Saturday, December 24, 2005
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!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
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.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
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”
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
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.”
Sunday, December 11, 2005
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.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
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.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
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…
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
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.
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
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!
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! :)
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
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!
Monday, November 14, 2005
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…
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.
Monday, November 07, 2005
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.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
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...
Friday, October 28, 2005
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.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
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
Monday, October 24, 2005
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.
Monday, October 17, 2005
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 :)
Thursday, October 13, 2005
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!”
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
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)
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!
Monday, October 10, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
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?
Friday, September 30, 2005
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.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
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."
"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."
Friday, September 23, 2005
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!
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
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
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
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.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Have a safe holiday everyone!!!!!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
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.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
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???”
Monday, August 15, 2005
This morning I got a phone call from H re the carpet guys:
WTC: Hi you! How is the carpet coming?
WTC: Wait, don’t talk so fast. What is going on?
WTC: So what did you do?
WTC: Do you think they’ll be back?
WTC: Is the owner going to come out to see you?
WTC: Does this mean we won’t have any carpeting upstairs?
There will be life after this house, right?
Friday, August 12, 2005
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
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.
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?