Tales From a Texaconsin Diva

Sbohem

2009-08-12T14:02:00.005-05:00

Well, I think it's quite obvious, three months later. . . . I blog no more. I never even started the so-called "private blog" back when I meant to escape an unfriendly. I didn't have the "ooomph".

I started blogging back in 2004 or 2005, I can't quite remember. I did it initially to stay in touch with my family in the great white north & my friends who swelter south of the Mason Dixon Line. I never thought I'd make and meet the friends that I did throughout my time at Texaconsin Diva. It's been lovely. And fun. But somehow and someway I got fulfilled from something in someway. I love to write, badly as it may be, but I also love to share, even if it was too much at times. I also started to write not for me, but for my readers, which is not to say a bad thing. It's just that I wanted to quit long ago, but didn't want to let anyone down. No, no, your life certainly doesn't revolve around me and mine. I get that. I just felt obligated to keep on keeping on. Then I stopped. Suddenly. And out of the blue, when I checked my blog 3 months later & still had nothing to share or write, I knew it was time to leave "Tales of a Texaconsin Diva" behind.

Besides, most of my extra time is spent in marathon training. Yep. I'm at it again. One more for the road. For some reaon, which is only known to the Gods that Be, I just can't quit running like a girl. . . . .

A great shout-out of thanks to those of you who came, read, supported and even felt compelled to comment every now and again. I've run my course here in this great blog-o-sphere of ours. I have enjoyed our time. But it is also time for me to fly. For some reason though, I'm still not able to fully close the door. You never know, I might just be back. . . . .

With that, I bid you adieu.

"Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything.

It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it."

(South Park, Tweek Vs. Craig, 1999)

The First Amendment Only Applies

2009-04-24T12:30:00.004-05:00

. . . .when you don't have a harassing stalker. . . . .

Texaconsin Diva is going private, if you want in, you've got to ask, but you must also tell who you are (send your blog link, state your name and/or send money - I always accept dinero. Duh):

jenjlu007@gmail.com

It's Just Something I Know

2009-04-17T13:38:00.003-05:00

Some days are more about not knowing your arse from a hole in the ground.

Don't Know Dum Diddly Doo

2009-04-14T13:57:00.005-05:00

I conjured up some homemade salsa yesterday to go along with the husbands and my dinner. Super fab yum!

I decided to eat some with my lunch today as well. Though, I'm thinking garlic, onions and jalapenos were not the best of my consuming choices I have made.

I've now brushed my teeth three times in the past 1.5 hours and followed each with mouthwash. None have worked their magic. I could still kill an elephant with one blow of my breath; let alone what I'm doing to myself.

Why? Why, do you ask, is this anything you should care about? It is majorly important, because I have a massage appointment with a client in 1-hour. (panic!)***

***. . . . And I thought the only thing I really needed to worry about was burping, growling tummy or farting in front a a client. . . .

Sheesh.

I've Done the Calculation and Your Chances of Winning the Lottery Are Identical Whether You Play or Not f. lebowitz

2009-04-07T23:04:00.018-05:00

Pre-Marathon

First off, I want to thank those of you who wished me well for my inaugural marathon run this past Sunday, April 5. The generous support I received has been overwhelming! It is also much appreciated.

I have to say, I loved, loved, loved every minute of that run even when at mile 22 my feet began to cramp. I never did hit that infamous "wall" marathoners talk about, so I was more than happy with that. It was amazing. I can think of no other word for how I felt crossing that finish line.

My running partner and I at mile 19

A huge shout-out to the husband. His love and support throughout these past 5-months was absolutely incredible and I could not have done this without him. On numerous occasions, he was my personal Sherpa on my long training runs riding his bike by my side encouraging me on and keeping me hydrated as well as Gu loaded. During the marathon he selflessly carried a camera (and took 350 photos!), sport drinks, waters and Gu as well as jackets and warm clothes for the wind and cold the entire 26.2-miles for my friends and me. Dallas had 27 mile-per-hour winds the entire run with gusts up to 40 miles-per-hour. That wasn't right (yes, it sounds just as bad as it was). But the husband was by my side for most of the run. If my friends fell back for a bit, he slowed to bike next to them and they were so very thankful for that He's such a good soul. A few other racing friends and their wives came to bike it too despite the cold. I have fantastic friends! It was all just . . . amazing. . . !

My domestiques - as well as the husband and I at mile 22 (x2)

Finally, I have to confess, I bawled as the husband hugged me coming across the finish line and then I bawled all over again when one of our honored hero's came up to hug me while I was signing out at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's tent. . . Everything was so surreal for some time after finishing. I couldn't keep any of my tears in check. It was great to finish! I'll be signing up again with Team in Training in 2-weeks time to run the Nike San Francisco Marathon this coming October. I've got to do at least one more. . .

Arriving at the finish line
5:19:21

Me at 26.2-miles

Celebrating 26.2!

Quick physical update: I'm up and moving about, if even a bit more slowly than usual. Everything has been checking out okay and I'm not curled up in a fetal position. The only injury I sustained thus far has been a tiny blister on the tip of my third toe on my right foot. So far, this blister has not been debilitating. I am exhausted, but that took until Tuesday to hit me. I believe adrenaline kept me moving and grooving these past few days. Now I'm ready to sleep. All this to say, I'm good and feeling sweet; just going to hit the pillows.

Once again, thank you all. I hope to someday repay such generosity to each and every one of you.

“Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” ~ Lance Armstrong

Be Humble for You Are Made of Dung. Be Noble for You Are Made of Stars. serbian proverb

2009-03-29T10:18:00.005-05:00

I woke up to dog puke today. That was lovely. I wonder if that is indicative of my day or even my week?

Speaking of days and week, exactly one week from today is my 1st ever marathon run. To say the least, I'm a bit nervous. Not worried like my two running partners who have both been having nightmares. One dreamed I showed up to the marathon with a broken foot. She said she cried.

I need to make mention here that later the same day, in real life, I slammed my foot in my car door. Yes, I am that talented. It's bruised, but not broken. I told her not to tell me her dreams of horror anymore as apparently I'm now obsessing. I wasn't worried about breaking my foot, but now it seems I kick the wall when just casually strolling by it. So, while I'm not having the bad dreams, I am a bit apprehensive, as in, "if I think about the marathon my stomach gets 1,000 butterflies." I think that's a type of anxiety. Isn't it? If not, then it's just confirming I'm a loon. I usually force myself to take a deep breath to try and shake off those winged critters. Eventually, I'm pretty sure that the beautiful butterflies will turn into nervous poo'ing. I'm not really looking forward to that. Unless, of course, that causes me to lose 50-pounds. . . .

Nervousness and its poo aside, I am really looking forward to it! I've trained hard for this and I deserve to finish. And that's all I am really asking for. To finish. Besides, there are people out there going through so much more than I ever want to imagine or know. "Think training is hard? Try chemo." It's a quote that has kept me moving these past 6-months. Yet, it is my hope you nor I ever have to.

Wish me luck. It's something I'm going to need, well, that is if I don't break my foot first.

Keep Your Mind On Business, Not Bunnies

2009-03-20T18:01:00.008-05:00

My running team ran a hill workout last night as we usually do on Thursday evenings. I am starting to get used to those or maybe I should say that I am able to continue to mostly stand afterwards. I even manage to keep breathing. Which is good for, well, living. And, is not the point of my post. The point of this post is that usually after our Thursday night hill workouts, the team heads to a food establishment. The place we end up typically is "Fuzzy's Taco's." Many consider the place a legend in their own time. I tend to agree.

And I think the food tends to agree with me. Even if it does totally annihilate my calories burned on those damn hills. The place is fun, hip and placed smack-dab on the very outskirts of a college campus. Thus, there tends to be many a post-adolescent teen placed throughout this yummy eatery. Give them a few margarita's or check in after bar time and the place can get hopping. . . . which, again, is not my point other than to say, the tables have glass counter tops. This means it's easy to slip a personal note, photo or card, etc. underneath the glass. One can find some wild pictures there. Or find out that a certain someone has a small penis, phone number included. Men, be careful what woman you spurn. . . . Hell hath no fury. I'm just advisin'.

Anyhow, my teammates and I sit down. My coach brings me my lite-cerveza - calories burned, even more put back - while having his own seat. He looks at the photo's on the table around him and wondered out loud, "how is it that you got that picture?" That picture was of a woman who was out in public completely nude except for the body paint and the very teeny-tiny insignificant tha-dahnk-ka-dahnk. So, me, being the one who cannot not look at the train wreck or even leave the crime scene as well as being ever so accommodating, moved the tortilla chips basket and pointed at the picture lying directly in front of him. . . .

There, under the glass counter top, sits a photo of the blondie-nonbombshell in all her barely covered gi-normous double-puppy glory love. I am not mean nor am I jealous (if I was 13-flat-chested-years-old, you could maybe say that about me, but these days in my old fogienesses I can and do appreciate another beautiful woman), she really was not cute as she had the face of Magda in "Something About Mary," but she had bewbies. And big one's at that.

In response to my assistance with his viewing pleasure, my generous & very quite-natured running coach said, "she's definitely not a runner."

Smiting Shame

2009-03-18T11:14:00.004-05:00

This morning I was going through my old iPhoto's . . . . I found this little ditty of a gem. And since it's so vicious in nature, I had to share it with my 7 readers. Don't judge. This is pre- morning java. It is very, very early for a Texaconsin Diva. Also, notice the reaction upon discovering it is not a photo, but a video. Divine.

My Advice To You Is To Have Nothing Whatever To Do With It.

2009-03-09T12:00:00.002-05:00

The husband is an avid cyclist who actually races on a team. I am a runner who is on a team. I participate in events. The husband competes in events. There is a very clear delineation between those two words during our each of our sports. There is also a clear boundary between runners and cyclists.

This is important to know. It's imperative, because the husband decided he would go with me to pick out new running shoes. This type of activity entails a trip to a running store. Just running. A store full of runners, joggers and two-legged racers - not two wheels.

As the cyclist husband held open the running store door for me, he quickly and in pro-ninja stealth mode mentioned, "you know . . . . . this is like throwing vampires and werewolves together."

Someone's Boring Me. I Think It's Me.

2009-03-05T09:15:00.000-06:00

If you make it to reading the story typed below, here is the post I started yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'll be continuing it tomorrow.

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

It's tax season again. Here I sit in front of the computer wishing my face would melt off instead of doing the inevitable. . . .

Our dreaded deadline fast approaches, March 15th, without me doing much about it. Blehck. Corporate/personal taxes. Just blehck. Though I suspect I am actually giving our financial planning accountant some pretty quick heart palpitations at this very point and time, seeing as he has nothing from us yet. So, I am doing something. Right? Right?

It's Not Like You Were Doing Anything With It

2009-03-02T20:48:00.004-06:00

So, as I'm getting older, I find myself at the door of the doctor. I even make it into the office, which includes the dreaded scale. I don't want to go to the doctor or get on his evil, vile scale, but I'm pretty much made to go to the doctor where I believe they will pick you up and put you on that soulless fat counting machine if you refuse. Have you seen some of those nurses?! I don't like going to the doctor even though I always feel like my face is melting off and that I'm dying. The doctor proceeds to tell me that my face is not vaporizing and death is not imminent.

Irregardless, of my wanting to go to the doctor, I was made to make an appointment. So, I did. I love the husband and he seems to love me back, so when he tells me to go see the doctor over 100-times, I'm inclined to go.

Eventually.

Even though I am fine. Really. I am. And I will go only to be told that I am still living and breathing in which I will continue do so for many, many years to come. I already knew this. Apparently, my face is not melting off. But since I was there and I had to speak to the doctor, I did. I actually really, really like this doctor. In fact, I'm a huge fan of doctors in general. But most of you know this already. My wedding vows made that crystal clear.

So, because I like to share, here's a wee bit of one conversation I did have with my PCP this past Friday morning:

doctor: are you exercising?
me: yes. I'm actually in the middle of training for a marathon with Team in Training.
doctor: really?
me: yes. I absolutely love it!
doctor: so how is it that you're running all these miles and not losing any weight?
me: . . . . ? ? ? . . . . [blink, blink]

I think my face began to melt off.

That was a fun day.

Looking Into the Soul of the Dog Sitting Next to Me

2009-02-25T10:24:00.006-06:00

So, I'm cheating. I know most of my FB friends have read this, as it was a "tag" thing on FB, but until I actually have some time to sit and write again, this "cheating repeat" will have to do. It took me all day to compose the damn thing and that has to count for something when time is a luxury I don't have these days. Right? My sincere apologies to those of you who must read this twice. At least you know I'm still breathing in my Longhorn City.

Barely.

Anyhow, let us get to it. Twenty-five Randomocities about me:

1. I deeply, deeply love and adore my husband. His heart, soul & mind are bigger than anyone's I've ever met. He loves me back unconditionally - including my idiosyncrasies, faults and happy's. It still amazes me. I've never experienced that from anyone but family previously.

2. The husband laughs with me & at me daily. It keeps me grounded.

3. I also wear my pearls &/or sparkly's on a daily basis. Why keep something so beautiful in a box?

4. I love, love, LOVE to drive fast (but only if I'm the driver)! Then again, I am a total car freak. . . . I don't drive the husbands car b/c of this. I found myself driving over 180 mph down the toll-way once. That cured me of that car - not the speed, but the pure power of speed and what it can do.

5. I've learned (over the years) not to trust too many people. I used to love everyone. Not everyone loves you back - friendship or otherwise. That's a very hard lesson to learn.

6. I have a blog, which is where you'd find most of all this list of information already previously written & published.

7. I am a total goofball!

8. I love vodka, wine and cupcakes. Not necessarily in that order. And, never too much of any one or the other unless it's wine, cupcakes or vodka. Wait. What?

9. Since I was 5-years-old, I only ever wanted to be a veterinarian. My mom took me to talk to one about becoming a vet and how to achieve that goal when I was 12. He told me I'd never, ever be able to do it. I believed him. I gave up my dream from that day forth. I regret that I never tried.

10. I am currently training to run my first marathon with Team In Training for April 5th, 2009. I'm not crazy. If you think training is hard, try chemo (though, it is my hope you nor I will ever have to).

11. My hobby is cooking. This makes Williams-Sonoma my absolute most favorite store in the whole wide world!

12. I abhor clothes shopping. I'd pay to have someone do that for me. I'm such a non-girlie girl! But I do heart stilettos and makeup. So, I actually am a girlie-girl!

13. I've had to learn to say no to animal rescues, but it still breaks my heart each and every time to do so. Six four-legged furries in one house is more than enough. It gives me plenty of story fodder though!

14. I adore, respect, love, cherish & look up to my little sister and her husband more than they will ever know or comprehend. They are hardworking, kind, loving and generous souls who encompass wisdom beyond their years. I wish you all could know them too.

15. I miss my family immensely. As much as I love our Longhorn City, Texas, I wish I lived closer to them.

16. I believe in angels and demons. I also think I heart zombie's, vampire's, lycan's and ghost's far more than any normal human being ought to. . . . Uh-huh! They are to real! As are aliens.

17. I try to remind myself daily that in the end, it's not between you and me, but between God and me.

18. I've never been in a fight that I didn't ask for (aka: kickboxing, karate, jujitsu or boxing lessons). I'll continue to say till the day I die that being Amazonian has its perks. . . .

19. I am terrified of spiders. They are evil, vile beastly creatures.

20. I'm naturally blonde. Dark blonde, but blonde nonetheless. Obviously, I dye my locks.

21. I've tried to read, "Skinny Bitch" on three different occasions over 1.5 years, but I didn't like a book yelling at me or telling me how effing stoopid I was. I also eat a little meat now and then, but only meat that has been organically and humanely grown. I tried to give it up a few years ago and only made it 2-years. I really love steak too much.

22. I can't watch Animal Cops or anything related to animal cruelty (this includes Sarah McLachlan's advertisement of beaten, abused and neglected animals), because I start crying each and every time. The husband will change the channel for me/us - he can't take it either. I used to think I only felt this way about animals until I watched a show on St. Judes Children's Hospital. The husband, once again, gently reminded me to change the channel and when I couldn't move to do so, he did it for me. Cancer is evil. Beating animals is just as evil.

23. I seriously have bad hearing. Take, for example, this conversation that the husband and I had once upon a time:
me: how was your ride?
the husband: I got to potty-train. . .
me: *???*
me: . . . . you got to potty-train? Huh?
the husband: I. got. to. potty-train. . .
me: you have to potty-train? Whut. . . . ? *[blink, blink]
the husband: I! Got! Stuck! By! A! Train!
me: oh.
the husband: yeah. You and your bad hearing.

24. I don't debate religion or politics. Especially when wine is added (lesson learned)! I have mine. You have yours. Lets leave it at that.

25. Having Reef Sharks as well as Nurse Sharks swim around you, under you and over you is unexplainable, amazing and somewhat anxiety producing. No, we were not in a "cage". We were free diving in these parts. Besides, I always thought Nurse Sharks were like big Labrador puppies - always sleeping on the ocean floor. Seemed harmless enough. It is a bit different when they are swimming around you. Add in some Reef Sharks and you have yourself a mighty fine time with a bit of a fast heartbeat. Do you think sharks can sense fear?

That is all.

What Do You Want An Adorable Pancreas?

2009-02-04T22:00:00.005-06:00

This was my day today. . .

I tried to make my cappuccino on three different occasions. Not once did I complete this task.

Not to be defeated, I continued to turn on the espresso machine three different times. And was distracted three different times. And I have to point out that the espresso machine stays on for 2 hours at a time before turning itself off. That's 6 hours.

Six hours that I could not get my cappuccino made on this day.

Seriously, who cannot find time to make a cup of coffee during normal hours?

Long Time Coming & Then Some Part Deux

2009-02-03T11:21:00.006-06:00

Aaaaand another from thy Princess of the Universe:

Numero Deux: I am totally DYING to meet you - what would you do with me if I just showed up on your doorstep one day and announced I was there for a week?

Princess! Do not give me such tachycardia! Not that I wouldn't love to have you come to my awesome Longhorn City and stay with the husband & I. We heart company. We also heart entertaining. We do. But. . . just showing up. Ahhck. Well, it wouldn't normally be a problem if my house weren't such a mess on a consistent basis. Four dogs does not make a clean house. Like, ever.

Anyhow, having a slight mess is not an answer to your question. Thus, to comply with the interview question, here is what I would do:

I'd take you on a 14-mile run. 18 if you're on best behavior.

I'd then toss you into an ice bath.

I will be looking forward to your pink princessy knock on my front door. Soon, I hope!

But don't think we're finished with our fun, fun, fun! Oh we're so not! Because the husbands and my Longhorn City is so close to one of your favorites - and really, this should be many, many peoples favorites - we will go on a search to hunt this one down. What happens when we do find him is up to you. Remember, what happens in Longhorn City, stays in Longhorn City.

Unless I blog about it. [But I wouldn't do that. . . Really. I wouldn't. Pffft. Have faith.]

Furthermore. I'd also have to take you here. Loads of sparkly princessy goodies to be had in this place. I can even buy prettiness here due to hypo-allergenicness. In fact, the husband originally bought my engagement bling here and continues to do so. It's an original Texas craftsmanship one cannot come to Texas and not visit this store.

We can show off what we've found, jewelry and Ackles at the oldest zoo in Tejas. I know, it's a zoo, but it is beautiful and the animals are treated very humanely here. Sometimes zoo's are a necessary evil. This one is a great one. Trust me. The animals are awesome.

When you finally arrive on my doorstep, don't forget your appetite. Texas has great food and loads of it! Barbecue, Tex-Mex, Chili, down-home and fine dining. If you crave it, we have it with a bit of Texas flair added in. In fact, we have cook-offs, fry-offs, festivals, jamboree and many, many food celebrations including Turkey trots, watermelon thumps and peach jamborees. If you're adventurous you can even enter into a jalapeno eating contest. But I'll leave that one to you and you alone.

But if you do that, you will need a pair of these so you can kick a cockroach to the corner. Or just wear them to the Stockyards. I swore I'd never buy a pair, but last year I broke that swear. I'm glad I did. Cowboy boots are the most comfortable item you can put on your feet. I have yet to buy an actual Stetson, but truly I don't see that happening. Maybe the big-a** belt buckle, but not the hat.

I'd also cook for you. Anything you wanted. Ask and you shall receive. I might even make a party out of it, so you can meet other fabulous Longhorn City people. Did I mention, we love to entertain?

Princess, there are so many goodies here in my Longhorn City that I couldn't practically link them all. And I'd bore everyone. There's museums, boutiques, water art, trails, hiking, dancing, biking, horseback riding, shopping, food, drink, glittery sparkly's, etc., etc., etc. Just come and you'll find out for yourself.

Then, you can blog about it.

Oh. Right. You'd have to give Jensen back when you're done here. Okay?

When Vultures Drop Dead, It May Be Time To Wonder

2009-01-31T15:27:00.012-06:00

The husband said it would be tough; maybe even distressing. Well. . . those weren't quite the words he used, but suffice it to say he more or less said it would be agonizing. And that did make me take a slight pause.

Of course, I ignored it and forged valiantly onward, but only because I'm sick and twisted.

When it comes down to it, I have to say, once again, the husband's uncanny ability to be right about everything humanly possible (except when he says I'm not dying when I actually am), was exactly on target. It was dreadfully awful. And I'm demented.

Adding 40-pounds of ice to my cold bath water so I could sit in it for 15-minutes is probably not going to be my claim to fame.

For serious.

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

Ooops. . . .I created confusion. Imagine that. So, I need to do a wee bit of clarification for all y'all. The ice bath was agonizing. I only ran a training run of 14-miles prior to that. Currently, my leg muscles feel like a million-trillion euros, even if it seemed as if I was completely and utterly neekid in the subarctic Antarctica where only penguins survive for 15-minutes of my life.

I did; however, wear a sweatshirt on my upper body. No reason to completely torture myself. . . Right?

Long Time Coming & Then Some

2009-01-28T19:26:00.003-06:00

Princess of the Universe probably gave up on me on long, long, long time ago. I can't blame her, I mean, I asked for it and then there it sat. For almost a couple months. Actually, I have until February 19th and that would officially make it two months, but that is neither here nor there. Either way, there it sat in my in-box marked as "unread" so I would not forget. Hmmm. . . Yeah, that tactic worked.

I'm blaming Blogger. For some reason, I can no longer "copy, cut and paste". Add that to the fact that I'm lazy, well, you don't get the post I've been meaning to write for over a month now. However, I have another fellow blogger that I heart and covet! In fact, I believe she's a little known secret, but will be busting big some day. Which is besides my point and I'm hoping she'll forgive me for stealing her idea by gushing loads about her funny. So, I'm copying her and will be answering my interview questions one by one by one by one by one. If you're lucky, I'm in a good mood and not lazy, I may even answer two questions at once. Huzzah.

So, you owe this post to Verbal Diarrhoea. . . .

I give you, my seven readers, Princess Interviews a Texaconsin Diva.

Numero Uno: How long did it take you to write your Christmas letter? Cause I couldn't even imagine trying to condense a year into one really interesting page.

I plead the fifth.

Moving on . . .

I keed - I keed, Princess! See? I'm funny too. Maybe not Steve Carell, but hey beggars cannot be choosers.

To get to your question, it takes more time than I like or seem to even have. For those of you who didn't get a letter, you may be in the dark here. I'll try to explain. Once the husband and I got hitched by the good ole ball and chain, I thought it would be fantastic to start a yearly Christmas letter and send it world-wide to all our friends. Big mistake. I am now tied to doing it year after year. If I don't, I have people call me out in front of many others on them either A) falling off my yearly letter list or B) I didn't do one. That was a good time. I enjoy being called out in front of groups of people in the middle of restaurants.

Anyhow, the first letter I did was a "Top 10" list as to why it was a good thing the husband and I got married and attached a cute little wedding photo to the front. That wasn't bad. Pretty painless, but then the second letter, I decided to get really creative and did a letter to what it was like to be married in accordance with the "Wedding Vows". You know the "till death do us part," "to have and to hold," and "in sickness and in health," (according to the husband I am never sick and never about to die. I'd like to disagree here. There are plenty of times I am dying.) etc., etc. . . I'd have to say that took many hours of writing and re-writes as well as editing to make it fit on my itty-bitty card. That one also had a cute little picture of us on it. I think that was my favorite letter to date - maybe I'll post it here someday. Maybe not.

The third year was mundane stuff of us making a move to our Longhorn city. Blah, blah, blah. Not my best.

The fourth year, I skipped it. See above when getting called out at a family birthday party in the middle of a restaurant. Fun times (yes, I'm reiterating. To this day I'm damaged by that).

This year, I spent a few weeks trying to come up with a subject. I wrote and deleted. Wrote and deleted. Wrote and deleted. Wrote and deleted. I finally came up with . . . the husband. Duh. Had I just done that subject in the beginning the letter would have flown from brain to keyboard to print. As always, he's my perfect subject.

So, while I'd like to say it doesn't take nuttin' to write my yearly Christmas letter and be included in the cool kids crowd, I would be lying. It takes a lot of time and even more thought. More than I have of either that time of year. Sometimes I wish I hadn't even begun and low expectations would sit in place. Though, I would be lying there too. I enjoy my Christmas letter even if it does stress me out year after year.

The end.

More interview questions to follow. Thanks Sid of Verbal Diarrhoea for giving me the idea to post each question separately. May you not get any additional readers so I can keep you as mine. All mine.

When We Die We Are Nothing More Than Worm Meat

2009-01-22T09:47:00.007-06:00

I have something that has really been on my mind. A bother if you get down to it. Thing is I can't seem to shake it.

I cannot sort out what is more disgusting. The fact that I am close to losing a toenail from not paying attention to length and long run training mileage or the fact of that little "flutter" I heard the other night during my real live nightmare of a $&%@'ing cockroach crawling across my head, were really its legs.

Apparently, cockroach legs make a clicking sound when they walk.

Ugh.

Safety is Not Created in Numbers, Nor Anything Else

2009-01-14T22:16:00.005-06:00

Holy mother-lovin' buckets. I haven't posted in three weeks! It doesn't seem like that long, but it is and I seriously apologize. Thank you to those of you who reminded me I need to write something, even if it's crap. I'm not being sarcastic either - I've got a million and one blog ideas floating around the great abyss known as Jen's-Amazonian-Brain. For serious. I do. I just need to find some time to get it from brain to keyboard to computer screen and finally to the great blog-o-sphere. Suggestions on how to do this? I mean, I'm not even a parent and I don't have time. Gah.

Anyhow, this one is about numbers and math. I severely dislike both. Never been good at either. Aside from the three weeks of neglect, take for example, that tomorrow in our Longhorn City at 9 AM we are supposed to be at 28-degrees Fahrenheit. However, yes that's a HUGE however, with the wind chill, it's going to feel like 17-degrees Fahrenheit. Right now, I hear it's 2-degrees in Chicago. So, no, I should not be complaining, but I still don't have to like it. Tomorrow night is supposed to be record setting. Of course, in the wrong direction - low 20's. . . I can't even think about it without my brain hurting. Wait. . . I think something burst. . . erm. . . froze. . . anyone know a doctor?

Ha!

And to continue on my rant on horrible, irresponsible numbers, let's just say I've been running my arse off for the past few months. Some of you may know this and some of you may not, but suffice it to say that while I've been run-eng and run-eng I noticed a slight change in being a lot less curvaceous. Hurrah! Finally. Right? Right! Wrong! NOT ON THE SCALE I DON'T. I weigh exactly the same as I did when I started this marathon training adventure. So, so, so not fair. It's been almost 3-months. My minimum run is 5-miles and my long run is up to 12-miles. I run 4-5 times a week and throw in a low-impact cardio for good measure once per week. I also watch what I eat. For real. So, when does that atrocious, ugly, corrupt, villainous, malevolent, hateful, unpleasant, wicked, and heinously evil Beelzebub device formally known as the "scale" start recognizing my hard work?

See? I don't like numbers. Never did. Never will.

The end.

Merry, Merry and Happy, Happy

2008-12-24T15:05:00.004-06:00

Hmpf. Humans. I am Chobie.

Happy Christmas & Merry Holidays to all y'all!

The husband is working for most of the night this evening. I'll be baking a coconut creme pie. From scratch. Then I'll be DVD'ing it with wine and, if I wish hard enough, maybe someone in a red fuzzy hat with matching suit and a belly that can shake it like a bowl full of jelly will bring me cupcakes!

The husband will also be working Christmas day. I'll be at the zoo wishing all the critters who are far from home a very merry! Then I'll be cooking a leetol bit for our Christmas dinner. . . . .

May you and yours find all the holiday cheer you want!

Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong

2008-12-23T10:27:00.007-06:00

The husband & Dixie when we first adopted her

It's times like these that make the week.

As some of you may have noticed, it's Christmas Holiday time. This week. So, it's all crazy-like around the city, state and nation. The husband has been on a night schedule for the last few shifts. He was home last night and even though I'm sick in the head with the pernicious Rhinovirus, I resisted the urge for much needed heavy doses of Nyquil. I tried to stay awake as long as the husband. This was hard. In fact, this was too difficult for my tired, snotty head. I psuedo fell asleep on the couch. . . . . .

The next thing I know, the husband is waking me at midnight with a bowl of freshly hand-popped popcorn, a couple of beers and a "Dr. No" DVD ready for "play".

I made it until 1:30 AM. I have yet to finish the end of the very first "James. James Bond." But I fell a sleep with the hugest ear-to-ear grin this side of Tejas.

The Report of My Death Was NOT An Exaggeration

2008-12-17T10:04:00.013-06:00

Something happened the other night at 4:03 AM. Something I never, ever, ever thought would happen. Something I definitely did not want to ever, ever, ever happen. Something I hope that will not ever, ever, ever occur again.

And I'm still supremely debilitated over it. Really. I am.

I was lying asleep completely dead to the world in my complete zombie mode. I faintly felt something run across my head. I heard a small thud as that something hit my pillow. I sat up in bed trying to realize if this was something dreamed, imagined or if a killer spider was on the loose. If any of you realize my terror of all things eight legged, then you comprehend that my heart was beating away at 250 beats per minute. This was not good. Trying unproductively to shake the sleep mode from my brain, I began tuning in my bat-ears, pleading to the gods that be to please make this a horrible nightmare; please don't make this be real. Please,please,please,please. . . .

That's when I heard it. A faint flutter. . . .

I screamed and hit the husband who happened to be lying right by me in his own coma induced sleep. I continued my delicate screaming, "OFALLTHINGSTHATAREHOLYTURNONTHELIGHT! TURNONTHELIGHT! TURNONTHELIGHT!" And, calmly without one iota of a question, the husband turned on the light. . . .

There, making freeway-like time towards the husbands head, on my pillow was a 2-inch long cockroach.

Yes. A $&%@'ing cockroach.

So, I did what any sane and very normal human being would do, I screamed bloody frackin' murder and forcefully threw my entire body off the end of our bed. Hitting the floor with a nice little thud. The husband whom had flown off the side of our bed, stood there, looking down at me and ever so serenely instructed me to extricate myself from my own entangled death trap on our floor to go get the toilet paper. I think I was back before he finished his request with the biggest wad of TP you could find this side of the Mason-Dixon Line at 4:04 AM.

Talk about traumatized. I mean, I'll just let all y'all guess as to how well I've been sleeping since then.

Wall-E's roach companion, Hal from Pixar Films. He is not my friend either. Death to all cockroaches. I mean, the thing has been hand squished and flushed down the toilet, but he's probably still alive. These things do pre-date dinosaurs by 70-million years and can live without its head for a MONTH. It's not natural.

Why Cats Are Smarter Than Dogs

2008-12-13T06:57:00.005-06:00

I'm preparing for a bomb of different sorts today and it is not due to the fact that it is the husbands birthday. . . . . Nope. It is not that. One of the dogs got into the cupcakes from the kitchen counter during the night. Chocolate peanut-butter fudge no less.

So, somehow and in someway one of our four-legged furries will be giving them back. And not in a good form either.

Birthdays, dogs and cupcakes. I'm not sure they entirely go well together. Thank the gods that be they don't know how to get into the vodka and wine.

Folly of Oracle Verbiage

2008-12-10T12:40:00.004-06:00

I just listened to a Louisiana po-po on TV say, ". . . being investigated for 'homo-side'. . . ."

Not, "hom-uh-sahyd" as it is properly pronounced, but "homo-side."

I have to say, I understand the Cajun/Louisiana accent. I do. I have worked with plenty individuals from the state that, unfortunately, gets hit pretty regularly by some awfully strong hurricanes. It, fortunately, was and still is strongly influence by a mixture of 18th century French, Spanish and African cultures. Hence a strong linguistic accent.

But really, in this day and age, you ought to try and not commit word pronunciation homicide.

I'm just sayin'.

Shopping Is Not Cheaper Than A Psychologist

2008-12-09T19:05:00.003-06:00

I talked the husband into running the grocery errand with me after I was done with work. He picked me up as usual and we headed to Central Market. I'm making dinner tonight - it's baking while I type. But this is besides the point. . . .

I was at the grocery with my husband. MY husband. The one and only husband. When I was approached by crazy men who decided that they shall strike up conversations with me.

The husband thought it would be hilarious to walk away.

And while all y'all think that I should have followed, I could not. I was waiting for my order to be picked and wrapped.

I was stuck.

By myself.

With a crazy man* asking me all sorts of questions, such as, "are you a nurse?" (I was wearing scrubs - I have to for my work) as well as "what are you making tonight?" and the ever obvious, "did you notice how cold it is outside? It's supposed to snow!" Blah, blah, blah. . . . . (please strike me down with thunder. . .I mean, lightening - now.)

I tried to be polite.

Do you ever get that really uncomfortable gut feeling?

M'kay. Need I say more.

I found the husband, of course, in the wine section. He was picking and choosing like he doesn't have a wife-who-monitors-&-reigns-in-the-ever-wine-loving-man-who-I-deem-the-husband. He was practically dancing around the entire section grabbing this and that. I relayed my crazy man story.

The husband just laughed. Laughed! At moi. Hmpf. Men.

And then. . . . . it happened again with a completely different man**. In the cheese section. Again, I tried to be polite. Again, the husband walked away laughing.

The husband is fired.

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

*/**I'd like to point out here that these men were old. Well, older than me anyway. They were not some young hot tasty whipper snapper of a Rob Pattinson. 'Cos then I don't think the husband would have been so quick to walk away.

I'm just sayin'.

All The Running You Can Do To Keep The Same Place

2008-12-07T22:37:00.011-06:00

Because my last post was so cool.

I now give you more geeky techno love:

No need to buy a separate GPS! A runner's, cyclists or any outdoor athlete's fitness dream. Powered by MapMyFitness - they had me at "hello" or maybe it was, "track your daily training data . . . ." Whatever the case may be, I was falling in love with a simple little gadget for my iPhone one more time this week. All the things I could do:

Total Time
Total Distance (in miles or kilometers)
Pace (minutes per km/mile) or current speed
Average Speed / Pace (km/mile)
View your running maps directly on your iPhone
Training Log including Distance, Calories Burned, Time, and Date
Add Your Workout to Twitter
And a partridge in a pear tree*

Imagine my excitement! I can instantaneously download and view my maps on the site or in Google Earth, post them on this here fantabulous blog (or website), email them to friends, or print them out for an event or group run, etc.

And, did I mention it was free? As in no charge for the application?! Blah, blah, blah. . . . Excitement. Excitement. Blah, blah, blah. . . .

So, I downloaded. I synced. I ran. Today. Close to 6-miles. With my GPS iMapMyRun turned on and in tow! While ~~Britney Spears~~ a cute little blonde's ~~"Circus"~~ new album was blaring in my ears. . . . . . . . (Huh? What? What's wrong? Motivation is key, m'kay?)

Anyway, an hour later, I doth return to plug in thy device from God Himself. . . . . . . . . . . . only to find that it didn't work.

What?!

It's supposed to be fab. It's also supposed to work. It couldn't possibly be the thing between the pavement and the iPhone, could it? Nah. Couldn't be. We'll see about next time. Stay tuned.

*No birds nor a tree are included. It's Christmas time folks, you think I'd honestly pass up getting some of your Scrooge McDoodge's undies in a bundle!

Snobs for the Snobby Snobbies

2008-12-05T17:26:00.008-06:00

I'm still pouting over Facebook. If you missed reading as to why - look at my posting previous to this one. So in lieu of that stoopid technology, I give you what I have dubbed "really, really cool technology"*:

So that your phone could look like this**:

You don't have to be a wine snob to drink like a one.

That is all.

___________________________________________________________

*/**Because I give shout-outs when shout-outs are due, believe it or not, these images are not moi's. I know, I know. . . . . . . . . . . but they are from 9MMEDIA Blog and Digg. Check 'em.

@&#%$

2008-12-05T15:57:00.001-06:00

I am in boycott mode of Facebook. It's stoopid.

You should know that.

So there.

That Soup is . . . . Sharp

2008-12-04T09:30:00.008-06:00

I have a quick minute before I begin my marathon Christmas gift wrapping session. Because I've been neglecting all ya'll, I thought I'd post to say I'm still on planet earth. Some of you may have strong arguments as to this not actually being the case. To you I say "shoish up about that". I am too.

In my last post I mentioned I was "finished" and I am. Most of you guessed correctly - though vodka and cupcakes would have finished me it off nicely. I am still without cupcakes. Don't worry though, vodka is fully covered here in our home. Duh. Anyway, I am done with my Christmas shopping (that was completed way before millions of turkeys were sacrificed), my ~~annual~~ occasional perennial Christmas letter is written, printed & stuffed in their envelopes, which were hand addressed (big friggin' note to self: must obtain a computerized label program for next year & somehow will them to be inputted into the computer so I don't have to), all letters have been mailed and, finally, the house is complete with holiday decorations. Everything but the wrapping was finished before December 1, 2008. *Except Dixie, of course, found one of my gifts a bag of coffee beans and decided it would be a fabulous chew toy. A dog that is excitable if you barely bat an eyelash at her discovers raw java beans. I'll let you think about that one for a minute. . . .

***Jeopardy music*** (Feel my pain? Yes? Yes. No!? To quote Po, "it's gonna take a lot more than dew, and, uh, universe juice. . . ." than I thought.)

So, I believe I do have to go out to buy another bag of coffee beans. Thanks for that Dixie Doodles. . . You've made a liar out of me. I was done and now I am not. The life of being an owner of 6 four-legged furry one's. Never a dull moment. Ever.

So, I'm done.

And I'm happy, because this morning I got up at 7 AM. I got caught up on all ya'lls blogs. I went out in this 32-degree Fahrenheit weather and picked out a bakers dozen of bagels for the husband and I. Some will have to be frozen, I can't eat that much in one sitting, but it's good to think about eating that much in one sitting. Holey fat round holes of goodnesses with a schmear! Mmm.

But what has made me happiest of all this morning is the simple fact that I'm drinking coffee. With actual half-n-half. Bou-to-the-yah!

Yes, coffee. One cup. That is all it takes in my simple mind . . . errr . . . life. I'm immeasurably full of delight with all things coffee goodness at the moment. You see, since I joined Team in Training back at the end of October, I complete my runs in the morning. If, and I strongly stress "if," I have coffee before I run, I get to taste it twice. And not in a good way either. So, I've stopped my morning cappuccino's and occasional lattes. Cold turkey. But since today, Thursday, is my group night run, I get to wallow, bathe, immerse, saturate, steep and baptize myself in a morning coffee. If even it is a small one.

I'm off for some wrapping good times. I wonder if my day could possibly get any better?

Christmas Comes But Once a Year

2008-11-30T23:02:00.004-06:00

Looking up

Yep. That is the husbands and my festivus for the restuvus. Vindi, veci, vassa! Or is it veni, vedi, vici? Pfffft. Latin. I should maybe think about sticking to my own language. One I haven't mastered, obviously, but at least understand.

In any case, I have to say I am so very excited for Christmas this year. So much so that you would think that I am 5-years-old again waiting for Santa to come down the chimney to bring me all that which was built by elves! And some gum. Or vodka. Or cupcakes. Maybe all of the above? Really, I'm not choosey.

. . . .And. . . . I'm finished. I'll let you guess as to what is finished.

Do you hear what I hear?

Intermission

2008-11-17T18:59:00.004-06:00

At the Top of Oratorie St. Joseph
Originally uploaded by jlu007

Hi ya'll. You might have noticed, I'm taking a wee bit of a hiatus. I hope to be back sooner rather than later or not at all. Nothing is wrong. I've just got a "meh" momentary lapse of blogging. That is all.

Did you know that the Collins English Dictionary will now be adding "meh" to its elaborate beautifully detailed explanations? Pay homage to The Simpsons for that one.

I miss you. I hope you are all well & happy.

Bienvenue au Canada

2008-10-21T21:05:00.006-05:00

Auberge du Vieux-Port
Me looking out our 4th floor window

The taxi the husband and I took from the airport drove through the city completely avoiding the highways. Curious as to why and thinking aloud in a whisper, "maybe he thinks as vacationing tourists we want to see the beauty of Montreal?" While glancing at my watch, I see that it's the middle of rush hour. Mr. Cab Driver had more practical ideas as to why he drove us though captivating neighborhoods instead of efficient highways. Me and my romanticism - the husband just smiled. After some time, we arrived at Auberge du Vieux-Port. It took my breath away. The room was even more intimately alluring. If it is even possible, I fell more in love with the husband while stepping into our room for the next three days.

Finally, I can't resist sharing a bit of history regarding Auberge du Vieux-Port. Rumor has it that Auberge is where "Suzanne" took Leonard Cohen to her loft by the river and fed him oranges and tea "that came all the way from China". Suzanne is actually dancer Suzanne Verdal who is no longer alive, but left immortal due to Cohen's love song of the same name. A precious relationship which produced a highly acclaimed piece of art. And also took me back to many memories growing up in a household that played Leonard's music during family dinners, parties and anytime the TV was off.

So far it was a fantastic start to our much needed vacation.

. . . more pictures to come . . .

I Once Wanted to Become an Atheist, But I Gave Up - They Have No Holidays h. youngman

2008-10-20T09:44:00.006-05:00

I thought to myself, "self you've never made a silk floral thingy maybe you ought to try." Besides, it's got to be cheaper than paying someone else to do it. So, I began to scheme. I also threw in a little bit of design. Then I went to purchase silk floral items list in hand. To which I found myself staring at a bill that was just under $3.1M . . . . .

Right. Great idea to make this festive holiday item myself. It took many hours, a phone call to a floral designer (thanks mom!), a few hot glue gun burns, 2 trips to the craft store and a somewhat pseudo hole permanently burnt into my pocketbook. This is the end result:

World's Most Expensive Wreath

It wasn't cheaper, it took loads of my hours, I physically hurt myself (melted glue is hot and I do not highly recommend you place it on your nail bed at the exact place nail meets skin) and I'm not sure the end result is even remotely pretty.

So, after showing the husband my triumphant national-debt-expense, he replied with some oh-la-la's and a kiss. Awesome man the husband is! Then, just I was about to hang it outside he mentioned, "I wonder how long it will take before someone steals it?" As people have been prone to do with our front yard pretty things. Gah.

I never said brilliance was my forte.

Bonjour

2008-10-17T12:54:00.004-05:00

Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
. . . .wait. . . that's our version. . . .
But I am standing on a rampart that surrounds old Quebec City. The only remaining
fortified city walls in the Americas north of Mexico.
And, we walked on them.
Now, that's cool!
(the fountain you see is in front of the National Assembly of Quebec)

Sorry for the brief intermission. The husband and I went on a vacation. We are now back in our Longhorn City in tow with 1,298,376,457 pictures. Sorta. Might be more like 500, but I've still got to review and edit the worthy one's so it might as well be 1.3 million. For serious.

That said, I've also have loads of travel tips for you. Such as the highly helpful, "do not pack for an 8 day vacation after one has consumed 2.5 bottles of wine oneself". Be ye not so stoopid. One doesn't tend to exactly know what one has packed. Stilettos are not a good item for a 5 to 6 hour walk a day. I'm just sayin'.

I have more bits of brilliance, but unfortunately, today will not be the day you get my moments of exceptional clarity. I don't have the time right at the moment, though I wanted my 7 readers to know I've been thinking of all ya'll. Mwah!

Au revoir et salut! At least until next time. . .

A Sphincter Says, "What"

2008-10-03T12:42:00.007-05:00

Two knees. One diagnosis.

I have Patellar Chondromalacia. I also have Patellar Subluxation. In both knees. Granted one knee is a bit more famboozled than the other, I'm not going to mention any names left knee, ahem. . . . but they each have their degrees of severity.

You may think that I've won something uber fantastic, such as the lottery where I will sleep in $1,000 bills for the rest of my life. And, really, what rich folk does not do that luxurious behavior? Sadly, no. This is not the case for me even with such fancy-schamncy labels. Chondromalacia means I have inflamed cartilage, like arthritis, but instead of the degeneration which comes with arthritis, chondromalacia is thought to be capable of repair. It is also known as "Runners Knee." Hm. . . . Drat. Anyhow, subluxation means my knee cap doesn't glide properly in the groove it was made for; instead it's being pulled toward the outside of my knee.

So, I now know the reason as to why I had to quit my half-marathon training last year. Both cause some annoying pain, especially with physical activities.

Do not despair though. Good news can be found in all this. With a bit of physical therapy all should be cleared up and ready for more marathon training, hopefully by the end of the October month. Which is when I am supposed to begin my marathon training for Team in Training. A cause that is bigger than myself.

Can I get a whoot-whoot-huzzah?!

In other world news, the husband decided to tangle with a tree on a mountain bike trail at high rates of speed the other day.

The tree won.

I think trees always win. It's in their nature to not lose. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the husbands face. We are like two old biddies sitting around comparing aches and pains. . . Okay, the husband doesn't gripe. He just looks like a cute in da face Frankenstein-wanna-be.

Have a great weekend, my seven readers. Don't hit your face on any trees. In fact, I'd recommend not hitting any part of your body on any tree. It hurts.

If I Had Only Known, I Would've Been a Locksmith

2008-09-26T10:17:00.007-05:00

I swore I'd never write anything work related on this here blog of mine. However, I feel it deep in my inner most bones as my civic duty to edumicate thy masses. Besides, promises were meant to be broken so they tend to tell me.

Actually, I will not be ye so stoopid - I, at least, won't say where I work.

But I will say this, if you have found it absolutely necessary to do a heavy man encrusted workout before you walk into my room for any sort of therapeutic body massage, for the love of God, please, please, please shower. Rinse off your soaking wet, unpleasantly liquid-esq body that happens to be infused with a steeping sense of odor.

I solemnly swear to not touch the by-product of your apocrine glands.

Also, if you deem it fashionably chic to wear your fraternity boy boat shoes without the glory of your God-given right to wear socks, have the inclination, in the very least, to wash off your variety of saprotrophic micro-organism encrusted feet. I do not particularly like feeling as if I have stepped into a dermatophyte fungi convention even if you are not moldy. By the way, is your olfactory system out of order as well?

I solemnly swear to not touch your smellerella feet.

Finally, while I may view bodies close to being completely nekkid, it does not mean that I want to watch you get undressed. I am not in attendance at a "gentlemen's club" and I will not be throwing money into your tha-dank-ka-dank. So, I only ask that you wait to disrobe until I am safely out of the room with the door shut. It is imperative that you then climb under the top cover of the table sheet.

You are not the husband and I do not want nor need to see all of thee.

Legal Schmegaleese: You have been edumacated. This has been an exclusive public service announcement from your friendly Texaconsin Diva also known as Jen. Thank you. For more views on massage therapy - notice I am not a masseus by any measure or means necessary and I would greatly appreciate you not refering to me as such - please send in your written requests, comments, remarks or observations in the "comment" section of "Tales".

Elvis has left the building. At least until next time.

You Are Only Given a Little Great Spark of Madness

2008-09-24T11:41:00.010-05:00

So, I was on my way to the doc's office today when I fell behind a vehicle with this bumper sticker:

I LOVE MY WIFE

As opposed to what . . . . .

Then I looked over to my left where I see a lady riding on the back of a motorcycle. She wore a sweatshirt, mind you it was on backwards. I suppose this is not very odd in and of itself, I mean, obviously she was chilly. However, she put the hood up over her face as they drove off for the highway . . . . .

At the doctors office I received paperwork as one normally does. I sat down in a very empty chair with a very empty chair next to me. I, obviously, was in what used to be one very empty chair and I placed my book, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and my purse on what used to be the other very empty chair next to mine. Promptly, as if on cue, the lady with the AARP card who had been arguing with the receptionist about her AARP card, tuned and snapped at me, "CAN I HAVE MY CHAIR BACK!" With no intonation of a question at all. I think I turned 50 shades of red and mumbled an immediate apology along with feigning ignorance about not knowing she was sitting there while I tried to gather up my things before her bottom hit. To which she replied, "well, no. You wouldn't know I was sitting there, because I wasn't sitting there" . . . . .

Is it Freaky Friday? The day has only just begun . . . . .

The Trouble With Eating Italian Food is That Five or Six Days Later You're Hungry Again g. miller

2008-09-19T14:09:00.007-05:00

I am a geek.

Reason as to why I'm a certifiable geek? Well, here's another three for the already long listing record:

1) While driving to the grocery in my non-Coco Chanel car today, I turned down Cold Play to listen to the purr of the Italian engine of a sleek and beautifully black Ferrari in front of me.

2) Then pathetically attempting to catch up to the sleek and beautifully black Ferrari in my non-Coco Chanel car so I could continue to listen to that beautiful purr.

3) Finally, being redundantly overexcited when the sleek and beautifully black Ferrari got caught at a turn lane light right next to me, so I could hear those Italian cylinders purr quietly one last time.

. . . thereupon I immediately went back to Cold Play and the grocery. I don't think Chris Martin would've minded.

I've Got a Clue So I'm Sticking With You

2008-09-11T06:00:00.004-05:00

If you were a hug, I'd be a kiss

Happy 4th Anniversary
I love you

He'll Make You Silky Smooth

2008-09-09T17:41:00.006-05:00

This is only good thing to come out of
"You Don't Mess with the Zohan":

That is all.

Quietly & Safely Insane Every Night of My Life

2008-09-07T14:01:00.010-05:00

I had a dream the other night.

My four-legged non-opposable thumbed dog, Chobie, was climbing a tree in our backyard. I have not a clue as to why my deliciously adorable Keeshond decided to climb a tree? He just did. Unbelievably, he was really very good at climbing a tree until he got about 4-feet off the ground where he slipped and fell. Chobie hit the mother earth with a "thump". He wasn't hurt, just a little stunned. While the dog remained lying on his side in the grass the husband turned to face me and in his matter of fact manner said, "well . . . that serves him right for climbing a tree."

And, that was that.

Waiter, Get Over Here - No, Not You . . . The Young One

2008-09-03T19:27:00.010-05:00

Back on campus after 15 years.

Felt a bit cougar-ish when a couple of collegiate boys turned their heads when I passed on by. Which quickly disappeared as soon as I walked into a room full of academe girls. . . . Who looked directly at me as if I had willfully and spontaneously birthed three mutant heads out my left ear as I killed the czar and his ministers.

Mind you, I was stylishly wearing my stilettos. I mean, I do have charming toes.

Geesh.

Things Could Be Worse, You Could Be Ugly & Clean Septic Tanks

2008-09-02T19:26:00.011-05:00

We seem to be getting a bit of wind and a little rain here in our Longhorn City. Hurricanes have not been a bother to us being so far north inland, but we do get residuals.

Speaking of leftovers. . .

Since the husband had yesterday off, but due to stoopid schedulers scheduling a full night beforehand he had to sleep all day, he took me out to dinner at one of our favorite local jaunts. A happy Texaconsin Diva I was! We actually got to sit down and enjoy our time, ordering sporadically the appetizers, the salads, the main courses and the desserts. Let us not forget the wine either. Of course there was wine, are you crazy? Four-and-a-half hours we got to eat, drink and take in awesome conversation with one another. It was all very European-like and super fantastic.

Tables came and went all around us. We were in our own world and occasionally, as it goes when you sit too close to someone, one might have occasion to "walk the dog" as the husband and I call it. So, here we are enjoying our time, when - for the sake of being polite, let's call them girls - came in for a table of eight. Already completely inappropriately dressed (a bit of Diva advice here: I realize you don't speak Prada and this is okay - it's not a common language, but and even more important is the fact that less is not necessarily more) and obnoxious, they ordered, they ate and they drank. Fine. Such is life at a restaurant.

In doing so; however, they must have a person who takes their orders. Our favorite guy was unfortunately assigned to this gaggle of wretchedness.

Some time later I heard, "So, like, do we get the hurricane refugee discount? Cause, I like, am a ref-you-geee." Which left our waiter man as well as myself completely and utterly flabbergasted. Composing himself, he replied in his perfectly delectable Italian accent, "I don't know. I'd have to check. Are you are a hurricane refugee?" Her friends chimed in with a resounding "yes!" Then she continued, "I can show you my I-Dee. It says I live in Tenness-eee, but I like live in Lou-eee-si-anaaah."

***blink, blink***

The girl did get out of paying her bill when clearly she was not a refugee of this current hurricane. Seriously. I would like to know why you seem to think that if you cannot pay your bill why you would eat out? And then, on top of that, play the whole "a hurricane ruined my life card" when you are not that person? I am overwhelmingly sure Beelzebub has a special place in his broken down palace waiting for you.

The husband and I left a couple hours later and we offered to pay her unpaid bill, but we were given complimentary port instead.

Does This Monitor Make Me Look Fat?

2008-09-01T11:32:00.007-05:00

Stoopid schedulers of the husbands work. . . . I mean, that it is nice to actually give him a holiday off, but make him work the entire graveyard shift the night before you give him a day off. That makes total sense, right? Right!

Wrong!

'Cos then on his day off he Will. Sleep. All. Day. Duh.

No wonder this couple in this Longhorn City has no idea what a holiday actually is.

So, thanks for making me go clean on a holiday, thanks for making the husband sleepy for the day and, last, but certainly not least, thanks so much for your consideration. We have learned that in order for the husband to get the day off requested by him we have to specify to not make him work graveyard the night before (it is here that I would like to note to my seven readers, that today was not a "request off" made by the husband. It was an assigned holiday "day off" by the scheduling company.) You almighty smiters. One too many times he's asked for a day off and you give him the night shift before that day off. We are on to your wiley ways. . . . oh yes we are. And, we will be sure to not make the same mistake 5x's.

For serious.

I Will Swallow Your Soul

2008-08-26T17:08:00.002-05:00

I found myself in the desert. Wearing my fatigues. Training to defuse a bomb. My heart was pounding with such a force that I felt it vibrating in my head. My hands were more than slightly shaking. I reached out for the Sprite can - the explosive at hand. Gently, deliberately I turned the mouth of the can north knowing it would work. It had to. People would be hurt if I did not accomplish what I had been trained for months to do.

I remember relief.

And then sprinting. Hard. I had never run as hard in my life as I was in that instant. We were being overrun. But by whom? My legs were in the beginnings of fatigue. I recalled they were yelling at us. A foreign tongue. I could not; did not want to understand. What happened? What was going on?

Later, at the sound of their voices, I snuck down some stairs. I heard their commander giving orders, I pointed my weapon the green laser grazing his body. Their red pointing back. I yelled into my partners radio, "bring the rain!" Realizing how out numbered we were, we started to ascend back up the stairs. Only bringing commotion.

"Hide" was my only thought. My only way of surviving.

Behind the concrete stairway I was thinking this not enough to conceal me even masqueraded in camouflage. I could hear my heart again. I felt the blood falling from my face. Where was their night vision? Then came the screams. They were unbelievable and unreal. Their shrieking sounded "dead". Deafening. Each one pierced my soul deeper than the last. Crouched where I was I took a peek at what was to come.

Suddenly, one of the foreigners jumped over the counter. My scream matched the others.

Commandos jumped into their holes. All others were not forgiven nor spared. Those who had no hole had nothing left. Nothing. I dared not breathe. Terrified to be found until they left. I could not determine where to dig my hole. And, as God as my witness, I searched for that place to shovel. I had nowhere.

I became fearful. The hairs on the back of my neck felt it. The other commandos emerged from their holes, picked me up and told me to run. Run like hell and do not stop. I stayed in the crowd hoping to be safer in numbers. My eyes had told me differently. . . . .

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

. . . . I awoke with a jump. My heart pulsing just as fast as in my dream. With a shortness of breath I realized I just had a dream of battle. Are you kidding me? Me? Battle?

Do you think I may be watching the husband play his XBox 360 war games a little too much lately?

I Thought I Smelled Jewerly

2008-08-12T14:41:00.008-05:00

As many of you may or may not have perceived, I've been stressing lately (and not so mildly), but I can put that all behind me as of this morning. I passed my national boards. I am now an official licensed Massage Therapist in 25 states, including Puerto Rico. That's kinda cool, I think.

My seven readers may also be wondering what I did to celebrate my passing test score? Well, I took my newly licensed bum went into the backyard and performed poo-patrol. . . .

Exams and poo. My life in eight sentences. Somehow I'm missing wine, vodka and cupcakes.

Life is Just One Damned Thing After Another elbert hubbard

2008-08-04T15:15:00.008-05:00

My prevailing life in pictures:

Very studious.

This is what a notebook looks like when one
fails miserably on their practice exams.

Once you get over the shock and horror of my first attempts at genius-ness; try, if you will, to notice the re-takes on the bottom 1/2 of the page. Really,I'mnotaduncecapwearer. Promise!

Dinner table converted.

Yes, that was my dinner last night.

What?!
One cannot get more gourmet than Diet Mt. Dew and Craisons. Geesh.

Anyhow, that's me in three photographs.

For the past week, this has been my life sucking vampire and this is how it shall be for a bit. My dinner may change from time to time, because, truth be told, I don't really like soda (I know, blasphemy!) and I'd really rather have a glass of wine and a cupcake. But I don't have a cupcake. Wine is a different story, but the main focus here is to study. And that I am.

With that, I have successfully avoided studying for 28-minutes & 32.7-seconds. The devil is pulling me back.

I bid you adieu.

It's Hard Enough To Find Your Way Around Chinatown

2008-08-01T16:21:00.005-05:00

P.S. I threw the black bean sopa down the disposal.

I went mountain biking for 2-hours with the husband and another couple today. I did not break my face.

Although, you could have wrung me out like a soaking wet washcloth a few times and then some. The weather channel said it's 103-degree Fahrenheit here in our Longhorn City, but the heat index said it actually feels like 107 outside. I gotta tell you - it does. For serious.

I Consider Buttering My Bread Cooking

2008-07-31T15:50:00.009-05:00

So, like. . . I'm taking a break from me studiousness. But now I am wrenched with a vex. "Why," might you be asking, am I irritated? With myself, of course.

Since I have been le fini with school, I've been cooking at home. A passion of mine that I love to do. I've missed it for 6-months and I'm entirely sick of eating out. My waist line is unhappy with me over all this eating out too. In the end, I would rather have a home cooked meal than a restaurant meal anytime, anyplace, any day. My last weeks cooking has consisted mainly fresh fruits and vegetables. Speaking of which. . . . have any of you realized how expensive said items are now at the grocery? Holy cripes! Though, this is not why I am irritated.

I am bothered due to my latest creation. Just over 24-hours ago I began to cook a pot of sopa de frijoles negros. AKA: Black Bean Soup. High in fiber and low in fat. Awesome! Directions are as follows:

Soaking: Place beans in a large pot, cover with 2 quarts of water. Allow to soak over night, or at least 8-hours.

after soaking, drain water, add 7 cups of water
bring beans to boil, reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 2-hours
in a skillet, saute onion, pepper and ham*** for about 5-minutes
add mixture to bean pot. Simmer uncovered for 1/2-hour
add contents of seasoning packet. Simmer for additional 1/2-hour

I followed the directions to a "T" minus the ham. What's the problemo you ask? Well, I ask it too! The beans are still as hard as a rock. Hard. As in my dog(s) wouldn't even eat that. Blehck.

To be honest, I did somewhat deviate from the recipe as I was reading yesterday on the Internetz, ". . . Some people blame beans for intestinal distress. It actually isn't the fiber in the beans that causes gas but a sugar that requires an enzyme to be digested, which humans lack. When soaking beans, add a pinch of baking soda to the water. It will help leach out the sugar from the beans, making you less gassy after eating them. Also, to avoid the sugar, don't cook the beans in their soaking water. . . " so, I added a pinch of baking soda and didn't cook them in their bath water.

Does anyone know if adding baking soda will cause a hardening of the beans? Have I done wrong? I was only trying to help my as well as the husbands intestinal distresses.

Um. One more thing. I just checked my second time around simmering soup. Not only do the beans continue to be hard enough to load in a BB gun for ammo, it appears that my genius-chicken-instead-of-ham-idea has turned a tasty looking purple. Yep. You read that right. The chicken is now freekin' purple.

Pffft. Stoopid bean sopa.

*** I exchanged the ham for chicken. Brilliant! Mucho healthier, right? Hmpf. If you have not already, please re-read the 2nd to last paragraph above. I see now that there is a reason pig instead of fowl is used. Whatever.

I'm going back to studying. . . le sigh.

So You Think You're Einstein

2008-07-30T16:17:00.002-05:00

I am studying.

That is all.

A Very Boring Post

2008-07-23T10:00:00.005-05:00

. . . . it's very weird to me to not have to be somewhere by 8:00 AM. Almost 6-months of regiment and I don't know what to do with myself now that it's gone?

I have loads and loads of studying to do for my licensing. But who wants to do that on their first day off of class and/or internship? Besides, I continue my wonderful tension headache that started yesterday afternoon before the husband took me to dinner to celebrate. The food was great, the company even better, but my head was not. Unfortunately, it's still not very nice. Bad headache. Boo.

What shall I do today that doesn't involve me climbing back into bed to rest my big fat head?

I'm a poet & didn't even know it. . . . Tee hee

Two-Faced

2008-07-18T16:46:00.003-05:00

A sentence about "The Dark Knight":

It should be tonight's entertainment. "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villian. . . . "

Okay, that was actually 2 sentences. Who's counting when even Rotten Tomatoes gives it a 94% fresh? It was more than just entertaining! It was yummy! I can't even get into Heath Ledger's portrayal. He was full of delectable evil. Then again, each one of the characters in this flick added more than their names to it. It is a must see.

Fantastic!

It Pays To Be Obvious, Especially if You Have a Reputation For Subtlety isaac asimov

2008-07-15T19:01:00.004-05:00

Apparently, my reputation precedes me.

While in class today, my Advanced Business & Ethics instructor pointed out that if something you don't know how to handle happens, call . . . Jennifer . . . or at least she's going to call me. And then she laughed. Laughed. Semantics-schemantics: Jen's been there. Jen's done that. My classmate had to immediately chime in, "that's no joke ya'll! I just called her yesterday!"

I don't think that is necessarily a good thing.

I told all ya'll that if weird schutff is going to happen, it's going to happen to me. All you have to do is just read this here blog. This leads me to wonder, why am I such a sheet magnet?

Justifications appreciated.

More Shepoopie

2008-07-10T21:01:00.007-05:00

So, I haven'ts been around for a wee bit. This is well known and not what I'm going to delve into. I'm still around. Still kicking the pig. . . .

I will say this, "stoopid people scare me."

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

To explain, because I know ya'll. If I leave it at that, you will want to know. So, to save computer trees and in a Texaconsin Diva nutshell, as nutshell as I can get, this is how it goes:

Driving home from my internship today I encountered my first road rage. I mean, I've run into others, but this is the first one where I was actually scared. For me. Really, really scared.

I had some young girl, whom apparently, I cut off (inadvertently). So bad was her anger, she chased me on the freeway. She was less than 2-feet from Coco's bumper widely displaying her two middle fingers at me to tell me how much I am number one in her world. At the same time that she's driving with her two eloquently extended middle fingers, she is screaming red-faced "F*CK YOU!" Over and over and over and over and over again. I got the message.

But I'm confused.

What has happened here? How had I wronged this girl?

I put up with her gesticulations and her madman screaming for a wee bit (read 7 minutes). Then I tapped my brakes - not enough to stop me or slow me down; but enough to make her want to get off my arse. Off my arse she did go, but instead of leaving me, she ended up driving next to me. I, once again, ignored her until I noticed her Honda Civic pulling over into my lane. Time and time again. She got so close I had to change lanes. I looked over at her and she's yelling, "pull over bitch! I'm going to kick your ass! PULL OVER BITCH!" I laughed and said, "You want me to pull over?" She was nice enough to display her two middle fingers again while shouting "YES, PULL OVER BITCH!" This was absolutely fantastic.

Notsomuch.

Her attempts to force me off the road only made me decide that I'd had enough and kicked Coco into 120-miles and hour in about 3-seconds.

I thought I'd lost her.

How wrong I was. Five minutes since I left her in the dust, she's on my arse again. Honking and screaming as well as running her two fingers at me. I made a decision and pulled off the nearest exit ramp praying she wasn't going to follow. How wrong I was. She never got more than 2-feet off my bumper. Honking widely. Gesturing fabulously. Completely classy.

I'm trying to call the husband to see what I should do. Should I call the police? Should I keep driving to nowhere? I couldn't get the husband on the phone. What do I do? I was, by this time, frightened. I don't scare easy. I'd half made up my mind to call 9-1-1. . . . .

I didn't have to call the po-po as she did that for me. I was pulled over as soon as I had exited the freeway. She pulled behind the police. I was visibly shaking at this time. He talked to her first & then walked over to me. She said I had almost run her over, but I mentioned that she never was in front of me, so that wasn't very likely. Then, I regaled the tale of her trying to drive me off the road. . . .and all that had really happened (I know there is her story, there's my story and the truth lies somewhere in between - say what you will, I'm too tired to fight).

He went back to her and had what I am assuming is a nice bit of a conversation; she pulled away with a nice little good-bye gesture to me. He let me go too, but not without telling me he told her that she needed to find a way to control her road rage. That she needs to be more careful of who she chases down in her car, because you never know who is behind the other wheel. And, what would have happened had she side-swiped me and her car flipped over or lost control? I told the officer of the law that I'm almost 40-years-old, I have no need to fight someone on the side of the road. He replied, "if it's any consolation, you would've taken her no problem." With that, he gave me a smile and a laugh and told me how to find my way back home.

Oh. Right. I almost forgot.

She also had a wee little child in the backseat of her Honda as Mr. Patrolman related this to me when he asked her how she would have felt had she actually hit the side of my car and flipped her vehicle with her child in the backseat?

Some parents should really obtain a license to have a child.

Top 10 Reasons Texaconsin Diva Has Been A Missin'

2008-06-06T18:30:00.005-05:00

10. School + internship = 'nough said.

9. Backbreaking yard work with the husband. Butitlooksreally,reallypretty!

8. Cleaning up after Dixie. ***sigh*** But I still loves her so.

7. Thinking I'm 23 (I am NOT almost 40 - shoish!) and attempting a technical mountain bike trail route after not doing so for over TEN YEARS(!) I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Die. I'mnotkidding&I'mnotadramaqueen. I was scared shepoopi.

6. Going to massive amounts of the husbands bike racing races. He done good though.

5. Talking the husband into taking a scalpel to my arm to remove a thorn from one of the many mountain bike crashes I gracefully experienced on the "day-I-thought-I-was-going-to-die".4. Massive amounts of sleep from a thing called exhaustion.

3. Obtaining a very nice palatable entity called, "whiplash" when my instructor ~~quack~~ chiropractor decided that he could help my tension headache by ~~cracking~~ aligning my neck. Chiropractorsarenotdoctors.

2. Spraining my right 5th metatarsophalangeal (read: little toe joint) - twice. That was nice.

. . . . . .and the number 1 reason, I hasn't been blogging . . . . .

I've got nothing to say. For serious. The grey matter has leaked from my brain and out my ear. I no longer know how to form word patterns that include grammatical correctness'. Or there abouts.

By Fixing It, I Mean, Don't Be Making Up Days of the Week

2008-05-25T18:29:00.006-05:00

So. Many of you have asked how my first day/week of massage therapy decided to go for me. In short, it went very well despite the fact that my very first massage client "no showed" on me. Yeah, they did. How nice is that? I was somewhat nervous (read: very), but in the end, it turned out to not be such a bad thing as it calmed me down for my next "official" appointment. I'm weird like that. I also, along the way got edumacated in a few things in the way of massage therapy.

The few lessons I've learned this past week include the fact, most importantly, that you just cannot please them all. Sometimes you are damned if you do and in the same breath damned if you do not. Just go forward and do the best that you can. I now completely understand how the husband feels on a daily basis. You try hard as well as think you do the right/best thing for people. Usually, they will turn right around and bite you in the a** if they can. People are weird, but they are just not worth what leetol sanity you may be clinging onto in this big ole world of ours.

Secondly, I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage. I did not think it possible that I could go deeper than I already do, but having the most fantastic husband on earth has its benefits. He has been my ever faithful "practice mannequin." And once again, he didn't let me down when I came home telling the tale of someone saying I did not go deep enough. Um. Ow. Please tell me in the session where I can do something about it - not after when I cannot do a thing to fix it for you. End lesson.

Anyway, in the same sentence, I made the husband jump on my massage table to dig my elbows, thumbs and forearms into his fantastically yummy bicycle racing body. My goal was to make him jump from pain. Yes, on purpose. I needed to know how deep was too deep. I'm not a big meannie to the husband. I am a scholar not a hater. I need to know this bit of important information. But . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the husband feel asleep. Hard REM sleep. Not to be discouraged, I kept on working deep in the tissues of all that I know is the husband. He never jumped. He never woke up. But(!) I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage, because, I was very, very, very, very deep into the husbands bodily tissues.

Thirdly, ice is my friend. My very best friend.

Which leads me to my fourth and final lesson of the week, I can give three deep massages in one day. And, if it were certain that I could have two more clients who only wanted light therapy, you can be sure that I would be doing five massages in one day. I only give two right now with practice on the husband. This is equivalent to me weightlifting for two to three hours daily. I would sign up for more clients; however, unfortunately, you never know what flavor you are going to get booked with. The front desk tries their best to schedule accordingly, but if a light massage therapist is full and I have an opening, I am going to get that light client. I am completely okay with this as I am a deep massage therapist and having a break from deep would be graciously welcomed in my world. It is entirely possible to get five or more deep massages in one day if I were to open my schedule for that many sessions. Which would absolutely and undeniably kill me. It would. I'm not even being my usual drama queen self. I. Would. Just. Die.

I start up classwork again on Tuesday. Our Advanced Clinical Massage class is still going strong. Kinesiology and Pathology will be the newest classroom additions. Advanced Business and Ethics will be joining soon. I've also signed up to do two massages as soon as class is finished each day. My days will now be getting a bit longer.

And, to think, I am tired now. . . . .

If all ya'll don't hear from me much, it is because my cute little fingers can't lift themselves to type.

I have seven massages therapy sessions down. . . . . only ninety-three more to go. . . .

Put Your Hands Down Will You, You're Embarrassing Us i. jones, jr.

2008-05-22T18:03:00.004-05:00

I've waited almost 20-years. . . .

I'm glad I did!

I Like to Think of Jesus as a Mischievous Badger cal naughton, jr.

2008-05-20T07:14:00.003-05:00

The massage school I have been attending for almost the past 3 months has deemed it safe for me to start placing my magic hands on the public. Today is the day I begin that journey. In fact, I'm booked for my time today.

Wish me luck. Or my future clients luck. Whatever suits your fancy.

When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

2008-05-14T13:35:00.005-05:00

So.

Mr. Gecko-Lizard-From-the-Wondrous-&-Deadly-Outdoors:

For four(4)-weeks I completely loved and protected you; gave you shelter in our home. Even while many a dog sought and found you. Include the wily cats whom also hunted and located your green leetol bum. I would pick you up and place you on higher ground. Always. I then banished my kitty to a separate room - for weeks. All in the name of safety for Mr. Gecko who found his way from outside inside.

I made sure you had fresh bugs for lively gourmet meals. I thought this was our unsigned agreement: you eat the indoor insects and I made sure that no one stepped on you. I also made sure to find you each and every day to be sure you were still alive and kicking. If I could not locate your scaly arse, I was deeply saddened - ask the husband, I was. I hadn't called the pest control man for fear of killing you with all things fumy. I did not mind you staring at me as I typed on my computer. If you fell, I gently picked you up. I cleaned your poo - and I have enough of that currently going on to last the rest of my life, believe me. I vacuumed up your shredded shedded skin. I found you heat and water. I let you sleep in my family room throw.

The husband helped sustain your life as well. He was like a pro-wrestler keeping the dogs at bay. Without us, you would have been bird food by the second week of your birth. For serious.

Yesterday, I almost stepped on you - curses to you and your chameleon-like ways. Obviously, this meant you were on the floor. So, again, I bent down to protect you from the hounds-of-hell - - - jaws that were just waiting for a good chomp of you. You were a bit squirrely as you had not had your coffee for the day either, but I managed to get you up off to higher ground. I then ever so tenderheartedly put you down. . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . where you promptly turned and unnecessarily bit my finger. Hard. Unflinchingly hard. You suddenly and unbelievably had a sustained spasm of your masseter muscle. I didn't even know geckos had such a thing, but you were strong, let me tell you. I could not get you to LET GO of my precious and, might I add, cute finger. For 5-minutes I pried and pried; where I only to manage to shred my own finger. That was not cool, Mr. Gecko. Not cool at all.

And, that frackin' hurt.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . outside you go, you little b*st*rd.

Warmest Regards,
~Jen-who-used-to-trust-geckos-with-her-life-and-finger(s)

P.S. To any beastly-evil-spiders that may be reading this message: while I may be tolerant of almost any creature who dwells in my home, you best hope the husband finds you first, b/c I will squish you into a pile of spider mucus without thinking twice about it. I hold a doctrine that determines my race is superior to as well as has the right to rule yours. Eight-legged-freaks, I will have none of it. So, beware - there is no lifeguard on duty for you here. Unless, of course, it's the husband. He has taken pity on your souls.

Cloak-and-Dagger

2008-05-08T21:48:00.005-05:00

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm indisposed and will be even more so over the coming weekend . . . . more later.

In the meantime, because someone asked nicely,
here are a few photo's from the past week:

Opening a couple of birfday gifts.

Jen, this is your life.
One of the best gifts ever
was received when I opened this scrapbook made by my mom & dad.
[Can someone explain why one of my nicknames in the 1980's was Hair?
I just can't imagine.]

Lastly, things that make you go, "hmmm"?

I hope all ya'll have a super-fab weekend! . . . . .Definitely don't forget your mom's. If your mom is like my mom, then your mom rawks! Hugs to all the mom's out there. If you're interested, here's my tribute to my mom from last year. A new one will be forthcoming, but not until after this weekend.

My Dad Said You Were a Drama Queen

2008-05-04T08:01:00.004-05:00

. . . . . running late for the early morning Sunday ride, the husband needs a lift in the truck. I'm not allowed to brush my hair or do anything remotely human-looking before driving the husband to meet 30 of his friends. Nothing. To make me look slightly presentable. With zombie breath in tow and my bewbies hanging to my knees - I just had a birfday, people - I jump into the driver side of thy truck. I'm a good sport. Mostly.

**********

. . . moseying on down the road; driving along in my automobile . . .

the husband: drive it like you stole it.
me: I just woke up and therefore it's probably a little dangerous for me to be driving like that ***wild-eyed abandonment***
the husband: ***snickers*** I know, right?
me: what are the chances that there is someone at the 4-way stop at this time in the morning . . . . . . who, I guess, isn't even going to bother to stop?
swerving around the old man whom, mind you, didn't stop at the 4-way stop himself
the husband: you're going to be turning right up here. . . .
me, slowing down to pull in behind old guy to make the right hand turn up ahead
the husband: punch it!
me: ***punching it*** that old geezer is thinking, "effing* kids these days!"

Come to think of it, maybe the old guy was late for the ride too? I mean, he turned so quickly at the 4-way stop, because, if you remember, he never even stopped, which in turn made him swerve into the other lane of traffic before righting himself back in front of me in my lane. B*st*rd.

Maybe he was just drunk. Double b*st*rd.

Finally, I'd like to finish by pointing out it was far too early for me to be pulling out my Kimi Raikkonen moves, which I flawlessly performed in a truck. But all's well that ends well. I'm safe and back at home with my hair now up in a pony-tail and my pegs are brushed. I can now go out in public. I'm safe. All ya'll are safe.

*technically, this is not exactly the word I used, but I'm a lady. So there.

Sarcasma

2008-05-03T10:04:00.003-05:00

What would I rather be doing on this lovely Saturday other than . . . . cleaning. . . . ?

Hmpf. . . .

That's right, I'd rather be doing pretty much anything other than cleaning. I'm heading to the cat boxes as soon as I can let go of this keyboard. The husband is gone until late tonight. I'm bored. Making things spotless is not helping.

What are all ya'll doing today? Make me jealous.

***Though, as soon as I get the kitchen done, I am making my energy pancakes with fresh strawberries in a bright shiny new birfday gift I received from my awesome husband. Maybe I'll show pictures if ya'll are good. Maybe.

You Look Like a Monkey & You Smell Like One Too

2008-04-29T14:10:00.007-05:00

It's my birfday and I'm going to eat macaroni & cheese.

I Pulled My Hammy Trying to Get You Out of That Hamper Last Time

2008-04-28T15:59:00.005-05:00

A post for etk.

I was out for my run this afternoon, which considering the ~~agony~~ conditions of my illipsoas (ill-ee-o-so-as), my piriformis (peer-if-for-mis) and last but not least my quadratus lumborum (quad-ray-dus lum-bore-um) is in, I'm surprised I got moving at all. In other words, my entire lower back along with my bootay has twinges of aches & pains - always. It is not my favorite feeling. A bit like nails on a chalkboard. Of which, I don't enjoy that either.

You see, back in December of 2007 I injured my back by being a ~~bonehead~~ bicycle junkie. I rode 4.5 hours, which I know is not very strange in and of itself. But you need to comprehend (1) I hadn't ridden my bicycle in about 6 months for that long of a distance and (2) I was, unknowingly, in the wrong gear the entire time. And not the good kind either. The husband noticed this wrong gear as we were finishing our ride. It was about the time that I had hard-core bonked, so-to-speak. It was a moment of brilliance on my part. One that I had not noticed until it was too very late.

So, since that time, I've been to a few massage therapists, a doctor as well as trying my own bit of voodoo. Nothing worked. [I have since been studying "Myofascial Pain & Dysfunction: the trigger point manuals Vol. 1&2". Which is where I have discovered my calling. To do more clinical work with my massage therapy once I'm done with school. It beats working in a spa. I'm too loud and obnoxious for that. Clearly.

Anyhow, this is not the point of my post. I have never shied away from digressing, but I tell you all this to say that while time and some massage therapy along with bottles of Ibuprofen, my back is slowly getting back to semi-semi-normalcy. Not much, but a little.

Today, we had a substitute instructor for massage class. We were to study pre-natal massage, but when the instructor got to my bum all hell broke loose. It did. shoish!Idonotexaggerate! She spent 45-minutes working trigger point therapy on my a**. It was torment. I could barely get off the table when she was finished. It had to be done and I understand this. I'll explain why if anyone is interested in another post. I cannot deviate that far off the path. geeoish. [Oh. Right. I should also mention here that I am not with ~~parasite~~ child. No, no - nothing like that. We all were to lie on the pregnancy pillows to understand how they worked and felt while we received a massage that was to be similiar to a pre-natal massage. M'kay?]

Muscle spasms are not our friends. Neither is the zombie plague. Or barf.

I'm just sayin'.

Back to my run. . . . and the whole point of this post.

So, I still decided to take my joggie-jog today regardless of the pain in my arse. Miracle? I don't know, but while I was out and about I saw this

drive by me. It doesn't seem like much, does it? But(!) a memory from my time way down south came slowly flooding back to me:

One night, as I was single in the city, I stayed home. Shocking. I know. But every now and then a singleton needed their Friday nights in-house with a bubble bath, a good flick, some wine and maybe even a good book. So there I was alone in my apartment with the ever faithful Chobie (my dog, people. My canine.) For some reason, I decided at around 12:30 AM it was in my best interest to look outside. I really don't know why. I just did. Only to see my very, very, very, very, very inebriated upstairs neighbor get home.

Yes, he drove. Yes, he was in his Cadillac just like the one you see posted above. Yes, his carport was right. next. to. mine. ***bum-baaa-dum*** I was horrified. No, thankfully, he did not hit my cute and perfect little Subaru. I've got to tell you, opening a can of whoop-arse on a drunk-arse isn't so festivus.

Though, I did watch this ~~crapulent sot~~ man tumble out of his car and splat himself face first onto the pavement. He was a train wreck. You don't want to see it, but you can't take your eyes off it. He made several attempts at finding his feet on solid ground. Obviously, he was unable to do so. Instead, he crawled to his door handle, sat up on his knees and took another 5-minutes to find his key in the door lock. Once that was complete, he then decided to crawl across the parking lot and up three flights of floors to his apartment.

That was the way of things for this guy.

The next morning, I asked the front office for a garage.

The end.

. . . Never Yield to The Apparently Overwhelming Might of The Enemy sir winston churchill

2008-04-27T14:38:00.005-05:00

I am studying.

That is all.

You Can't Handle The Truth Behind The Fence

2008-04-21T17:42:00.010-05:00

Overheard today by the husband and me while we were bird seeding the feeders as well as on poo patrol:

7-year-old friend of next door neighbor kid: I had surgery on my balls. ***completely stated as a matter of every day fact***
neighbor kid: ewwwwww.
the husband and I: ***uncontrollable snickering***

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

7-year-old friend of next door neighbor kid: who wants to see my big fat butt?
neighbor kid: Ido!

Kids are funny. I think if I had the time and if it wasn't almost 90-melting-degrees outside; I would have sat out there all afternoon obtaining free entertainment provided by the children next door. Who wants to pass up free laughter? These totally made my day.

Evil Is All Knowing

2008-04-17T20:16:00.014-05:00

The absolute worst part about being sick, aside from the feeling that zombies are munching nicely on my brain, stomach, throat and eyeballs (though somehow they're not touching my adipose - - - - - life is so not fair), is no mouth to mouth kissy-time with the husband.

The best bit about being sick is the kisses one receives once the husband catches said nasty-crud virus too.

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

I have no idea how the husband caught my zombie virus? Unlike the Volkswagen commercial, I did not lick the husbands face while he peacefully slept beside me. . . . .

I Know I'm A Handful

2008-04-14T17:46:00.004-05:00

Want to know what is one of life's greatest little treasures?

Finding and reuniting with old very dear friends. I won't lose you this time around. Promise. I'll get rid of all my stilettos before it happens again.

All ya'll know who you are. I want to say thank you for having the patience to put up with me losing you in the first place. My solemn vow is to not do that again.

The Secret of Happiness is To Make Others Believe They Are The Cause of It ~ al batt ~

2008-04-09T13:18:00.007-05:00

Right. I've been systematically Mrs. Grumpy McGrumpster-Pants on my last few posts here and, in thinking about it, that really isn't like me. It doesn't feel right on the insides either. My whole entire self-being is affected and that makes me even worse off than I was just being cranky.

So, like a duck, I'm just going to shake off my tired cranky pants and . . . . . . wait . . . . . .or is it a dog that shakes off fleas?

Whatever it may be that animals do in shaking the tree, I think I have a post here that will make you smile. Maybe. At least I hope it will. Without further ado. . . .

I made lunch for myself today. The husband is working; I'm not trying to not feed him as he doesn't need to become more and more like Skeletor each and every day that he is. He's not here, so I can't feed the masses. And, no, the husband is not "The Evil Lord of Destruction" or from another dimension either - he's a bike racer. Which qualifies him as a skinny leetol rascal; like Skeletor. Okay?

Digression is a disease of which I'll never be quite cured of. . . . .

Anyway, I made me a sandwich. And you need to understand that my sandwiches are usually elaborate, because I love my veggies, herbs and mustard between two pieces of bread. I'm good at creating melty-mouth sandwich goodness, but keeping it real. I am. You know, for health purposes. Since I'm not a huge mayo fan, I don't use it much, if at all. I like my heart. I like me. I like my life. I'd like to be around here for another decade or two. Vegetables can offer more flavor-flave than mayo can and . . . . .

I am not digressing!

Pfffft. Whatever.

As I was saying. . . . I've even put cold green beans and asparagus on my sandwiches. Those were go-ooood.

But today, as I was putting my sandwich together with mustard and turkey - thinking of all the fixings I was going to tackle - when I stopped and looked at my bag of potato chips*. . . . . . . I got a fleeting thought and grabbed onto it. . . . . . .

Where I then proceeded to mash them into my turkey sandwich with the crush of double fiber wheat bread under my palm.

I haven't done that since I was a wee kid. It made me unbelievably happy! I even smiled the whole way through my sandwich thinking of the days when my mom made us sandwiches and then we'd crush potato chips into them. My sandwich today wasn't as good as when I remembered as a kid, but it made me remember some happy times. We'd sing at lunch - "Yellow Submarine" was a popular tune back then. We'd babble on and on about a whole lot of nothing. I loved being with my mom and bringing her buckets of worms I'd dug up and out of the forest. She wasn't fond of them, but she never told me that nor did she ever mention not to bring her buckets of worms. She used to take us to the forest to draw. I'd eventually wander off to go catch her some more worms of wonder. We'd come back and eat sandwiches. I was so little. I was such a happy-go-lucky kid.

Come to think of it, I miss those times. If my mom lived in my state or I in hers, I'd bring her a bucket of worms.

What haven't you done since you were a wee one? Do you miss it?

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

*Um. . . . . So, my chips aren't really chips. They're "Baked Ruffle Cheddar & Sour Cream" flavored pieces of cardboard. I can't totally eat like I was 7-years-old even if my knee looks like I am 7-years-old (yep. Still healing from my bike crash from back in the day. Want a picture?) Baked chips. Hmmm. Must. Watch. Waistline.

Was this cheating on feeling like a kid again?

And, When I Get Back, You're Going To Tell Me What Exonerate Means

2008-04-07T14:22:00.013-05:00

A wee bit of fabulous advices from the one and only Texaconsin Diva:

When getting on the highway, especially in this Longhorn City of ours, you may want to consider going faster than 35-miles-per-hour. At minimum, a good consideration would be 65-miles-per-hour. If you should so choose not to do so, then understand it's your own death. Please do not take me with you. In the very least, get out of the way; otherwise, you need not be stepping foot on our Longhorn City highways unless you are a passenger who is bound, gagged and hog-tied to a post while some one else who commutes will follow and completely comprehend the laws, regulations and rules of Driving-and-Darwinism-on-Our-Texas-Highways.

In addition, if you should happen to pull out in front of me when you have no room to do so, do. not. slam. on. your. brakes. It was not me who pulled out in front of you. I was driving along minding my own business when, whoooaaahhhhhh(!), to my amazement, you almost hit my Coco Chanel, which also would have included smacking me. If you had done so, it may be wise to realize that I most likely would have kicked you in your peasy-a** head. It is here that I would very much like to point out that I have a very strong foot, which is beside the point, other than me kicking you in your noggin' would hurt. So, just think about it for more than, oh Iduuno, let's say, a fraction of a second before you pull out in front of me. Then, you don't have to be annoyed that I'm right there willing to provide your vehicle with a free enema service.

In other words, don't punish me for your brain damaged-ness.

One last item of the day . . . . . get off your frackin' hand-held phone when you are driving.

. . . . . . . . what? You think I'm angry? I am not the one driving as though my brain is missing from its cranial cavity. They are the twit-bag-arsehats causing accidents at every unforeseen circumstance. I'm not going to jinx myself, because really, fate has a way with toying with me, so I won't say anything about me and accidents that have not yet happened. . . . But why, oh why, are you making my daily morning commute so harrowing that I feel as if I live in fear of the Khmer Rouge itself?

Shoish! IamNOTfullofrhetoric. NoramIviolent. Really. I'm not.

The Good Stuff

2008-04-03T17:55:00.007-05:00

I know. I know. I am a horrible, beastly blogger. My time is eaten up elsewhere these days and it is all I can do to read all my fabulous blogosphere friends' bloggie-blogs. In case you are all wondering, I am. I may skip over uber-long posts for time management issues, but I am here reading when I have's a moment. I think I've even managed to forget how to use Blogger. I keed. I keed. Tis funny no?

Anyhow, I won an award from TT of Paint and Spackle, oh . . . . . . .idunno. . . . . . like, a millenium or so ago. . . . . . and I never did properly thank her. She took time to think of me and my leetol blog here in my Longhorn City, but could I even return a "thanks, tt! You really made my mixed-up crazy day!"? No. And that's just not like moi. I wasn't kidding when I said my cerebellum is a puddle of ooze and leaking out my ear down to my non-stiletto clad feetsie's. And, no, I'm not a drama queen.

I never forgot, even if I never did say thanks.

Oh. Right. In the tradition of awards I am to pass on the love, so in no particular order, "and the winners are:"

Jay of Cynical Bastard
Alli of Brown Eyed Girl
Butterfly Girl of Butterfly in Disguise
Freakazojd of Freakazojd's Palace
ETK of I'm Just Sayin'
Mindy of Mindy Does Minneapolis
Princess Winnipeg of the Princess Diaries
Emmeline of Why the Sky is Blue
Ian of Ooh! Shiny
Tink of Pickled Beef
Alex & Fi
Real Live Lesbian

(<------------ everyone's links are over there; check 'em out if you have yet to do so) I realize that some of you have already received this award. In case you have, please know that you are 2x's Most Excellent and then some! Someone else may have beaten me to it, but you're my staples in this here world of ours. Thanks for letting me peep in on yours every now and again. Pick up and enjoy your awards.

Later, gators. I will be back for more - most likely when I'm not a zombie princess. Promise.

Pandemonium In The Court

2008-03-31T14:14:00.005-05:00

If you know absolutely diddly-squat nothing of what you are quibbling about, my advice to you then is, shut the hell up.

You just sound stoopid or brain damaged.

I'm just sayin'.

You Want a What

2008-03-27T20:47:00.007-05:00

My head is a puddle of ooze.

If you might have a very bad idea that massage therapy school is elementary and/or effortless; you need to take that back. Immediately. Or I may just have to kick you in your adorable heads.

I'm too pooped to feel pooped. And somehow that has to be an oxymoron. But I couldn't tell you why - as I've previously told you, my cerebellum is glop. In fact, my brain is going to start leaking out my ear, my eyes and my mouth right on down to my stiletto clad feet. Which, by the way, are none to happy about having to not wear fabulous stylin' stilleto's every day I leave our Longhorn City home. The feets may just get used to the cushy sounds of . . . dare I say it . . . tennis shoes.

Quick, spork my head.

Ahem. I have a feeling this consciousness (or lack thereof) won't be gone until mid-July 2008. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. In the big scheme of things, it is a small amount of time. Short term brain pain. I can deal. It's just I can't begin to even tell my seven readers which end is up, let alone, read their blogs. Three to five hours of . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . Oh! The husband just called. He's opened a bottle of wine . . . . .

Bye-bye my pretties.

His Name Is Not Egg Salad

2008-03-24T07:20:00.002-05:00

I'm not quite wired correctly today on this lovely (& frigid) Monday morning. Or maybe I'm just sleep deprived. Either way it's not yet 7:30 AM and here is what I've accomplished:

forgetting to shave one entire leg
forgetting to brush my teeth
putting on slippers instead of shoes when dressing for school
washing my hands and then going back to lotion them, but managed more soap instead
putting the milk in the cupboard completely missing the refrigerator

Granted I've caught all such misdemeanors, but you need to understand that I have the rest of Monday to screw up even more so. I have far to drive to get to school on time. I'm a bit nervous about this.

Wish me luck.

Stepping In That Thing We Call Love

2008-03-20T19:49:00.004-05:00

Words that every woman wants to hear sincerely uttered from their lover, partner, sweetheart, beloved and/or true love:

"You look beautiful today."

Especially, when they murmur it unexpectedly on the day you have chosen not to wear a single drop of makeup.

Tell Us Your Phobias, and We Will Tell You What You Are Afraid Of. robert benchley

2008-03-18T15:22:00.005-05:00

So, I'm in massage therapy school. Three weeks and four tests into it now with a mid-term looming tomorrow. Yes, I should be studying. I should actually commence thy studying. It's raining, is my only excuse and,Idon'twanna. . . .

But being a student in massage therapy school, I realize I have to touch people in choosing to do what I want to do. I just did not realize that some of these people could quite possibly be Sasquatch. Or that some individuals might be one big raised melanocytic nevus. And, while these things are not scary, they can tend to make some individuals cringe, take pause or recoil. I may or may not be this person.

Either way, I somewhat naively thought I could take one step at a time. Maybe have a slightly hairy person one day, a entirely clean shaven the next two or three times to another more hairier individual, back to no hair at all and then, finally, on to a single cute little mole. You know, baby steps. To get me out of the "ew zone". It is only my third week.

Well, let me just say that I no longer have the previous two phobias. I'm cured and so over both the Sasquatch and the moles. Two birds with one stone. In one client. For good measure, let's also throw in creepy toenails. Truth be told, I was scratched by some thick, apparently, sharp yellow one's. I got the three-for special. That's trip fantastic.

Bring on the herpes.

I'm just, you know, sayin'.

Possibly, I Could Hurt Myself More

2008-03-15T13:14:00.007-05:00

I just stepped outside to let the dogs in from the backyard. Let me first start by saying it is a gorgeous day here in the husband's and my Longhorn City. One of the few fantastic that we will have until it's so bleeding hot that just breathing the air burns your nose hairs off. I'm hearting it.

Now I have to add, that I tripped over my own feet as I stepped outside my back door. ***Yes, I did. If there had not been a wall directly to my left, I would have tumbled into a piling heap o' Jen deposited onto the ground wondering "what the hell just happened"? As it was, I hit a wall and completely stopped falling, but still wondering "what the hell just happened?" I hit it so hard it shook our house.

And my brain.

I'm good like that.

***And, yes, I was in stilettos. Shoish up about that. I won't hear it.

Because I Said So

2008-03-13T16:38:00.005-05:00

Note to self:

Do not drink 1016 ml (approximately 48 oz.) of water at 9 o'clock at night.

Right before bedtime.

'Nough said.

Because That's How I Roll

2008-03-09T18:26:00.004-05:00

Weekend Round-up:

Found out that my right lower leg grew to be the size of elephantitis that was accompanied by some nice pretty red itchy splotches and a rash that grew down to my ankle with some hot-pain not because of taking myself out on my very own bike where I then reduced my knee to chopped beef-steak. No, this was not due to that. It was due to the allergic reaction I had to the tape that held on my bandages.

I am now using hospital tape that pulls my skin off every single day when I change my bandaging. It feels really swell, but at least I avoided antibiotics, allergic reactions and infection. Thankyouverymuch.

5-hours into doing the husbands and my taxes I had a Chernobyl size melt-down. It dawned on me at midnight that we pay someone quarterly to do this and why am I feeling like I should be wearing the dunce cap in the front corner of the classroom because someone thought I should be doing their CPA jobbie-job? For the love of all that is good on this planet, I forewent the nasty gram e-mail at that moment in space and time, which would have included too many "Chuck You's" for my own Amazonian good.

***Instead, I am now sending away all forms, "organizer" as you so call it as well as all currently added deductions for a paid someone to scramble. Do not send me an e-mail 8-days prior to taxes being due when you have never sent me a previous due date. If you want something done by a certain date, please send one to me at the original time of request. A "please complete all data as much as possible to avoid a delay in filing" is not a due date. Nor is ". . . to be completed and returned to my office as soon as possible. . . " Fact #1 and Fact #1.5.

***Oh and yeah. . . . do not ask me to prepare a company tax preparation sheet that is 30-pages long. I am the last person you should ask what a "Schedule K-1: Partnerships, Estates and Trusts, S Corporation" is as well as to define it in monetary terms? Because I will inform you that I am in a partnership with the husband, neither of us own an estate in the country and I do trust him explicitly. CPA'ing was definitely not my calling or my current or past form of employment. If it was, I absolutely and categorically would not pay you to do it for us. Fact #2.

***I'm just sayin'. Fact #3.

Apparently, I am still on my mini north Ukraine city melt-down over our company taxes. This from not even knowing the amount we will be charged by our gracious and loving Internal Revenue System. Wait until that happens.

Our Boykin Spaniel, Dixie takes after moi in not being a morning person. The dog refuses to get out of her bed to go outside for the "biznazz" if it is any earlier than 9 AM. This is our our 1-year and 10-month old puppy. Today, the husband called her out the door at 7:30. He even pulled on her collar. She acted as if her cute little canine legs did not work. When he physically pulled her off her bed, she turned right back around and laid back down. It must be exhausting to be a dog. I started giggling. Finally, in fits of snickering himself, he picked her up and placed her outside. She sat down and stared at us through the door. Doggie torture.

She still tries to lick my wounded knee.

Catching up with old friends is good for the soul. Spending the day with them while foregoing precious study time is worth more than its weight in gold. Or is it platinum these days?

Earned an extra $185.00, BECAUSE THE HUSBAND WON FIRST PLACE in a field of 75 bicycle racers from the Men's Cat 4/5 road race of 45-miles! Ask me just how proud of the husband I am. Yes, you read that right. . . . he raced and won a 45-mile bike competition. He's kick-assth.

I can also make some pretty kick-assth energy pancakes from scratch. Not first place, but not bad either. No sugar added or fat added. Bou-yah.

That is all. I am still not cute or comfy and am tremendously behind in my studies. I am pretty sure of that.

Toodles.

A Mongoose and A Cobra Share a Kitchen

2008-03-06T22:10:00.006-06:00

Can someone tell me why my entire right leg is in pain now rather than when I first took myself out on my bike?

I really was fine with no noticeable pain other than the "scrubbing-incident-that-we-shall-never-speak-of-again" that first injured clad night. In fact, I slept like a wee little bay-beeh.

I even awoke with no pain.

Then, yesterday went on. By nighttime I could not sleep with all that party pain going on. The misery was not just from the ground hamburger meat that was once my cute and very likable knee. It now gave birth at my ankle, continued up my shin through my knee and into my hip.

Today was even worse. To add fuel to the fire, my knee is now stiff. It's like it has decided it is not a joint. It can't bend. That's just stoopid.

In all it's glorious stoopidity, can someone please tell me how that works? Shouldn't one start out with massive pain and have it gradually abdicate to the furthest corners of hell with a wave and a kiss goodbye instead of progressively and continually gaining exhaustive agony in one great big hug of ~~love~~ spitting hatred? How. is. this. fair?

Ibuprofen is my very best friend.

***yeah. I'm delirious from studying the brain right out of my head. It's draining right out my left ear and making a puddle at my feet as I type. I'm not even wearing stilettos. And,no,I'm NOTthatdramatic.

? ? ?

. . . . okay, maybe sometimes.

Injuries May Be Forgiven, But Not Forgotten. Aesop

2008-03-04T18:53:00.005-06:00

Forewarning:

This post may not be for those of you who are faint of heart. If you don't like blood and guts the following photo's are not for you. It's not like I am holding my actual beating heart in my own hand, but it is not like I'm holding butterflies either. Though they were taken with my camera phone and details have been blurred & they do not look as bad as the original.

This is not a result of playing real-time Frogger in 5" stilettos:

(Please note the husband has already scrubbed out my owie.
During which I kept quietly blubbering some sort of gibberish while rocking back and forth. But it's clean. For now.)

This is what happens when your husband and you, while bike riding, pseudo-shout to a woman you are coming upon to pass, "on your left" but they do not move over. Since there was less than 12" to pass on, it seems I did not make it.

My tire caught the side of the concrete path and henceforth decided I should not remain upright. My nice warm leggings were gashed just like my knee and blood began a heavy trickle down my shin. That was gross. Vile even if you were to ask me. But your not, so I won't. I also bruised my left palm. I'm sure that will help me in school.

Anyway, I popped up right away after nonchalantly exclaiming under my breath something that rhymes with "Chuck" (sorry mom). And the offending lady offered, "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? My husband and I are always listening for cyclists as were are one's ourselves. I never heard you come up on us. I'm so sorry."

Which, to me, is a kooky-mental thing to say to someone when both of your iPod earphones are plugged into each one of your ears!

Um, duh.

So, this is my knee now (again with the camera phone, I know, I know. . . .
But my Rebel XTi's battery died, so these are what you get):

I'm fine. I did not want to wash it at first. I still don't want to wash it. The husband made me. Actually, he had to clean it as I refused to do so, but I didn't like it. It bled again. And I still don't want to clean it tomorrow or even the next day or the day after that. It also doesn't help that my Boykin Spaniel, Dixie, is following my knee around trying to lick it on a consistent basis tonight. That's gross too.

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

I rode 1/2-way back home and since my tire is bent the husband ran ahead to get the truck. I have to say here that every single man that passed me on the path asked if 1) I was okay and 2) if I needed help. Chivalrous - and I am very okay with that, but I'm going to wait for my husband thankyouverymuch.

The women that passed me if they even acknowledged my existence said, "hello." Oddly, I was reminded of Madeleine Albright who once said, "there is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."

That is all. I'm pretty sure I don't look comfy nor cute.

If You Can Hear Me, I Believe

2008-03-03T13:46:00.001-06:00

I am not supine anymore and I also can move more than 50-feet away from the porcelain goddess. I also should not wear 5" stilettos to massage therapy school anymore, especially when playing Frogger across 6 lanes of road at 7:45 AM.

I'm just sayin'.

Your Ancient Customs Intrigue Me

2008-02-29T11:29:00.005-06:00

Yesterday, it started with a nap. A rarity if I ever do so. But if it must be done it is a 20 to 30 minute rest only. Yet, I awoke after an hour of sleeping hard. I immediately wanted to go back to sleep.

Then, I could not be more than 50-feet from the good ole porcelain goddess or god, whatever your preference might be. I still cannot leave this DMZ Longhorn City toto area. A zone that did not formally exist two days ago. My tummy is full of bubbly and not the good kind. It's not good for anyone involved. Trust me on this. I'll spare the details.

Finally, it feels as if a zombie is eating the back of my eyeballs out. Let me tell you what a fantastic feeling that is. My head hurts too. To top things off and make it that much worse, I have lost all sense of my appetite. Everyone knows how much I love my food, the smells, the tastes and the cooking of.

Am I turning into a zombie? Am I in hell?

Maybe, like wine in a decanter, I need air, to relax, to stretch, to become comfortable? I cannot possibly be ill. I have too much to do today, tomorrow and Sunday. Besides, the weather is fantastically beautiful. I have my back door open and it smells like spring. Awesome. I want to walk the dogs, look at pretty flowers bursting out and soak up the gorgeousness of the day(s).

Instead, I sit here telling my seven readers of the fetid stank pit oddball, which is full of decaying nasties; the thing that was formerly known as "me". I'll need to come up with a symbol, just like that guy who is Formerly-Known-As-Prince. Or is he back to being Prince?

Jeebus.

Say a little prayer for me. Please.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm a Guy and Burn 26% More Calories

2008-02-27T18:51:00.008-06:00

I'm keeping the hater list short today.

I had a burger with goat cheese for dinner tonight - no french fries. Yeah, I'm working that hard to lose those fat pounds clinging for dear life onto my body. I can still taste the onions - three hours later. I hate that. (Shoish-up about the burger. . . ) I know you don't care what I had for dinner, lunch or even breakfast for that matter. I'm just sayin' I don't like the oniony left-behind taste that stays even after you've brushed the pearly-whites. I. hate. it.

Also, I don't like it when I try to take my contact lenses out where the one in my left eye suctions onto my eyeball like an octopuses tentacle desperately hanging onto that poor fish caught for dinner. That hurts.

Anyway, to end on a good note, because my life is not all that awful. I have had a few really good past couple of days with the husband. This is not unusual in and of itself, I know that. But these past few days have been time well spent together. Why? Because I've forgone the thought processes that I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING (because I do) and listened to the husband. Really listened. And you know what? I learned. A lot.

I think I'm even more in love with him now than I was yesterday.

Please don't puke.

P.S. What do you hate? Tell me what has surprised you in these last few days as well. I want to hear about your hatin' as much as the McLovin'.

There Are No Secrets Better Kept Than the Secrets That Everybody Guesses ~George Bernard Shaw~

2008-02-25T11:30:00.004-06:00

Can you guess my secret?

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

2008-02-20T14:23:00.005-06:00

Can someone tell me why, an admittedly abhorrent, disagreeable, frightful, ghastly, hideous, lousy and do not forget obnoxious dancer, I. . . errr . . . . I mean, they would purchase "Dance Dance Revolution Universe 2" to play on their husbands XBox 360? And then wonder in complete and utter astonishment as to why they are failing miserably on the beginner workout level? Really. This needs an explanation.

Be Neighborly

2008-02-17T10:12:00.007-06:00

The flyer found in the husbands and my mailbox regarding the "Progressive Dinner" to five different homes within in our very own street on February 16th, 2008? We accepted. We greeted. We drank. We discovered. We ate. We walked. We enjoyed.

We have fantastic, fun neighbors! We need to do this more often; just not in 5" stilettos.

I Would Walk A Hundred Miles

2008-02-14T20:07:00.007-06:00

The husband and I do not celebrate Valentine's Day in the traditional sense that most other couples in the world do. Each of us love on one another daily, so when this one day a year turns around we decided that we will not buy gifts, cards or go out and spend three times the normal amount on a restaurant only to be hurried out the front door for another couple waiting to be seated. Given time, this may come to pass, but in the meantime, we do enjoy spending time together on this day if we have it. The husband works more than a lot.

There are many reasons as to why we are not VD traditionalists, but I won't bore you with stuffy details (no serious funding previously, bad significant other VD days, bad significant others in general, work, etc.). Suffice it to say that we do try to do Valentine's every year with homemade pizza - yep, everything but the veggies & herbs are hand made - as well as with a few other indulgences. The usual flowers, champagne or wine, chocolate brownies and/or ice cream as well as a heart shaped piece of foodie or two.

In any case, the husband is now in the middle of doing all the dishes himself. Mmmm. . . . such a delicious rarity! I get to sit here and blog about it. I might just go run a bubble bath & relax with a bit of champagne. Or find some nookie! Huzzah!

Anyway, I hope you and yours, as well as my friends out there who are single and proud, had a fantastic Heart Day full of indulgences. . . .

Mosquito Bite

2008-02-12T12:14:00.001-06:00

***phone ringing***

caller i.d.: "private number; private name"

me: hello?

silicone sally: THIS IS AN IMPORTANT ALERT TO YOUR VISA/MASTERCARD . . . blah, blah, blah. . . . PUSH NINE TO IMMEDIATELY SPEAK TO AN OPERATOR ABOUT YOUR INTEREST RATES! ***am I in trouble***

doofus: hi. Were you holding to lower your interest rate to 6.9% on your Visa or Mastercard?
me: um, no. We do not actually hold those credit cards, but we are on a "no call list" so I would appreciate if you wer. . . .
doofus: ***click***
me: . . . .to remove our names from your list. . . . Hello? Hello?! ***do I hear a dial tone***

Holy crapayedium. I was hung up on by a doofus. Oh no, they did not hang up on me! I was being very cordial to her. I mean, I get it. I understand that they are working in their job and as rotten in holy hell as that job is, I still have always tried to be, in the very least, kind. But. She. Hung. Up. On. Me. AndIwasbeingNICE!

And now, I have no one to call back to complain, because it was a private name; private number. Pffft.

B*tch.

You Make My Head Muddy

2008-02-10T10:22:00.000-06:00

Right. So, because I cannot just be content with sitting still, pretty much. . . . ever, I am on to another home improvement project. A simple one really. Just painting the guest bathroom a normal solid color, change out the wall mirror and the lighting fixtures.

Wah-lahhhhh & done. Thankyouverymuch.

I have already run into a couple, for the ease of use let us call them "issues", because that is nicer than what I had originally planned. And, I am a nice person. Maybe. Um. Since we are not here to talk about the awesomest of me . . . . we are moving on back to these "issues".

First, it has been discovered that the horrendous mural painted on the walls, is not just painted on the walls. Beelzebub, somewhere down the era of time lines, decided to paint this mural over wallpaper. So, I can't just primer over it; I must now remove it.

That's nice.

Secondly, I want to remove the hanging mirror that covers the wall and replace it with a much more fashionable one. The house must be stylish too, you know. Yet. . . .oh yeah. There is a yet. Mephistopheles had brilliantly determined that they should not remove the wall mirror to inlay tile. Instead, they just grouted the mirror to the tile.

You cannot get more lazy than that.

Overall, I have only just begun, so I don't have a "thirdly", "fourthly" or even a "finally" for my seven readers just yet. But hang in there - I will have something for all ya'll. More likely, sooner than later.

Tap, tap, tapping the mirror out.
The skill. Oh the skill.

Am I just lucky or do you also run into ~~a**hats~~ previous owners that do not seem to have a functioning brain in their body when it comes to home improvement? Am I mean? Wait . . . . don't answer that.

I Love Pasta & Sunflowers

2008-02-09T09:04:00.000-06:00

When the husband and I have a chance to enjoy breakfast with one another, we typically turn on BBC America, as we absolutely cannot get enough of Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, Top Gear, You Are What You Eat as well as Doctor Who, of which we are just beginning to get into. Yeah, I know. This does not make us cool or trendy or whatever. The point is, I enjoy any one of these shows just as much as the husband does. Neither one of us watch much of any TV. If it is on, we are usually watching a movie together or it is background noise for whatever we may be doing at the time. We will; however, sit down and watch the aforementioned BBC shows when one pops on. In my book, they sure as hell beat the Military Channel, Science Channel and/or NASA Channel, which tend to come on if by chance the husband gets the remote faster than I do. This phenomenon happens a lot. Like, more than you think you can imagine, much to my dismay. Most of you already know my feelings about these channels, so I won't bore you yet again.

Anyway, yesterday morning we were watching Ramsay cuss out yet another individual for being stoopid. What I don't understand is that Ramsay is a top rated world renowned chef with 5-star rated restaurants and these people called him for help and, in the end, they will not listen to him. Uh. Hello?! It seems to me that since your foodie place is failing miserably, you might want to take a listen to a dude that knows something about this industry. Learn and grow, people. Duh.

Yet I am digressing once again, when Ramsay was done trying to help out another miserable fellow, BBC America went on to this show: How Clean Is Your House? Now, I heart these two ladies. They are hysterical and more than practical. They can clean your house without harsh additives with things you can make yourself at home that will not harm thy outdoorsy environment. All good things there. Right? Right. Wrong! You see, I cannot watch this show when I'm eating any sort of food. Neither can the husband. These people that haven't cleaned in, oh I dunno, say 10-years or so; well, it's humongously disgusting. I do not even have words for this. I start gagging and thrashing about. The husband will turn off said show.

Then I begin marathon cleaning of the. entire. house.

Which is what exactly happened yesterday. I'm not talking my normal weekly clean of the house, that which includes scrubbing the bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, laundry, changing sheets, throwing out clutter and mopping. I'm talking vacuuming of the mattresses, box springs, curtains, door frames, every piece of furniture after it's been dusted, floors, books, ceilings, base boards and vents. In each and every room of the house in our Longhorn city. I even vacuumed the vacuum, which is probably some sort of an oxymoron. Everything in sight has been dusted and vacuumed, including Dixie, Lola and our female cat, Mia Bella whom, by the way, absolutely loves to be vacuumed. She chases me around the house begging for it and will get in my way of vacuuming the couch and chairs in order for me to do her. I am not kidding. Someday, I may video it to be posted. Then ya'll will believe.

Finally, this show always does this to me. It freaks me out that badly. I cleaned so much yesterday that I did not finish until 7 PM last night. I skipped lunch even. I have yet to scrub each of the bathrooms as well as finish up the laundry, but everything else is done. For now. NINE HOURS of cleaning. If Kim and Aggie happen to show up here to snoop around for those little horrors they tend to find and actually find some, I think I'll spork my own self to death.

I'm not OCD. Really . . . . I'm not.

At Least You Got Good News

2008-02-07T20:24:00.001-06:00

Tonight's menu :

Amazing potato & horseradish salad with fine herbs and bresaola
Rib roast of beef with beetroot and horseradish
Fifteen chocolate brownies
Razor's Edge Australian Shiraz

Summing up in two words: food coma.

Say Hello to My Little Friend

2008-02-06T17:05:00.000-06:00

I bought this today:
It has completely made me giddy with delight.

Okay. Okay. I know. I already have 2,359 of his other cookbooks. . . .
but I did not own or touch or smell or cherish this one.
Until now. Now I do. Now I can.

Jealous yet?

Gives Her a False Sense of Reality

2008-02-05T15:03:00.000-06:00

Within the last two days, the husband and I have been experiencing some beautiful weather here in our Longhorn City. Yesterday, it was a high of 82-degrees F and right now it's 55-degrees F. I thought it was much warmer than that, especially since our thermometer at home said 71-degrees. . . . Hm? Sneaky, sneaky weather.

Either way, the husband and I decided that, today, we should go for an actual outdoor bicycle ride. Maybe I'd even get a leetol bit of a tan and not look like the walking dead. Bonus!

Little did I know it would be against blowing winds from Zeus himself, God of the heavens, brother of Demeter, Hera, Hestia and Poseidon. Coming from the west-northwest at 31-miles per hour up to 41-miles per hour. That was fun.

Good times, I've got to tell you.

A Really Beautiful Relationship Is A Once in A Lifetime Thing

2008-02-03T11:22:00.000-06:00

Where Were We?
Sometimes we are beerknurds.

Any guesses as to where the husband & I might have visited this past January 31st in the evening? Here's a couple more hints taken from plates (aka: Rings of Honor) which hang on the said buildings inside walls and ceilings:

For sale by owner: Liver. CHEAP! Slightly used.
******
Time is never wasted when your wasted all the time.
******
The eagle is hammered.
******
They tell me not to, but I still drinks it.
******
Stop staring & buy me a beer.
******
To whole wheat. Now that's a toast.

I consumed 1.5 wheat (weizen) beers that tasted ~~strangely~~ fascinatingly enough like Fruity Pebbles! How great is that to have beer that tastes like sugared cereal? Fun times, I tell you. I could only drink 1.5 beers because I get a full belly-delly from fermented wheat products. And . . . . I'm old.

Sarcasma

2008-02-02T09:52:00.000-06:00

me + headache x unmotivated to do ANYTHING + extreme tiredness = zero.

Don't feel bad; it's not just all ya'll suffering my apathy. The house is only 1/2 clean this week. The laundry is piling up more than it has in, like, forever. Only one workout in about 10 days. One. Pathetic. Liposuction is looking better and better. For real. The dogs haven't been walked. Nor have I begun our tax preparation either. We'll just owe a big fat wad of cash anyway. Now that's dismal.

It was all I could do to get to the store - the husband had to come with me to get me to do this - and make Greek Turkey Burgers for dinner last night. They were super-duper good though. Homemade aioli to slather on thy (um. yes, it was the low-fat version. duh. mine did not include raw eggs either) turkey burgers that were stuffed with red bell peppers, spinach and herbs. Perfection of yum! No pictures. I forgot. Besides, it's not as if I'd be motivated to unpack my camera from my trip to H-town last weekend.

pfffft.

Furthermore, in my unresponsiveness state, the husband and I watched 2 movies yesterday. Resident Evil: Extinction and Good Luck Chuck. I was sadly disappointed in RE: Extinction & we all know how much I just love me some zombie movies. Well, that, and the fact that the first two RE movies rocked. But no worries, according to the previews on that DVD we should all be looking forward to Zombie Strippers coming out in 2008. Yeah. Real winner in that one. (For the mens-folk out there: it is starring Jenna Jameson so that may be something.)

Maybe this should have been a clue as to how awful RE: Extinction was going to turn out. Ya think? You know me, I try to give everything a chance. This is where I end up burned beyond recognition. But, don't fear, my age and crotchetiness is taking care of this little by little.

Anyway, Good Luck Chuck was fabulously cute. Both the husband and I got to giggling every now and then. I know there are a lot of haters out there for Jessica Alba. I, for one, am not. I think she is the epitome of cute. If she gets any cuter I think she'll implode. And now, with a baby on the way? Have you seen her? Adorable! Well, she still wears the most fabulous shoes while preggers too (note to readers: if I could find the greatest shoes worn by JAlba on the web, I would. But I can't. So, you'll just have to pretend. Think red & pink.)

All you haters of the JAlba - just shoish.

The husband and I finally hope to rehire some lawn guys today. They are out there working hard right now. Let us pray that they shall show up and mow thy little plot of earth on a regular basis. Showing up is key. I want people to hate me because my yard is beautiful.

End rant. I'm going back to being unmotivated. Maybe I'll go look at the laundry again. . . . Find me later.

You Have Your "Let's Change the World Face On"

2008-01-30T11:52:00.000-06:00

Princess has, yet again, bestowed another award upon my blog and me. We are not sure it is entirely deserved, but we thank her nonetheless.

Volcanoes await. Tsunami's brew. Earthquakes fester. Meteors may descend. In the midst of all things in this universe, these little blogs of ours can cause a smile, some sympathy, a chuckle or even a full hearted laugh. It's these the little things in life that matter most. I am thankful you share these bits of your lives in this blogosphere of ours.

My blog originally was started with my family from the great white north in mind. To keep them in the know while the husband and I live here in our Longhorn city. And, while I believe that they sometimes forget this little blog is for them, I have befriended a few others. So, I thank Princess and all my other readers of whom I read too for "making my day."

Mother Nature has not yet deemed me fit for destruction and I'm thankful for that too.

In the usual tradition of awards, I am suppose to pass this on to others. Since I read everyone in my blog roll on almost a daily basis (well, and the fact that Google Reader now helps me from seemingly being psychotic-stalkerella-like), I'm passing this all on to you. It is my blogs' and my hope you enjoy it!

P.S. But. . . you can only have it if you leave a comment. D'oh. Rules. Even if I make them up as I go along; you forget you're in Jen's World now. While in Jen's World you have to deal with rule implementations, addendum's and postscripts. So there.

I Saaa-id, "No Boys in That House"

2008-01-29T10:07:00.000-06:00

So, I'm back in my Longhorn City which means I have troppi to blog about from my visit in H-town. I have; however, too much to do*** before I can really attempt to write about the adventures with Mrs. & Mr. Brown Eyed Girl. Though, I can say fairly quickly, we Zinned, and it was worth every drop.

***One of those "much to do's" is a bit frightening. I opened my Google Reader to find I have 61 posts to catch up on from all ya'll. Um. . . . . . . . I was only gone 5 days.

I wonder if I have an addiction?

Because I Said So

2008-01-22T16:41:00.000-06:00

The husband had a day off today. Guess what I made him do on his one day off before I leave our Longhorn City?

Go to a movie. That's right. A movie. It had been so long since we've seen the inside of a movie theater, that I was like a school kid in a candy shop! So, what movie did we pick? The husbands vote: National Treasure: Book of Secrets. My vote: Cloverfield. Guess who won? That's right, me. Woot. Woot.

Off we went.

Where I made it through 40 minutes of the movie. The husband looked at me a few times, "baby, you don't look so good. Let's leave." And since I really, really wanted to see this movie, I refused to budge. Increasingly, I became clammy, sweaty and green-ish. At 40 minutes, or there about, I ran to the women's restroom. All of the stalls were full. I tasted vomit. I couldn't cool off. I wanted to lie down. A few women stared at me as if I were some kind of junkie, but no one asked if I was okay. What's wrong with society? I suppose, to their credit, I looked like a fashionably dressed junkie, but . . .

After 20 minutes being spent in a movie theaters bathroom, I returned to my seat still not quite right in the belly. The husband whispered, "honey, a movie is supposed to be fun and you look miserable; let's just go."

Putting my head down in disappointment, I finally nodded. Motion sickness is a bitch.

Whatever You're Mumbling

2008-01-22T11:53:00.000-06:00

Last night I went to bed extremely early. Even by little kids standard it was early. I was tired. I had had an "one of those days" and I just wanted to curl up in bed. Where I could be alone and have solitude. So, with The Bourne Ultimatum in one hand and dressed in warm pajamas, I headed to bed at 7:40 PM. Yes, you read that correctly. 7:40 PM. Just one of the perks I have when the husbands' schedule is all over the place. . . .

Anyway, if you haven't seen the last of the Bourne movies thus far, you are missing out. It's an awesome movie! Completely fascinating to me. I am still trying to comprehend that governments actually have the power to do these things. I want to trust no one. I'm becoming very cynical in my crotchety old age. This is probably a good thing. So, completely engrossed in watching how intuitive Jason Bourne is . . . . the phone rang. It was 8:01 PM.

Pausing the movie, I climbed out of bed to the phone and clicked "talk" only to find the person who had called hung up. But it immediately rang again. Only once. It was the same person - the husband calling from work. I answered again to the caller hanging up. I waited for the phone to ring. It did not, but, to be safe, I delayed starting the movie up again for five minutes anyway. When the phone did not ring again, I finally pushed "play" to finish my fab movie.

The phone did not ring the rest of the night.

Not only did it not ring, because now I had the phone on my nightstand where I could answer it before it could even finish one full ring, the entire house remained quiet until the husband arrived home at 3:00 AM. The dogs went berserk. Which is how I knew the husband had arrived. This doesn't have much to do with this story though.

What does have something to do with this story is the fact that upon awaking this morning, the husband threw his arm around me. We had some playful conversation on how his night at work went & how I slept for 12 hours without any sort of sleep aid. I was exhausted - I think I may have mentioned this previously. When a thought struck me -

me: hon, how come you hung up when I answered?
the husband: cos you answered. ***funny, funny guy the husband is***
me: oh.
the husband: I'm kidding! ***laughing*** I hung up because the fax machine answered.
me: huh?
the husband: the fax answered whe. . .
me: um. . . . . Noooooo. I unplugged that thing weeks & weeks ago! Have you used it?
the husband: no.
me: so how . . . ***I AM blond, but***
the husband: I dunno? It just answered both times.
me: okay, that's just weird.

Obviously, with my curiosity perked, I got up to see if the fax machine was plugged in. It. Was. Not. It does not even have the power cord plugged in. Both of us are educated people. Both of us know how to use a fax machine. Both of us are completely dumbfounded.

We are in possession of Satan's fax machine, I think.

Anybody in the market for a used, slightly possessed fax machine? Anyone?

She's Not Doing It; Make Her Do It

2008-01-21T15:54:00.000-06:00

There are a few of you out there cleaning, finding 1980 photos, writing about past loves and former lives. Every single one of them has inspired me today. So much so, that I've surpassed on starting my workout until the end of this post.

Today, I've cried. I've Googled. I've ranted. I've caught up. I also began from the beginning, under inspiration, going through my old archives on my oldest of old blogs. When I found one of my favorite entries from when we lived in an apartment waaaaa-ay south of our now Longhorn City. . . . . and, while 4 out of my 7 readers have already read this, I thought to myself, "meh. whatevs." because it so sums up my weekend of cleaning. I just had to repost it. Send hate mail later. I'll get to it after my workout.

Enjoy. I'll get back to original posting soon. Promise.

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

January 10, 2006

The Husband Shall Not Mess With the Laws-of-House-Keeping

I love my husband. I truly do. But let me just say that there are some issues that raise their ugly noggin’ now and again. Let me explain.

I believe that my messes always make sense. I don’t believe that my husband’s messes make any sense. Take, for example, tonight where the husband got a new toy. It came in a large cardboard box, which is fundamentally normal. In his excitement he proceeded to open the box in the kitchen on the stove while throwing the “paper stuffing” onto the kitchen floor. I know that some of you might think this is normal and some may not. This is; however, not the subject of concern for me. What, my friends, is the matter of question is the clean-up of thrown paper and now big empty box sitting on the stove.

So, I proceed in the most tactful, warm and adoring way that I know how, “Honey, that’s not a very good clean up.” Now, I need you to understand that the husband is a good man who holds one of the biggest hearts I know, but at this moment, I accepted that a demon possessed the love of my life. I was somehow precariously in imminent danger. Flashes of red flowed through his eyes while smoke emerged out of some facial orifices. To which he responded, “Baby. Don’t. Worry. I. Will. Clean. Up.”

Awesome.

Next thing I know, the big box has moved from the kitchen stove to the floor in our make-shift library, whilst the paper joined it in such a manner that it too ended up on the floor next to the box.

I bit my tongue. . .

. . . . but only for an hour. Some of you might think it a mistake to pursue the concentrated effort of normal clean up. Some of you may not. I took my chances and declared, “Honey, you said you’d clean up.” To which he answered, “I did. I put it there for the cats to play in.”

I'm sorry?