Thursday, October 31, 2013

this has nothing to do with halloween

Well today began just like every day.  In other words, I rolled out of bed at 7:10 after hitting the snooze button six times, and walked to the shower with my eyes closed while I vowed to go to bed at 8:00 tonight because I WILL NOT SPEND ANOTHER MORNING FEELING THIS TIRED.

After an hour, a huge cup of coffee, and some Good Morning America, I woke up, and proceeded through the day feeling alert and alive.  I spent the morning in court and the afternoon fielding some tough questions.

(I may or may not have agreed to do this.  Since I have neither the desire nor the license to kill hunt, I will not be shooting anything, so it sounds like my job will be scaring pheasants out of the underbrush.  Obviously I will be the best pheasant scarer the Pennsylvania gamelands have ever seen.)

(And the most humble.)

Unfortunately the lovely nature in which my day was progressing came to an abrupt halt upon my return home from work.

But before I explain, I must tell you that last night Michelle and I decided that since the holidays are right around the corner, we should get a jump on our Christmas correspondence.  Last year we sent out a photo card with a witty message that received rave reviews.  In an effort to top that, as well as perhaps FINALLY get an invitation to be on Kathie Lee and Hoda, which is our dream, this year we thought we’d rewrite the lyrics to a popular Christmas tune to summarize the last two years we’ve spent in our apartment.

Do you know the only people who will be interested in that?  Our mothers, that’s who.  But we pressed on despite the limited scope of our audience.  And we came up with the following, sung to the tune of Up On the Housetop:

Here in our town the snow falls,
The dishwasher breaks and the fridge stalls.
The heater only works for one week a year,
Where our rent money goes is not so clear.

Obviously you can see why we fancy ourselves quite the humorists.

We wrote several verses and laughed and laughed because every appliance in our apartment has broken during our residency here and do you know when it’s easy to laugh about broken appliances?

When they’re working.

Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday, I opened the fridge to get a snack, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a completely dark fridge with a foreboding smell.  I didn’t hear any noise to indicate that the fridge was indeed on, so I turned the temperature setting down in hopes that would cause it to kick on.  That didn’t work, so unplugged it, waited ten seconds, and plugged it back in, also known as my ACE IN THE HOLE of all mechanical maladies.  When even that was unsuccessful, I called the emergency maintenance line because S.O.S.!

Ten minutes later I was in the kitchen in a panic, filling bags upon bags with all manner of frozen mozzarella sticks and popsicles (WHY OH WHY DO WE HAVE SO MANY POPSICLES) so that I could take them to my parents’ freezer, when my main(tenance) man Marv (who is at our apartment at least three times a month) knocked.  

The door was open so I yelled for him to let himself in, and he nonchalantly waltzed in, completely unconcerned by the fact that I was packing away bottles of coffee creamer like a madwoman.

“Ah, this is going to be an easy fix,” he said slooooowly, “the inspectors were in all the apartments today making sure things are up to code, so they probably just forgot to turn your breaker back on.”  He walked over to the breaker box in the closet and LIKE MAGIC, ON CAME THE FRIDGE.

“If this ever happens again,” he said, “you can just check the breaker box to make sure all of the switches are flipped before you call maintenance.”


I am the girl who calls you when our lightbulbs burn out and even flagged you down in the parking lot last winter when my car was flashing a "low brake fluid" warning EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE NOT AN AUTO MECHANIC.
In addition, I already have a lot on my plate learning to become a pheasant scarer.  If I am going to become an expert with the electrical breakers, I am going to need some serious time to study that field and perhaps a pamphlet or two with helpful tips and photographic examples.

And some wine.

At least I know that will be perfectly chilled.


Monday, October 28, 2013

the answer to the last question is - yes, he is

Occasionally I write myself little notes on my phone about funny things that happen day to day that I eventually want to write about.  Tonight I pulled up the notes app on my phone to get some inspiration and saw the following list from a few weeks ago:

Sleep cycle story
Mario -- broke his heart.
Ground turkey

I have no recollection of the stories that go along with the first two items on the list and as far as the last two go, all I can say is that sometimes a girl just needs some turkey chili and a pina colada.  

While I may not be able to remember the details about those four things, what I can remember is the last seventy two hours.

On Friday night Matt and I headed off to church to take a marriage compatibility test.  We're pretty sure we aced it and left there feeling super confident because YEAH, WE'VE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT OUR BUDGET.

(We actually had our first "budget meeting" last week and things were admittedly a little rocky at first because when talking about money, one of us speaks in terms such as "around, about, and approximately" and one of us speak in EXACT DOLLARS AND CENTS.   We met on middle ground and then went out to eat Mexican food because we needed to see how much leeway we should leave in the food budget for burritos and some supremo nachos.  It was really all in the name of research.)

Not only did our Friday night date include a compatibility test, but we also stopped at the sporting goods store because Saturday was opening day for pheasant hunting and Matt needed to buy some bullets (shot/ammunition/I'm not sure of the exact term).

Matt must have picked out a good box because I woke up on Saturday morning to a picture of him grinning eat to ear and holding a pheasant who had flown it's last flight.  Matt said he was going to head back to his dad's house to clean the bird which is when I asked "Do they bleed a lot when you clean them?"  I quickly learned that was a ROOKIE MISTAKE because about a half hour later my phone lit up with an up close photograph of the insides of a pheasant.

The answer is no, they do not bleed a lot.  I can unfortunately say I've seen it with my own eyes.

Matt came to pick me up later that evening and when I answered the door, he was standing there holding the poor pheasant's tail feather.  He wanted me to keep it, but other than having a prop when I sing the classic "Shake Ya Tailfeather" I'm not really sure what one does with the tail of a pheasant.  

On Saturday night we went out with friends to a hayride and haunted house.

It was the scariest haunted house I've ever been to.  It also included a bonus walk through a graveyard where a man SPRUNG UP FROM A COFFIN IN THE GROUND.  However, what was even scarier than the haunted attractions (and the two hour wait) was the poor couple behind us who were on a date.  My investigative skillz tell me it was their first date, because about a half hour into the wait, the gentleman turned to the young lady and, "Wait, so what's your actual name?"

I didn't think it could get much worse, but by the time we got onto the hayride, they had covered their favorite Christmas carols, their Chinese animal signs, a rifts in her extended family stemming from a conflict within a family owned business, and his parents desire for grandchildren.  

They covered A LOT of conversational ground for a first date.  And just when I thought they'd run out of things to say, she asked him, "So, are you like, really into zombies?"

Matt and I have been together a long time and I can honestly say that question is one that has never been asked.

It' just a good thing it wasn't on our compatibility test.


Thursday, October 17, 2013

those were the days

I went to my parents' house on Sunday afternoon to clean out my bedroom.  Even though I have been living on my own for two years, there were several things in my old bedroom including but not limited to my American Girl dolls, my high school and college graduation gowns, and my award winning Mary Poppins Halloween costume.

(The costume didn't actually win any official awards.  But it was probably my best costume ever.  I even had a carpet bag just like Mary and a hat with a daisy in it.)

In addition to those items, I left A LOT of books.  I went through them all on Sunday afternoon and it was like taking a stroll down memory lane. 

It appears that I had quite the dramatic taste in literature during my middle school years. 

Exhibit A:
Because really, if you're already dealing with love AND betrayal, the last thing you need to be worried about is mayo. 

Another favorite was this gem.
In addition to your mother never being a kid, Victoria Martin, she was also evidently never completely honest with you because if she was, she would have let you know that having one side of your hair straight and one crimped is not a good look. 

(I tried to crimp my hair one time. Actually, my best friend Bridget did it in preparation for the big seventh/eighth grade dance in the St. Luke's church basement. )

(And let's just say there's a reason it was only crimped one time.  Even when both sides of your part are crimped, it's really not flattering.)

And then I entered eighth grade and my Victoria Martin books were tossed to the wayside because I discovered Lurlene McDaniel.  I have vivid memories of lying in bed WAY AFTER lights out, with a flashlight, under the covers, just reading and reading and waiting to see if Katie's heart transplant would take successfully, or if Michael would be able to participate in the Special Olympics despite his juvenile diabetes and pesky case of hemophilia. 


I was practically the subject of one of these dramatic medical books myself earlier tonight after an unfortunate run in with an electrical socket.  

I was plugging my my hair crimper.

Just kidding. 

That has been retired.

And I hope Victoria Martin's has too.


Thursday, October 10, 2013

my young face and old feet average out to my current age

After I ate dinner tonight I thought to myself, "Self, you should really write some sort of post," but nothing popped into my mind.  Instead I switched from my summer purse to my winter purse and then painted my nails.  However, things in the excitement department really picked up when Michelle got home and called the police due to some suspicious parking lot activity.


A few minutes after her call, a police officer responded to our apartment and we talked to him for a few minutes about the situation.  Little did we know the best part was yet to come.  After he took down our information he looked at us and said, "So, are you girls going to college around here?"


His question came at the perfect time, because just the other night I went shopping for new shoes and ended up buying a pair of flats made by the brand Life Stride.  They have more orthotic support than any shoes I've ever owned and while I think I'm a decade or five under the target audience for Life Stride footwear, I can already tell that I will be a lifelong fan.

I did some clothes shopping after I bought my shoes, but was largely unsuccessful.  I spent several hours combing through rack after rack and came home with nothing but two plain tops that I found for $2.58 each in the clearance section.  

My shopping experience was quite unlike one that I'd had earlier in the week with Matt.  He needed a few new items for his wardrobe and asked me to join him at the store to provide fashion advice and humorous commentary, which happens to be my specialty.

He chose a few items and headed to the dressing room, while I waited just outside in case he asked for my opinion.  Well, a few minutes later I heard him WHISTLE AT HIMSELF.  In the dressing room.  At his reflection.  

Needless to say he was very impressed with how he looked in his new outfit.

We're just going to have to work on building up that self confidence.

Something tells me that won't be any trouble at all.