider myself lucky and even more so blessed.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
I love you!

Shaun: "We take Pete's car, we drive over to mum's, we go in, take care of Phillip - "I'm so sorry Phillip". - then we grab mum..."

me: *last evening as I was of sound mind and calmly sitting in front of my computer*
???: rarrrrrrrrgh. *low guttural rumbling from the bedroom*
me: *panic at the disco*
???: rarrrrrrrgh. mmmmmrgh. rarrrrrrrgh. *it's continuous? huh?*
me: *???*
???: rarrrrrrrgh. mmmmmrgh. rarrrrrrrgh. rarrrrrrrgh. mmmmmrgh. rarrrrrrrgh.
me: *ohmyGod. It's ZOMBIES!*
me: *2.287779 seconds pass with heart beating fast and spork in hand. . . .*
me: *uh. oh. right. It's just the dogs playing over a bone. No zombies to see here. Move on*

Seriously. I thought there were zombies in my bedroom. I am sick. Just sick. Zombies aren't real and I thought they were in my bedroom.

I Thought We Were Meeting For Pancakes and Beer

Blackshirt High School Varsity Soccer Team - 1988
That's me #17.
We played 4 soccer matches that day.

Today, I was sitting here contemplating . . . . .

When I realized that I graduated high school 18-years ago this coming June. 18-years. Eighteenyears!

That's 1/2 my life!

Freshman Pom Pon Squad - 1985
I'm in the back row 4th from left.

This will certainly stop your brain. It did mine. In fact, I think mine started to actually melt in parts. Seriously. It hurt. I don't feel as if 18-years have passed. In fact, I don't feel much older; although I do feel wiser. Though I suppose that is entirely debatable at times, especially after sharing a bottle or two of wine with the husband. Take, for instance, last night but that is a whole other story for another time. Bringing you back to my limited lifespan . . . .

Every so often, my body physically feels older and it does carry a bit more of the cells that are related to the one known as the fat gene. I am working on that one - it takes time. Anyway, not going down that road either, I still don't feel as if my senior citizen status is approaching at break-neck speed. Which I am sure it is. Time sure isn't slowing down for my universe in my longhorn city.

Blackshirt High School Varsity Soccer Team - 1987
I'm in the back row 2nd from right (#17).
I know. I have big hair.

Engrossed in utter wonderment at how time passes so quickly, I managed to think about the people I knew back in high school. I wonder how they are? I wonder what they are doing? Do they have wee little one's? Do they have four-legged furry friends? Who do they love? What do they think now? Have some moved on or, like me, have they forgiven, but not necessarily forgotten? I want to know. Life is interesting on so many levels.

Finally, the whole origin of this post had begun approximately two weeks ago. I thought about a really good high school friend of mine. I wondered about her life and where it's taken her. I knew a little bit, for example, that she's been married 13-years [after all, I did set her up with her husband back in the day]. I knew they had 2 sons and had lived in Bermuda. After that we lost touch. So, I called her mom who had the same exact phone number from 18-years(+) ago - and grabbed her digits. After a little catching up with her mom, I made the phone call. It's as if we never lost a beat and it took me back to 1986 on down the road to graduation, college and a wedding. I missed her. I missed her friendship. At least she and her family are doing great. I love that! I love that she's still happy and still the same friend I remember. It was one of the greatest phone calls. I've been sparkly ever since we spoke.

Kristin's & Sean's Wedding - August 1994
That's me in the first row on the very right.
I don't know the dude behind me. He wasn't my date.

Some of the sparkly is due to the fact that she extended a "Girl's Weekend in South Beach" invitation my way. She didn't have to ask me twice! I fly out of the longhorn city next Thursday to see her and another high school friend. Three of us high school pals will be relaxing, hitting the sun, the spa, the pool (instructions call for no bikini's) and maybe the clubs. More importantly, we will be friends reuniting once more. Eighteen years later.

Do You Ever Notice How Nervous You Get When A Big Black Car is Following You

I don't know how to put into words how anxious I am about today. . . .

30-minutes until I must face the piper and I'm slightly terrified. The husband says, "who cares" and "it'll be fine," but I'm about to hyperventilate. I'm completely responsible for this one and have no one else to blame if I fail miserably. Only myself. This is a very daunting thought for me.

And I'm not a nervous person.

Happy Hour

Today, I woke up with severely swollen bedhead after going to sleep straight from the shower and it made me happy.

I watered the flowers in my pajamas with my bedhead and it made me happy.

Today is just breezy enough that it flapped my Joe Boxers bottoms in the wind while chiming my new wind chimes and it made me happy.

I drank 32-ounces of water instead of coffee and it made me happy. But I still drank coffee anyway, which made me even more happy.

Today, I finally showed the rats-with-fuzzy-tails who is boss and it made me happy.

My house is relatively clean and has stayed so for 24-hours, which made me really happy.

This is the husbands fourth day off and it made me absurdly happy.

I ate my leftover turkey sandwich with cranberry mustard and grilled asparagus for breakfast and it made me happy.




What's your excuse?

Please Don't Let a Dingo Eat My Baby

Overheard on our way to the movie's last night:

me: I really like Tool.
the husband: Two-ewl.
me: Two-ewl. *huh?*
the husband: [they were born and raised in Colorado.]
me: *thinking for 31.544213-seconds*
me: you just said, "that's what Horner and I used to call 'em," right?
the husband: *???*
me: because I seriously thought you just said, "they were born and raised in Colorado." *I am blond. Duh.*
the husband: *cute-in-da-face-laughter*

A Bowling Match To Remember

me: so, honey, did you read my posting today?
the husband: yes. I did. *minding his own business*
me: what'd you think?
the husband: about what?
me: the camera?! *clapping hands with excitement*
the husband: WHAT??? *one should not purposefully stick their head into an alligators mouth*
me: shhhhhhhhhblptz! YOU don't get to talk! YOU who spends kagillions on bicycle stuff! And, . . .
the husband: okay. *defeated*
me: shhhhhhhhhblptz! . . . . YOU who spends megatillions on the Subaru STI! And. . .
the husband: I said OKAY! *knowing that Jaws awaits somewhere in the ocean*
me: I'm counting up all the money you've ever spent on this bike and car stuff and I want a diamond as big as . . . . *so there*
the husband: *shaking his head, grabs an ale and walks away laughing*

Can't Win For Losing

The husband and I have been blessed with a decent sized backyard. As a result we have loads of wildlife. Nothing of the coyote or mountain lion sorts, but lots of birds and rats with fuzzy tails. This is a great enjoyment to us and we do much to encourage visits, more so, permanent move-ins. However, I'm having a heck of a time catching said creatures on film. I took over 30 pictures yesterday and these are the only winners:

I continuously miss the greatest shots-that-even-National-Geographic-will-hire-me-for of all time! Or it's that I move to get the picture and the 50 different sorts of wildlife take flight in one big lift off. Yesterday, I was even crawling on my hands and knees in my house just to get shots through a window/screen that you see posted here. I'm not so good at this camera thing. Or it's my camera. Or both, because in my little head, it can't just be operator error. Seriously. I need help. So, I'm going to look for a new bright shiny camera as well as hunt for camouflage outfits. And not the bright orange please-don't-shoot-me either. Maybe even something along the lines of dressing as true shrubbage? The husband will be so excited! A new camera!

By the way, these are my heroes. They are going to catch those fuzzy tailed rats one of these days, if I only open the door. . . .

Your thoughts? Suggestions?

The Estimated Weight of the Earth is Six-Six Trillion Tons

I'm totally doing this.


. . . . and so should you.