Fro Yo

Since coming out west the hubs and I have been eating much healthier foods. It's true. You know, more fruits and veggies and ... and you know, foods that are healthy. It's fairly easy to access these yummy foods too, we just go to the farmer's market and stock up for the week. yum. We are so entirely consumed with consuming healthier foods that we have stopped eating ice cream ... we have turned to frozen yogurt. It is amazing! And sooo much better for you! There are five frozen yogurt shops in one little town. It is positively delightful!

One of the first nights we were here we decided to try a little shop across from the hubs' work place. Walking in all I could do was stand and smile. There were machines that you get to pick your own fro yo from. They had all different kinds of flavors: taro, green tea tart, raspberry sorbet, kiwi tart, country vanilla, butter and cream, French chocolate, pink lemonade, blueberry tart, peanut butter, raspberry... and the list goes on. And it is wonderful and glorious. Then you turn and look to the side and you see oodles and boodles of toppings: captain crunch, fruity pebbles, coco flakes, granola, sprinkles, frosted animal cookies, yogurt covered mini pretzels, gummi bears, sour gummi worms, nerds, m&ms, mini peanut butter cups, twix, snickers, and pretty much anything else you can imagine. Then, you take another step and you are in la la land all over again... they have More toppings! Cheesecake bits, cookie dough bits, brownies, jellies, some weird things I've never seen before and can't imagine putting on my treat of frozen yogurt, strawberries, kiwi, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, mango, lynchee, banana, and so much more!

It's amazing! How incredible! How wonderfully delightful! And of course, since we've never tried anything before we have to try all of the flavors of yogurt. After an hour of sampling this one and that one... I pick one, it really is amazing it didn't take me longer than that, considering the amount of choices I had. But I managed. country vanilla. Then I dump a mountain of granola and fruits on it. How happy. It's pretty wonderful, really.

Every time we go I pretty much get the same thing... after sampling all of the other flavors I end up getting the one I always get, with the same toppings... it's just sooooo yummy I can't help it! There was one exception. It was my birthday, and they must have known it because they had peanut butter flavored yogurt that night (which is obviously the best thing in the world). So I got some peanut butter and loaded it with candy of every kind. The way I see it, it's frozen yogurt not ice cream. Much better for you, and toppings don't count cause they're just toppings...

ah. yes. my favorite. frozen yogurt. It has become one of my happy places. I also found a dime there once. Which is pretty wonderful. And also, we have a punch card and after we get so many yogurts, we get one for free! Pretty much wonderful! I hope next time we go, which could very well be this evening, they have peanut butter and I could drench it with bananas. ooo. I wonder if the hubs would be up for it...

Cause you know, it's not always my idea to get frozen yogurt. Hubs thinks it is pretty much one of the best things on the face of this earth too. It's true. In fact, we were out driving when his mummy and daddy came to visit. We were some where semi near to Yosemite National Park, except we weren't really that close, just you know, kind of close.

Anyhow, we were riding along and everyone was throwing out ideas of what they wanted for dinner, it was getting later and later and there were no eating places any where. So we kept driving. Around 8:00 o'clock some one said a salad would be good, some said sandwichs would be yummy, or a burger, and there were other ideas too, like mine. I said, "Frozen yogurt would really hit the spot. That just sounds so perfect for tonight!"

8:20 - Hubs suddenly perks up, "Great thinking, Cupcake! That would be really good! With the fruit and the cheese cake bits. Um!!"

"Frozen yogurt?" says Mum and Aunt.

"Ya! It's pretty much one of the best things on the face of this earth," Hubs responds with a big fat smile on his face and proceeds to tell them about all of the flavors, all of the toppings, and just about how it's plain old wonderful.

8:55 - Hubs says, "I want some yogurt!"

9:30 - Hubs thinks out loud, "Yogurt sounds so good! It would just be perfect right now! Not too heavy, not too light. Perfect!"

9:40 - "I want some yogurt!"

9:59 -"I hope we can find some yogurt!"

10:19 - We drive through a little town, we pass a Wendys - they have good frostys. "No. It's not yogurt," says the hubs. We pass a McDonalds with yummy McFlurries, "Not, the same. Nope," he declares. We pass a Cold Stone, I'd be happy with a cold stone. Not the hubs. "Nope," he says, "It's frozen yogurt or nothing! We need to find some." The hubs is determined. We drive out of town. No frozen yogurt in hand.

10:30 - Driving past corn fields and orange trees, tomatoes, and one lone fire works stand that says, "Help Youth Group" something or rother. "Yogurt..." Hubs mubbles.

10:45 - "You know what would be Awesome?! If we found some yogurt!!" Hubs is stoked at his idea.

10:50 - "You know what would hit the spot right now?" asks the hubs.

"BBQ chips?!" I chirp up (knowing full well that is not the correct answer).

"No!"

"Cookies?"

"Nope."

"O! I know! ... Tacos!!"

"Noooo!!" hubs shakes his head.

"Let me guess... frozen yogurt?"

"YES!!!!" He is so cute when he gets excited.

10:59 - We see a town. "Maybe they'll have frozen yogurt! Wouldn't that be awesome?!" Hubs says.

"I'm pretty sure it would make your night," secretly I hope there is some frozen yogurt shop in this town. Hubs would be crushed if there was none.

11:03 - "O! I see... no. Never mind," hubs is glued to the window, sure not to miss his chance.

11:07 -"There! No." ...Sweet Hubs.

"Well, I don't know about you all," says his Pop, "but I'm stopping. I see an A&W up here and I'm gonna get some." Uncle agrees with Pop. Pop pulls into the parking lot.

"Yogolicious, What?!" Mum suddenly exclaims.

"Where?!" says the now dancing hubs.

"There!! Right there!" Mum says pointing her finger viciously at the window.

And there it is. Lit up in joy and happiness. Yogolicious. The yogurt shop.

11:08 - Hubs is running towards the shop. I love it when he's excited. He's just so cute!

11:09 - "Here!" hubs is shoving sample cups at Mum, Aunt, and me. "Try some!" He is so excited. We all sample the new and different flavors.

"This is so fun!" Aunt likes it.

"Wow! Look at all the choices!" Mum likes it. Both Aunt and Mum are grinning with eyes aglow from all of the sweet treats.

I like it.

11:22 - We are all (well, Mum, Aunt, Hubs, and me - Pop and Uncle opted for the other) sitting on a curb, enjoying the yummy frozen yogurt.

11:29 -"That hit the spot," Hubs says licking up the last of his yogurt, he is satisfied.

Needless to say, we are equally excited about frozen yogurt. I like to think back to that night, it makes me happy. And I like to get fro yo... lunch?

finish it

I have to hide it. I have to finish it. I have to get rid of it. The hubs needs to take it to work with him. It must go.

It's all I've been doing. ...see, I told you I had a problem. This dang book has gotten the best of me once again. No dishes have been washed, and no home work has been touched (though it is still morning and I never do my homework till the afternoon). O. good. gracious. I just have to finish reading it. Now. That way I'll be done. For good. Cause after I finish this book I have no more to read. Ah! What am I going to do then?!

...homework...

Did you hear that? Huh. Didn't think so. Anyhow. It's the truth. Really, Why do I have this problem? It's just a book! But when I finish it I'm going to be soooo entirely board that I am actually going to fill my entire days with homework. I better just finish the book and get it over with. Get on with this school bug that keeps popping up out of the... not so blue.

O boy. So anyhow. That would be my dilemma. So many troubles and trials fill my days.

I'm not like my sisters who always have something cool happening at their house. I mean, pretty much every time I talk to them either some cute little person is sneaking a box of cookies from the pantry, or there will be the sound of happy children playing in the background- never arguing about who's turn it is to play with the spoon or ball or some other amazing object. Sometimes they (my sisters) even have to rush off to some important business such as picking up a cute little baby! Occasionally I hear a little one through the phone: singing, talking, explaining the rules of something important sounding, asking for treats... you know, fun stuff.

I never have that happen to me. Nope. Not once have I had to rush off to pull apart two little people fighting over a hairbrush ... oh wait, yes I have... back in my nanny days... but not now. Not any more. Nope. They are so exciting, my sisters are. And here I sit.

I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong. I'm merely comparing. Their exciting filled lives with my white wall life. yes. It's true.

mirror mirror on the wall...

There is a mirror in our bathroom here. It's pretty big. It covers the entire wall above the sink area. And there's another mirror on one of the side walls, a little medicine cabinet. Lots of mirrors. The big mirror on the wall has a line down the middle of if. It's true. At first I thought the mirror was cracked and broken... but it's not. One afternoon while I was brushing my teeth I was standing in front of this mirror. I took a step to the side, just a tiny little step and instantly I was five hundred pounds fatter. For a moment I was a little concerned. How on earth could brushing my teeth make be gain ten hundred pounds. And how could it happen so quickly? Also, you would think that by my stepping and walking around I would not gain weight, but loose it. I like to tell myself, every little step counts. So I take lots of little steps. All day long. In hopes of not gaining even two pounds.

Anyhow. Suddenly, there I was, mouth full of white toothpaste that was spreading to cover my lips. As I stood in front of the mirror, memorized by the fact that I had instantaneously gained hundreds of pounds of fat. The toothpaste slowly trickles from my mouth to my chin. Gross. I take a step towards the sink, spit, rinse, wash my face. You know. When I look up I am my smaller self. No longer am I ten hundred pounds. huh.

I take a step to the left, and it happens again. I shift my weight to the right. I'm skinny. I go to the left, I'm chubby. This pattern continues on for longer than I would care to admit. I like going from instantaneously small to big and chunky. kehehe. This is so much fun!

And apparently a sign I have been home alone for entirely too long.

And that I am majority procrastinating.

When the hubs comes home and is brushing his teeth after dinner I hop into the loo and say, "Look Hubs! I'm chubby!"

Hubs looks at me like I'm lost my mind, but with kindness in his eyes. He's always so kind. And sweet. Even when I've quite clearly lost it. Which I must admit is more often than not. "You look the same to me," he muffles with a mouthful of toothpaste.

"No. No. Look! Here! I'm fat!" I move an inch to the side, "And now I'm not! Ha!! Isn't is great?!" I'm beaming up at the hubs.

"Huh. Sure," he sweetly reassures me.

"No! Look! Here!" I pull him over an inch, point into the mirror and say, "Look! Now I'm tiny! And... Now I'm not! I'm so chubby! Look at that. I've gained five hundred pounds!" I am far too easily amused.

"Ah! I see. How about that," he smiles at me. "It doesn't work for me though," he says as he shifts his weight from side to side.

"You've got to stand sideways. See," I say with the voice on an expert mirror shape changer. And I give myself a nice big round tummy to show him how to do it correctly.

"Huh. Well. Neat. Good trick." Hubs walks out to the living room. I follow and shuffle out to the kitchen and start on my not so nightly routine of washing the dishes...

Mirror, mirror on the wall, make me chubby, make me tall. ...But only when I look at you.

Addicted

I have a problem. A big one. A HUGE big fat problem. Nothing I do helps. Nothing I do is good enough to get me over this problem.

I can't stop reading. When I start reading a book, I have to read it all. Right now. Right then. Even though there are thousands and hundreds of more pressing and urgent and important things to do, I can't stop reading. A good book that is. If it is some boring book, I'm more than happy to do anything but read. But, normally that is not the case. No. In fact, that rarely ever happens any more.

I can't help it. If I have a happy little (or big) book within my reach (which pretty much means any where in my house) I can't do anything except read. I won't fix dinner, I won't wash dishes. I won't do laundry, I won't pay the bills. I won't make the bed, I won't get out of bed! I won't read anything except that one book. And o. It's a trouble. There are soooo many other things I need to do with my time (precious time) like: apply to jobs and homework ... and if I have some time in between those two things- house work (things a little wifey is supposed to do).

I don't mind doing those things in the first place. I mean, yes, homework is a complete drag. But it does give me a sense of accomplishment and achievement (occasionally), it lets me know I am doing something worth while (I hope!). Job applications can be entirely monotonous and dreadful, but they need to be done. House work can be quite enjoyable. I like to make things tidy and clean. So this is often the one I chose before the others... though I have to admit, this summer, I'm a slackin' big time. Thankfully, we have no friends or family here so we are able to live in a pit of filth. It quite the change from life back home.

The only thing I have figured out that helps me with this problem is just not having happy little books around the house at all. It's true. So I go a few months with no pleasure reading, then I have to read something. So I do. And I become addicted once again. O. My. but hey, say la vee. At least I'm reading, right? Right. Reading is good for you. At least that what all of my teacher's always said. I might say they are wrong... but I can't, because I whole-heartily agree with them and plan on saying the exact same thing one day.

I try to have a reading plan. You know, a schedule. I don't allow myself to read when I'm at home alone unless I am eating lunch. When dinner is over, the dishes are washed, and Hubs is home, I allow myself to read then. But the day time is strictly for homework and applications (please don't tell the hubs it is the day time and I am doing neither of those at the moment!). On second thought, I've already attended to the first and most important one, so I'm just taking a wee break. yes. that's it. I'm taking a wee break. ... I had to start writing for fear of getting carried away with the time. When my nose is stuck in a book that tends to happen. Losing track of time that is. ...And unless it's a textbook of some sort, if I am on the computer it at least looks like I am (possibly) doing one of the two most important things on my list. But I'm done for now.

This week I'm switching slow days. Yesterday was crazy! I had soooo much crap to do. It was no miserable. So today I'm only doing a little crap and a lot of ... other stuff. Please don't ask me what I did today. But hey, at least I've managed to get out of bed and make it before noon... and my nose has only been in a book for less than an hour. Sometimes... I don't really like the rules I make for myself. But you know. They are there for a reason. Right? Right.

Right. So, now it's out. I'm owning up to my addiction. My problem. A big fat one. O. Dear.

Also. Hubs and I made two more people leave the hot tub last night. It's true. I think they felt really awkward making out when there were other people fairly close to them. Because not only could we really see what they were doing, we could also hear what they were saying. No thank you! So they went to the pool and put on an even more horrendous display of being entirely too close to each other and making out even more... dis-cus-ting. ...That, or we smell really bad. One or the other. I like to think that even though I haven't really showered in a few weeks, the pool and hot tub do a fine job of keeping me smelling sweet and fresh. You know, like summer. eh. what's it matter? They took their gross making out session to the cold pool water. ha.

...life is like...

I have recently discovered that my life is a lot like my shopping. I pick things up, look at them, then I put them back. I pick something else up and examine it more closely than the first item. Normally I end up putting it all back on the shelf. But, you probably know that by now... and I don't like listening to the same story over and over and over. So I will spare you.

Just the other day the hubs pointed out the similarity between these two things. My life and my shopping style. He also examined his. His shopping experience is also a lot like his life. He goes into the store knowing what he wants to get, and he gets it. He doesn't pick things up and stand helplessly on the cereal isle for two hours (... at least I'm not standing there for three hours...) fighting in his brain about which box of cereal to get. No. Not him. He just looks at all the happy boxes colorful boxes, picks one up and moves on the the next isle. Amazing! I wish I could do that. But I can't. So I don't. Anyway... as I was saying, his life has proven to be much of the same style. He knew where he wanted to go to school, what he wanted to study, and what he wanted to be when he grew up. And he did it all... and stuck with it.

I of course... did not. I tried a several different schools, a hundred different majors, and I am only just now thinking I might possibly hopefully know what I really want to be when I grow up. o. my. If only I knew what kind of cereal I wanted.

There's my little analogy. I like how the hubs said it, "Peach, Your life is just like your shopping!" And I knew exactly what he meant.

Also. Hubs has started calling me 'Peach.' ...I wonder if it's because they (peaches) are the only thing I will buy at the farmers market and also the only thing I will eat. Really, peaches are the only thing I have been eating these days. They are just so peachy and wonderful! Plus, 'Peach' is more endearing and sweet than 'Pluot' is. 'Pluot' just sounds... odd, to call a person that is, not a fruit. Unless the person is being a complete fruity pants in which case you might want to call them, "pluot" and a combination of other fruits.

Anyhow. I am a grocery store called Peach. Welcome, for the reals this time, to my life.

choking ... a lot

The other night it was a bit nippy out, so the hubs and I thought it'd be fun to go for a little splash in the pool ... and then run and hop into the hot tub immediately after. So we did. I don't really like people all that much (especially at a swimming pool... I don't like to put up with their shenanigans) so I try to avoid them at all costs. The hubs had walked past the pool minutes before we cooked up this plan. He said, "There's only a few people there. Maybe 3 or 4."

"Ok," says I. We grab the towels and head over. ....Only to find 57 people at the pool instead of a measly four. Good. Gracious. There was a party going on with loud reggae music blaring and everything.

But you can't very well go to the pool, dressed in a swim suit, armed with towels, and not swim. No. You just can't do that. So no matter how much you hate people, you have to stay and do something. "Well, we could put our feet in and see how it feels at least," says the hubs.

We go plop down on the edge of the pool and dangle our feet in the water. Compared to the air the water feels surprisingly warm. "Wanna get in?" I ask the hubs.

"I will if you will."

"Alright. Let's get in then."

"You first," the hubs grins evilly.

"Promise you'll get in once I'm in?"

"Yup."

I jump in. The water is fine. ...and a smidgen chilly. But only a little. "Feels great!" I smile up to the hubs who is still sitting on the pools' edge.

"Sure..." for some reason he doesn't believe me. I wonder if it's because my lips are partially blue and purple. He keeps sitting and not getting in. What a liar.

"Liar," I tell him. I am very disappointed. After swimming alone for twenty minutes and calling him a liar with his pants on fire about a hundred times, the hubs gives in.

He jumps. And splashes. And comes up shivering. "Freezing! Now look who the liar is!" he triumphs.

I just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

There is a hot tub by the pool. Our original plan had been to get in the hot tub. But when we got to the pool and discovered 70 people there we had to change the plan a little bit. So we did. That didn't stop us from giving the death stare to the people in the hot tub. Nope, not one bit. So we stared. Taking turns of course, to make it look like we aren't. We also plot of how to get them out of the hot tub, cause it's just always a little awkward when you go sit in a crowded hot tub with a bunch of people, especially strangers. While we plot and wait we practice our hott water moves. You know the ones. The movies stars do them all the time. They one where they are swimming and then come up out from the water breathing like it's nothing, eyes open like they aren't on fire from the water that trickled down in them, shaking their heads like they're all cool and stuff. You know what I mean. I know you do.

So I try it. I hold my nose and go under. Gracefully, I lift my head up from out of the water. I shake my head, and smile. The hubs is dying. He can't stop laughing ... at me. "No!" he manages to say between his belly rolls of laughter.

Way to make me feel good. I try again. Same result. After a few more failed attempts and ten years worth of laughter, it's a useless cause. The movies are fake. No one can really look hott when coming up for air from the water. Nope. It's not gonna happen. You either have to hold your nose and even when you don't you come up coughing and sputtering and choking (not hott) or keep your eyes open (which cannot happen because the water gets in them and then you go blind... or lose a contact... so pretty much, either way, you end up blind) or your hair gets in your face and no amount of head shaking is going to get if off. So you have to push it out of your face quickly so you can breathe. At least now I know I will always come out of the water coughing and sputtering and choking for air. And I will always have to have my eyes tightly shut cause I don't want to be permanently blind.

After five hours of waiting for the hot tub to be free of strange people, it is not. So we march on over there, determined that if we do, the people will feel really awkward and leave. Which is exactly what happened. After exactly one minute and 43 seconds of us getting in the hot tub to party with them, they all said, at the exact same time, "Huh, wonder how the pool feels?" Got out and jumped in the pool. Where they stayed. Until we got out of the hot tub, picked up our towels and walked to the gate, at which point they promptly jumped back into the hot pool of water. Our evil plan worked. So, if you ever don't want to be in a small space with strange people, I might suggest giving it a shot. ...you never know... or, I guess, you might actually like people, in which case, you would probably not rejoice when the people left you alone in the pool. huh.

just a thought...

booty shorts and dresses

If there was one word that I had to use to describe me, it would be indecisive. It's true. I can never pick anything. Even when I do pick something it takes me forever! At a restaurant I will study the menu for an hour before I decide what I want to eat. Then after I order, I realize I wanted the other thing I was thinking about getting. The hubs says, "Don't live a life of regret." I feel bad for the hubs. He has to sit there and wait and wait and wait for me to decide what I am going to pick. So I try to hurry up and pick it quickly. But then I feel pressure and of course if I feel pressured to do anything I tense up and it takes me even longer to decide. It's really quite a dilemma , especially when taking a timed quiz. O. My. yes. it is not good to be indecisive when taking a timed quiz.

Because of that very reason I am very proud of what I was able to do the other day: decide. And stick with it. Before dinner on Saturday night, we had to wait for 45 minutes before we could sit down. We waited, pretty much because we didn't know where any other restaurants were in town and we both really wanted some cheesecake. Thankfully, the restaurant was in (near) a Macy's. So the hubs and I rode the escalators down, down, down, and walked around all of Macy's while we waited. Actually, I walked all over, he sat in a comfy little leather arm chair and made some phone calls. On one floor there were dresses. I had never seen so many dresses in one store in my life. Naturally, since I am a such a pessimistic person, I see the pretty dresses (at Macy's) and think, "Sure they're pretty... but they're also all over priced..." on and on it continues in a generally negative demeanor. But then, I saw it. The sign. "Sale" and it had a list of what was on sale and how much and such. Well, since the dresses were on sale, and I had 45 minutes to kill, I looked around. Touching that dress, admiring this dress, sometimes thinking, "that's a dress? That doesn't cover anything!" and on and on like that.

The hubs said I could get something if I wanted to, and of course I saw lots of pretty dresses. but I didn't get one. Because I'm just indecisive and 45 minutes is hardly enough time to pick up a dress, examine it closely, try it on, walk around with it on your arm for an hour, and then decide you don't need it and put it back on the rack where you found it. I mean, you need at least an hour and a half to decide you don't need (or the rare occasion you do need) a certain item ...shirt, skirt, pants, dress... and return it to its shelf or rack (or if you do get it... return to the rack or shelf 20 minutes later to pick it back up). I only had a messily 45 minutes to do something that normally takes at least 90 minutes. Not enough time. So... I walked around, admiring, touching, wishing, I could have a pretty dress like one of these.

This is also a rare situation because never have I ever seen so many dresses in one place. Never have I ever see so many pretty dresses that I would actually consider wearing. A lot of the dresses in the shop were longer than what I normally see, as in they were actually longer and would cover the butt-tox. Most dresses I see now a days don't even cover that much. It's really quite a shame. Even shorts for that matter don't cover the whole bum. You would think a girl would want to get her money's worth. Did you know most of the booty shorts (the shorts that don't cover the booty, with the pockets that you can see because they are longer than the actual shorts being worn (Good. Gravy) cost about $58. If you are going to spend $90 on a a tiny little piece of fabric, why not either a. spend it on something with more fabric that actually covers up the booty or 2. get some bigger underpants so that at least the bum bum will be covered up one way or another. I mean really. booty shorts? They don't even look like shorts but more like ... underpants really. shheesh. when will they learn?

I'm not the only one who thinks this way either. I know there are lots and lots of people who would agree with me. In fact, as I was waiting for the hubs the other night, I was standing against a wall and three young girls (because I am after all, sooooo old!!!) walked past. They were all wearing tight little booty dresses that only covered half of their tiny little booties. I can only imagine that when they sat down the dresses hardly covered anything at all. Three boys were walking right behind them... o. my. There was a lady standing next to me. I watched her watch these girls and look over their tiny little tight black booty dresses. She turned to me, smiled a weary smile, rolled her eyes, and shook her a little.

booty shorts. booty dresses. It's one thing when a tiny little hiny is bursting from these booty clothes. But, they make these booty clothes in all sizes... and when you see someone that thinks they can pull it off and look like the tiny hiny... well, it's just down right sad. No one should be wearing those things, but then some girls get it in their tiny little bubble heads... and that's the end of that.

O. Yes. the dresses.The shop had a surprising amount of "long" ones. At least to the knee. Not too shabby. But like I said, I only looked. Because it is far too much trouble to actually pick one out and get it. I mean, it's just a frustrating process really. You find something you really like, a lot. You pick it up, walk around with it for three hours, and then by the end of that time, you think, "I won't get it..." and put it away. This is sad because you had already spent a whole two hours standing, holding this thing in your hand thinking, "Should I get it? Yes. I need it. I would use it. I haven't gotten anything in a long time. Ya, I can afford it. I'll get it. Definitely." Then you take two steps and think, "Well, I guess I don't really need it. Even though I do like it. And I would use it. But that's ok. I've lived without it, I can keep on living without it." So you take two steps to put it back, but then you think again.... and pretty much this continues as such for the remaining two hours and by the end of it you are just so pooped and irritated with yourself that you can't make up your mind and that you've just wasted two whole hours of your life, that you just put it away and storm out of the shop. whew. Exhausting. really.

So we ate dinner. Went home. The next morning we went back that same way for breakfast. After breakfast the hubs told me to go look for a dress. He told me to pick one out to keep. (buy and then keep I should say). So I did. I went down the steps, found one dress, tried it on. And put it back. Thankfully I managed to find a hundred other dresses to take in and try on. So I did. And I found one. ...in 15 minutes. and got it. to keep. o. goodness. That must be a record. I still can't believe I found a dress, liked it, tried it on and had it fit just right, walked out with it happy and knowing this was the one. I showed the hubs my new red dress. He liked it too. Even better.

That's a lie. Not about me not liking it or finding a pretty little red dress... but about it being a record for finding a dress I really truly loved. On one other occasion I had done the same thing. I went to try on wedding dresses, I saw one I thought looked pretty on the hanger. I tried it on first, walked out of the little fitting room, and I was in love. I knew this was the dress I loved and it was the one I was going to get. And I did. ...I did try on other dresses, who wouldn't? You can only try on wedding dresses once in your life, might as well make the most of it, right? So I did. and it was loverly. But I went back to the pretty white dress I had tried on first. It only took me 15 minutes to find that dress, try it on, and fall madly in love with it, why shouldn't I be able to do it again? After years and and years I was finally able to do that with a dress that I could actually get away with wearing more than once. I am so happy I found a not booty dress for a not high price... and I even got a visitors discount on top of it. What a day. What a quarter of an hour.

Shrimpy and the Butt

Monday's seem to be my slow days. I can and do get some stuff done, but it takes so much longer on a Monday than on any other day of the week. Weird. So, since it is Monday, and I just found out I have a few extra days to work on an assignment (and a few less days for another assignment) I naturally decided it would be best to postpone working on either of the assignments and write. O yes. That stuff can wait, because it always always gets done, sooner or later, and always by the date it is due. Though, if I were a smarty pants I would work ahead and not let the stress and anxiety of not knowing if I am going to finish in time get to me. But I am not. So I do not. And at the last minute (literally, I have one minute to turn in the assignment, I start it and somehow manage to still turn it in on time. A-mazing) turn it in. It's my secret talent... that is not so secret any more since I just told you. woops. eh... well, at least it's not thaaat secret.

So anyways. This weekend the hubs took me on a trip. For my early birthday present we went to San Fransisco. We had been there a few weekends before, but we only got to see a few of the sights and had to come back early for a class that I ended up not even having. O brother. So we went back. We saw the Golden Gate Bridge. Had a little picnic at the beach, went swimming... you know, as much as the frigid water would allow us to. I only ended up with frostbite on my little toe, the hubs managed unscathed. Then, after that... we went to prison. It's true.

But first we had to wait in line. Apparently everyone wanted to go to prison with us. We're just that hip. So we waited. While we were waiting in line a family was snacking on some fried shrimp. A little bowl of red dipping sauce came along with the shrimp. The people were dunking their shrimps in the red sauce and then stuffing it in their face. They seemed to like their shrimps. A lot. But then... wo and behold... the man dropped his shrimps, and his red dipping sauce. In slow motion I watched it happen. The little red and white checkered box slipped from his hand and sailed to the not so hot cement. Then it bounced back up... splashing all those standing near by the shrimp man. A man was standing minding his own business, not gobbling up shrimp, just chit-chatting with his family. He was sporting his favorite sports team (the Giant Bears ... or something) in a nice white sweatshirt with tiny black stripes on it. Shrimp Man's red dipping sauce bounced back on Sport's white sweatshirt, and the seat of his pants. Sport's kids told him what happened and he turned as much as he could to get a good look. Red sauce was all over the seat of his pants and his nice sports gear. Shrimpy saw where his red dipping sauce landed and started apologizing profusely. But it didn't stop there... nooooooo. Not for Shrimpy. He takes his napkin and proceeds to wipe Sport's butt. yup. One man wiping a stranger's butt. nice.

The hubs is dying. He grabs me so he won't fall dead on the ground. "He's wiping his butt?! Are you kidding me?! AAAAhhhhhhh!!! hhhhhhhaaaaaa!!!" He's about to loose it.

"It's true, Hubs," I reassure him. I don't want him to kill over dead on me, he's going to prison with me. We both continue to stare at Shrimpy wiping the red dipping sauce off of Sport.

Wow.

Didn't see that one coming. Sport looks like he's getting ready to punch Shrimpy's lights out. We stop staring and casually look around and pretend to whistle (cause we can't really whistle) we look up and back down to see if Shrimpy is still alive. He was gone. O. My. Great. Uncle. Scot. He's dead. The hubs and I look at each other... we do Not want to go to prison with an actual killer! We debate getting out of line.

Five minutes later: Shrimpy's back (whew! thank goodness!!) ... with more shrimp and red dipping sauce. See... I told you this family really liked their shrimp. Sport steps ahead and cuts a few people in line... although, I'm pretty sure if Shrimpy dropped it again, and it got on Sport, again... Shrimpy wouldn't be able to get any more shrimp. That would probably just be the end of Shrimpy. But Sport would probably have to stay on the island in prison for what he just did to Shrimpy... it's just probably a good thing that it didn't happen again.

So... we got on the boat and headed over to the bars and cells. Thankfully it was only Alcatraz and we were only going to see what all of the hub-bub was about. It was pretty crazy. Also very educational. I learned lots about lots of bad guys back in the day. We each got an awesome pair of headphones and a little device that we could pause and play and told what it was like at Alcatraz. Some of the prison guards narrated the story and so did some of the inmates. Scary!!! We saw their cells, and learned what they did while they were cooped up there on the rock. Really quite fascinating.

After we were through being in prison we ran back to the doc to make sure we got on the boat to go back to the bay area. At which point we walked back to the hotel we were going to stay at. We dropped off all of the tourist crap we had aquirred from our little outing to Alcatraz and headed out. For dinner. A surprise dinner. oo laa laa!! : ) kehehehe! The hubs had done his homework and we started walking.

We got there and the hubs perks up, "Well, I guess it can't be much of a surprise any longer..." and points to the sign that is way up high and that I hadn't seen yet and probably wouldn't have seen had he not pointed it out to me. O! Cheesecake! My favorite!

The only bad part about eating here, on this particular night, was that I couldn't save my food. You see, I can never ever eat a whole meal in one sitting. I usually take some home and ration it out over the next two weeks. But I couldn't this time, we had no place to keep it and it would have gone bad. So the waiter took it.

I say that because as we were walking home we walked past a little old lady, hunched over on the sidewalk. Holding out an empty McDonald's cup saying, "Pleaaasse hheellllp meee." Her voice shaking. A little tan Chihuahua perched on her shoulders. I could have given her my dinner. But I didn't even think of it. And I hate that. So I put some helpful things in her little cup instead and went along, thinking I wish I had saved my dinner, that way she wouldn't have to get up.

And I kept thinking about her, and how cold she must have been, but thankful she had her little Chihuahua to keep her company. All night long and the next day I kept thinking of all the ways I am so blessed. Even though I am jobless, I am not homeless. Even if I were completely broke, I know I have family and friends and I could stay with until I found a job, made some money. And I wish so much for the little lady on the street.

We visited another lovely restaurant the following morning. The hotel was going to make us pay $5,000 per person (that's $10,000 total you know) just to eat breakfast there... no thank you! So, we outsmarted them and went on our merry way. After breakfast we asked for more bread to take with us. We didn't want to not have any food to give someone if they needed it.

Not too long after we left the restaurant we meet Samuel. He was standing near by when we were waiting for something or other and shyly approached us and the girl next to us. He timidly asked, "Is there any way you could spare some change? I'm trying to get to the homeless shelter by two." It was one o'clock.

We could. Upon receiving the money, he said, "Oh thank you! God bless you! God bless you! Thank you." the girl handed him some more. He repeated his thanks.

"Are you hungry too? We've got some bread you could have," the hubs says to him.

"Oh yes! Thank you! I'm starving!" eyes full of gratitude he takes a few steps back and opens the box. I wish we had more bread to give him. He was devouring the bread so quickly, but at the same time it seemed like he was trying to make it last. Samuel says, "I'm sorry... this is so embarrassing... so embarrassing. I'm sorry. Thank you. God bless you." He continued nibbing on his bread. We walked away. I wish we would have done more, given more, bought his ticket. But I didn't think of that then. So I think of Samuel, and I hope that the next time I meet someone else in his shoes I will remember him, and won't walk away wishing I had done more. And I wish the best for Samuel.

We walked on, got on the train, with the picture of Samuel in our minds. It's hard to go from something so sad to something that is meant to be exciting and wonderful. The hubs took me to see Wicked. I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to think that Samuel had made it to the shelter, that the little lady and her chihuahua had found food. But I don't... so I make believe they did.

I wanted to enjoy this great musical with the hubs, I didn't want to sit solemnly the whole time (which, even if you just came from your great grandmother's funeral and were really truly upset or sad or disheartened, I believe you would not be able to stay that way long if you are sitting watching Wicked. ...it's just too funny and strangely uplifting). Plus, after finding tickets for sale, on sale, researching the theater for the seating chart to find where the best spot to sit would be... getting the tickets, arranging for a whole wonderful weekend... it really would be quite wasteful if you didn't enjoy the musical. And I hate wasting things. And I'm cheap. So I was sure as heck going to enjoy the dickens out of this play. So I did. It was such the best.

Needless to say, the hubs outdid his self. It was a great early birthday. Filled with Shrimpy's shrimp and Sporty's butt, prison, cheesecake!, dresses (but that's another story altogether), television (also another story), little lady and Chihuahua, Samuel, and Wicked! Also tolls. But the tolls were not a good part, so I'll exclude them in this list.

yes yes : )

Mr. Speedy

Nearly every afternoon around lunch time I ride my rusty, squeaky, falling apart, bicycle into town to meet the hubs for lunch. I don't mind riding into town. By now I hardly even hear the deafening scream of my charming bike. It's true. Though, now that I think about it, I have also noticed I have been having to ask people to repeat things, have them speak up when they repeat whatever it is they are saying. The hubs has been saying the music is too loud (I never have the music too loud), and I have been finding my eyes reading lips a lot more. When I read their lips it helps me not have to ask them to repeat themselves a thousand times. Needles to say, I don't mind at all the tiny squeak I hear from the bike. In fact, I thought it had gone away altogether. Except, then I saw someone hurriedly walk past me riding while covering their ears with their hands, when I asked the hubs why he thought they were doing that, he told me it was because my bicycle is deafening and can be heard for miles. Great. But hey, at least I'm not bothered by it any more.

So, like I was saying, I ride into town just about every day. I do this for a number of reasons:
1. So I can eat lunch with the hubs. It's nice to have an actual person for company as opposed to a cup of water.
2. I can. I've got nothing keeping me at the house and it is close enough to go in that I do. I quite like it.
3. I find riding quite pleasant, especially now I don't hear the yapping of my bicycle.
4. It mixes my day up. I have found I get entirely too restless when I sit on the same spot on the couch all day long. I get tired of seeing the same tree, and same railing outside my window. It's super quiet and even though you think that might be good for focusing on homework (like I did), it is not. I have tried this out and found that I work better and get a lot more done when I am around people, even if it's just sitting in a little coffee shop somewhere so I can people watch while I'm working on my homework. This way it is broken up. It makes me feel like I'm being really productive. There is a little bit of background noise, movement, changing scenery and always new and really fascinating people to stare at. For example, just yesterday this guy came in to the shop, ordered his drink, sat down, took a sip and pulled out a ... rubik's cube.

I thought, "Huh. This'll be fun. I wonder how long it's gonna take him... it only takes me a whole 1,432 hours to get it figured out, he'll probably be sitting here ALL day and they'll have to kick him out tonight when they close cause he'll still be working on solving it." I was sure of it, and so I watched him. Closely. Thankfully he never once looked my way. He was after all very focused on his little color cube. Every now and then I would blink, I didn't want my contacts to dry up and fall out. I would miss the rubik's cube being solved. I would also have to ask the first person I felt in front of me if they could please take me home as I was blind because I lost my eyes. Seriously though, I'm blind without my eyes. And I would hope and pray the stranger helping me was nice and honest and not stealing my precious belongings: my calendar, tissues, and five pennies. So I blinked. When I had unblinked, the rubik's cube man was holding in his hand, the rubik's cube - solved. All the red was on one side, the blues on another, yellow, green.... he did it and I missed it! So I fixed my eyes on him and didn't blink once, forget about being blind, I wasn't going to miss out on this.

He did it again. Set it on the table. Picked it up. Undid it. And did it again. And again. I started timing him. He scrambled the puzzled, put it together, undid it, and put it together again, and mixed it up again... in one minute! Are you kidding me?! Two times in one minute?! And I had been feeling really good about myself, I mean, I could do the puzzle in a mere 1,432 hours... That's a record! This guy is crazy! He could probably set a new one! He was so speedy!

Then, I have to admit I wondered if he was trying to show off his mad rubik's cube solving skills to the ladies in the coffee shop. ...Except all of the other ladies seemed engrossed in their own little lives and sweet little expensive coffee drinks and seemed to be paying no attention to him whatsoever. Well, he had me. I was hooked. Then my computer died. And there was no outlet. And I couldn't very well justify sitting and typing when the screen was obviously blank. People would see me and think I was crazy. Even if I told them it was the newest thing and everyone one was doing it, they probably wouldn't fall for it. Plus I had to leave soon anyway for class. Stupid class.

So I had to leave the amazingly talented and speedy rubik's cube man.

You probably think that who Mr. Speedy is. Don't you? Well you'd be greatly mistaken. It is not. The mad rubik's cube man was merely a man I saw with mad skills. ... and who has put my time to shame. pity.

Anyhow. Like I was telling you earlier, I ride into town about every afternoon. It's a hot ride, and by the time I get into town I can feel the trickle of sweat sliding down my back. Disgusting. It probably wouldn't be quite so bad if I wasn't a hunchback. But I am. So it is. My back has grown, now, instead of a mere extra 30 pounds I have to lug around on my back because of the lovely and very old fashioned computer I get to use... I now have to drag along some books too. Two books to be exact. Since when did professors start using textbooks? I mean seriously... what a waste. The books are about 20 pounds each so now I have about 120 pounds to lug around on my back. O. my. I am going to have either one buff back, or I am going to remain a hunch back for life. great.

So, I'm a shinny, sweaty, breathless mess by the time I roll into town. I normally get there a few minutes before the hubs comes out for lunch. So I sit on a little bench in the little shopping square and wait. While I wait, I smell... b.o. Yes. It's disgusting. It's the worst smelling body odor I have ever smelled in my life (and I have been around a lot of body odor. A whole entire country I have lived in smelled like body odor - that's a lot of body. and a lot of odor. nasty). But the stench I was giving off topped all ten thousand people of the little deodorant free island I once lived on. O good gracious. The first time this happened I questioned whether I had put any antiperspirant on that morning. I was pretty sure I had. The second time it happened, I stuck my nose in my pits and took a massive sniff. Yes. I could smell the sweet and fresh scent of my deodorant. Upon removing my nose I got another whiff. So, I tried the other pit. Maybe I forgot one. Nope. I smelled the straps on my backpack. Odor can rub off you know. They were pretty nasty smelling... but that's not where the rank odor was coming from. So I came up with the only possible solution. I was the smelly one and my antiperspirant had quit working on me. O brother.

I asked the hubs, "Am I smelly? Do I stink?"

He sniffs my bubble, "Not particularly," he says.

"O. man." I was crushed. ... I knew I was origin of the smell and he had a broken sniffer. What a shame.

By the time lunch was over, I had cooled off, walked over to Bath & Body Works and sprayed every single spray in the store all over my body. I sprayed from my feet and ankles to my underarms and the hair piled on top my head. Then I proceeded to rub the yummy and sweet smelling lotions all over also. I just had to make sure I smelled good. I even sprayed my trusty humpback. yes. Now the straps smelled much better. The ladies that worked in the shop kept looking at me all fishy like. I told them, "You know, I am just spritzing a little spritz... there are at least one billion spritzes in one bottle. It's ok. Plus, they're the samples. What's the sample good for if you don't actually sample it? It's there for me to use! And... wouldn't you rather me use a little of your extra fragrance than smell like poo?" They just blinked at me. ...ok, well, maybe I didn't really say that to them. But I would have if they told me I couldn't try out all their spritz bottles of perfumes.

After feeling fully refreshed and positive that I smelled like the perfume shop itself, I walked to the coffee shop. Plopped down, and started working. Then... I smelled it. The smell. the B.O. smell. The smell I had just gotten rid of. Are you kidding me?! Good gravy! I just fixed it. But that's when I realized I wasn't the culprit. Nooooooo. Not me. It was him. I dubbed him, Mr. Speedy. For he was in dire need of some Man Speed Stick or Old Spice or something. Wheew eee!!! Man!! I don't think he has had a bath in over ten years. And that's just a wild guess.

I figured out that he uses the restroom at this coffee shop, they let him. But he spends most of his time sitting outside, and is in the same square at lunch time where I wait for the hubs. It was him!!! He was the source of the smell!! Wow. For one man to create that odor is quite a feet. He is smellable from miles away. I don't even have to look up and see him to know he is approaching or nearby. Nope. My trusty sniffer lets me know.

I had the ... opportunity ... to sit right by him the other day as I was waiting for the hubs. All of the other benches were taken and filled. I was stuck sitting on the bench right behind his. I figured, no big deal. The hubs will be out soon and I'll just up and leave then.

No. Not so. The hubs did not emerge from his cave for another five hours!! What the crap?! I thought lunch was at lunch time, not dinner time! And of course I couldn't leave and sit on the furthest bench away from Mr. Speedy, 1. that would be rude, and c. they were naturally all taken (...I wonder if the other people know about Mr. Speedy?). The hubs texted me, "sorry, Homey is on the phone. Have to wait for him."

Homey is the one that has graciously allowed us borrow his rusty, old, squeaky, bicycle. The hubs was going to buy him a lunch as a thank you. It just so happened the day I had to sit nearest Mr. Speedy, is the day they take FOREVER in getting outside. ...I should have called the Old Spice man, maybe he could have helped. Needless to say, I don't think I have ever been quite so happy to see the hubs.

Also, I think my sense of smell is now broken.

Screaming Man

There are a lot of really interesting people around these parts. Really, there are interesting people around all parts, some are easier to spot than others though... but that's because some stand out more than others do. Take for example Screaming Man. He's an easy one to spot (or hear). He's out at least once a week, right at lunch time, and sometimes he makes a reappearance a second time in the week. Mostly he comes and screams at people on Tuesdays. I like to think he has a rotation of locations he visits. This is what he does: stands, in the middle of the little shopping square and screams at people, but no one in particular.

He screams about how the world is going to end, about how he is a great Christian and everyone he knows can tell because he does good things and goes and screams at people every Tuesday (he didn't say that exactly... but pretty much that's what he meant). He screams and shouts about how you are going to die, and you should figure out where you are going. That hell is a horrible terrible place. And he knows he isn't going to hell because he screams at people and has even set up a rotation of locations. o. good. gracious. He rambles on and on and on... and no one listens to him.

So, one Tuesday afternoon, as the hubs and I were walking past him, I stopped, looked at him, and listened. He stopped talking though. He realized I was actually listening to him and his words stared to mumble and fumble, stutter and sputter. I waited.tap, tap, tapping my foot, hands folded across my tummy. Mutter and shutter... words spilling out on the other, little short breaths... nothing that made sense at all. I tilted my head, tap tap tapped my foot quicker and louder, I was growing impatient, I wanted to hear what he had to say. Finally, after ten minutes of being tongue tied, he started up again. Repeating the exact same thing he had said before I started to pay attention. Well, shoot. I had already heard that. I wanted to hear something new. No such luck.

Apparently he doesn't expect people to listen to him. Apparently he doesn't like it when people give him the time of day and actually stop and pay attention. Apparently he just wants to be Screaming Man who every one ignores. Apparently he just really really enjoys screaming. Well... on Tuesday, if you are bored or looking for something to do and want to have your ears go numb, you should go sit in the square and listen to Screaming Man who will most likely freeze and go dumb the moment you sit to listen to him. Free entertainment, I tell you.

It's really rather quite amusing. I was secretly pleased that I made Screaming Man stop and stumble over his words. Yes. Yes, I was. After standing and waiting to listen to what Screaming Man had to say exactly, I scurried to catch up with the hubs (because of course he had kept on walking) and I told him, "It was me. I made him stop. I looked at him to listen, and he shut up."

"Haha," the hubs chuckled and smiled. And we kept walking.

Today I heard Screaming Man again. He says the exact same thing over and over again. It continues to range from Religion to Politics. ...interesting. Possibly. Entertaining. Yes. But you have to remember: if you really want to listen to him you have to pretend to be doing something so that it looks like you are not paying attention.

Crushed

So far this summer I have done something I haven't done in a very long time. Paint my fingernails. Twice. I nearly always paint my toenails, but not my finger ones. I don't normally paint them for a number of reasons:

a. I'm right handed, so I can paint my left hand and have it look alright, but when I go to paint my right hand it is just one big fat disaster. I get the nail polish everywhere expect for my fingernail. Then I have to bathe my hands in nail polish remover for about three days before it will all come off. It's a little ridiculous really, so I just don't mess with it.

2. On the rare occasion that I get some crazy inkling to paint my fingernails and actually follow through with it and I manage to not only get the nail polish on my hands but nails also, I'm too impatient to let them dry. I blow on them for about an hour, then I dance around the room waving my my hands in the air for two hours to help them dry faster. Because as you know, when you violently move your hands around after just painting them it makes them dry a LOT faster. After that... I sit on the couch with my hands flat on my knees and wait. For another hour, before I move or dare touch anything.

d. The unfortunate part about the four hour long procedure is that even when I've waited for four hours for my finger nails to dry, as soon as I touch that letter, or door knob, or remote, or keyboard, or pretty white chair... it magically comes off of my fingers and sticks to the ________ (fill in the blank object). Of course I have to take care of that right away and I go for the nail polish remover to take the nail polish off of said object. The only problem with that is as soon as I touch the little plastic bottle that holds the blue (or pink) potion, the paint immediately begins to scrunch up and fall off of my little nails, so while one finger nail might be perfectly pretty, the other ten are not. It's really quite unfortunate.

3. This is just too much to handle and instead of taking a measly four hours it ends up taking about ten. I do not have time to mess with that.

e. In the event that by some miraculous wonder the paint goes on the nail, stays on the nail, and doesn't ruin the moment I touch something, it doesn't last long. Nope. Only hours later, when I plunge my hand into the sudsy sink it will come out plain and without paint. Again, I vow to myself that I will never ever again paint my nails.

So I painted them. This summer. Before we left for our adventure. And I brought with me more paint and the magical and simultaneously evil potion. It's called, "Crushed" (the polish that is) and I think it's a rather fitting name. Every time I use nail paint I am crushed, because it always positively fails. Except... for this one. Maybe the name really is magical because so far, with this one, I haven't had any of the normal troubles I usually have with nail paint. The first time I painted it on I painted very super slowly. Then I didn't touch anything for the rest of the day. Not even the tip of my nose. Which is really quite surprising considering I use half a box of tissues every single day of my life. But it stays. Not just for the day, but for two weeks. It's the magic paint! And really, by the time it starts to chip of, it's allowed to.

The morning I decide to take the remaining flaking paint off, I use the evil magic potion and take of the remaining bits of my polish. Then, very carefully I paint the nails again. After working for an hour on the painting, I slowly stand up and pose my fingers right in front of my little fan. I have to use the palm of my hands and my chin to turn it on and back around, but it works, and finally I manage to get it right.

I learned this trick, of using a fan, when I went with my sister to the nail painting place, the lady painting my nails would shove one in front of a tiny little fan when she finished painting it. So I tried this at home. And it worked. Combined with me standing in front of the tiny little fan for seven hours that is. And after the seven hours were up I went and sat with my hands on my knees for three hours, staring at the white wall in front of my face, just to be sure. By the time the hubs came home my nails were pretty and painted and all dry.

This is the way I get to spend my days. Thankfully I have five whole days a week all to my lonesome self that I can spend doing whatever I want to. Long days. Quiet, long days. And sometimes lonely. Which is why I brought Crushed. It keeps me occupied for the whole day long.

The War of Waffles

I like sleep. A lot. In fact, it might be safe to say that sleep is almost one of my most pleasant past times. I love the feeling of plopping on to a nice soft mattress, cuddling up with Teddy Toby, and feeling safe and sound under the weight of the blankets.

Now, sleeping isn't always a glorious experience. Sometimes you get stuck with a mattress so hard the ground would be softer to sleep on. Or sometimes the pillow is too puny or fluffy which makes getting comfortable entirely too difficult. And sometimes Toby decides to jump off the bed and sprint to the other room... I don't know why a little teddy bear would rather sleep on the cold hard floor when he could be suffocating under the nice warm covers. Silly teddy. Then there are times when there are too many blankets so you can't sleep because it is too hot... o wait... never mind. That's never a problem ...for me, though I hear it is quite the dilemma for some.

I am continually made fun of because I like to lay ten blankets on top of my bed before I go to sleep. yes. I quite like the pressure of all of the blankets on top of me. With ten blankets on top I feel safe. I know that the bad guys would not only have to break through the door that is bolted and chained and locked and nailed shut, they would also have to untangle them selves from the mountain of blankets that would be abruptly tossed on them once they hopped in my room. At which point they would have to try to escape from under ten different blankets. Quite a chore let me tell you. I would be out of that house faster than they could escape from half of one blanket. That is why my weapon of choice is: the blanket. It's pretty time consuming to untangle yourself from one of those suckers. It's true. You should try it. Especially the knitted or crocheted ones. Super tricky. Try it.

When I sleep, I don't move around too much. If you were to tuck me in at night time and then come bring me breakfast in bed in the morning, you would find me in the exact same spot. The covers laying neatly all around me, undisturbed. Yes. In fact, to make the bed, all I have to to is pull up a tiny little corner of the sheets and blankets up to the top corner and lay my pillow on top of them. And really, you don't even have to put the pillow on top, I just like the way it looks. It's easy. quick. Speedy. To make a bed that I have slept in.

Now not everyone is like this. In fact, I know some people who manage to turn their entire bodies around in their bed so their head is at the foot of the bed, their feet are at the head of the bed, and their butt is sticking up in the air. And no, they are not cute little babies when they do this. They are old. Not that I watch people sleep, I just happen to know these kinds of things. One way to tell if some one sleeps this way is by how their covers look in the morning. If they are all in a big fat ball or tall heaping pile, it is clear evidence that a person sleeps like this.

People like this drive me crazy. How can they sleep when the sheets and blankets are going every which way?! They probably can't really, and so that is probably why they are so stinking cranky in the morning and can only say, "Don't talk to me. I need my coffee first." (Another way to identify the messy sleeper). I on the other hand, must have my sheets tucked into the bed, the covers have to be flat and neat. I have to be able to slip under the covers like a letter goes into an envelope. Snug. Yes please.

And so the war begins. The battle had been raging from quite some time now. You see, the hubs is the kind who sleeps with the covers in a pile in the middle of the bed, the sheets can't be tucked in, and pretty much takes up the entire bed. I don't approve of this, nor do I like it one bit. So I am forced to sleep on less than a quarter of the bed, tucked neatly away.

The War of Waffles began a few weeks ago. We arrived in our neat little summer home. When I first saw the bed I was satisfied. The pillow was the right fluffiness. And there were clean sheets on the bed. At least I hope they were. I pretended they were at least.

That is why it is unfortunate to say that not only did I freeze my toes off that first night, I also couldn't sleep because the sheets came untucked and the blanket was too thin so it didn't stay put. Don't they know better?!

Ok... Problem solved. We found another blanket and I put it on my dime size portion of the bed to help me keep warm and for the extra weight I need to sleep at night. Well... It was entirely useless. Now the blankets were just fighting all night long. The white waffle blanket would shove the blue waffle blanket off the bed. Not to mention the second waffle blanket on the bed is completely too large for the bed, so it just shifts from one side to the other. The sheets, wanting in on the action do the same. For Pete's Sake. Stay still! It doesn't help one bit that the hubs is in cover heaven. He just shoves the covers off of him (thinking it's so swell of him and all) and on to me. It only makes it worse! Because two minutes later he's reaching for them... he's so capricious some times. Now I have five hugemoungous waffle blankets tangling me up every single night. I can't sleep with all this noise! So I toss and I turn. I sit up in the middle of the night... every hour of every night... and pull and push and rearrange the covers just how they should be... but it's to no avail. They continue to jump from their side of the bed to mine. It's like they know... they know I can't sleep like that and so they decide to make it more difficult and irritating for me to sleep at night.

The Waffle Wars get so loud that I just can't take it any more. I just can't. So I grabbed a pair of fuzzy socks and put them on, laid on top of the covers and said, "take that" to the covers. Well... it didn't do a bit of good. The covers continued to jump and dance and prance and twist around me all night long.

O! Those stupid little thin blankets that tangle me up all night long. See... I told you, the perfect weapon right there.

The next night I am sick of seeing the black bags under my eyes and of prying my eye lids open with toothpicks (it's really quite painful you know...) all day long. So, I take my one little blue waffle blanket, my perfectly plump pillow, and fuzzy yellow socks with me and march to the couch. I plop right on down, cover up (nice and neat of course) and close my eyes. For the first time I sleep, without having to wake up in the middle of the night and fight and curse at the dang blankets all night long. Ooooo how I loathe those blankets.

The hubs says to me in the morning, "Why'd you sleep on the couch?"

"It's the waffles! I'm sick of them!" I tell him.

"The waffles?" he looks at me like he's getting ready to take me into the House of Nuts.

"Yes. The waffles! They interrupt my sleep. They keep me up all night long with their fighting and yelling and wadding up. I just can't take it any more! I don't care if I'm the one that has to surrender first. I don't care! I surrender! I give up! I hate those stupid waffle blankets! They drive me up the wall. I just can't take it. I want to sleep. I miss looking at the back of my eyelids!" I declare at the top of my lungs.

"Oh" says the hubs. "Ok then." He's still looking at me like I'm a complete nut job. He's going to take me to the loony house. I know it. I just know it.

On the bright side, at the loony house I will at least have my own bed and then I can tuck the sheets as tight as I please and there will be no War of Waffles.

Oh my. The trials and tribulations that fill my little life...

Four Bears

We went to Yosemite the next day. This time instead of driving right through it, we actually made a few stops. It was neat and all, very pretty. But my favorite part wasn't seeing the breathtaking views from one of the highest look out points, or climbing to the top of a waterfall at which point I became completely and utterly soaking wet. No. Not even close.

My favorite part was the bears. You see, as soon as you drive into the park they had signs every where saying, "Driving Fast Kills Bears." Bears? Bears. Well... that settled it. I opened my eyes as wide as they could go and glued my forehead to the window. I mean, really, I glued my forehead to the window. I did not want to miss my one and only opportunity to see a real live bear. There were also signs saying, "Don't kill Deer, Drive Slow" ... but shoot, I've seen a deer before. A real live, up close deer. Forget about the deer. I can see a deer anywhere. I want to see me a bear. So we keep driving. No bears jump out from behind a tree or hop on the top of our car. But I'm sure I will see at least one bear. So I keep looking. ...and that's when I saw him (or her) my first real live bear. The bear was huge! He was standing up and his front paws were in the air. He was very still, but very big and black. His face looked fierce and as we drove past him, I was sure his eyes locked with mine... maybe I shouldn't have glued my forehead to the window. That would make it a little difficult to escape from the mouth of the bear if I needed to. Thankfully we kept on driving. And the bear didn't chase us. whew.

Though, how cool is that?! I saw a bear! And no one had to point it out to me like they normally do. Not that anyone has Ever pointed out a bear to me. I'm talking about the deer, groundhogs, opossums, and red birds that everyone is always saying, "Look! a deer!" and I turn my head round to see, but it's never there when I turn to look at it. The hubs does that a lot. He'll say, "Look, Sweets! A groundhog!" and I'll turn around in my seat real quick like and point my eyes in the direction his hand was just pointing in. But, there is never a groundhog, or a deer, or a red bird for that matter. It's really quite disappointing. That's why when I saw the bear, all on my own, I felt so proud, and that's also why I didn't show the hubs. I had pointed out a few waterfalls (big waterfalls) before I saw the bear, but he never saw them. He always just said, "Where? I can't see it? There's no waterfall! I can't see it." Well... just so you know, Hubs, just because you didn't see it, doesn't mean it wasn't there. I know perfectly well what I saw. I know I saw a super tall waterfall, and I know that I saw a big black bear. Even if you didn't.

Wow. I think I have never been this pleased with myself before. I saw a big black bear all by myself. I wonder if there are any brown bears. Will I see any cute little cuddly cubs? That's what I want to see! I want to see me some cubs. ... but those might be harder to spot, since they are smaller and all. So I squirt some more glue to my forehead and continue to look out the window. As we drive I feel the car turning up tiny little winding roads. going in circles it seems. I'm just glad I have a window to look out of ... otherwise there would be a pile of trouble in my lap. gross. I see trees, loads and loads of trees. Green ones. Some are dead though, all their branches have burnt off. Sad. But there are a gazillion other trees that are still green, so I guess it's all good. As we near the top of a mountain I see something moving in the woods. I feel a big fat grin spread on my face. It's another bear I hope!!! yes. yes. a bear. I know it. I can feel it. And there will be little baby cubs with her too. I open my eyes even wider and refuse to blink.

It's a deer.

eh. oh well. I tried. I mean, I did my part. You would think the forest would do theirs. Apparently not.

We get to the top and look around at the incredible view. Mountains spread for miles, snow on some, bare rock on others, thousands of trees on still more. A waterfall is gushing out of one of the mountain sides. And I stand. Amazed. It's too much to take in. I feel so tiny and insignificant. So completely worthless. I mean, look at all that is out there... all that is so much bigger and greater than I. So I keep standing. My eyes are studying, searching, looking at all of the colors, all of the trees, and all of the rocks that there are to see. Breathtakingly Beautiful.

Ten hours and five hundred pictures later, we are climbing (and when I say "we" I really mean "me") into the car. I climb over the seat, then over the shoes on the floor of the car, then my foot touches the top of the car because I have to be sure to step over the bag and not on it. After one foot touches the floor the next foot goes up, over my head, to the roof, and then comes down again, backwards. Turn around and sit. I feel like a dog. Chasing his tail, going in circles, getting no where. But that only lasts about an hour. And we are off.

On the way out we're all chit chatting about what we saw and all that jazz. And that's when I see it. Them. My head bangs against the glass I'm so excited. There, among the trees are three little bears. Well, one is big and two are little. They are spread out, it looks like they are playing freeze tag or something. One little cub is chasing the other. And then they both are still as a tree. Man, they are really good at that game. I would hate to play freeze tag with them. They'd beat me right out. "Look, Hubs!" I say as I poke the window violently with my finger.

"Huh?" he says half heartedly.

"A bear! Three bears!" I keep poking the glass as if my finger is talking.

"What? Where?" he says as he slowly leans across the seat to look at where my finger is pointing. "I don't see one," he mumbles.

The sad truth is by the time he had come to his senses we were long past the three bears, so there's no way he could have seen them playing freeze tag. But I did. He saw a deer, I saw a bear. Four to be exact. That's right.

The hubs says, "You didn't see any bears!"

"Did so!" I rebuttal, sounding like a three year old.

"Did not!"

"Did so!" we are so pathetic. "Just because you didn't see them doesn't mean I didn't see them!"

And that's the truth. Just because you don't see something that someone else did (especially when driving rather quickly through a dense forest) doesn't mean that it wasn't there. It merely means they missed out on the bear sighting of a life time.

Though, you know, it is funny. I thought I might see the bears running and moving a lot more than they were. The first one just stood still and gave the "I'm going to eat you" stare. And the other three were playing freeze tag. Run. Stop. Run. Stop. Freeze. They all made themselves still as a tree when I spotted them. It's like they knew I was on the look out for them, and they wanted to trick me so I would go hiking up the trail right next to them... at which point they would ROAR a deafening ROAR and I would become speechless and paralyzed with fear, and then, then they would pounce. And that would be the end of my story.

Thankfully, I was wise enough to stay off of the trials with the "freezing" bears as I like to call them. I wanted to see a bear, and I did. I had no desire to get close enough to actually touch a bear though. So yes. I saw everything I wanted to see and then some. Good trip.

Lake Tahoe

Well, shoot. My life has suddenly become a lot more boring. I mean, now that my bicycle is cooperating with me, now that the washing machine wants my money, now that my feet have mostly healed, now that we've discovered a bus that goes the 10 plus miles to Target... ya. It's no where nearly as exciting as it once was. Two days ago. That's why the hubs and I went on a trip.

Yup. A trip. A trip to a great big lake out here and then to some pretty big mountains. On Thursday afternoon I have class. It's pretty boring and horrible to be perfectly honest, which I am, so I wasn't thrilled when the professor decided it would be "fun to play a game". When is it ever fun to play a game in an online class, let me ask you. Answer: Never. Plus, he pretty much ruined the game. We were supposed to reenact some world war or another and it didn't have to follow the path of the real one that happened. So it didn't. But then he got all upset about that and spent 20 minutes after class was out to explain how we did it wrong and why. I'm not even joking. joy. I am supposed to be leaving to go on the trip of a life time and here I am... stuck in some terrifically dull class... that was supposed to be over an hour ago. Super. So after he goes on and on for another hour (two hours over class time) I decide to pull the plug. literally. So I do. Woops. I guess my computer shut off. Random. Crazy. I'm sure it's not a permanent thing though.

So I pack. Well, actually, I was packing while I was in class. Kind of. I pretended to be paying attention but really I was scurrying all around my bedroom and bathroom trying to pick the clothes that I needed to take and if I needed to bother washing my hair over the next four days... I decided no. No I would not be washing my hair once. So I threw everything else of importance in my bag (a pair of pants, four shirts, socks... you know. the norm). It all fit. Impressive. One backpack for four days. Then I picked it up. well, I tried to. I couldn't. So I pulled out half of it and tried again. It worked. Now the only problem I had was that I didn't have half the stuff I needed for the trip. huh. o well. I'll live.

By the time I'm done packing (why I didn't do it five days in advance I don't know... well, maybe I do. I mean, I knew about the trip and all, but I'm just more of a last minute packer. That's it. Yes. last minute. That's me) my computer had randomly shut off. This was nice because it meant that my class was over. For good. Thank goodness.

So, the hubs comes in and says, "Let's go!" Of course they had all been ready for five hours and were trying their hardest to wait for me. I apologized profusely and blamed it on the stupid prof. It was after all his fault. I swung my bag on my back and pranced down the stairs. We were off. An adventure of a life time. I stuck my bag in the car (a fancy little rental one) and proceeded to climb ever so gracefully over the seat to get to the very small back corner of the car. My spot. Man, this was going to be a long trip. The car stopped. Ok, maybe it won't be a long trip.

"Are you coming, Sweets?" asks the hubs looking at me like I'm a nut for sitting and not climbing out to go eat in the little restaurant.

Once I realize what we're doing I happily tumble over the seat once again to let my face meet the hard concrete parking lot ground. That's not how I had planned my graceful exit, but that's pretty much how it went down. Oh well... I've got loads of time to perfect that one. And thankfully the restaurant will probably have some ice and paper towels to stop the bleeding and throbbing. Dinner is yummy and before I can blink we are on the road again. Well, kind of. You know how when you go to a restaurant with a bunch of people and you are going to order a pizza. You are all going to eat the same thing, so you all have to agree on what kind of pizza to get. Thankfully it only took us about 60 minutes to figure out what we wanted on ours. After that we just had to gobble it down right quick. So we did.

Then we were off for real this time. After being shoved into the far back corner that is. And when I say shoved, that might even be an under statement. The hubs literally had to push me over the seat to get me into the back of the car. Once I managed to sit up straight, I was fine. Man, I really do need to work on that entrance and exit. ...next time.

Our first stop was Lake Tahoe. We got there a few hours later, it was dark and we didn't even get to see the lake. Great. Glad I made that trip. Four hours of being smushed and I don't even get to see the main attraction. Lovely. That's my kind of trip.

"Sweets, you gettin' out?" says the hubs... there seems to be a reoccurring pattern here. Maybe I should pay more attention.

Once again, I stumble out of the car, landing on my hands and knees this time. And you could hardly see the gash of blood on my palm, so I was really better off than when I skinned my forehead earlier that night. See, I told you I would get better at that. Come to find out we were stopping at a hotel by the lake and we would go see it in the morning. Nice.

In the morning we went to enjoy the free breakfast that came with the hotel stay. There was a little old lady hostess. She was so short a second grader was probably taller than she was. And the energy she had. Wow. She was full of it... at 7 in the morning I didn't know it was possible to possess so much energy. Now I know. You can. Well, at least, she can. She asked every one for their first name, and after she seated us she bragged on her restaurant for an hour before handing us our menus for us to order from. Since I love pancakes, I got pancakes. With fresh strawberries. It was so yummy. But you know how breakfast goes. It's breakfast. And I eat it. I'm a cranky little person if I don't eat any.

By 7:30 we were on the road. You know, I knew that the hour existed during the week. I'm up all the time by 7:30 during the week. But on the weekend?! I had absolutely no clue 7 was even a time on weekend mornings. ...O wait. It's Friday. I forgot. I guess it exists. But tomorrow, I'm sure I won't see that hideous hour of the morning.

I won't bore you with the details of all of the amazingly beautiful things we saw on the trip that day. All of the little windy mountain roads we went up and down. The ski lift we rode up to the top of the mountain to look over the entire lake. It was just too perfectly pretty to describe anyhow. You will just have to go enjoy it sometime for yourself. But we did enjoy our time there. In fact. I enjoyed it so much I broke a rule! On all of the paths there were signs that said, "Keep on the Path" so I did. That is until we saw snow. And the mom-in-law and aunt said, "it's okay, everybody's doing it!" so we ran and plopped down in a patch of snow for some pictures. And also so we could have a wet butt for the rest of the day. At least that's why I did it. I love being cold and having cold wet clothes on.

After a full day we started the drive to Yosemite National Park. Once we got to the park we drove for ten hours through it just to get to the other side so we could drive another five in the morning to go right back to it. Although, we did see one neat thing. A fire. Forget about the trees and waterfalls, the bears and the pine cones. We saw a fire. That's right. You hear about them all the time, but I've never actually seen one. Welp. I saw one, and even got to feel some of the crazy hot flames coming off of it. So we just drove faster down the road to escape from it and then got out to look at it. Much safer out of your car than in the car you know. You can definitely run quicker than you can drive. Common sense. Maybe I'll tell you about the bear sightings tomorrow.

Little Brother

I was sitting in the park the other day, just you know, sitting. People are all around, sitting, chatting, little kids playing. You know, the norm. I'm just sitting minding my own pleasant business. I see two little girls about the same age playing and running around the park and what looks like a little brother wanting in on the fun. He chases them and they run away from him, then so naturally he chases them again... and the cycle repeats. o little brothers. ... o big sisters...

After a while of them chasing each other one of them comes up with the brilliant plan of coming up to me, a stranger, and asking my name.

"Hi. What's your name?' says the little girl looking down at me.

At this point I'm not quite sure what to say. I mean, this little girl is talking to a complete stranger (me). Do I tell her, "you know little girl, you really aren't supposed to talk to strangers" even though I know I'm perfectly nice and safe? Or do I tell her my name and be nice? Decisions. Decisions.

I tell her my name.

"My name is Julie," says girl one.

"My name is Allie," pipes up girl number two.

"My name is Josh," chimes in little brother.

"I like your shoes," I say to girl number two. She beams.

Girl number one shuffles her feet closer to me. "I like your shoes too," I tell her. A smile spreads across her face.

Little brother is looking left out. I just can't have that, so I say to him, "I really like your shoes!" He grins from ear to ear.

Uh-oh. Here comes mommy. "Thanks," she smiles at me. Though, for the life of me I can't figure out why she said 'thanks' to me.

"Sorry!" I offer to her while thinking, "It's not my fault! They started it! I was just being nice!"

She walks over to her kids and says, "Do you see that lady? That really cool and nice lady right there?"

Their little heads bob up and down vigorously. And little girl number one says, "Ya! we asked her what her name is!"

"Oh. Well, did you know it before you asked her what her name was?" Mommy asks them.

This time their little heads just tilt to the side in confusion.

"So, what that make her?" she asks?

blank looks stare back at her. I try not to smile.

"A stranger," mommy says.

"Oh," say sisters and little brother. Then they scamper off chasing each other yet again.

I feel terribly. I was the stranger! The mean, terrible, horrible stranger! But I'm not mean, or terrible, or horrible. I'm really nice. I feel so bad! ... But Mommy didn't even let me explain to her. Oh man. I hate that. I was just being nice. Though... if I were their mommy, I would have probably done the same exact thing. And she was very nice about it all. I just hate getting in trouble... by strangers. So I sit and keep on sitting, just like I was before the little kids got me in trouble with their mommy. o my.