My husband and I have been married for 14 years. We have been “together” for 19 years come this August. 19 years! When we started dating I thought if we made 2 months that that would be a good run. We have definitely exceeded my expectations. Ask me how this happened. Okay, I will tell you; but it’s just because you asked.
One afternoon after we had started dating I was upset and sobbing. David told me if he kissed my tears away we would be soul mates for life; like two lovebirds. Of course I thought he was crazy. 223 months later we are still together. We are the happiest when we are spending time together. When he is not here I miss him. If you want to gag I understand; however if you think about it we have no choice - we have the “Lovebird Curse”.
Definition of a Lovebird: The name Lovebird stems from these parrots' strong, monogamous pair bonding and the long periods of time in which paired birds will spend sat beside one another. This is reflected by the bird's name in other languages: in German, "die Unzertrennlichen", and in French "les inséparables", both meaning "the inseparables".
I don’t want to give you the impression that we are not without challenges. We have two areas that have threatened one of us to move out and get our own “cage”.
Number 1: We fight over lamps- to be honest we fight about all lighting fixtures. We can not agree on lighting. We have had to do a lot of compromising. If we didn’t I would be sitting in the dark at this very moment. We have almost gotten divorced in the lighting department in IKEA.
David: Oooo…I love this lamp! Amy, come here, and look at this lamp. (I should mention that he is all smiles.)
(I know this is a trap. I know I should just stay put. I don’t want to cause a scene. But nonetheless I drag myself over to him. This should be an excellent show for the other shoppers. Hey why are they selling popcorn? And where did those theater seats come from? I don’t remember those when we came into the lamp department. And do I hear the movie voice over guy?)
Me: David! It is a stop light lamp! Tell me you are kidding.
David: I really like it, but I also like this one.
Me: David, really, we do not need a lamp that changes colors! Come with me, and I will show you some REAL lamps.
(I show him the “grown-up” lamps.)
David: I hate it…I don’t like it…I hate it…WHERE we would we put that?
Then a miracle happens. I pick up a lamp and he says: “That one isn’t too bad.”
I did it. No more showing him lamps. He could change his mind, and we could end up with a stop sign lamp on our wall. Then something terrible happens. IKEA has sold out of our “marriage saving lamp”! It seems that the lamp we want has probably salvaged a lot of trouble marriages. I crumble to the ground, and start to cry.
(The voice over guy poses the question: “Will David kiss her tears, or buy the traffic lamp?)
David reaches for my hand, and he kisses me, and then we badmouth IKEA for the next 20 minutes.
“How dare they not have the lamp we want? What were those buyers thinking not buying enough lamps? I think we should boycott this store.”
“I agree.”
“I mean forever.”
“Me too.”
“Well we can come back for inexpensive kitchenware, and tea lights, but that’s all.”
“Agreed”
“Let’s go out for lunch.”
“Where do you want to go?”
That brings me to the second issue: We can not agree on where to eat. We can spend an hour driving around “picking out" a restaurant; only to end up at a fast food establishment. In order to save our marriage we both accepted that this is our way of life. As a result we don’t go out for dinner that often. And we do go out we take Holly with us and make her to pick the restaurant. She is better at it then we are, so it works well. Everyone is happy.
I will be honest we did have one fight about where to eat. It was our 3rd anniversary, and I asked David to take me out to dinner for our anniversary. When I got in the car he asked me where I wanted to go. I was so mad, because he had not planned dinner. I thought he should have planned it, because this was the only thing I asked for as a gift. I refused to talk to him. We drove around in silence. (Now that I think about it it’s pretty funny.) I finally told him I wanted to go to McDonalds. (He was mad at that point. Good it served him right!) We got home, we were about to get out of the car; but before we did, there were some words exchanged which caused me to throw my fries at him. (HA HA HA!) He sat in the car stewing for an hour or so. I went into the house to stew. I did feel bad. I finally went out to the car and told him I was sorry. We did end up going out for dinner that night, but I can’t remember where we went. We made a promise to each other never to let poor dinner planning get that out of hand again.
March 18 we celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. We were not able to go out for dinner due to circumstances. That was a close call!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
1200 minutes of Free"dumb".
Free isn’t always best. Let me think of something that I wouldn’t mind getting free.
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.
Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I know there is something wrong with this picture. I know that I should be concerned, and not so interested in my need for comfort. I know this is not an excuse but I am ill-equipped to take on an endeavour to get to the bottom of this-if there is a bottom. She has been our guest before and we have not had this kind of drama before. I am left speechless. Can you image me speechless? I guess it does happen…
*At the time of posting of this blog they did wake up. My daughter looks awful, in fact she looks like a bus ran her over. 4 minutes and counting...
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Sun Always Shines on TV
Guess where I have been? I have been watching TV- that’s where!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Just a Little Bit Superstitious
I hate to admit it, but yes I am just a little bit superstitious. I believe one should knock on wood after touting good fortune and taunting bad. I try to remember to throw the salt over my shoulder if I should happen to spill salt on the table. The only problem with that is I actually don’t know what shoulder is the correct shoulder, so I throw it over both. (I am warning you it may not be the best idea to sit directly behind me during a meal, because some days I can be very clumsy with the salt, and person behind me doesn’t stand a chance.) Back to my superstitions:
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate my Cat.
Let’s face it some people are dog loves and some are cat lovers. But people who love cats seem to be on the stranger side of the scale. I have never heard the saying, “Crazy Old Dog Lady.” Cat people have mugs, bumper stickers, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other paraphernalia proclaiming such quotes as:
"Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later."
"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."
"I got rid of my husband. The cat was allergic."
"There are many intelligent species in the universe. They are all owned by cats."
I could go on and on, but you get my point. A dog lover worth their salt doesn’t own clothing, or mugs with sayings about our dogs. We already know that our dogs kick ass; and as a result we don’t feel the need to advertise.
If you haven’t figured it out yet- I am a dog lover! My husband was a dog lover too. We got along just fine. I thought this marriage was going to be smooth sailing. We agreed on money matters, religion, how to raise a child, and our choice of pets. The deal was sealed; down the isle we went. Dum-dum-de-duummm...
We made ourselves a home, brought a beautiful daughter into the world, David let me buy things, (That was the money matters part.), we bought a house, and then we topped it off with a sweet puppy. Those were the good times in our life.
Then as a family we met this down on his luck cat that needed our help. We decided to save his life. His name is Ringo. (His name is very fitting, and in a moment you will understand why.) (For the record I was not too wild about this cat thing, but I like saving lives.)
The Reasons I Hate My Cat:
He sheds all over my black clothes. Since we took him into our home if I want to wear black I have to get in to a large Ziplock bag, to ensure my nice black outfit doesn’t get covered with orange cat hair. Do know how hard it is to find a human size Ziplock bag? Safeway doesn’t carry them. (That is #1)
He believes my sofa corners are the perfect place to scratch. I have bought him scratching post after scratching post trying to find one to his liking. I have bought sprays that will deter him from his furniture wrecking behaviour, but he still insists that massive cat-wear-and-tear is a great look for our living room décor. (This is the 2nd reason)
During the summer when it gets warm; we like to open our sliding glass door, but we don’t like the bugs that invite themselves in, so we invested in a expensive screen door. (It was only expensive because we had to get it custom made to fit.) When our lovely shedding, furniture destroying, cat decides that he wants to soak up some sun he request to go on the patio. If we don’t open the screen door within two seconds he will use his sharp claws to open the screen door himself. (He is oh-so dexterous!) And you know what happens? He rips the netting on the screen door, because apparently the guy who made the screen door did not anticipate on cat claws as a means to open the screen. (I think this is a good third reason.)
(This one is so big that it covers 4-10!)
He stole my wedding ring that is worth thousands and thousands of dollars!
Here the tragic story:
My ring was too big to fit my finger because I had lost weight. One day it fell off of my finger, and one of the smaller diamonds came out. I decided not to get it sized just yet, because I still planned on loosing more weight. I put my rings along with the loose the diamond in a Ziplock bag. I hate not having my wedding set; it makes me feel “single. I decided to get it sized down. I went to get the rings; but the only problem was the rings were gone. After a whole bunch of swearing I went to work looking for my rings. I am not exaggerating when I say I looked for two days with only 3 hours of sleep. I was frantic.
Then I got an idea: I thought maybe the family cat had something to do with the missing rings disappearance. I concocted a plan: I took another ring similar to my wedding band, and put that ring in an ever famous Ziplock bag. Then I put the bag and its sparkly contents on the counter. I left the (BAD) kitty to his own devices and my new ring was “misplaced” in a new spot courtesy of the cat.
On the day that my wedding band went missing it was a sunny day and I had the sliding glass door open. I believe he took my expensive ring on a “trip”. Because lets face it “Hey, diamonds sparkle more in the sunshine!”
The missing ring has been missing for over one week now. My cat “Ring-Go” made my ring go out the door! I knew we should have named him Too-Lazy-To-Move, or I-Will-Not-Destroy-Your-Furniture-Or-Steal-Your-Ring.
Because of my cat I can not wear slimming black clothes, have furniture that can be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, cool down the house in the summer without bugs, or wear my wedding set which I love more than you can imagine.
I don’t think I would be so mad if my cat looked even a little sorry, but he doesn’t. He has that, “What?” look on his face. I want to assure you that I have not done anything evil to my can-mainly because I am hoping he brings the ring back. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about selling him on EBay for a penny with free shipping.
I will continue to search my house. I will continue not to think about where my ring will be, but that is only because I have no idea where it would be. I offered the neighbour kids a $100 reward if they can find my ring. That about covers it! Poop- David says if I give away the cat I have to give away the dog too! Is there no justice? Wait, I know! For Christmas next year I am going to buy him a sweatshirt with a crazy cat saying on, and make him wear it! That will teach him to mess with me and my dog!
CRAZY OLD CAT MAN!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Lock Me Up and Throw Away the Key!
Part II of Adventure in Shopping in The Land of The Red, White, and Blue.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Who Says You Can't Go Home
I went to America to buy me some clothes. I have to say that I love going home; crossing the border is so thrilling-it almost brings a tear to my eye. Don’t misunderstand me I like living in Canada, but my heart will always be in America. I bet you’re asking yourself why I don’t come home. Well it is because my daughter was born in Canada, and she loves Canada as much as I love America. (She is an American as well, but if you ask her and she will say she is Canadian, which she is too.) You should hear the American/Canadian spats we have in our home.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
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