all in all, it was a good one

This weekend started out on a high note because on Friday morning, Matt was offered a new job.  It was wonderful, long-awaited news, so we decided to go out to dinner to celebrate.  He asked where I’d like to eat, but I told him that since it was his big day, he should pick.  After going back and forth between a few possibilities, he chose Applebee’s, which thrilled me because Applebee’s is one of my favorite places.  

I am very fancy.

We had a great time and a delicious dinner and were even feeling so philanthropic and flying high on the idea of a bigger paycheck that when we left the restaurant we decided to buy a bag of popcorn from the Cub Scouts who were sitting outside.  We selected a nine ounce bag of chocolate drizzled popcorn from the table and the little boy said, “Thank you.  That’ll be eighteen dollars.”

EIGHTEEN DOLLARS? 

Matt was a cub scout and a boy scout, and to this day he recites that scout law on a very regular basis.

(A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.)

I’m not sure what is thrifty about spending eighteen dollars for a small bag of popcorn, but we handed over our cash and headed home with our popcorn that was most certainly made from the FINEST POPCORN KERNELS IN ALL THE WORLD.  We started talking about our weekend plans as we walked to our apartment, and Matt mentioned that he wanted to call and see if he could get in for a haircut the next morning. 

We were almost to our door when we heard our neighbor Carol scream, “MATT!! LAURA!!”

(Actually, she yelled, “MORT!” but I hesitated writing that lest you think I was returning home with a man other than my husband.  She calls Matt ‘Mort’ for reasons unknown, but we have been here for almost seven months now so it feels like it’s too late in the game to tell her his name is actually Matt.)

((That reminds me of a time in sixth grade when my math teacher, an Catholic nun named Sister Solange, would make the whole class go to the chalkboard to do our math problems, sign our names at the bottom, and then return to our seats so she could check them.  One of my classmates was named Stanley, but one day when he signed his name below his math problem, he made the mistake of writing the ‘l’ and the ‘e’ too close together so that it looked like a ‘k.’  And Sister Solange read it as “Stanky.”  She thought that was just the cleverest nickname and she called poor Stanley “Stanky” the rest of the year.))

 

Anyway, Carol is elderly so we thought she may have fallen or something had gone terribly wrong so we rushed back to her door.  She was coming outside and said, “I have just been waiting for you two to get home!! Your air conditioner made the biggest bang while you were gone!! It scared me!!   It was the loudest bang I’ve ever heard!!”

That was unfortunate news to hear since it was 91 degrees outside with approximately 110% humidity.  Matt briefly investigated things and sure enough, the fan was blowing but there was no cold air to speak of.  We called the landlord and then Matt immediately went into survival mode, and by that I mean he turned off all the lights, lit one small candle, and got out his flashlight and ham radio.

We hadn’t lost electricity, but he was so excited about the drama I didn’t say anything.  It was like his inner boy scout came out again.

The next morning, the HVAC guy showed up at the crack of 8:00 and informed us that the capacitor had indeed exploded.  He was able to go to the warehouse and get a new one which was a relief because the temperature was hovering somewhere around eighty five degrees and the surface of the sun.

Once the capacitor was fixed and the repairman and our landlord left, Matt picked up the phone to see if he could get in for a haircut.

Except the phone didn’t work.

And then we turned on the TV.  And it didn’t work either. 

All of our Comcast services were out, and since our cell phones don’t work in our apartment (hello cement walls), you could say there was some TROUBLE RIGHT HERE IN RIVER CITY.

Matt looked around and said, “Well, I guess I’m going to have to do some electrical work.”   It was at that moment that I decided to head to Kohl’s.

When I returned home, everything was back in working order.  The UPS man had even stopped by to deliver Matt’s benefits information for his new job, so I sat with him while he went through it and planned our next vacation in my head because TWO WEEKS, HOLLA. 

And then Matt got to the part about health insurance.  Let me just say that health insurance is not my wheelhouse.  In fact, when I was hired for my first real job, I received my paperwork and saw there was an option for a “cafeteria plan.”  And I brought that paperwork home to my father and told him I was so excited that my job included the option of lunch.

So I’m going to trust Matt to make the decisions in that department.

And I will stick to packing his lunches in my very own version of a cafeteria plan.  

i am still slightly concerned about the laptop

Emily is now two weeks into her college career, and I am here to report that we are all surviving.  For the first three or four days I texted her multiple times with various pieces of completely unsolicited advice.  When I sent her a message telling her not to leave her laptop on her windowsill if she goes out just in case it rains while she’s gone and some rain blows in, I realized it may be time to REIGN IT ON IN.

In addition to my completely rational concern about her technological equipment and its proximity to the windowsill in a rainstorm, I was anxious about her navigating that huge campus on her first day of class, and having approachable professors and someone to eat with in the dining commons.  

But the thing I was most nervous about?  Her first party.  She’s not a big party girl, but I know it’s only a matter of time until she goes to her first apartment soiree, and I just remember me my friends who spent a Saturday night here and there believing that there was no finer beverage than a plastic cup of jungle juice that was scooped out of a large Rubbermaid container of questionable history and cleanliness.

Over the past few weeks Matt has heard hours of “OH MY GOSH DO YOU THINK SHE’S AT A PARTY” and “I HOPE SHE DOESN’T WALK ANYWHERE ALONE” and “DO YOU THINK I SHOULD TEXT HER A GENERIC MESSAGE TO MAKE GOOD CHOICES?”

The other night I was lying on the sofa when got a text from Emily that said, “Hey, I’ll call you later tonight after I get home from the party.”  I flew off that sofa and tossed my phone to Matt and said, “Look. Em just texted me.  She’s going to call after the party.  SHE’S GOING TO A PARTY.”

And Matt smiled and said she’d be fine and that he hoped she knew to steer clear of the jungle juice.  A few hours later my phone rang.  “You were at a party?!” I said.  She cracked up.  “No! I was at the poster sale in the HUB!  Matt texted me and said to tell you I was at a party.  We thought it would be funny to trick you.”

They are a riot.

We were talking a few nights later and Em said she’d done four hours of chemistry homework that afternoon.  Matt asked her what a covalent bond is, and she responded with some scientific mumbo jumbo.  “She’s right,” he said.   “That’s a covalent bond.  It’s the strongest type of bond there is.”

Ok, now we’re talking.

In the last week I have told Matt no less than fifty times I’m so glad that we have a covalent bond.  He loves it, obviously.

I think this college thing is going to be good, for all three of us.

i'm like the girl who cried snake

One of the tasks on my to-do list for this past weekend was to pull the dead plants out of the rest of our garden.  I got a lot done last weekend, but I jumped ship after my disgusting discovery of the herd of worms residing in it.  However, as Mark Twain says, “Humor is tragedy plus time,” so I figured it was time to crack a few jokes and get back in the game.

Or back in the garden, as it were.

Thankfully the worm situation was not as bad as it had been the weekend before, and in no time at all I had the rest of the dead plants torn out and the dirt and mulch overturned.  When I was finished I sat at the picnic table admiring my handiwork, and considered buying some mums for the fall to jazz the patio up a little bit.

A little later Matt asked if I would like to accompany him on a drive to a state gameland about 45 minutes from our house so that he could do some research for the upcoming hunting season. 

Let me take a moment to explain that this is my first hunting season actually living with a hunter, and I am quickly learning that the preparation to hunt is almost as great a joy as the actual hunting is.  Over the past few weeks, there have been hunting magazines arriving in our mailbox, detailed online research being conducted, and many a phone call between Matt and his dad planning their strategy.

 

I knew excitement had hit level 10 when I came home from work on Friday afternoon and Matt was sitting on the couch arranging his bullets in what appeared to be the male equivalent of a makeup case.

Since I love a good ride through the country, I was all in for the hunting recon trip.  After I showered and got ready, I walked into the living room wearing cute black shorts and a white blouse and a pair of turquoise sandals whose time to be worn is limited because HELLO SEPTEMBER.

“You may want to bring some shoes and socks,” Matt said, “We might have to walk through cornfields.”

Hmm.

 

I went back to our room and got my feet properly outfitted while I told Matt I had no idea how much preparation was involving in hunting.  “It’s like when you want to buy a new pair of shoes,” he said. “You go to the mall and look at all of the various possibilities, and then you go home and think about what you saw, and then you go back and make the commitment.”

Well now you’re speaking my language.

We set off on our adventure, but I had no idea the wilderness part of the journey was going to begin so soon.  As we walked down the sidewalk to our parking lot, you will never guess what slithered across our path.

A snake.

A real, live, not-a-worm, giant, long, scaly SNAKE.

I shrieked and jumped and watched it slither into our neighbor’s garden while Matt followed it saying, “now THAT is a snake!”

All I can say is that I guess my decision has been made about the mums.  

My gardening career is over.

And now I'm wondering if Matt could hunt this snake as well.

i promise that most weekends are more exciting

I am sitting on the couch beside Matt, and he just sighed loudly and said, “Oh man, I keep forgetting to write that letter to Cheez Its.”

I know you’re dying for more information so I will tell you that Matt prefers his Cheez Its with slightly burnt edges.  And he thinks that the powers that be over at Sunshine should know that because his new thing is contacting customer service departments.  Thanks to his customer services reviews, over the past month or so we have received a free three pack of Jockey t-shirts, a Weather Channel baseball cap, a voucher for a free box of Famous Amos, and a coupon for contact lenses.

I realize that seems like the pastime of someone several generations above us, but wait until I tell you how we spent our Friday night.

We laced up our sneakers after dinner and went power walking at the mall. 

I am not kidding.

Actually, we spent several hours at the mall and stayed until closing time, because in addition to the walking we did a LOT of window shopping and spent at least forty minutes in a store that sells brain games.

It was in the brain games store where I learned that Matt possesses the secret talent of being able to separate a chain of solid steel rings that appear to the average person to be inseparable.  He is a magician. 

Also, color me impressed because I am the girl who cannot even separate the rings on her key chain, and those are actually meant to come apart. 

Saturday was rainy, so we decided to throw caution to the wind and do our grocery shopping that afternoon as opposed to our typical Sunday evening grocery shopping routine.  We are in month one of Operation New Budget, and so before we left we planned our meals and made a list, and I’m proud to report that we stuck to that list with the exception of an irresistible bag of Tostitos, and a container of fresh cheese curds that I discovered when I opened the fridge this morning.

And then right after we unpacked the food it started to rain outside.  It got dark and windy and we had the sliding patio doors open and could hear the rain pouring down.  I thought to myself, “self, you should lie down on the couch and close your eyes and take a nap.”

And so I did.  For three glorious hours.  And when I woke up Matt was STARING at me.  “I am SO GLAD YOU ARE FINALLY AWAKE,” he said.  “These past three hours I’ve had NO ONE to laugh at my jokes.”

It’s tough to be a comedian without an audience.

After the rain ended I went outside to pull all of the dead plants out of the garden while Matt got burgers ready for the grill.  Once I had most of the plants out, I started to turn the dirt over with a rake. 

And that's when I discovered that we were infested with snakes.

Matt was in the kitchen, so I screamed, “SNAAAAAAKES,” and I think he actually flew out to the garden. 

Much to my dismay, Matt enjoys a reptile.  In fact, he grew up with two pet lizards named Ozzie and Harriet and a snake that “somehow got loose” in his mother’s house and was never found.

I get shivers just thinking about that.

Well, my resident reptile expert told me that the snakes were actually earthworms.

In my defense, they were the biggest earthworms I have ever seen.

And after some (admittedly disgusting) research, I think the earthworms may be to blame for the sudden demise of my petunias and impatiens this year.

I think we should write a letter to Lowe's about it.  Maybe they'll send us a coupon.

i never did like small post earrings

So, my brother got married last weekend.

And then three days later, we all got together at my parents’ house to say goodbye to my sister because she left for college on Wednesday.

And in between those two Major Life Events, I turned twenty six and suddenly I feel like I have to cross all sorts of grown up things off my list because I’m basically staring thirty in the face and running out of time to do things like become a morning person and decide if I prefer white wine or red wine.

Basically, it’s been a big week around here.

Tonight is Emily’s first weekend night as a college student, which is really unbelievable because it was just yesterday that she was coming to Penn State with my parents to visit me and my brother, all the while vowing she would NEVER, EVER, EVER GO TO PENN STATE like the rest of us.

She was going to be different.

Break the mold in a family full of Penn State alumni.

But between you and me, I think she was destined to be a Nittany Lion from day one.

In honor of her new adventure and all of my nostalgia, I went through my box o’ important documents the other day to remind me of my youth.  And in addition to my diploma, graduation cap, and several English books, I found two documents that made me laugh.

Exhibit A:

When I was a senior, my parents brought a car up to Penn State near the end of the semester so that I could pack up and drive myself home as soon as I finished my finals.  Along with the car, my dad brought with him detailed directions about how to actually get myself home.  Back then I had absolutely no sense of direction, or a GPS.  And so I taped this piece of paper to my dashboard so I could look over at it during the journey.  

I was nervous about making the drive, and my dad even sent me an email the morning I left, encouraging me to “Just remember, once you make it to 83 south, you cannot go wrong.” 

Guess what.

I went wrong.  In fact, I went wrong all the way to Grantsville, Pennsylvania.

In the past four years I’ve developed a (slightly) better sense of direction, and I’ve acquired a GPS.  And, in a twist of what I’d venture to call irony, the home office for the company I work for is halfway to Penn State and I have to take these very same highways to get there.  Every 45 days.  

Oh Life, you are funny.

And now for Exhibit B.

My Penn State student ID.

Could I possibly look any less thrilled?

The answer to that is no, no I could not.

I’m happy to say that not only has my sense of direction improved since college, but also my ability to smile appropriately for identification photos.  Take my recent drivers license picture, for example.

I’m so happy to report that a fairly normal smile made an appearance.

It’s just a shame that I couldn’t find a pair of large earrings.

Dear Emily, smile in your ID photo.  And if you need a pair of earrings to wear, just let me know.  I can be there in three hours, I still have the directions.

it's a wonder we keep going back

Since I've last written here our baby robins have left the nest and it was a very emotional time.  I've gotten myself a promotion at work. And our condo complex pool opened.  Basically, BOY HAVE I BEEN BUSY.

Also, we bought two more new tires which brings our tally to $ix new tire$ in just shy of four months of marriage, for those keeping track at home.  

Matt and I have also been keeping up with our gym routine on a fairly regular basis.  I wish I could say we've come a long way from our slightly awkward gym beginnings, but that's not exactly the case.

On our first visit to the gym, I approached a weight machine and took a seat.  I set the weights to a whopping 15 pounds and started lifting, but it felt awkward.  After my first set of reps (I totally have the gym lingo down) Matt came over and informed me that I was sitting on the machine backwards, which explained my difficulty.  I thought the part where you lean you chest/stomach was a backrest.

Evidently the focus of the gym is not on comfort and relaxation. 

And of course there's the time I wore new shoes to the gym and forgot to remove the tags.  

Our routine includes a half hour on the treadmills, and we always try to get two next to each other so we can mouth things to each other like "what do you want to do for dinner?" and "I could really go for a blueberry pie" mid workout.

When thirty minutes is up, Matt turns his machine off and as it slows down, dramatically slides to the end and leaps off to go get paper towels to wipe off the treadmills.  Well, the other night he forgot to hit the stop button.  And so when he returned with the paper towels, he hopped back up on the STILL MOVING treadmill to wipe it off and took himself QUITE the tumble.  There was a split second of terror but after we realized he was okay we I had a good laugh.

And for the past several days I've gotten a lot of mileage out of his little mishap.  I've brought it up several times, but that ended yesterday.  

Because, pride. It cometh before the fall.

I was strolling along at an impressive speed last night when a message started scrolling across my treadmill screen.  "NEED HEART RATE. PLACE HANDS ON SENSORS OR USE TELEMETRY METER."

I was familiar with the hand sensors, but a telemetry meter?  Now that sounded new and interesting and fun.  I scanned the machine and on the side saw a small red disk attached to the treadmill with a cord, so I figured, HELLO, TELEMETRY METER.  

And so I proceeded to grab that little "meter" except IT WAS THE EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON.  The treadmill stopped immediately but unfortunately my body kept  moving at a 3.9 speed setting and I almost flipped right over the front of the machine.

Thank you, inertia.

Once I got my bearings I looked down at the treadmill screen and what I saw was even more embarassing.  The screen was flashing:  "MACHINE STOPPED.  NEED MANAGER RESET."

I abandoned that treadmill in no time flat and took off to the weight machines.  

At least I know how to use those correctly.

why i love june weekends: in (mostly) photos

Eating every meal on the patio with my main man.

(We also had brussels sprouts.)

 Afternoons at the pool.

 Weeds in the woods.  Pretty ones.

 Drinking an extra cup of coffee so I can admire my gorgeous garden a bit longer and congratulate myself on my very green thumb.  And my humility.

 New Pandora stations, inspired by seeing Jersey Boys this weekend with my mom and sister.

And finally, finding a random car magnet on the street (aka STRIKING GOLD) and secretly sticking it on Matt's car.  And then waiting to see how long it would take him to discover it.

Spoiler alert: he discovered it when he took the trash out after dinner, less than three hours after I stuck it on there.  Because on his way out the door I told him it would be in his best interest to examine the back of his car.  So basically I cannot keep a secret.

things are a little fowl around here

About three weeks ago, I discovered that a bird had built a nest in the gutter between our condo and our neighbor's. A few days later a robin started to sit on the nest, and naturally I kept a very close eye on things and didn't even sweep that side of the patio or weed that end of the garden lest I disturb her.

The babies finally hatched last Saturday, and I've become borderline obsessed with the whole situation ever since.  I check on them every morning before I leave for work and immediately when I get home.  I sit outside at our picnic table and watch the mama bird fly in with worms and feed her cheeping babies.  I've done exhaustive research on baby robins.  I worry when it rains hard, or when the carpenter bee that's also taken up residence on our patio flies too close to them.  I've taken countless photos of the nest and yesterday I even took a three minute video of the babies.

Last night I HAD A DREAM about our baby birds learning to fly.  Even I know that's a bit unusual, and a sure sign that I need to REIGN IN THE CRAZY because I am officially losing it.

And then I was emailing back and forth with my dad this morning and he told me that he and my mom got four little tadpoles for their backyard pond this weekend. 

And my mom named them. 

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

So evidently the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

I got home from work today and when I walked in, I saw Matt on the couch.  He looked awful.  He was sneezing and sniffling and his eyes were red and watery and swollen.

I asked him what was wrong and he said, "Well, my allergies are acting up.  I knew I shouldn't have followed that turkey."  

Hmm.  Now that's a statement that's going to require a bit of clarification.

Evidently when he pulled into our parking lot, he spotted a turkey.  So he got out of his car and sneakily followed the turkey into the woods because he wanted to see where it lived.

His search was unsuccessful, but he has big plans to hit the woods again, WITH A TURKEY CALL, to see if he can find the turkey homestead. 

Where do we sign up for a our birdwatcher's memberships?

i also used a weight machine backwards, but that's another story for another time

Well, Matt and I joined a gym last week.

That's noteworthy because I am not the least bit athletic and/or all that interested in fitness.  When I was a senior in college I had a knee issue that, according to my doctor, could be cured if I spent 40 minutes a day on a recumbent bike.  So I got myself a gym membership and rode that recumbent bike for the prescribed 40 minutes a day and not a second more.  And I didn't dare venture to the treadmill or the rowing machine or, heaven forbid, the stair stepper.  And then I graduated and that was the end of my gym experience.

Until last Wednesday, when Matt and I laced up our sneakers and joined Planet Fitness.  In the last seven days we have gone to the gym five times, which is more than I've gone in the last five years, so basically we have already gotten our money's worth.

On our first day we rode the bikes, but by day two I was drawn to the glamor and apparent grace of the elliptical machine.  So I climbed aboard, started elliptical-ing, and lasted four painful minutes until I determined that my sweet spot at the gym is probably on the treadmill, speed: 3.2, incline: 0.



After day two I was feeling fantastic and full of energy, so when we got home I decided to do a little apple cider vinegar hair treatment because it makes my hair so shiny and smooth and who doesn't want their hair to look healthy?  I wet my hair, soaked it in apple cider vinegar, and then folded some laundry and straightened up a little bit while the vinegar worked its magic.

I hopped back in the shower to rinse it out, and when I walked back out into the living room, Matt was just walking in the front door.

"Where'd you go?" I asked him.

"Something really smells weird in here and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is - so I cleared the leftovers out of the fridge, and then took all of the trash out."

Well, mystery solved my friend.

I have half a bottle of apple cider vinegar on my head.

I AM THE CULPRIT.

Not only do I want my hair to look great while I stroll on the treadmill, but obviously I need the right wardrobe.  So this weekend I got some fancy new fitness-style yoga capris, and last night I hit the mall to got myself a new pair of sneakers.   I've read it takes 21 days for something to become a habit and while I'm only a third of the way there, I figure I may as well look adorable for the next 14 days while we see if this gym thing is going to be a long term commitment or a flash in the pan.

I wore my new workout gear to the gym tonight for the first time.  I walked faster and with so much more pep in my step.  And after the treadmill portion of the gym experience I pranced around from weight machine to weight machine in my fancy new shoes feeling like a million bucks.

And then we got into the car and I crossed my legs and I spotted this.

 I had forgotten to take the tags off of my new shoes.

Listen.  I keep myself humble.  And marginally embarrassed.

Although if this gym thing doesn't turn into a habit in the next two weeks, I could still return the sneakers.

Silver lining.

tired

Well, Matt and I have been married for two months today.  And in those two months of marriage we have purchased four new car tires which, let's be honest, is a pace we cannot keep up. 

On Tuesday I drove to a meeting about an hour and a half away.  The drive to the meeting was uneventful, but as I approached my highway exit on the way home, the low tire pressure light on my dashboard started flashing.

I guess I should have known something was amiss when I was singing along to the radio several miles earlier and it sounded like someone was pounding on my chest as I sang.  Here I thought I'd finally perfected my vibrato a la Carrie Underwood, but in reality it was a sign of a flat tire.  

Hindsight is 20/20.

I got off the exit and pulled right into the parking lot of an office complex.  I called Matt, and when he answered I said, "Hey, my low tire pressure light came on.  So I got off the turnpike and I'm now parked in a parking lot.  What do you think I should do?"

And he said, "Well, do you have a flat tire?"

"I don't know,"  I said.  "I didn't get out and look at the tires."

Note to self: When your low tire pressure light comes on, the first step is to get out of the car and actually look at your tires.

I performed a full four point inspection and while I didn't see an obvious flat, I heard what I thought was air hissing out of a small hole in the driver's side rear.  Matt wanted to come and change it but since he was an hour away and we pay for roadside assistance with our insurance, I called roadside.  And while I waited for the mechanic to arrive, I watched my tire flatten into a pancake.

And half an hour later an ancient, white, dented, beat up van that said "Home Improvement, Inc, NEW YORK" came pulling up to me and my little Ford Focus.  It was like the start of a horror movie, because 1-beat up white van, and 2-I was expecting a tow truck from Pennsylvania, not a home improvement truck from New York.  But the man in the van was very nice and had a tire jack with him so I guess he was legitimate.  He told me I had a nail in my tire, so he put my spare on and I headed slowly off to Pep Boys for a plug.

At Pep Boys, I told the man at the desk I wanted my tire plugged and handed over my keys.  And ten minutes later one of the mechanics came into the waiting room and said, "Hello miss, I looked at your car and I actually recommend four new tires.  The ones you have are six years old."

Little did he know that I am NO EASY SELL.

"First of all, the car is only five years old and these aren't the original tires.  Second of all, I'm not here to buy new tires today.  I don't understand how everything was going along fine and I hit one nail and suddenly all four tires are bad.  I'd like the tire plugged and that's it for today, thank you."

Well, Mr. Mechanic came back in a few minutes later and told me that due to the way the nail punctured the tire, a plug wouldn't hold.  Half of me thought he was telling the truth and half of me thought he was trying to make a few hundred bucks out of the deal, so I called Matt again and he told me to just go ahead and get the two new tires because MY SAFETY IS PARAMOUNT.

PRECIOUS CARGO.

And that's how I became the owner of a lovely set of Hancook tires for the moderate performance driver, because apparently the tire salesman and I have differing ideas of what constitutes a high performance driver.  

I naturally consider myself a very high performance driver because I have an almost perfect driving record and I use those turn signals like a boss.  The salesman considers a high performance driver someone who drives at speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour on a regular basis in a car with sport handling.

Tomayto, tomahto.

And so instead of a fancy dinner date for our two monthiversary, we gazed out into the parking lot at all of our new tires, and had a music night where we played all of our favorite songs and made a giant batch of chocolate chip cookies.

And when I went to light the candle for dinner, I saw this written in the wax.

The best things in life are free.

april showers bring may flowers. and hopefully they don't drown them.

Last week was a rainy one around here.  On Wednesday, I came home to discover that we suddenly had waterfront property. 

Unfortunately our front door is right in the middle of that river.  Since I didn't have a raft with me, I stopped on higher ground for a minute while I weighed my options for getting myself to the front door while staying as dry as possible, and not ruining my clothes.  After some thought, I decided that my best bet would be to take off my (lovely, brand new, cream colored, very poor choice for a rainy day) shoes and roll up my pants legs because DESPERATE TIMES. 

I was about to do just that when I heard a voice yell, "DON'T WORRY, LADY, I'LL HELP YOU."  And I turned around to see Matt, my knight in soaking wet gym shorts and waterproof hunting boots, walking down the sidewalk.  He had already been outside playing in the rain trying to clear out some clogged drains, and he picked me up and carried me to the front door.


Luckily, the rain and flooding has subsided in the past few days and we haven't had to invest in either a wet vac or a boat.  However, I am worried to death about the status of the flowers that I planted last weekend.  I am worried that they got too wet during the storm and then too cold and that they're not hearty enough and maybe they'd be better off with a sheet over them at nighttime and SHOULD I GO OUTSIDE WITH A HAIR DRYER TO WARM THEM UP A BIT?

I am just so proud of my little garden. I know the saying is that pride cometh before a fall, but in this gardening story, the fall actually came first.

I decided that last Saturday was going to be planting day, and since I had a 40% off coupon to Michael's Arts & Crafts burning a hole in my pocket, I decided I'd have myself a perfect Saturday morning and stop there and and then go to the Home Depot right next door.

Not only does that particular shopping center have a Michael's and Home Depot, but it also has an Ikea and BJ's Wholesale Club, so that joint was jumping on Saturday morning.

Because I have a rocky relationship with reversing out of parking spaces on busy Saturdays, I drove around the parking lot until I found a pull through spot.  I grabbed a cart from the corral in the lot, and then headed straight for the racks of plants and flowers on the sidewalk outside the store.

I walked up and down a few short aisles, but was disappointed in the selection.  It was surprising because I got my flowers at Home Depot last year and there were so many more choices.  I picked up one pack of yellow marigolds and a set of gardening tools, but decided I'd drive over to Lowe's for the other things I needed. 

I headed inside to pay, and as I walked through the first set of doors, an older gentleman standing there said, "Good morning, miss.  BJ's card?"

"No thanks," I responded quickly, and, obviously, without thinking.

Because a half a second later, it hit me.

He wasn't trying to interest me in signing up for a BJ's card. 

I had actually been shopping at BJ's.

Not Home Depot.

And I am not a member of BJ's.

I abandoned that shopping cart quicker than you can say petunia and practically ran to my car.  Which is when I realized that in my quest to find an easy, pull through parking space, I had driven out of the Home Depot section of the lot and into the BJ's one.  And when I got out of my car I was so focused on the flowers that I didn't look up at the sign of the store I was heading towards.


After that experience, I really hope that my flowers pull through.  If they don't, one thing is certain.  I will be going to Lowe's to buy the replacements.

i wonder if i could get the benefits of AARP

I wake up at 6:45 every morning.  

Well, that's not completely true.  Matt leaves by 6:20, and when he leaves he kisses me and says "Bye, sugar snap/buttercup/pecan sandy/starlight," or any other of an assortment of names.  It's different one every day.  I always make sure I'm awake when he leaves so that I can hear the name of the morning because ADORABLE, but the second the front door closes, I go back to sleep.

I wake up 25 minutes later and rush around for the next 35 to 40 minutes.  I shower and do my hair and pick out my outfit and my jewelry and iron and pack my lunch.

This week I decided that a lot of those things could, and should, be done the night before.  So all week I've been packing my lunch, picking out my outfit and jewelry, and ironing at night.  And I've noticed that mornings are a lot less hectic and I have more time to spend on my makeup and my hair.  Which means that I've been wearing lip gloss and mascara and my hair is actually completely dry and styled when I leave for work each morning instead of slightly damp and pulled back in a clip.

And I'll be honest.  I've left each morning thinking about how much better I looked.  I even sent Matt a text on my way out the door on Monday telling him how lucky he is to be married to someone so good looking.

What can I say? I'm humble.

Today I had a jackpot outfit picked and some great hair going on.  I had to be in court for a hearing first thing for work, and our case was being heard in front a judge I hadn't met before.  After the hearing ended, he called me up to the bench to talk to him. 

"Good morning, Your Honor," I said very respectfully, trying to get on the judge's good side.

It was all for nothing though because he then he proceeded to tell me that I am the spitting image of Allyson Schwartz.

That name might not mean anything to you, but she is running for governor of our state.

And she is SIXTY FIVE YEARS OLD.

I about HIT. THE. FLOOR.

Maybe my new strategy isn't working as well as I thought.

Tomorrow it's back to damp hair and a last minute outfit because I can no longer spend the time at night ironing and preparing my clothes.  

I will be too busy applying anti-aging cream.

have a salad, but please don't wash your plate until the laundry is finished

I am sitting next to Matt on the couch, and he just looked over at me and said, very solemnly, "You know, if the corn crop goes under one of these years, we are going to be in deep trouble."

Well.  

Now that may not be an unusual statement to make if we were watching a show about corn, or if one or both of us is involved in the farming industry, but we're watching baseball and neither of our jobs have anything to do with agriculture.  And in my twenty five years on this earth, I've spent exactly zero minutes thinking about the corn crop and the potentially catastrophic events that could ensue if it ever goes south.

Evidently that only makes one of us.

Matt and I didn't live together until we got married less than two months ago, which means that we are learning new things about each other every day.  Exhibit A: Matt's feelings on the corn crop. 

I have also learned that living with Matt means that I will never have to worry about things like being unprepared when the power goes out (which happens a lot here) because he has a few flashlights placed strategically around the condo, and the really impressive thing is that there are batteries inside those flashlights, AND they actually WORK.

I am more the type of person to decide one day on a whim that I should have a flashlight for possible power outage purposes, go to the store and buy a very adorable one, assume that there are working batteries included, come home and place that adorable flashlight in an important, unforgettable hiding spot, and then completely forget where that unforgettable hiding spot is when the power actually does goes out.

Not Matt.  He is (thankfully) a man who is prepared.

He is also a man who cannot resist a grocery store sale and for that reason, we will never run out of condiments or granola bars, and we laugh in the face of low potassium levels.

 

I am not without my own quirks.  Just this weekend I spent a solid half hour explaining to Matt why I don't like to to conduct two water-centric events simultaneously.  For example, taking a shower while the dishwasher is running, or doing a load of laundry while someone is hand washing dishes.  And that is because, naturally, I don't want one appliance to get better water than the other.

Because that makes sense.

I think I've spent too much time thinking about it.  I should probably focus my thoughts on something that could have a more devastating impact.

Like a less than stellar corn crop.

Or running out of salad dressing.