The stockings have been hung on the chimney with care...

HO HO HO!!!

I have not had much time to blog this week...what with whipping up yummy yule logs, glue-gunning festive baubles for present-wrapping, gathering dried folage for my table's centerpiece, and taking time to shrink wrap gift baskets for the needy, I have hardly had time to do anything. Ya right...let's get serious.

H & I are hanging out at home this weekend...he deserve's a long winter's nap after all of his hard work the past year. (Mainly putting up with me!) *Hanging out* will pretty much involve cocktails, movies, and munching on snacks, as these are a few of our favorite things. We may change out of our sweat pants to walk the dogs if they REALLY have to go. My sis and family from Michigan are arriving on Monday so we will have a houseful of guests. I am making dinner for a crowd on Monday evening...sis, parentals, NASCAR brother, etc., so I have a bit of meal-planning to do...but it will be fun. I am off the entire week so it's time to relax and visit!

The very bestest news of all is that I am now the *leasee* of a lovely chestnut Quarter Horse gelding!!!!!!!!!! It is a bit of a stretch financially but H & I agree it is a good way to start out so we know what owning a horse will cost in the future. I am beyond thrilled...I feel like a 6-year old on Christmas morning, actually! Honestly, I am kind of afraid I will run the poor horse into the ground riding every day...but I was assured he is *healthy as a horse* and he needs to be ridden so there you go.
I'll post a picture so you can all oohh and ahhh about him. He's such the little peach!

Have a safe and happy holiday everyone! Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to All...

H’s last day of bell ringing at Wal Mart was last week. He has such confidence when he goes into these things. I know he dreamed of his moment of fame when the mysterious gold coin would appear during HIS stint with the bell. I think he had visions of transforming the entire town into a celebratory scene from a Hallmark card as he stood next to his bright red kettle.
Instead, on his last night, he had to move out of the way to make room for the police and ambulance folks to get inside the building to deal with the woman in the wine aisle who smashed a bottle over a guy’s head.

…and to all a good night.

Power Sellers

Since H and I moved into the neighborhood during what I like to call “The Broiler Portion of Summer”, most of the neighbors were holed up in their air-conditioned homes on the weekends, bar the weekly powerwashing of the driveway by the neighborhood men. The noise of the powerwashers made it somewhat difficult for H and I to introduce ourselves so we normally gave a friendly wave (or hoist of the Miller Lite in my case). The powerwasher-people usually returned the wave, often with a somewhat puzzled look as if to say, “Who are you…you who sit idly while your driveway collects dirt and grime?” Once the powerwashing season was over, the weather got cold and no one came outside so we have not met many neighbors. These people don’t know what they are missing…wait til they find out that H will rake leaves, blow snow, and generally become a cabana boy once he gets to know them. Anyway, we were kind of hoping to get somewhat of a jump-start before next Spring as far as knowing who goes with what powerwasher. We figure maybe they will find us to be somewhat normal despite our unsightly driveway, battlefield themed well-head, and mole-tunnel filled yard. I know, our chances are getting pretty slim…especially since my potted mums on the porch kept falling over and blowing across the yard during my attempt to fit-in and seasonally accessorize this past Fall.

During some discussion the past couple of weeks, we decided we are going to try the direct approach and actively campaign to meet our neighbors during the holidays. Instead of painting holiday-themed signs or whipping something together with felt and a gluegun, we decided to bake cookies and distribute them to the folks on our street. We made several varieties of cookies over the weekend and I purchased snowman-containers and raffia ribbon so we could put our little packages together in deliciously attractive bundles.

H: What do you think I should write on the card?

WTC: Feliz Navidad…then they will think we are foreign and thus don’t know how to powerwash.

H: No, really…

WTC: How about Jesus is the reason for the season! Then they will realize we are religious and can’t do yardwork on Sundays.

H: Will you stop it…they will think we are weird.

WTC: We ARE weird.

“From our powerwasher to yours, H & WTC wish you a very happy holiday”

Another holiday classic from Indiana!

I may have mentioned previously my *love* for *attractive* Christmas decor and kozy kristmas crafts. A 7’ inflatable Santa, a life sized snowglobe, animated light-up reindeer, cheery glue-gun-assembled wreaths, cornhusk nativity sets…my list of items goes on and on. Screw the classy red bows and lighted garland…I want plastic candy canes, chaser lights, and wreaths on the grille of the car!

After the big Midwest snowstorm last week, H ventured back to our old neighborhood to plow snow for our two neighbor ladies. The two are sisters, in their 50’s, who live together. While we lived on that street, H always raked their leaves and shoveled their walk in the neighborly gestures that make H the nice guy he is. (Amazing that such a giving guy should end up with someone as selfish, sarcastic, and bitchy as me…opposites attract, I guess.) Anyway, since we have moved from the neighborhood, he feels sorry that suddenly these ladies have to fend for themselves during the brutal Indiana seasons of falling leaves and snow. The two ladies were thrilled that H arrived to save the day. He was showered with hot tea and freshly baked cookie treats. He also came home with a gift. A lovely thoughtful and handmade gift.

Knowing my *affection* for tacky craft items, H brilliantly placed the homemade sign at the entrance to our garage. I nearly drove through the garage door when I saw it.

Frosty and Me Welcome Thee!

WTC: “Yikes, where on earth are we going to put that?”
H: “Ummmmmmm, I guess we can’t leave it here by the garage in case they stop over.”
WTC: “Well we can’t put it on the porch or anything, someone might SEE it!”
H: “I know, it isn’t exactly your style unless the Frosty means a nice iced glass of something”
WTC: “Perfect. Let’s put it on the bar, then and call it good.”

Overheard last evening in the Ladies Room of a rather fancy restaurant:

Oh my god…I am so wasted

Ya, you’re pretty bad

I haven’t had a drink in three years. I’m so wasted.

You drank at last year’s party, didn’t you?

No, I haven’t drank in three years.

But you were so wasted at last year’s Christmas party. That was crazy.

I wasn’t drunk, tho, I just smoked the pot, remember?

Oh ya…right. You are so wasted.

A Kozy Kountry Kristmas

This past weekend a friend invited me to go with her to the “Annual Christmas Open House Tour” that takes place in a little town not too far from here. Those who participate in the “Open House” are local folks who decorate their homes and sell crafts, baked goods, and gift items. As a visitor, you have a map and you drive from decorated house to decorated house to shop for lovely Christmas goodies in this quaint rural area. As a rule, I should never be invited to go along on one of these things because despite my morphing into Martha the odd time, I am not a fan of crafts. Especially crafts that involve angels, cheap-smelling candles, and Avon gift sets as seemed to be the norm for this particular *Tour*. I do enjoy this friend of mine, however, so I went along like a trooper and tried my best not to be my usual bitchy snob of a self.

The first house was a teensy place with plastic candy canes lining the walk. We entered the house to be greeted by a huge woman sitting on a very puffy sagging couch. Between the couch and the 6' big-screen TV across from it, there was a walkway about six inches wide. We marched in to see what she had on display. There was a lamp made from a cup and saucer, several odd-colored candles in canning jars, and some wire hangers with knitting on them to make them into sort of a padded hanger thing. T-A-C-K-Y. I always feel like I have to say something at this point so I don’t start laughing…so I exclaimed, “How WONderful!” My friend looked at me like I was completely nuts. “Just look at these candles…and how cute is this tea cup lamp?” The lady kept watching her humongous TV so we turned around in-place and headed towards the front door. I uttered the obligatory yet jolly “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” as we proceeded down the candy cane lined path.

Another house (again, this place was teensy) was festively decorated with bows and lights. We were met at the door by a woman with tons of makeup and the largest rear end I have ever seen. She introduced herself and led us by her waddling bum to a kitchen and dining area filled with more knitted hangers and several dishes of food that looked a bit difficult to identify. She exclaimed how she is a Tastefully Simple Rep and this food is sooooooooo fantastic because you never have to add more than one or two ingredients! Not only does she do the home parties, she will take orders DIRECT for all of our favorite foods! “How NICE!” I exclaimed as I viewed her lovely display of pre-packaged foods...all loaded with fat, sodium, and mysterious preservatives that make them so wonderfully yet tastefully simple. I pictured myself suddenly growing an ass as large as hers and I went into a slight panic. "Wow, only two ingredients to add...this stuff looks amazing!" I said with enthusiasm. I am the reigning queen of sarcasm after this day of crafts and festive holiday food.

My favorite house was the “Christmas Cabin”. The place looked like a log cabin kit. Under H’s watchful eye, I have become an unwilliing yet highly educated student of quality house construction. (See blog- Summer, 2005) This most definitely qualified as a homeowner special. H would have marked it with a big red F. The “cabin” was decked out in light pine paneling kind of a tongue and groove look…all decorated in holiday cheer. The “Cabin” ambiance would have had me had it not been for the blue shag carpeting and overstuffed, misshapen couch/loveseat with matching coffee table in the living room. What the hell kind of log cabin has shag carpeting? And cheapy Wickes furniture?? As we proceeded to the dining room/kitchen, the flooring changed to a white linoleum. Not only white linoleum but white linoleum with heat registers cut into the floor. Little House on the Prarie Not. FAKERS, I wanted to scream, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE KIDDING WITH THIS CABIN. Instead, I glowed, “Quite a house…did you build it yourself?”

Just a bit more holiday cheer from rural Indiana. I am so going to burn in hell someday.

You can ring my be...eh...ehll

A couple of weeks ago, H & I were home on a Friday night, having kind of a *cocktails and snacks hour* (formerly known as Happy Hour but now that we are no longer hanging out in bars, we have renamed it to suite our more geriatric at-home theme), and watching TV. As per usual, H had full control of the remote so we were watching nanoseconds of every channel on cable tv. Also as per usual, he stopped at a station that drives me batty, the local cable access channel. It isn’t that I don’t care about all things local; it is more the home-video look of the set. The people, especially the one county sheriff who is the host of most of the shows look washed out, oddly shaped, and generally in ill health due to the low video quality and amateur-ish format. So I hate watching it. Anyway, H’s channel-surfing came to an abrupt halt on this cable channel because it was a show about the local Salvation Army chapter.

H: I thing I wanna ringa bell thisyr.

As if on cue, the washed out oddly shaped sheriff in ill-looking health seemed to have heard H’s drunken proclamation.

WOOSS: Sooo, what’s that number again? Can we put it up on the monitor, Bill?

H: I’ma gonna ringa bell. Wherz thphone?

(Note to self: Do not, I repeat DO NOT sign up for anything having to do with serving the public during *cocktails and snacks hour*!)

Since H was probably the one and only caller that evening, The Captain from the Salvation Army called almost immediately to assign him to a 3-week schedule of bell ringing. At WalMart.

Last night was H’s premier as the WalMart Bell Ringer! After work we went thru a lengthy discussion on whether he should go with the traditional “Merry Christmas” or the more politically correct, “Best wishes for a happy holiday, Christmas, Kwanza, etc.” when he receives a donation in his *kettle*. Of course I suggested he go with a complete religious theme and shout out a hearty “Peace be with you child of the lord!”. H carefully chose his tasteful yet thermo-protective clothing as standing outside WalMart in a north wind calls for some serious layering. He left the house a man determined to spread holiday cheer. And to stay warm.

When he got home, I immediately asked him if we should consider suing the Salvation Army for damages due to carpel-tunnel syndrome in his bell-ringing hand. He stoically said no, but maybe we could do something about the psychological damage of having to watch WalMart patrons for an entire evening. In particular, there was one child who was handed some money by his mother so he could put it in the kettle. H said that as the kid went to put the money in, he FAKED putting it in the slot and kept the money for himself.

Welcome to holiday time in NW Indiana…

It isn't exactly my 100 things but it's a start

I stole this from Herb...it's kind of fun on a cold grey day.

TEN FIRSTS
First Best Friend: Steven Ellsworth
First Screen Name: Daria…I don’t even know how I came up with that name!
First Pet: I had a turtle named Norman
First Piercing: I got my ears pierced when I was 13 at the Merle Norman store downtown. I got sick to my stomach every time I tried to change the earrings, tho, so I let them grow back. I got them pierced AGAIN as a brave 16 yr old.
First Crush: Ricky Quackenbush. He was a hottie in kindergarden. The name may have been a challenge...WalkTrotCanterQuackenbush...
First CD: I am not sure when the albums/tapes morphed into CD’s…probably something U2.
First Car: 1987 Dodge ColtFirst Stuffed animal: I had this huge stuffed turtle (probably because of Norman) and we kids would often swing him around by his neck and hit each other.
First Kiss: Jamie Broadhurst…it was after a dance in high school. I believe Jamie now lives with another guy in San Francisco.
First Failing Grade: 10th grade geometry. I got a D and nearly had to go into therapy.

NINE LASTS
Last Beverage: Diet Coke/VO last evening
Last Movie Seen: Dreamer
Last Phone Call: A guy asking for a quote
Last Cd Played: LeeAnn Rimes. H had it on in the car and I didn’t know he had taken my CD out so I turned up the volume to “How Do I Live Without You”. Uggh.
Last time you Cried: Last week on the way home from the barn. A woman there just bought a grand prix horse for $26K and I was feeling quite jealous.
Last thing you ate: A strawberry/banana yogurt.
Last bad thing you did: Yelled at H about how he arranged the garage so I can’t back out my car. He was crushed because he thought he had done a great job.

EIGHT HAVE YOU EVERS
Have you ever dated one of your best friends: yes
Have you ever been arrested: no
Have you ever skinny dipped: yes…thank heavens there wasn’t much of an audience!
Have you ever been on tv: Yes
Have you ever kissed someone: Ummmmmm…yes.
Have you ever cheated: in a relationship? Yes…I had been dating my college boyfriend for 3 years and met H on a semester abroad program. I came home engaged to H and had to tell my boyfriend. Bad scene.
Have you ever been in love: Yes
Have you ever been in a car accident: Yes, right after I got my license!

SEVEN THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW
1. A favorite J Jill sweater
2. My obnoxious red Ariat boots
3.Eddie Bauer jeans
4. Gold hoop earrings
5. A bracelet I got from H
6. A white t-shirt
7. A padded bra. I am such a cheater.

SIX THINGS YOU'VE DONE TODAY
1. Drank 2 cups of coffee
2. Took a shower
3. Read the paper
4. Emailed my friend
5. Changed the CD in my car
6. Surfed the internet

FOUR PEOPLE YOU CAN TELL ALMOST ANYTHING TO
1. my friend Chrissy
2. my husband
3. my best guy friend
4. Geoff

THREE CHOICES
1. Black or White: Black.
2. Hot or Cold: Cold.
3. Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate

TWO THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE
1. Own a horse. Duh.
2. Stop worrying about my weight.

ONE THING YOU REGRET
I wish I would have taken my time after college to figure out what I wanted to do. All of the sudden I had a job and responsibilities and a husband!

We gobbled and gobbled...

...and the turkey is all gone! The long Thanksgiving weekend didn’t seem so long. In fact, it seemed to speed by quite fast as most long weekends have a habit of doing.

Our dinner was a rousing success. We ate in the dining room in the lovely ambiance of picture-less Weaver’s Cloth colored walls. (Martha, where are you??) Luckily H had installed a dimmer switch so with the help of candles, it merely looked like a cozy intimate setting as opposed to a very plain, undecorated room. As if on cue, my parents popped over (“We’ll be out of there in a jiffy so you can prepare your meal!”) and stayed for several hours even as I was putting the final touches on some snacks for our dining guests. My dad helped his hungry self as I was slicing and arranging so by the time the guests arrived, the snacks looked a bit snacked-on but that’s ok. It’s the holidays after all. My NASCAR brother was also home and arrived in a blaze of race-season-ending glory. He is in the process of taking a job with another race team so he was full of stories and name-dropping (“yeah, the other night at dinner with Paul Newman…” etc.) Hard to believe I used to change that kid’s diapers.

Friday was interesting. I went to a horse auction in Shipshewana Indiana. Shipshewana is known for its Amish population so usually there are lots of horses and buggies around. I guess the auction is where many of the Amish buy their horses because the place was packed. A friend I was with decided she was going to pick up an Amish guy so she could get a ride in a buggy…so she was flirting the entire time with every man in blue cotton pants and suspenders. She also kept trying to speak Amish-ly by saying “thee” and “thy”. At one point, she said to me, “Get thee over to the concession stand to get thy friend a Coke.” She didn’t pick up any guys, imagine that.

On Saturday I rode my own horse prospect, Whiskey…whose name is actually Risky but I like Whiskey better because Risky makes him sound dangerous and, well, I am a chicken so why even go there. In a scene much like Cinderella, I found that my saddle fits him to a T! I am happy to say all went well and I walked and trotted without too much trepidation. YEA! This one could be a keeper…stay tuned.

One quick note, today is Missy’s birthday. You know, my bionic million dollar poodle with the magically cured eyes. She is 3 years old this day. Happy Birthday Missy! I’d give you a card with some money or a gift but I can’t afford it since your surgeries just about put us in the poorhouse. Instead, we’ll do some serious MilkBones tonight! :)

Gobble Gobble, etc.

I have not had time to blog lately…what with all of my sewing, knitting, and decorating projects for the holidays. Stringing popcorn and dried berries, spritzing the fresh garland on the mantle, setting up the snowglobe collection, and inflating the super-sized Santa for the front yard keeps a girl busy! It is so hard to be Martha. Not really…I have just not been home and during work I have been, well, working. Instead of blogging. So here is a brief recap so you can get thru the Thanksgiving holiday knowing WalkTrotCanter is still alive and kicking.

1) I looked at a horse last weekend. I actually just did it for kicks because it was close by and the horse is selling for cheap. I figured it would be good practice in horse-trading. WELL, not only did I like the horse, I was completely unafraid and got on him bareback! I am going to ride him in my saddle this weekend to see how it goes that way. He is a bay (which is dark brown with a black mane/tail) with a white star on his forehead. Cute Cute Cute! Also, his name got me…they call him Risky but I misunderstood the woman on the phone so I thought his name was Whiskey. It's carma I tell you.

2) H & I are having our first company over to the house for Thanksgiving! It has been very exciting to prepare for this because it meant that H got a bunch of stuff finished that was un-done…such as hanging towel bars, bathroom mirrors, and finishing a built-in bookcase which is really nice now that it is not a gaping hole in the wall that spews drywall dust every time we walk by. YEA! I am a little nervous about the cooking aspect of the visit/visitors. I am a decent cook but I always get a little tense when I am cooking for others.


3) I found the best product ever! Did you know they make paper shades for windows that look, from the outside, like real pleated shades? They are fabulous! I was wondering, with the whole horse budget and all, how the heck we were going to cover the windows…especially in the rooms we don’t even use. Now we can just use the paper ones until we move…er, I mean, until the end of time…er, I mean until we can afford (hahahahahahahahaha) real shades. Do you think houseguests will mind terribly that they are sleeping in a room with paper shades protecting them from the neighborhood eyes? Geez I am cheap.

4) I finally found all of my winter clothes. I had them stored at various places all over town. Some were packed away during the entire winter last year so it is like having a completely new wardrobe! I have an awful lot of sweatshirts.

5) There doesn't seem to be as much going on in my life to blog about as I thought when I started this list. Cheap girls with lots of sweatshirts don't have much of a life. Oh well, best wishes for a safe and happy and healthy holiday!

Life Insurance 101

Now that we are 40-somethings and home owners and deeply in debt, H & I decided it was time to make sure we are on the right track as far as retirement, life insurance, and all things involving how we will pay for our lives in the nursing home. This stuff is not interesting and costs money without any fun involved whatsoever so we had been putting it off. Needless to say, we had opened a couple of insurance policies back in the 1980’s (when we were newly married, anxious to dive in to our life ahead and when we still somewhat liked each other…j/k!!) and kind of left it at that for nearly 20 years. I guess we figured we had plenty of time to make millions in our careers and save enough money for our later years. I think we are now realizing we are soon going to be old fogies and we are not even near the million-dollar bracket. Duh. So anyway, we went to our insurance agent the other night to get things *organized*.

One item we discussed was life insurance. The big question being, what amount of life insurance do we need or require? Since I am the one who handles all of the bills and H has pretty much avoided the whole household finance thing from day one unless it involved budgeting for a new tool or construction project, this got kind of interesting.

Insurance Guy: H, how much money do you want WTC to have if something happens to you? Think now about funeral expenses, paying off debt, and living expenses for her when you are no longer around…

H: $3,000.

Insurance Guy: $3,000? With 3 zeros?

H (looking completely clueless but trying to sound like he knew exactly what he was saying): Yes…that should be plenty, don’t you think?

Insurance Guy: I’m glad I am not married to you.

WTC: Welcome to my world.

After we discussed my living in complete poverty upon his untimely death thus convincing H that perhaps he may want to up his dollar amount if he wants hot meals and clean laundry (not to mention sex) for the remainder of his living days, we moved on to rates for the life insurance policy amounts we had finally chosen. There were three categories of rates: Smoker/Drinker/GoingToDie, OverweightMiddleAgedButNonSmoker, and ExtremelyHealthyMustEatGrapeNutsAndTofuandJogSeveralMilesDaily. After showing us the rates, Insurance Guy made a major faux paux:

Insurance Guy: Here is the SuperPreferred-Almost Free Rate that WTC will receive since she falls into the ExtremelyHealtyMustEatGrapeNutsAndTofu category. I don’t think she will even need the physical…we’ll just put her right into that one…geez, how many miles do you run a day? Hmmmmmm…H, I am pretty sure you will need the physical. You don’t smoke, do you?...welllllll, we’ll put you in OverweightMiddleAgedButNonSmoker and see what happens. You may be on the line of Smoker/Drinker/GoingToDie but we’ll see.

H got this horrified look on his face and I believe I saw steam coming from his ears. He knows full well that I am the one who not only smoked for several years but he can literally set the clock by my cocktail hour. There is ABSOLUTELY NO WAY he can possibly be in a higher category than me. I smiled smugly and wholeheartedly agreed with Insurance Guy.

This week, while we wait for the health-screening folks to call us, H is in all-out health and physical fitness mode. He has exercised, shunned alcohol, and has eaten oatmeal for nearly every meal. He is utterly determined to be in the same category as me and completely defy Insurance Guy. Meanwhile, I stand by with my martini and dream of how I will spend my well-earned $3,000.

Little House on the Mole Hill

With the ever-increasing challenge of making our new house feel *homey*, H & I are pondering the what/where/how of landscaping for the outside of the place. We figure if we start now we MAY have some kind of plan together by the time we actually have to make the trip to the garden center in the Spring to purchase trees and any other organics that will take little or no regular maintenance aside from my standing on the sidewalk with a Miller Lite showering them with the hose. The yard is rather large, a little under an acre, so there is a lot of room for a lot of whatever it is we decide to plant. During the summer, while the house was still progressing, we *seeded* the yard. This was H’s great plan. He figured if we seeded the lawn, we wouldn’t have an entire winter of mud and we could then take our time with any landscaping. The neighbors, he figured, would be happy enough to see that, despite the fact that we seemingly have no theme for our wellhead other than “raging battlefield", we at least had the courtesy and fortitude to plant grass seed. (I think we may have had them a little on edge ever since the day H pulled his rusty 1987 GMC truck up to the front door to unload some things and he ended up leaving it there for several days. As these people power-washed their driveways, they turned the evil eye to our unsightly plot of land and whispered among themselves.) Thus, we spent a trillion dollars on KentuckyBlueGrassGrowLikeHellIntoALushAndGolfcourseLikeLawn. The grass grew, albeit 75% crabgrass…but it is green and, from a distance, looks somewhat lawnlike. To the untrained eye, at least.

Last weekend, H came running inside to inform me that we have moles. “Moles, WTC, they are RUINING our lawn!” He was all in a tither that the nasty little creatures were tunneling here and there and over and across in what looks to be a rather extensive condominium development complete with health club and pool. There are even a few volcanic-like areas where the moles popped their heads up from their burrowing to see where they were. (“Hey Al, I’m just gonna go a few more feet til I am even with the cable box, ok?” “Then we’ll break for lunch and maybe go for a beer.”)

So H was all upset about this new mole population and he insisted I go to the internet to see how to eliminate the problem. In my research, I found that the BEST way to COMPLETELY rid a yard of moles is to KILL them. The best method for KILLING them is to IMPALE them. The IMPALING can be executed either from a trap set in the ground in mid-tunnel, or by driving a shovel right down into the tunnel as the little guy burrows on by, (OMG) thereby IMPALING with one’s own yard tool.

I say we spend the money for traps or we really impress the neighbors and somehow incorporate the whole impaled-mole theme into a decoration for the well head.

The Happy Couple

The Happy Couple
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

We had a lovely day for the pet Halloween party. AND, we remain the champs! YEA...Mommy really IS Martha Stewart! Mr. P and Missy won the "Cutest Small Dog" category. We came home with a basket of dog toys and treats for our prize. I think that calls for celebration...what's a wedding without a drunken member of the wedding party...

Nothing But Net

I don’t know about people sometimes. They really amaze me as to how narrow-minded they can be. I hate to sound like an old fogie but it has scared me on more than one occasion what little attention some folks pay to things outside their little bubble of a world. I am hardly one who travels the globe but I do make an attempt to learn about what is happening in the world. Heck, if you just turn on public radio for a week you can get caught up on what’s going on as far as all things political…and it is explained in neat, understandable little packages. The world is wacky enough so it scares me when, for example, a couple of weeks ago, a person well into voting age (who by the way expressed his unwavering support of a certain Republican President last November) asked me who Condoleezza Rice was. I guess maybe is just isn’t that important to know the key players who represent the United States to the rest of the world. It is, in this guy’s case, much more interesting and important to know every detail about his Sony Hi-Definition Plasma TV with Surround Sound he purchased at Best Buy. Anyway, I digress…what I am getting at in my many words is that I often wonder where people are and what the hell they are thinking that makes them do the things they do. Here is an example that came up last night. It is kind of a funny visual but a bit disturbing at the same time:

H, in the little time he takes to tear himself away from all things work related, volunteers at a local shelter for abused women. Many of the women who end up there have kids and H helps the kids with homework, plays games, reads, etc. while their mothers are busy getting counseling and trying to make their lives better. He loves kids so this is the perfect way for him to help out while doing something he really enjoys. It is also good for the kids because they are getting a positive male role model in their sometimes very messed-up lives.

Last night, upon his return from the shelter, H told me about a new guy at the shelter who is supposed to be a Child Advocate. This means he is there to make sure the children, who have often been abused themselves, are put on some path of recovery depending on what has gone in their lives. H’s description of the new guy was, “just out of college, thinks he knows everything, and wears those baggy pants that show his butt crack”. (H spares no words.) H said that last night, he and the kids were playing basketball when *new guy* said he would play too. The kids were all under 10 years old and H had been playing so that each one got to have the ball and take a shot. H was acting like he was working really hard and the kids were enjoying the fact that they were winning…everyone was all smiles. Apparently, *New guy* joined in and started playing like it was the NBA. He was taking jump shots and running over kids to “get to the net”. Instead of giving the kids a playful confidence builder, this *Child Advocate* was becoming the star player. It was all about HIM! H said he even made the last shot, a slam-dunk into the child-sized net. Fun times, I am sure, for these kids who have, in the past few days, seen their father beat the crap out of their mom, had to leave their home with the clothes on their backs, and had to live in a shelter so their mom can figure out what to do so they will be safe. It sounded a little like a skit on Saturday Night Live…which I’ll bet this *Child Advocate”* watches. On a High Definition Sony with Surround Sound.

Here are 2 examples...last year's Halloween costumes and, of course, the Santa visit. They are way too patient with me. Wait til you see the Bride and Groom...I'll post pictures on the big day!

Guys2

Guys2
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Guys

Guys
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

I am sick of the sick

You won't get the title if you are not a follower of the walktrotcanter saga circa 2005...anyway, I stayed home from work today. A *sick day* if you will. I am actually fighting a touch of flu...sore throat, slight fever, earache...all things that point to "You had better stay home and better yet, DRINK, WOMAN". So I stayed home, lounged on the sofa, and ever the radical, had beer with lunch. I think they call this a Mental Health Day.

My staying home threw the poodles completely out of whack. Their usual "Mom's home for lunch pee" ended up as several lame whines at the door but when the door was opened they didn't know if they should go out to pee because it wasn't time. My poor dogs...they are such creatures of habit. They don't have a clue what they should be doing when I am home during the day. They are wonderful, tho. Anyway, the most important thing I did today was to make Halloween costumes for the *Big Party* which will take place on Saturday.

Last year at this time, while I was lounging around the Motel 6 trying to get a life, I read about this store here in town that was having a Halloween party. Prizes would be given to the best costume, there were refreshments to be served, the whole shebang. "Ah HA!" I thought..."I may be living in this complete shithole but I am clever with Superglue and felt, dammit!" ...and I was off to the craft store for supplies. Supplies, that is, to make costumes for my poodles. Oh yes, the pet store downtown was having a Halloween party for dogs...and may the best pooch win! Hey,when you live for a year in the Motel 6 and at the same time you own poodles (2 of them at that!), you have got to be completely out of your mind. Indeed, I was. And still am.

Last year, I ended up making a very clever *tandem* costume for Missy and Mr. P. Since Mr. P is kind of big and roly poly for his poodle body and is also black, I rigged up exhaust pipes (foil covered toilet paper rolls), handlebars (foil covered paper towel roll), a felt seat with hot red rivets (felt and rivits) and made him a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Missy, the dainty white poodle, was outfitted in a Harley denim vest, goggles, and bandana...so she was the motorcycle chick. They were the very vision of Easy Rider. It was a complete success...not only did we get the free refreshments, we won the GRAND PRIZE (!!!!!!) which was a gift certificate to the pet shop. (This is a pet shop on-par with where Paris Hilton would shop for her dog only on a small-town scale. Nonetheless, an expensive place.) YEA!

Now, as the returning champions, Mr. P and Missy will arrive at the party as a bride and a groom...ok, I know it seems a bit incestuous but they are not related. Mr. P. has a tux with tails (black felt) and a white collar (white statin ribbon sewn to the felt). His bowtie is black and pink with sparkles. He has a dapper pink flower pinned to his coat and I am going to grease his hair down so he has a part in it like a guy all dressed to the nines. It is fabulous! Missy, also known as Bridezilla because of her reluctance to stand still to be fitted, will don a silk dress with pink and white toule that trails behind her (lots of zig-zag on the sewing maching!). Her veil is a crown (pipe cleaner) of fake flowers (wired to the pipe cleaner) with a matching pink ribbon. I even stitched up a little garter that will fit on her front paw...it is the paw she raises when she shakes hands so she can really show it off. The happy couple looks fantastic when they sit and stay. I say, break a leg, guys...we must repeat our win of the GRAND PRIZE!!!!

I guess Friday night will be Mr. P's bachelor party at the strip club and Missy's *personal* shower...

I really scare myself sometimes...LOL

I think the Journey scares me

Remember being a kid? Of course you remember being a kid…but I mean do you remember being so caught up in fun and play that you rarely hesitated in doing something just because you were scared? If you were anything like me you sailed along doing all things precarious just to push the limits-only to be kind of surprised when someone of authority stopped you and pointed out the extreme danger in what you were doing. It was like constant Fear Factor beginning at about age 3. I remember leaping over fences, leaping off of swings, leaping off jumps on my skateboard, and leaping off my bike in the contest of who was the best stuntkid in the neighborhood. Really daring...or really stupid, I guess that was me.

Anyway, I guess I am wondering where the hell that went? When did the sense of fear begin to weasel its way into my head?

On Saturday, I went to visit Journey again. Journey is the horse I am considering as a major first-horse-ever purchase. I am so excited this is actually a consideration!!! I arrived at the *weekend home* of the sellers early enough so I had time to go out to the pasture to get the horse. It was very enjoyable and my Journey was a complete peach as I groomed him and talked with him and saddled him up with my very own saddle...to see if it fit. It did. I guess I mean It will...when he loses about 100 lbs. (He is a bit out of shape.) So, there was Journey all saddled up and ready for action. That was when I got scared. Like, really scared and chicken and full of fear. I looked all around to find that 6-year old daredevil for some encouragement and she was no where to be found. THAT BITCH!

The Instructor arrived as I was lunging Journey in a circle...just trying to look cool while me and myself argued about how to get on to ride. Instructor got on and rode a rather rusty Journey...he (the horse) has not been ridden for over a year (hence how fat he is!) and also has a really bad habit of tossing his head. It is a bad habit because someone like me thinks the head toss will graduate to a full bucking rearing dance that will toss me the length of the arena. It makes me scared. The head tossing, from all expert accounts, is just a bad habit that doesn't go any further than tossing the head. This in mind, I mounted the horse and walked and trotted around just fine. As we trotted, I began to feel *the scare*. The scare that makes me want to hop off that beautiful horse and walk away and curl up and cry; thus, giving up my olympic riding career...and that has made me nutsy. How will I ever be able to try out a new horse if I get *the scare*? I am truely in a quandry as to what to do. The Instructor and I have discussed how, with a bit of work, Journey will cease to toss the head...this is a correctable thing! I am just not sure if I want to do the work? Argh. How long have I wanted a horse?

I think I will write a little note to that 6 year old girl and tell her to put down her flying skateboard and get her young and fearless little ass over here to give me a pep talk.

My Journey has begun

A few weeks ago, my riding instructor told me about a horse that is for sale that would be, in his words, THE PERFECT HORSE FOR YOU. I hate when he says that because of, well, the whole timing issue. H & I had talked about the GettingAHorseProject…but since we only moved into the house a month or so ago I was trying not to leap into it too soon. (What’s the rush? I am only 40 and have been wanting a horse for, oh, about 39 ½ years or so.) It is one thing to move into the house and another to have things like bathroom mirrors (which we still don’t have and you don’t even want to picture me having to put on makeup at the full length mirror located in H’s closet. – long story) or towel bars (which we also don’t have yet so we hang our bath towels on the crank thingies on the windows). Seriously, I was trying not to rush the whole horse thing which is a stretch for the likes of me and my mindset the past year. A+ for attitude.

Anyway, The Instructor starts telling me about this horse a few weeks ago. He is a Quarter Horse gelding named, appropriately, Journey. I told H about him and to my shock and amazement he agreed we should look at him. On Saturday, we went with The Instructor to the *weekend home* of a rather prominent Chicago family. The *weekend home* happens to have a stable with an indoor riding arena. The three daughters of the rather prominent Chicago family like to ride on the weekends. I hate them. It seems that the three daughters have one too many horses and so they are selling Journey. I so hate them. As my luck has it, he does seem to be THE PERFECT HORSE FOR ME…he is not too huge, is very sweet and affectionate, and with some work could be a super nice ride. He has not been ridden much at all in the past year so when I got on him, The Instructor walked beside me – Just in case the poor horse forgot anything he knew and decided to take me on a rodeo ride. He was super-comfy…even at the slow trot. The problem, aside from the minor hurdle of finances at the moment, is that he needs to be worked so that he remembers all of his walking/trotting/cantering/behaving stuff. When a horse is not worked on a regular basis he gets lazy and out of shape…much like humans only at 1500 lbs. He would be a bit of a project; however, The Instructor is quite sure it would be the best thing for me as far as learning and bonding… and I would end up with a gem of a horse. What’s a girl to do?

To add to the decision making pot, the prominent Chicago father of the three daughters has agreed, if I buy Journey, to pay for 5 mos. board at a barn with an indoor arena so I will be able to work him. Why? Because they want him to go to a good home and they don’t just want to sell him and not know he will be happy. Geez, I really hate them. They must know I am a sucker for happy healthy animals. What to do???

H & I agreed I will ride Journey again on Saturday, in my own saddle to see how he is a second time. This is driving me nuts with anticipation, excitement, and a little bit of fear…you know how you should be careful what you wish for? I think I am doing just that. Stay tuned :)

For Martha it would be Real Simple

Since I am now residing the sparkly new house in the sparkly new kitchen with all sparkly new appliances, I am suddenly feeling pressure to cook nice meals. I have always been a decent cook; however, I am thinking I’ll have to be a bit more creative now that I seem to have every new and innovative device available to today’s modern wife. Don’t get me wrong, it is my own doing…H really is not a picky guy as far as food. It is just that when we were residing at the Motel 6 and I saw a recipe that looked good but was a bit involved as far as preparation, I could say to myself, “no way would I be able to make that Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes in this dinky excuse for a kitchen…Impossible!” Now, if I see a recipe that makes me drool, I have nothing to say. Making the Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes could be a process that takes an entire day and I have absolutely no reason not to rip that recipe out of Food and Wine and whip it up MarthaStyle with this new kitchen and all. It is real pressure I tell you!

The other day, I was reading a magazine called Real Simple. A free issue I received had some delicious-looking recipes that were *supposed* to be easy/after work-type meals. I most often like to cook from scratch as the sodium content in prepared/frozen foods is enough to make me bloat so bad my pants don’t fit for weeks. Serious sodium bloatation. Like many working stiffs, however, I do not usually have the time or the energy to dive into something such as Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes after a grueling 8+ hour day at the office. The Real Simple recipes were just that. Real Simple while being Real Healthy as well! YEA! I trooped off to the grocery store last week to stock up on all of the recipe essentials. Unfortunately, it was one of those days at the store where, at 5 pm on a Friday evening, every parent in Northwest Indiana decided to pack up all of the kids, take them to the grocery store, and proceed to let them scream at the tops of their lungs. Oh ya, and they also took the older kids off their leashes so they were running thru the aisles in a manner that had me bobbing and weaving for my various food items. Do they just KNOW I am going to be there or something? Am I some sort of attraction device for hyperactive, unsupervised toddlers?? Damn shoppers with kids…maybe the recipes were supposed to be Real Simple but the shopping was Real Crazy.

After making a delicious Salmon With Roasted Onion and Fennel on Tuesday, last evening was the big night to prepare Chicken Souvlaki. I rushed home from work, chopped, diced, marinated, sautéed, and mixed. The lovely aromas of herbed chicken and fresh vegetables wafted about the kitchen. I hummed happily, the very picture of Martha herself. H arrived home and I gushed about the lavish temptations that awaited his palate. I reached into the fridge for the fresh yogurt dill sauce (the crown jewel of the entire dish made with fresh PLAIN yogurt). For some reason, my eye caught the words on the yogurt container from which had come the yogurt for the yogurt dill sauce. “Low Fat VANILLA Yogurt”. Yuck. Chicken Souvlaki with VANILLA yogurt? That would absolutely be grounds for me getting fired on The Apprentice.

H: “Why are you standing in the fridge"
WTC: “No reason, just getting things ready for this sweet meal ahead!”

Today it's MY Birthday!

...my blog's, that is! A few things about my blogging:

It’s an addiction.

It got me laughing during my darkest moments at the Motel 6.

I have met some truly interesting and fun people. I feel like I know children, husbands, friends, and boyfriends (real and imaginary). It is way better than watching TV!

It has helped curb my ebay buying because I spend more time reading than I do shopping.

Like a few others, I see the crummier moments in life in a new light. H cringes when I say, “Oh, you are so getting blogged!”

I have a whole new attitude towards soy.

I was so scared to “come out” from semi-lurker to blogger!

I only did it because Stacy asked where I was in one of her posts.

I began the whole thing by reading PlanetDan’s post about senior pictures. (It was forwarded to me by a friend who said I could probably relate)

Thanks, Dan!

It has been a whole year and the Motel 6 posts are over! YEA!

It doesn’t mean the house is completely finished so don’t think the sarcasm will end.

I am still a lurker on certain blogs.

But I read my favorites every day!

I think it would be fun to meet some of the people in person.

But they don’t even know my real name.

Happy Birthday Roundpen...here's to another year!

~Maureen

I believe I may have arrived.

Be warned that there exists, as you grow older, a point in time when a certain role-reversal takes place. It doesn’t always have a defining moment; in fact, from what I can tell it kind of creeps up on you and suddenly you realize it’s there. Not only is it there, it often requires immediate attention and/or action. It is, of course, the moment you realize you are starting to parent your parent. As in, “Mom, stop crying. I’ll thread the needle for you…No,no, you are not going blind…the thing is really small. Look, even I can’t see it!” Those small moments, where, in the matter of minutes, you begin to do the comforting, problem solving and emotional supporting of the person or people in your life who you thought were absolutely perfect. I mean, they taught you not to swear or pass gas in public, laugh and make fun of others (ok, some of us are still working on that one), cook and do laundry and bathe on a regular basis…they pretty much, except for the odd genetic flaw, made you YOU. All of the sudden, you notice your dad burps at odd times and your mother calls to ask you what she should do because the pharmacy messed up again and she’s so mad but didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to make a scene and you suddenly find yourself telling your dad to stop it, that’s gross and telling your mom you will phone the pharmacy and give them hell. I think I have definately arrived. In ParentTheParentVille.

It has been a few months since my mother had her heart attack. Since then, she has graduated from cardiac rehab, maintained a daily exercise program, revamped the food supply to all things heart-healthy, and has generally done everything she is supposed to do on the path to good health. Despite her good intentions and the support of her family, she is extremely fearful of something going wrong again. I have noticed it in phone calls and conversations…she got dealt a nasty blow and, in many ways, is still on the mend. I was, in fact, getting to the point where I was trying to figure out how to suggest maybe she see a counselor; however, my parents are extremely private people. You don't discuss finances or personal difficulties...they will just work out in time, dammit. (If only they knew about the place called BlogLand where one can rant like a raving lunatic to everyone in the entire world who has an internet connection and everyone can not only read life’s juicy details, they can even make comments if they wish.) Even suggesting my mother “talk to someone” is about as likely as me giving up my evening cocktail. Not gonna happen. Last week, I got a phone call that went something like this:

Mom: As part of my volunteer group, I am taking a training class to assist people who have lost a loved one. I am supposed to help put them in the right direction in case they need help.
WTC: Good! You will be really good at that.
Mom: Wellllll, not really.
WTC: How come? You are good with people and you know practically everyone in town.
Mom: Well, (here came the tears) we were doing a role-playing exercise and I was playing the part of the bereaved person.
WTC: Yeah?
Mom: (sniff) I was doing my thing and all of the sudden I started just sobbing. WTC, I was SOBBING! (Is actually sobbing by this point in the conversation)
WTC: Hmmmmmm…what did the other people do?
Mom: The woman in charge took me aside and said she didn’t think it was really time for me to be doing this…that maybe I am just not ready to be counseling sad people.

It turns out this lady happens to be (as luck would have it) a professional counselor who has now offered to “meet” with Mom. My mom explained to me how wonderfully nice this woman is and how it will probably be so good to talk with a professional who will understand what she is feeling and help her get past whatever is going-on. She was practically gushing with relief.

WTC: That sounds great, Mom…It’ll probably do wonders for you.
Mom: Well, you know, it isn't like there's anything WRONG. And of course I am not going to say anything PERSONAL to her.

WTC: Right. Just give her the cliffs notes and you’ll be cured.

Be warned...just think, one day you may be here, too. I'll be sure the bar is stocked when you arrive.

WELL? What are we going to do?

Now that we are moved, we are going thru the "making the place ours" thing. It is kind of difficult to know where to begin when it's a new house since the place has no real personality yet. There isn't much to work from as in an older place. In a house that has been lived-in, you can say, "I think I'll trim those bushes back so we can see the basement window", or "These Brady Bunch curtains must go." In a new house, you say, "MY GOD, WE ARE COMPLETELY EXPOSED...WE NEED BUSHES!" ...and if you are me, you cover the windows with sheets, open a beer, and admire your work. I have, with the fine example of Mandy, switched into MarthaMode. What with her bathroom remodel AND scrapbooking I was feeling somewhat lamoid in my skills. In retaliation, this past weekend I bought fabric and stiched up some lovely silk curtains for a few of the key viewing areas. You know, the windows that you have to duck to walk by in case the 16-yr old neighbor boy happens to be out in his yard looking in. ahem.

The biggest dilemma I have found in making this place a true homestead, however, is the proper decoration for the well head that is sticking out of the ground in the middle of the yard. Ours looks like a white pvc pipe with lots of weeds around it right now. At one point in the construction phase, H put some orange flag material on a pole next to the well head so it wouldn't get hit with any construction machinery. The little flag looks as if it has seen some heavy artillary at this point. Our little battlefield theme was just fine with me until I took a tour of the neighborhood. My findings were not good. No one in this land of PerfectLawndom has anything remotely similar. Apparently, I was wrong to think this might be perfectly acceptable. How trailer trash of me. Instead, I discovered, we are supposed-to have a thought-out theme happening with the well head and its immediate surroundings. I so fit in here!

Take for instance, Neighbor #1: This is the couple at the end of the road with a really pretty little girl, the wife that H lusts after, and the husband who looks like he has not quite evolved completely from his caveman ancestors. They have a lovely garden theme happening in their yard. The well head is, I discovered on my tour de neighborhood, cleverly hidden under one of those big fake rocks you can get at Menards. Ah ha! Very creative! Neighbor #2 went for more of the Billy Goat's Gruff theme. A perky little footbridge arches over the unsightly well head. A wooden cutout of a little girl is set up to stand on the bridge as if she is gazing over the lush yard. I also noted a scary wooden black cat that was recently added to the bridge as a Halloween decoration. ("H, get your ass outside...it's time to put the Halloween decorations on the well head!") Neighbor #3 is probably my favorite in that he is working more along my lines as far as creativity. He topped his well head with a whimsical wishing well. This little whimsical wishing well is the only landscaping for this entire location. ("Hey look, I can save wads of cash on plants if I just put this wishing well here. It covers the unsightly well head AND works as enchanting decor! It pretty much takes care of the whole yard!") Brilliant.

Unfortunately for H, I began coming up with ideas for our yard post-PerfectLawndom tour. Battlefield was just not going to cut it, however he didn't exactly go nuts over my Jimmy Buffet theme. Or the one with water-action. If this keeps up, I may just throw a sheet over the thing and call it good. Did I happen to mention how much I have enjoyed this moving business?

I tought I had a buzz

Let me begin this post by saying that I have a humongous fear of bees and wasps. Sure, who really likes bees and wasps; however, I am one of those people who tend to get a little nutsy when I look down and a wasp has its landing gear down for a touch and go on my hand. It’s bad. I was once in a canoe in the middle of a fast-running river with a friend when I saw a wasp hovering right near me. I freaked and the canoe tipped. I still have not heard the end of that one. Ya, so we almost drown...at least I didn't get stung. Having met two people in the past year who were swarmed when they accidentally stepped on nests has not helped me in the least. It's a phobia. Really.

Unfortunately, here in Indiana, we are at the height of angry, irritated wasp season. They, like the rest of us, get really pissed off when the weather gets colder and they know there is a long winter ahead, the holiday baking and shopping need to be done, and heating bills will be through the roof. (Or through the hive.) Knock on wood, I have not been stung by a wasp since the summer of 1987. I was jogging along the Charles River in Boston, a blushing newlywed, gazing in awe at the lovely city and trying to keep my fit bridal figure when I suddenly had the worst pain on my ankle bone. The bastard stung me in mid-stride. Right then and there I quit jogging and started drinking earlier in the day instead of doing an evening workout. Who needs to be fit, I already GOT married. (Just kidding!)

On Tuesday, I went to the barn to ride. By the time I left the barn it was beginning to get rather dark outside. It was a beautiful night; I had the windows down in the car, and was happily singing along to the radio when suddenly there was a buzzing right by my visor. Now mind you, I was cruising along a 2-lane highway when this buzzing began. Not only a 2-laner but a 2-laner with everyone going 70 mph. Speed limit? What speed limit?? I glanced at the windshield when I heard the buzzing and saw something that looked waspy. A flashback of the canoe incident went through my head so I tried to get a grip and think logically. My luck was running out. I was going to die AND get stung at the same time. I still had about a mile and a half before I would reach a gas station where I could get off the road and find out if I was indeed being swarmed. I shut off the radio and opened the windows in hopes that the wasp would fly out while I maintained my NASCAR speed. During what seemed like the hour-long journey to the gas station, I glanced up a few times to see if the shadow was still above the visor. At one point, I could see it crawl UNDER the visor. I was quite close to complete panic when I reached the gas station. I zoomed into the parking lot and stopped under a light so I could see. As I screeched to a halt, I practically LEAPED out of the vehicle with my hands waving like I was shooing away an entire nest of wasps. I finally got really brave and flipped down the visor. There, in the light of the gas station, was a *&@%$&#(#*&$*&!!@@!!! MOTH.

DSC01026
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

DSC01024

DSC01024
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Hang on there, Cowboy...!

On Saturday H & I headed off to Grand Rapids to see Professional Bull riding. H was kind of dwaddling and I actually had to keep urging him to hurry along so we could meet the bullriders at one of the Grand Rapids tack stores. How is one supposed to be a #1 Fan if one doesn’t meet the celebrities??? Ok, so it was just a meet and greet where they politely pose for pictures and you aren’t actually supposed to fall in love with them. Whateveah. And yes, I have posted a picture. I figure a good way to debut myself is to do it surrounded by hot cowboys. MY WORD, they were HOT! I don’t think I look too much like I could be one of their mothers…
Meeting the purdy fellas we had watched all winter while holed up in the Motel 6 was quite an adventure. Aside from my fantasizing about running away and having one of their children, the highlight of the meet and greet was when H said to the guy who is currently ranked 3rd in the world (and who, incidentally, went on to win the event), “You don’t look nearly as big as you do on TV. You are pretty small.” As this is the guy in the picture who is in the red shirt, you can see how much he warmed up to H as a result.

The weird thing about bull riding is how immune people become to the physical punishment that goes on in the sport. At one point, a rider clonked his head against the horn of the bull during his ride. The announcer said, “Looks like he just broke his nose is all…no major damage.” Everyone cheered as the poor guy gave a half-assed wave and walked off with blood gushing from his head. Ouch. As the sport is backed by an advertising machine on par with NASCAR, commentary on just about every ride is peppered with labels.
"Folks, these guys take a beating every night. It's a good thing they have Absorbine Junior to relieve those sore muscles."
or
"Folks, that there bull nearly got away from Cody except for the fact that our rodeo clown in his Wrangler Jeans, Mossy Oak vest, and Justin Boots got to him just in time to help that cowboy, wearing his Smokeless Tobacco vest, get outta there just in time. Seiko time, that is!

or, best of all...

"Folks, it looks as if our cowboy is pretty shook up. His hip may be shattered and it looks like his leg is hanging at a bit of an awkward angle but luckily the good folks at Anthem Health will make sure he gets on the proper road to recovery."

Ye Hah!

Looking forward to a bucking good weekend

It's Friday and time for the weekend! YEA! Rough week. I think the onset of Fall is beautiful yet stressful. We are supposed to be enjoying the lovely leaves and colors and harvest goodies while making soup, buying sweaters, and scheduling time for football games. I am so not a multitasker.

This weekend, H & I have tix to see Professional Bull Riding. Oh ya baby, we are so going cowboy! You see, during our stint at the Motel 6, H & I sort of became addicted to PBR on OLN. It is quite embarassing, actually, that we had the TV on SO MUCH during that YEAR OF COMPLETE HELL that we not only bought tix to the closest event, we actually joined the PBR FanClub so we could get good seats! It is going to be so blogworthy! Stay tuned.

This past week, in anticipation, we went to Tractor Supply Company, the headquarters for all things Wrangler. As if preparing for a promlike event, H tried on and purchased a *Wrangler* shirt, boots, and a sporty belt for the big rodeo occasion. Just in case the OLN TV pans the audience...we are all set. We will be the folks looking like we drove from Indiana, are wearing unfamiliar Wranglers, and hoising beers with the rest of the crowd. PBR wannabe's, if you will.

Iwill try to post pictures...maybe of US...ON A BULL!

In Wranglers.

I had an affair over the weekend

Despite staying in a *motel*, my weekend in Kentucky was a success. My girlfriend was correct…the place was a motel not a hotel. I was just thankful that our extreme tiredness and post-event cocktails put me in a peaceful slumber each night. Otherwise, I would have been awake and stressing about the condition of the bathroom. Enough said.

My friend and I volunteered to work 8 hours at Equine Affair in Louisville in exchange for free admission and a free t-shirt. With the price of gas I am thinking we possibly lost money. Nonetheless, it was great fun and the perfect weekend away.

We drove the 5 hours to KY in driving rain on Thursday night. We arrived at our *motel*, had a few drinks, and called it a night. Friday morning we arrived at the volunteer booth refreshed and ready for our assignments. We had been assigned to work the information booth; however, we were instead put to work selling programs. The two of us must have looked very trustworthy as we were given several hundred dollars, 3 boxes of programs, and sent to a far arena without being asked for any ID or volunteer info. We could have gone to the beer tent, drank the money, and left the programs and no one would have known. Of course, we didn’t go to the beer tent. Instead we stood outside the Monty Roberts demonstration (where he does his horse-whisperer thing and, in the matter of 20 minutes, a wild bucking bronco is calmed, saddled, and ridden by Mr. Roberts. The bedazzled audience then goes home, whispers the very same words to their unruly horse, climbs on, and spends the next several weeks hospitalized with various broken bones.) Not only did we get to take turns peeking thru the gate to watch The Horse Whisperer, we hawked nearly all of our programs! A+ for program-selling!

After lunch we reported back to volunteer headquarters to find out our afternoon assignment. For the next 4 hours we were to work *Door Security*. We had strict instructions NOT TO LET ANYONE IN OR OUT OF OUR ASSIGNED DOORS. Roger, captain. I am all of 5’2”…an imposing figure to those who think they can slink in and out of the *Secured* doors. I waited for some sort of badge or even maybe a gun holster but we were sent to our posts sans guns, tasers, or even one of those big Maglites that would have at least made us LOOK important. My door post ended up being kind of a hidden exit (major security risk!) so it was fairly easy to deter folk from coming and going. Except for the one guy who was in a scooter-thing and with this big brown-eyed kid. They tried to break in and, although they put up a good argument, I flatly refused to let them enter despite the fact that the scooter-guy was going to have to run down his scooter battery by having to scoot around the entire building to the entrance. I don’t care if you are handicapped…I can’t get fired from my volunteer job or I won’t get a t-shirt or free admission!

The best part about the door-security thing was that my door was right next to Tommie Turvey’s booth. That is Tommie Turvey, Equine Extremist. I had not heard of Tommie Turvey; however, in talking with his family working the booth, I found out he is one of those guys who does all kinds of trick riding. Suddenly I was not only a budding horse whisperer, I was moving toward jumping my horse over a flaming wall! KEWL! It was so interesting to meet the family. I felt like my door security detail put me right in the front row of Hollywood stunt people in addition to the t-shirt/free admission!

My friend and I were pooped after our day of work; however, we still managed to make a few purchases and watch some of the clinics on Saturday. Before we left Louisville, we toured Churchill Downs for a final horse-related activity. Now I have decided to become a jockey...

The End. Written by WalkTrotCanter, Equine Extremist/Horse Whisperer Extrodinaire.

...what was our room number again?

First and foremost, I am back to the internet world! YEA!!! Geez, talk about having a lamoid social life...I was so depressed about the non-InternetConnection, I really thought I was going mental. (BTW, many thanks to the two cable-guys who combined brains on this fine afternoon. I promise to bear your children if that is what it takes to repay your kindness...ok, maybe not...but I'll be happy to buy you a drink.)

Anyway.

I am going away for the weekend. A well deserved rest involving cocktails and horses…a small bite of mecca for me as these are a few of my favorite things. A friend and I are heading to Kentucky. We signed-up to be volunteers at Equine Affair, a big horse expo being held in Louisville. Both of us are very giving and helpful people; however, we are only doing the volunteer bit to get the free admission and free *Equine Affair* t-shirt. We are very giving but indeed very cheap. In order to get the bonus items we have to work for 8-10 hours at the expo. We signed up several months ago. Naturally, we had visions of oh, perhaps riding in a demo, assisting one of the famous celebrity guests, or cooling-off one of the famous horses thus being discovered for our hidden riding talents. Instead we have been assigned to work the information booth. This should be interesting. Informationally speaking, neither of us has a clue because we have never been to the show nor to the place where it is being held. If nothing else, it will provide good blog material in addition to the t-shirt and free admission. We have a cooler of beer and wine coolers for the post-information-booth discussions.

In planning for the big trip, I have noticed one small detail that, if I talk about it, will make me sound like the true snobby bitch that I am. I figure that in order to just get it out there, I will do it here…to the poor folks who don’t know me but get to create their own visuals of my somewhat pathetic yet amusing world. If I ever happen to meet you in person…say you have just popped into one of those fancy designer stores on Michigan Ave. in Chicago to check out a fabulous sale and you see a short-ish woman dressed in Eddie Bauer Outlet clothing who has no business being in this poshy store much less in the store arguing about the actual price of an item and getting absolutely nowhere, that is most likely me. When you see the security people start milling around, you can probably just let them know I am WalkTrotCanter and this is typical behavior according to what you have read. Thanks in advance. ANYWAY, the smallish detail is that the woman I am road-tripping with is super-duper nice and I honestly love her to death except for the fact that she keeps calling our hotel “the MOTEL.” Now let’s just step back a moment…in thinking “HOTEL”, I see queen beds, in-room coffee maker, one of those attached-to-the-wall hairdryers, complementary soap (possibly Aveda), and hangers with a laundry bag in case you want to send your laundry out for cleaning. “Motel”, on the other hand, = CheapOneNightStandIHadInCollegeWithSomeGuyIDon'tRemember. Ewwwwwwww. As I forge ahead to middle age, I would like to retain some teensy shred of dignity so please, for the sake of the bitch, could we refer to our place of rest as the HOTEL?

I so need help. LOL

I finally came out of the closet

I am sadly still internet-less at home so I have only been able to pop on to read blogs while at work. Since I am supposed to be working at work and not blogging, this is not a good thing. We have Technician #5 coming to the house tomorrow who will probably test the line, tell me it’s not working, run yet another cable to the cable box, find that it still isn’t testing correctly, and tell me he has to schedule a different, more techy technician to come out. The techy technician will be scheduled and I will be told it will be 24 hours or less; whereby I will eagerly await the launching of the internet only to find out no one will show and I have to begin the cycle yet again. I am starting to think these people may just be the very same folks in charge of homeland security these days.

H is on a mission to get the closets put together this week. Put together as in brackets, closet poles, shelving, etc. It didn’t seem like a big deal when we were moving not to have any place to hang or stack clothes; however, once I moved my enormous shoe collection into the middle of our room in addition to the already-unruly pile of clothes, he realized it was time to take action. Naturally, it couldn’t be as simple as screwing in a bracket and pole. Oh no. It involved the never ending saga of decisions and commitment. Where did I want shelves…on this side or this side? Wire or white shelving? Shoe compartments? A designated area for belts? For the hanging clothes what heights for the poles? Really, if he just made it any type of configuration, I’d learn to work with it. Good grief. When will he ever learn I am not the pay-attention-to-fine-details-unless-it-involves-working-with-shotglasses kind of girl? So anyway, we have gone back and forth, hither and yon, and out of our minds with figuring out the very bestest way to store our clothes. You would, by observing the process from afar, think we had tremendous wardrobes of only the finest designers instead of our stacks of Old Navy t-shirts and Eddie Bauer outlet shorts.

Last evening, in the midst of H’s nightly closet-design lecture I suddenly had this epiphany. Sadly, as H’s wife I often focus on the every day “Geez, he can’t seem to wipe up the crumbs off the counter” or “Cripes, he missed the laundry basket again!” instead of seeing the guy who can create beautiful and amazing things as a skilled artist and craftsman. Duh. Here I was, listening to his helpful suggestions for convenient living, not realizing I can have whatever I want because he can make anything! For me! Just the way I want it! Suddenly I went wild…I started pulling crap out of my head that I had seen in magazines and model homes thru the years. Built in belt holders, slide-out jewelry boxes, a hidden area for valuables…H just stared as I recited a monologue of what my dream closet should include. It was like he had finally broken the code and was getting the feedback he wanted. “Will do,” he said, “now go back to your cocktail and let me get to work.”

Wow, this whole house-décor thing could have some plusses after all.

...and the saga continues

Ok, I would just like to point out that only I could be moving into a brand-spanking new house with Brazilian Cherry floors, ceramic tile, and Eucalyptus Country Ledgestone accents while thousands in the southern US are having to live in shelters. Humbling indeed.

Greetings from HellWithoutAComputer! Yes we are moved. Officially! A few highlights:

We are getting our entire security deposit back from the innkeepers at the Motel 6 despite the fact, mind you, that in the midst of the cold winter when H & I had a fire one evening, a burning log rolled out of the fireplace and singed the carpeting. (It was reassuring to know that the cheapo carpeting in the place began to melt and give off toxic fumes rather than burst into flames so our lives were spared.) I had since been on a mission to find out how to conceal the melted area for some time due to my absolute refusal to let the Motel 6 management keep our deposit. I love a challenge. I finally read something that said to use a disposable razor to gently shave-off the singed carpet fibers. Ever the procrastinator, I spent the entire morning shaving the carpeting on the day we moved. I can’t even shave my legs without cutting myself so H was there to coach me as I performed the delicate surgery with my trusty Bic. Worked like a charm…who knew?

On the morning we were to close on our loan, I received a call from The Bank. I was at work and trying to get a million things done so I could dash to the closing on time. The conversation went something like this:
TheBank: WTC, I just wanted to confirm the closing time today.
WTC: Yeppers, we’re there! With bells on, baby!
TheBank: Super! Please be sure to have your photo ID’s.
WTC: Yeppers, all set! Bye Bye Motel 6 suckers!
TheBank: Yes, and please be sure to have your cashier’s check in the amount of $1,000,000,000 made out to the title company.
WTC: YOU-HAVE-GOT-TO-BE-KIDDING
TheBank: Why, no. Didn’t anyone tell you about the overage?
WTC: Why no. And how f-ing kind of you to let me know ON THE DAY OF THE CLOSING WHILE I AM WORKING AND CAN’T LEAVE MY OFFICE.
In my old age, I am getting much more assertive. It’s about damn time and I love it. I did have to get the check; however, by the time we arrived at the closing, I had received several calls from various bank officers to apologize for the lack of communication. The title-company-closer-lady nervously apologized and gave H & I a humongous basket of goodies and samples and coupons. Apparently, the gang at the title co. had a big *function* (i.e. party) so our paperwork was not done until the last minute. I don’t think that will happen again.

H & I rented a storage unit last year since the Motel 6 apartment was crammed with stuff and, quite frankly, there was no more room at the inn. It was a bit Christmas morning-like to open up the door of the storage unit to reunite with belongings we had not seen in over a year. I forgot I HAD half of that stuff! A visit to the storage unit was also a grim reminder of my emotional state a year ago. Any reader of past posts knows I was for the most part dragged kicking and screaming thru the welcoming doors of the Motel 6. That’s putting it mildly. It was more like admitting a crazy woman into a loony ward. Consequently, we are discovering my packing-up of household goods was a little hodge-podge to say the least. For instance, one big brown box in the storage unit was packed to the gills with brand new fluffy bath towels. The towels were more fluffy than usual when we opened the box due to the mounds of mice poop inside. My lovely towels had been converted to a condo development. What was I thinking to leave such an inviting home-to-be in an unheated, undisturbed storage unit? Talk about leaving a light on. Indiana can thank me for the recent drastic increase in mouse population.

Most important, is the continuing saga of getting the internet to work at the new house. As you know, I have been marked absent in BlogLand for several weeks. Today will see the appearance of the fourth cable-connector-guy to perform yet another attempt at making contact with all things cyber. For some reason, the rocket scientists at the cable company cannot get everything to *sync up*. Further, for some reason, the customer service folks at said cable company cannot understand why I am upset about the bill for installation and one month’s use of the un-sync-ed Net. I so hate to get assertive yet again…lol.

At any rate, it is a bummer to feel so out of touch and I can’t wait to plop on the sofa with a cool cocktail to catch up on all of my blog-reading. It amazes me to realize how quickly I have come to look forward to reading the day-to-day musings of people I have never met. Certainly, it shows how powerful writing can be. Why else (and I would link these if I had time!) would I worry about Mandy having a safe and happy trip to see her hubby, or miss Hot Babe’s recorded observations, or vicariously go bar hopping with Kiddo over the weekend, or cheer-on BlogHero Stacy as she converts the world to all things Boca.

I am Inter-Net Less!

Just a note to say we moved this past week and NO INTERNET YET so I popped into work for a sec to pay an online bill and let the BlogWorld know I am alive. I don't have time to sit and catch up on all of the BlogNews. It has been like detox...but I'll have loads of good reads once I am up and running again!

Have a safe holiday everyone!!!!!

I'm going to have to get the Manager

Normally I start my workday by reading CNN online. Being that H is a newsaholic, I try to keep up on current events as best I can so I can respond intelligently during dinner conversations.

H: Did you read how the Jewish settlements are being bulldozed?
WTC: I sure did!
H: Now Bush will have to answer all kinds of questions about CAFTA.
WTC: I know!
H: Insurgents still have cells in the major Iraqi cities
WTC: The sure do!

I am so glad H has helped me to be a news-follower.

Anyway, today on CNN I read this. The whole shooting-in-the-parking lot thing has got to be terrifying. You really should not have to deal with loading the 975 plastic bags they give you at Wal-Mart AND have to dodge bullets at the same time.

"I had only half of my groceries in the car," she said. "I took my kids, and all three of us jumped in the car and we sat on the floor. ... Then I heard six or seven shots."

Seriously, it is very disturbing how our society has become more and more violent. Not to make this story light in any way, shape, or form, I must mention that I found it kind of interesting that the lady who was loading her van “said she felt safe enough to leave the van when she saw the store manager.”

That manager must have been wielding that little bracelet-thing of keys they always carry. That always makes me feel very secure in moments of great fear.

He's no softie when it comes to hardwood

My timing could definitely use a little work. Waaaaaaaay back last year before we dug into ProjectHouseFromHell, before we set up camp in the Motel 6, and when we were still lounging in the familiar comforts of our dear old house, H came dancing home with exciting news. H actually used to dance, talk, eat, smile, laugh, and sleep before this past year. He has done none of the above since August 2004. ANYWAY, H was all excited and just could not wait to tell me the good news. The good news was that his contact in the flooring industry had given him the *inside scoop* that Brazilian Cherry flooring could be purchased, for just a short time, at less than the cost of oak flooring. Now I know all of you non-flooring-followers will pish-posh this as trivial. “Who the hell cares!?, you yell, “flooring is flooring is flooring!” Ya, I used to be that way too. Until I was enlightened with the benefits and beauty of The Brazilian Cherry. Brazilian Cherry is all the rage now, I guess. I had not been reading up on my latest issues of Metropolitan Home and Modern House at that point. Martha Stewart was in jail for pete’s sake! The jist, actually, of H’s excitement, was that we could save a wad of cash on really nice flooring if we purchased in *the time frame*. The *time frame* being the next day. Due to my *somewhat* pessimistic nature, H knew he had to perform a doosie of a sales job on me since we had not even put our house up for sale, much less dug a hole for a new place. Certainly, we didn’t need flooring quite yet. I felt like I was in some kind of drug deal but nonetheless, I agreed to purchase an amount of The Brazilian Cherry with the promise that if everything fell through, H would pawn the stuff and buy me a Brazilian Cherry-valued horse.

A few months ago, a coworker told me she had met someone in the area who does woodworking. Apparently, this guy is retired and makes things out of pieces of scrap wood flooring. When my coworker met him, he showed her this beautiful set of wooden salad tongs he had made out of none other than, Brazilian Cherry. My coworker asked if she could have a couple of pieces of our Brazilian Cherry so she could have a set of salad tongs made by Retired Woodworker Guy. She offered to have some made for me as well if I could get the wood for her. I thought, “What the hell…sounds kind of interesting!”

Here’s where my bad timing comes in… This past week, H began to lay the Brazilian Cherry floor in ProjectHouseFromHell. Ever particular in his work, he was going to put down the most perfect and beautiful floor ever known to men with hardwood floors. In order perform this highly skilled feat, he took a week off work and labored from the wee early morning hours to waaaaaay past our bedtime. He was not eating, not sleeping, not shaving, and not conversing. Let’s just say he was a man consumed by Brazilian Cherry. One evening, I was out at *the job site* throwing food scraps to him as he nailed and hammered when I suddenly remembered the salad tongs. I have a knack for forgetting things and, when I remember them, I eagerly tell the nearest soul before I forget all about the things again. I politely and cheerfully said, “Hey, would you be able to give me some of the scrap wood flooring so I can have some salad tongs made?” He looked at me like I had just stepped out of my alien capsule and had spoken in an unrecognizable tongue. “You know,” I said, “salad tongs…out of Brazilian Cherry!” I smiled. His drawn face showed only irritation, fatigue and confusion.

“WHAT THE HELL WILL WE DO WITH BRAZILIAN CHERRY SALAD TONGS MADE OUT OF THIS FLOOR? WOMAN, ARE YOU MAD???”

Stretch it, Tack it, and run like hell

As you can see from the pictures posted below, ProjectHouseFromHell is coming to its exciting, dramatic conclusion. We are supposed-to close on our loan in a week; however, you can see there is still a bit of work to do. I know all of you would love to pitch in and, honestly, I appreciate the offer. It is H…he can’t stand to have anyone else do anything in the place unless 1) It is a meaningless task such as going around with a garbage bag and collecting wrappings from light fixtures, electrical sockets, and wire, or 2) He gives you something to do and you say, “ah ha!...I can do this!” but much to your disappointment and eroding self-esteem he constantly circles around the assignment correcting and offering a better way to do it. Anal retentive, perfectionist, whatever you want to call it we must realize this, THIS is his life. His reason for living and breathing, his legacy, and what truly defines H as a functioning human being. The poodles and I are mere shadows at this point. We sit, have cocktails and milkbones, and patiently wonder when we will have our H back once again.

This morning I got a phone call from H re the carpet guys:

WTC: Hi you! How is the carpet coming?
H: #%&(*@#&@*_#)@(&(*&
WTC: Wait, don’t talk so fast. What is going on?
H: #&%(*#&$)#*&_#)(&)
WTC: So what did you do?
H: *#%&@^%#&^@%&^#%@*&^#%@&^#%&^%&@^%*&@^%#
WTC: Do you think they’ll be back?
H: @$*&^#*&$^#*&%*#&^%*#&%^*&^#(*&#^$*&^$*#^$*&^!!*^
WTC: Is the owner going to come out to see you?
H:@^%&#*@&#^*@%#*@&#^*@&^#*@&%$&^%@
WTC: Does this mean we won’t have any carpeting upstairs?

There will be life after this house, right?

House pics!

Below are some pictures of the famous ProjectHouseFromHell...it's a mess, but you get the idea. We are now at the 7-day countdown!

Stone Tower

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Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

This is the tower-thingie in the entry of the house. We are thinking we may get into rock climbing...lol

We are finally stoned

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Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Remember our knashing of teeth over selection of stone? Here is the Eucalyptus Country Ledgestone! This is the family room as seen from the kitchen. Looks like I need to clean it up a bit.

DSC00965

DSC00965
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

The kitchen (sans drawers/knobs!)...this is what you see from the family room. Note the humongous bar! YEA!

Wash N Slosh

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Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

This is the cocktail lounge

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DSC00974
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Maybe if I write about horses, they won't be interested

This is just a test. Surely a true spammer would not be interested in horses. Who likes horses anyway? It is much more fun and mentally challenging to type the code so dumb and irrelevant comments appear on my site. Freaks.

We have truely lost control of our horse.

Well it seems to be crunch time for ProjectHouseFromHell. We have to close on our loan by August 22 or the earth’s atmosphere will self-destruct and all life forms will be eliminated. That and we will lose our fabulous interest rate. H has kicked into balls-out working mode. (Sorry, I have always wanted to use “balls out”…it is just so down and dirty) Right now the motto is not “Always have control of your horse”. Nope, it is “We have pretty much lost control of our horse and if we don’t catch him soon we will be sitting in a stinky pile of manure!” Yea, I’m fired up too.

I have suddenly been assigned to handle the financials. Oh yes, with my keen mathematical skills, knack for number-crunching, and ability to converse with the money people. Most of my bank conversations go something like this:

WTC: Hi there, I am calling about our loan…er…I mean, our soon-to-be-loan.
Mr. Potter: (sigh…not HER again) What is your name?
WTC: Oh ya, guess I should tell you that. WTC…but it might be under H or maybe under H and WTC. I am not sure.
Mr. Potter: (Clears throat) Hmmmmm…ok, here it is. It is under your husband’s boss’s mother’s sister’s account. Right now it looks like we still need a Sworn Construction Statement, a property inspection, a final appraisal, receipts from the gifts you purchased for the past 3 Christmases, and your first born child.
WTC: Right. Ok. I’ll get right on that.
Mr. Potter: I will need these by 2 pm today because I am leaving the office for our annual golf outing.

After these conversations I have to phone H, who is working on a job in No-Cellphone-Signal-Land. He usually calls me back and says he couldn’t understand a word of my message and what do I want because he is working in an attic that is hotter than hell and full of spiders. Absolutely nothing I have to report is what he wants to hear. As a result, he has become a bit irritated and seems to be losing his sharp edge just a bit. With having to work his regular job, having to work late into the night to finish his own house, and having to deal with me all while trying to make a deadline, I guess it is somewhat understandable that he indeed seems to be losing control of his horse.

The other day was pretty much a day I describe above. The bank was screaming for numbers and receipts that are buried somewhere in the deep in the depths of the Motel 6 and I had phoned H to leave a muffled and unclear message to call me. He called back in his I-Am-Fuckin-Hot-And-Highly-Irritated voice.

WTC: Hey, the house-inspector-guy wants to come on Wednesday.
H: Crap. I was hoping it wouldn’t be that soon.
WTC: I tried to make it later but it takes a while to do the paperwork after the inspection and we need to have it done by the 19th or they will tear the house down and we will have to start all over.
H: WTC, you REALLY need to fill the nail holes.
WTC: Wha??
H: The nail holes really need to be filled.
WTC: What nail holes?
H: The nail holes in the trim that I haven’t put up yet.
WTC: Ya, ok.

Where’s my lasso?