Movin' on up.

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Keeping up with the Jones'

Something I forget at times is that each and every one of us have a different path in life. I often wrongly judge people by their accomplishments, placing, or choices; Myself being included in the judging. We are not all meant to do or accomplish things at the same time in our lives. We all experience different things at different times and react in different ways; Those reaction are what take us each down our different paths. Your path is exactly what is right for you, and there is no need to compare your path to anyone else's. Never feel the need to compare your life with others. They are on their path doing their thing, and finding their way. You need to take your path, do your thing and find your own way, to your own pot of gold hopefully.While travelling along that path, always make time to stop and smell the roses, it makes the trip much sweeter.


Who cares about the Jones'? I shouldn't, and neither should you. Who cares if they remodeled their kitchen, bought a vacation home in the Hamptons, or re-sodded their yard? You shouldn't care, they may have just arrived at their destination faster than you did; And that's fine. Your destination may also be different. You may not have a vacation house, you may choose to buy an awesome new car. That's your decision.


Today is the day where I take lust and jealousy out of my vocabulary. I will not lust over material things, no matter who has them, or how great they are. I will not let myself be jealous of these items, even if they get shoved in my face, like some people I know like to do. They are simply not meant to be mine, or my path would have taken me to that location by now.


Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. Right? Yeah, it will, and no matter how jealous, pouty, or angry you get about something, it's still going to be there when you open your eyes.

I have what I have, an am where I am because I've worked for it, and so has my husband. We've worked hard, and I'm proud of that. You should be proud of that for yourself, too. Although, you don't have to listen to me, because I'm just sayin'.

Follow my lead...

A friend of my husband's talked to me about blogging recently. She asked me if I ever thought about doing giveaways, or product reviews. Truth is, I hadn't. The thought had honestly never even crossed my mind. I've been thinking about it on and off for the past month or so, and I've decided I'd like to get into it. I've been picking her brain about doing it, and she said I might be able to get my foot in the door with someone she works with. Her blog is awesome, as one would expect, because she is an awesome person. Check her out. Hopefully I can get this new little venture off the ground.

Now, to get the attention I'll need, I will need more followers I'd imagine. So, if you're a regular reader, please become a 'follower' of my blog. The higher numbers I have, I suppose would make me a better candidate to companies. If I'm not mistaken, I think you need a Gmail account to become a follower; but I could be wrong.

Follow if you like what I'm just sayin'.

Road Warriors

I'm  very rarely in a hurry in the car, I tend to time crunch myself at home, rather than on the road. That being said, I'm still a speeder. So, when I'm going 50 MPH, and you hurry up to pull out in front of me, just to go 30 MPH, it makes me instantly despise you. Why? Are you a terrible judge of speed? Do you lack good depth perception? Or are you just a 'How did you get here' type of person? Either way, you're killing my gas mileage, and giving me grief. Knock it off.

Bad drivers make me nuts, aabsolutely nuts. Really, how did you pass your driver's test? Who am I kidding, you probably don't even have one! What about insurance? No? Yeah, you're right, it's totally too expensive, as well as completely over-rated. Good call. Jerk.

Have you ever noticed when you're at a red light, people pull their car up if the person in front of them does? It's a length of about 6 inches, and it apparently makes all the difference. I think it's such a normal reaction to do it if the person in front of you does it; It's almost the equivalent to a rain dance. I think it makes people think the light will change faster; That, or with the time they've saved by scooting up those 6 inches they feel that they can now stop for a coffee.

Alongside of really noticing that today, I made a decision in another driving area. I decided to never eat in the car again. Why you ask? Because a woman almost hit me today, and that caused me to choke on my taco. I was turning into the target parking lot, and apparently I didn't get out of her way fast enough. She gunned it into the intersection to make her left before my little car had made it all the way out from in front of her car. I gasped, and with that gasp came some rice and beef; Both of which are still in my lungs I think. She then waved her arms at me. Me? You're upset at me? I just had to pull my car over so I could give myself the Heimlich because you scared me so badly. Don't you wave your arms at me, you little troll. The finger had to get me through, because even if I had stopped and gotten out of my car (which I was mad enough to do), it was a good 5 minutes and half a Mountain Dew before I could verbalize anything other then the death gurgle. So, it wouldn't have been that great of screaming match.

I'm sorry I have to be on the road with these people daily; Just sayin'.

All is fair in love and.....

No, not all is fair; Rape and molestation. Not fair. Horrible.

I am blogging with somewhat of a purpose today, because my heart is heavy, and my head is angry. A man I went to grade school with has turned into a pedophile. Great, right? I read about him in the paper a few months back, and was literally nauseated by the story, seen here. Yet, for some reason I've still kept him on my Facebook friends list. I emailed him the day I read the article, and he responded stating it was unfounded, ridiculous, and untrue. What else are you going to say? Admit it via Facebook? Of course not, especially not when you just got out of jail, and your status is about being happy to have your bed back and hot food. Yeah, he's got his priorities straight.

I've thought about this off and on over the past few months, and talked about it on a few occasions with our mutual friends. Although none of us had really kept up with him, because he had gotten a bit weird, our wheels were still turning over his charge report. What in God's name is the matter with him, and anyone else who preys on children. He was a child himself at the time these incidents reportedly occurred. What 14 year old rapes/molests 6 and 9 year old girls?! I cannot wrap my mind around it.

I've found out recently that he is engaged, and his fiancee is pregnant. The baby is a girl. Hopefully, you just cringed the way I did when I found this out. Of course, the parents-to-be are thrilled, and why wouldn't they be? A baby is a blessed occasion. I'm just hoping that the state is keeping tabs on him and his involvement with this blessed occasion until his trial. I'm also hoping they take the baby away from him, because I'm certain the mother is not smart enough to leave. That was made apparent by a bar scene a few days ago. A friend, his once best friend at that, approached him quietly, and inquired about the charges. He flew off the handle and started screaming/yelling obscenities, and his girl jumped in. It looked like they belonged on an episode of cops, and that she should have been barefoot in a front yard. What a sight. Yet, in all of the dramatics, he never once denied anything, never tried to plead his case to his old buddy. He didn't even feed him a line of malarkey and  try to lie his way out of it. He just went berserk. I now pronounce you guilty, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I've attacked him on Facebook over this bar scene, which I really shouldn't have, I know. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. Not keeping my mouth shut is probably my biggest flaw. That, and I'm beyond nosey. I guess I need to just let it go, because I shouldn't be judging people. That's in God's job description, not mine.

So until I can let it go, or anything else I'm dwelling on; I'll be here ranting. Just sayin'.

Corner to Corner

Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet? How far do you get before you're irritated?

As I was putting the laundry away, I came to the fitted sheet. I decided to pause, and Google the exact directions to folding a fitted sheet. As always, Google came to my rescue.

1. Wash and dry your sheets before folding and storing them.
2. Remove sheets from dryer while they are still warm so that they do not wrinkle. If the sheets are already cool, put them back in the dryer with a moist cloth for a couple of minutes.
3. Put your right hand in the right top corner of the sheet, and fold the left top corner of the sheet over your right hand.
4. Keep holding the sheet with your right hand and gather up a bottom corner, folding it over the right hand as well.
5. Take the remaining corner and fold it over your right hand.
6. Fold the sheet into a square, then continue folding in half until you have reached the desired size.

Alright, step number one is completely unnecessary; Unless your a dirty person that is. Also, who needs to be told to dry them before they store them? Isn't that a given? Sadly, I guess it isn't. Now for step number two; Am I the only person who doesn't care if my sheets are a little wrinkly? I am confident enough that the bed police will not be storming my bedroom in a SWAT-like manner; So I will not be putting in extra sheet dedication for the unlikelihood that event will occur. I know, I know; My poor husband sleeps on slightly wrinkled sheets. I'm the worst wife ever.

Now, somewhere in the middle of, or in between steps three and four, I'm annoyed. I don't think I've ever gotten to step five, let alone step six. I usually end up rolling it into a square like oval, and placing it in the linen closet just so. I then place the perfectly folded flat/top sheet on top, to make a nice little lopsided pair.

To anyone who has ever folded a fitted shit properly like those directions state, or to anyone who will after reading those directions; You're amazing and you're a better person than I am.

I don't think I'll ever fold those sheets the right way, and that's okay. I've been with my husband for seven years, and he hasn't complained yet, so I guess I'm in the clear.

I bet Martha Stewart can fold a fitted sheet. Just sayin'.

Exigency & Plight

I feel like those should be the names of the children I'm never going to have. It's just one thing or another, or a crisis entirely.


I feel like a band is breaking up, the gambler is folding, or like I just watched an Olympic runner trip and fall in front of the finish line, but not cross it. I feel immensely disappointed. This part of my life is turning into a circus; I mean it's been a card house for a while, but the wind just picked up. Epic fail.


What is an epic fail you ask?


 Epic Fail -A mistake of such monumental proportions that it requires its own term in order to sucessfully point out the unfathomable shortcomings of an individual or group. Thank you Urban Dictionary.


I feel like as much as I'm involved by association, that I am, and am going to be, watching the upcoming events unfold from a distance. It's like an out of body experience of sorts. There are times that I am in complete disbelief; And I'd like to point out that those times are getting closer and closer together. Is this happening? Do people act like this? Were you not reprimanded as child when you had a tantrum that was completely unfounded? Apparently not; So get out of the fetal position and just do something already. You aren't always going to have a scape goat, so you need to just own up to your personal misfortune.


I wish I could just stick my head  in the sand, or better yet, run around with my hands over my ears yelling 'LALALALALALA' at the top of my lungs. Maybe if I drag one of my feet like I have a club foot they'll feel badly for me, and leave me alone. No? Eh, it works for some people.


It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine) - R.E.M. 


I do feel fine, but I can't deny that I see the mushroom cloud on the horizon. Just sayin'.

No respect...

This is what my husband mumbles to me as he is sitting in his chair. Mind you, he was just chasing me through the house like a child, trying to tickle me and goose me. What does it mean to goose someone? Here's your answer. Now, knowing what a goose is, you know I was running from him screaming like a burn victim. Picture Titan our K9 chasing behind him barking, and you'll have this circus of an evening mentally pictured in its entirety. What possessed him, I'll never know.

He tried to tickle me, and I fled the bedroom; I ran into the laundry room, and decided to just put the laundry away, because I figured we were done. When I was in the laundry room, he decided to come in with his BB gun and point it at my bare feet, laughing hysterically saying 'It doesn't hurt, it's just BB's!'. This led to me scrambling on top of the washer, and screaming like a lunatic. I hopped down, got brave, and chased him into the office. I shoved him into a cabinet, and knocked 2 glass candle holders down, which exploded onto the wood floors like a bomb, cutting his feet up. Great. Now he's whining like a big baby about his feet being cut, and I'm sweeping up a giant pile of glass shards while Titan waits in the wings wanting to play too. He comes back into the office after cleaning up his wounds, and picks up the BB gun again. Seriously babe? This was the next conversation/30 seconds of my life:

AC: 'Look, it doesn't hurt, it's just a BB. I'll show you
AC then points the rifle towards his thigh, and pulls the trigger.
AC: 'Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!!'
I then give AC the stupidest pity face I can muster.
KC: 'It's doesn't hurt huh?'
AC: 'Okay it does hurt, a lot. Wow, look at that welt.'
AC then took the walk of shame out of the office.
KC: 'You're an idiot.'

Now that all that is done, I go back into the bedroom to put the clean sheets on the bed. Here he comes, trying to tickle me and pin me on the bed. Joke's on him, I got my leg out and flailed backwards. This caused him to go over backwards off the bed, fall down the side and get his head smashed between the night stand and bed frame. My poor foot got pinned between his body and the bed rail on the way down, and truly bent in such a way that I am shocked it did not snap like a twig. The top of it, which has my tattoo on it, got scraped badly though, and that hurts a lot too. What is the matter with us?

He's feisty tonight. He worked last night, and didn't sleep today; So he's probably just deliriously tired. Either way, we are too old to be acting like this. Just sayin'.

Limbo

Well, limbo is not a good place to be. - Bill Joy

I'm in limbo, and I don't like it. It's not a good place to be. I hate being in between things. Even when you're almost certain of it one way; It is almost always possible for it to go another way. I am the type of person who likes things planned, intricatly; And I typically don't like surprises. Well, I do when it's good, and coming from my husband. His good surprises are the best. I just like to be certain of my future, my immediate future at least. I hate it when my weekend plans are ruined or changed, it makes me crabby. That being said, I'm sure you can imagine me being unsure of my future at the moment, I'm easily irritable. In fact, I'm waking up irritated. I'm certain enough of this issue, however, to not be losing sleep over it; So a solid thumbs up to that at least. I'm just unsure of what's going to unfold, and I want to play my cards right. Where do I go from here? Up, down, or sideways? Lord only knows.

This brings excitement to me, certain aspects do anyway; And other aspects bring uncertainty, which gives me nerves. A Nervy B, which is what I so lovingly call a nervous breakdown, was had on Friday night; By yours truly. I basically 'what if' myself into an oblivion. An oblivion that requires a medicinal solution, some water, and sleep. I 'what if' a 'what if', inside of another 'what if'; It's really rather ridiculous. The result of that mental questioning being me laying in  all of my laundry crying, is also rather ridiculous.

Who cares? If it's going to happen, it's going to happen.

Life is like a game of cards.  The hand you are dealt is determinism; the way you play it is free will.  -Jawaharlal Nehru

 I need to learn to just relax, and let it ride. Everything happens for a reason, and God will not lead me where he cannot protect me. He can always protect me. Hakuna Matata, right? No worries, no problem. Just be.

I guess I need yoga, a zen garden, or a xanax mashed up in my eggs every morning. Just sayin'.

 

Money can't buy happiness....?

I strongly beg to differ. Not about the sentence literally, but figuratively. Of course money can't buy happiness literally, but figuratively, I think it comes darn close.

If I had more money, not a million dollars, just more money coming in each month, I can say with confidence I'd be a happier person.  If I didn't have to budget so closely each month (I' m talking dimes here, people), I don't think I'd be as irritable every night. I can say that because I wouldn't be hunched over at my desk with my computer, desk-top calendar, and a calculator mumbling about my quarters and how poorly the pay-days fall this month. My husband wouldn't be trying to talk to me while I was doing just that, so I wouldn't be biting his head off because 'I'm trying to count' like I do now. Me not biting his head off would improve our relationship in two ways; He doesn't like having his head being bit off, and I don't like him calling me a grouch. I do all the budgeting, don't call me a grouch! I am the Super-Jew that makes it possible for you to have your guns, your meaningless car accessories, your expensive Under Armor, and your dog that eats like a horse and craps like a cow. You're welcome. You better respect the Super Jew.

Having more money would also make me happier because I could help my mother more. Now, helping her isn't what necessarily would make me happy, but shutting her up certainly would be. I love her, but the woman is difficult, and drives me bonkers. This day is a perfect example of that fact. I know it sounds terrible, but my relationship with my mother is more complex than I will ever have words to describe.

My sister is having a baby in July; Having more money each month would help enable my husband and I to be the coolest aunt/uncle ever. Not that we aren't going to be already, but spoiling him rotten would be a a bonus.

Until I hit the lottery, or land an amazing job, I will just have to continue to be the Super Jew of budgeting. Just sayin'.

The bitter end

The bitter end, of my weekend. It takes so long to get here, and then it disappears so quickly. I can't complain, I do get a lot done on my weekends; but it would be nice to get one more day to actually relax.

This weekend we helped friends with a few things of theirs, being as they've recently moved, and are renting out their old house. We also sorted through our closets and dressers, we put our winter clothing in storage, and donated anything we don't wear. What a difference that made in our bedroom.

Also, going to storage makes me sad, because I see all of my household items and furniture, that I miss so dearly. It makes me want to cry, and on occasional visits I do. Whenever I see anything that I know I'd want in my house, I buy it, and it goes into my storage unit. Someday, hopefully soon, I will be blessed enough to decorate one last house. I miss having a home, and at the same time, am completely sick of moving. I need to play the lottery, and win the money to buy a home.

If anyone wants to buy us a home, we would certainly be appreciative. Just sayin'.

Swamp people, or swamp things?

This television show both nauseated and repulsed me tonight. It's a show based on people who 'live off the bayou' in Louisiana. 'Living off the bayou' meaning they tie ropes to trees to catch alligators, and then shoot them with a 22 caliber rifle. They then pull these ridiculously large and frightening creatures into their little boats. Sometimes they have to even chase them onto the land. Lunacy. Not to mention the bare feet and dirty fingernails, those were abundant with these people.

What made me aware of this shows existence was my husband laughing hysterically from the bedroom. I went into ask him what was so funny, and I heard the answer coming from the TV. It was Troy Landy yelling 'Chootem Chootem!', 'Get that biggun!', and 'Get'em, chootem Elizabeth!'. You cannot understand a word this man says. I know this to be true because the show has subtitles on whenever he is speaking, and he speaks english; Kind of. After I was done mulling his speech impediment over in my head, debating whether or not it was a brain impulse that caused it, or the lack of teeth in his mouth, the Guist Brothers made their appearance. Dear sweet baby Jesus. What is on my television? I watched one of the brothers spit on a worm he was using as bait, because it made it more appetizing to the fish. Is this really happening?

Why on God's green earth do I not have a TV show, and these people do?  How is that fair, or even remotely justifiable? I have a solid 20 ideas right now that would make better television than this show.

I'm still sitting here in awe over the show in its entirety. It actually upset my stomach. I will never visit any part of Louisiana because of this show, these people, and their voices/language. A solid thumbs down to their whole operation; Even though alligators frighten me greatly.

Meet the Guist Brothers. I'd like to think that even though I'm a chunky girl, anything I do would be a bit more aesthetically pleasing than watching these two repugnant mutants spit on worms. Just sayin'.

Boredom, vice, and need.

Boredom flourishes too, when you feel safe.  It's a symptom of security.  - Eugene Ionesco

Great, I feel safe; That doesn't change the fact that I'm bored out of my damn mind. I do the same thing every night that my husband works. I play around online, blog, play scrabble on my iPad, watch TV, and do laundry. So, naturally, when he's home, I'm like an excited puppy. Whether we go to the grocery store, or watch a movie in bed, it's something different.

So, tonight when he had an errand to run, again with me being like an excited puppy; A ride in the car? Yes please. He ran that errand without me, and I got completely butt hurt over it.  He's now out in the garage with his buddy, mounting headlights inside of the grill on his truck. I'm sitting inside, furious, and bored, as usual.

On a side note, we have a few things to do tonight, and a full schedule for the weekend. Now we're going to get a late start tonight. Yes, I know sorting through all of the clothing in our closets and dressers isn't an exciting Friday date night; But I'd still like to spend a few minutes with him, no matter what we're doing. Besides, we have too many damn clothes, and it needs to get done. It's always something.

I'm just sick of being irritated by someone or something constantly. I don't have enough patience to be a functioning adult in society. That's just all there is to it.

Also, I need a vice to cure my boredom. Just sayin'.

Hunger induced rage?

Those three words were part of my friends Facebook status today. It made me laugh. I'd also like to note that she is probably the skinniest friend I have. The girl runs stadiums and marathons on a daily basis for cryin' out loud. I'm sure she was hungry enough to be angry.

 

A hungry man is an angry one. - Buchi Emecheta

 

Have you ever reached that point? I have. Don't laugh, because it does exist. There is just a point that you're so hungry you can't even think. At this point, the next person that approaches you with anything short of a three course meal may be in eminent danger.

 

Your stomach is churning, and it almost makes you nauseous. You can only chug so much water to ward off the inevitable; You need to find some snackems, now. The hunt is on. You're rifling through your desk drawers, your cup holders, and your purse pockets; Junk food don't fail me now. This is not the time for a stick of gum, and if I find a box of tic tacs, I'm going to ingest the entire thing in about 3 minutes. (Note: If you eat an entire container of Tic Tacs, it's about 60 calories, give or take, and you will still be hungry.)

 

It really is a miserable feeling to have gotten that hungry. You're just too busy to be able to stop what you're doing to grab something from the vending machine. A solid thumbs down to those work days. They do make you irritable, but sometimes I wonder if it's the job, and not necessarily the hunger. Just sayin'.

Work smarter, not harder.

Work smarter, not harder. - Scrooge McDuck (Carl Barks)

Leave it to an anthropomorphic duck to sum my night up so well.

I just spent 20 minutes rearranging my bedroom furniture. I stubbed my toe, pinched myself between the bed and the dresser, and I nicked the paint on my chair rail with the the corner of the bedside table. I did all this so I could plug my iPad in, and have the ridiculously short cord it came with reach to the bedside table. Success, it now reaches, and I can be lazy every night by not walking it back into the office to charge.

Why didn't I just grab an extension cord or a power strip out of the cord box in the garage? I could have walked out there, chosen from any length and color I desired, and been done in under 5 minutes; With about 15% of the effort.

Have you ever done that? Worked your butt off on a ridiculous, menial, yet extremely cumbersome task; And 5 minutes after you've finished, you've figured out an 80% easier way to do it? Yeah, that's pretty much my day to day life. It's always something. Whether it be balancing a grocery load, moving furniture, or trying to convince (trick) my husband to do something I know he'll dislike; As soon as I prevail, I realize I could have trimmed a good 15 minutes off my time spent on that task.

I have to say I'm an idiot, and about 68% of the time, I'm doing something the 'hard way'. The fabulous thing about that is, that as much as I'm doing it the 'hard way', I'm probably doing it better than most people could do it the 'easy way'. Just sayin'.

And the winner is....

Cologne. Cologne? Let's give this a whirl.


First of all, thank you for all of your votes in the poll, it was a close one.


Here's my view on cologne. As a whole, I dislike it. It usually is overpowering, because nothing about men is ever subtle. Overpowering  meaning that I can taste it; And cologne is not meant to be tasted. That fact is rather nauseating in itself. When you're caught in the cross breeze of a man with too much cologne, you can't win. If you breathe through your nose, you won't get enough oxygen; If you breathe through your mouth, you'll taste it and not get enough oxygen. That's a lose-lose situation. It's not often, but after a man leaves a room and I say 'Wow, what is he wearing?', I smile. I smile because that man knows his pulse points. The fact that he knows his pulse points is what makes him sexy, not the scent he's wearing.


More men need to learn the 'pulse points'; quickly. These are the parts of the body that heat up the fastest. What happens when your skin is warmed by your blood's natural flow is that the alcohol or the oil in the perfume/cologne begins to evaporate into the air around you. When you apply perfume/cologne to all of your pulse points, you walk around with a very slight yet significant aura surrounding your body. It's the perfect balance.


Also, this 'Axe effect' stuff is nonsense. All of that canned garbage smells like pepper spray. It's not acceptable unless your in middle school. Once you're legitimately on your way to manhood, step up, and spring the extra 5 or 10 bucks for a generic cologne. I'm not saying spend $85 for half an ounce of cologne, just make an effort to not smell like an over spiced salad. I don't think that's a lot for any woman to ask of you.

I think it's interesting that 'cologne' rhymes with 'alone.' - Demetri Martin


Yeah, that is interesting. As usual, this rant has been me, just sayin'.

Hypothetically speaking

Hypothetical questions get hypothetical answers. - Joan Baez

When a sentence starts with 'Hypothetically speaking', I'm annoyed, no matter what words will follow.

Whenever someone asks me a 'hypothetical' question, I just want to say cut the crap, and tell me what happened. Number one, if you're talking to me about anything of slight importance, you're my friend (or I wouldn't be listening to you); And number two, if you've been my friend long enough, you know I don't judge my friends, so again I say, cut the crap, and tell me what happened. I will help you, and not hypothetically.

Why waste time, and breath? It either happened, or it didn't happen; You're either thinking about it, or not. Just be an adult, and talk about it. Whether you want my opinion, help, an idea, or a way out; Hypothetically speaking isn't going to get you any of that, from me anyway.

I'm starting to wonder why so many of my 'friends' know so little about me, and irritate me so frequently. The answer is simple; People are always going to be a disappointment. To me, at least.

Maybe I should start looking at my 'friends' in a closer manner. That list is already short, but once in a while a good purge is needed right? I can think of a few right now I'd like to be rid of completely. Just sayin'. Hypothetically, that is.

Who, being loved, is poor?

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.  - Nora Ephron, When Harry Met Sally

That is beyond true for me, and anyone else who has been blessed enough to find the one their soul loves.

When Aaron proposed to me, I smiled non-stop for a month. He completely blind sided me; Probably because he was 17 and I was 18. We were kids, which makes it even more fabulous that we found the right person in each other.

Let me tell you about my husband. He throws his dirty clothing on the floor next to the hamper, he does not refill the toilet paper, and he leaves drinking cups next to his chair. He drives me bonkers. Yet, I love him him more than anything in the world, and I miss him when he's working. He gets on me about the routes I take while driving, whines about how long it takes me to buy a pair of jeans, and stomps his feet like a child every time we go grocery shopping. Yet, I still drag him with me everywhere I have to go. I enjoy his company, his outlook on life, and everything else about him. He is my favorite person in the world. Just having him walk through the door makes me smile, and that's an amazing feeling.

No matter the messes we get ourselves into (and hopefully out of), the drama that may surround us, too much money, not enough money, car problems, health problems, any problems; He is my best friend, my rock, and my solace.

I can speak his praises, and complain about him for hours on end; but I'll spare you. I'll just say that no matter how angry he can make me, and how much extra work he creates for me, I adore waking up to his groggy face every morning.

I'd say 'I do' again, every day of the week. Just sayin'.

I'm coming through

Today was a good day, but of course, it had it's troublesome points.

One of which was my mother, as usual. The other, was the line in a public restroom.

While on a narrow aisle, my mother and I were separated by a woman with an ill-placed shopping cart. I'm certain my mother did not ask the woman politely to move her cart, or even simply say excuse me; I believe the following occurred instantly upon her being blocked. As I turn to say something to my mother about a pair of shoes I see her ram the woman's shopping cart, well, scrape down the entire side of it anyway. During the massive collision, she exclaims 'I'm coming through!'. Yes mom, because you need to announce that you're the reason it sounds like the world is ending in the shoe department.  I grabbed the front of her cart and pulled it apart from the other one. I yelled 'Jesus mom! Where did you get your license?!' This question did not get a verbal answer, however it did get a nasty mom-scowl. The woman managed to regain her balance, and I shot her an apologetic look, which also received a mom-scowl. My sister had abandoned the aisle upon the impact, so as not to confuse people; After all, she can't be related this circus. I have news for you, you are, and that's never going to change; No matter how many aisles you run away from us.

After the dust settled from that collision, and my sister and I had laughed ourselves many aisles away from mom, we headed to the restroom. My sister is 6 1/2 months pregnant, so she got first dibs on a stall, naturally. All of the other stalls were occupied, so I took my place in line, I was also the only one in the line. A women then walks in, looks at me, walks in front me and stops. At this point, I didn't realize I had been 'cut'. When  a stall door opened and she shuffled in rapidly, looking at me over her shoulder, I knew I had been 'cut'. She was in and out of that stall before another had come open, so as she was watching her hands, I just stared at her, pretty much in awe. I didn't go into the stall she had gone into, I ended up going into the one my sister had been in; But not before I stared at her long enough to make her obviously uncomfortable. Really? Did that just happen? I would have let her go first, I was not in an emergency state of needing to pee. She should have asked; I would have asked. Manners people, manners. If we were kids, there would have been a scene made by any line-respecting child; Myself included. There would have been witnesses, and consequences. Some pinching may have occurred, who knows.

Today was good. I am pretty sure I emitted my own mom-scowl for the first time ever; Thumbs down to that, as I am not a mom.

The test of good manners is to be patient with bad ones.  - Gabirol (Solomon ben Yehuda ibn Gabirol), The Choice of Pearls

I like, and agree with, what he's just sayin'.

When I grow up.....

Remember when we were in such a hurry to grow up and be adults? What was so mystical and amazing about adulthood? Were we looking forward to working, bills, and insurance? Or was it cars, getting away from our parents, and 'doing what we wanted'? I am personally let down by adulthood, because of all of those things. (Please don't misunderstand me, I do love my life, husband, friends etc.)

Riding my bike, rollerblading, and climbing trees are things of the past, things I loved dearly. Swinging as high as we possibly could, getting up early on Saturdays to watch ridiculous cartoons, and burning our legs on the old metal slides. No fear, no worries, just fun.

Today my friend Tippy and I found out you can't go back. In the middle of our relaxing pool day, which involved killing wasps and jello shots, we spotted a tire swing. Yes, I said a tire swing. Yes I am 24 years old, and she is 20. We are both entirely too old to be running towards a tire swing in the manner we did today.  We ran towards it like we were 6 years old, and I blame the jello shots for this.

Once we killed the crazy spider that was on it by slamming it into the tree, we were in business. Tippy climbed up it with ease, as she is a tiny thing. She sat on top of it, and I pushed her eagerly. She stated that she felt like she was going a thousand miles an hour, let out a few good 'Wheeee's, almost hit the tree, and she was done. I was too apprehensive to climb on top, so I took a running start, grabbed the rope, and clamped my legs on for dear life. This was a bad idea, and a terrible tire swing form to take. I didn't last long before my hands hurt from the rope, and both of my thighs were red and bruised from the tire itself. I was also mentally picturing the dry rotted rope snapping, and throwing my large body to the ground at a breakneck speed. Luckily, my thighs took the hit, not my neck. Tippy ended up being bit by ants, and we sprinted back to the pool, battered and bruised from our 5 minute tire swing escapade. We laid in the pool, slightly winded and giggling. We are too old for this.

Today's events made me think of how non-observant we were when we were kids. We checked for bugs in the tire swing. We would have never as kids, we would have hopped right in, gotten bit, and not known until mom saw at bath time. We drank out of the hose, ran through the yard barefoot, climbed in trees, jumped down, and triple dog dared our friends. As an adult, the hose would have to be my only option, and I would have to be dehydrated. I would have to be chased by a masked man to run through a yard barefoot, and the last time I climbed a tree was because a cat was stuck in it. Okay, so maybe I still triple dog dare my friends, it gets the job done, what can I say? Do you remember fighting naps when you were a kid? Maybe we thought we were going to miss something? I pray for a nap every day now, and I don't care what I miss.

Maybe we should trade in our tire swing for a shuffleboard court. Just sayin'.

Pass the Bengay, I think I'm going to feel that in the morning.