MustacheGate 2010

To the left is text conversation David and I had late last week. Before you read it and think I'm the evil witch of wives, I think I'm entitled to an opening argument. So, for as much as I pick on David and "put my foot down" about things, ("No, David, we are not getting a pet lion!") he and I both know it's in good fun... even if people observing the exchange can't always tell that. And, though you may not see it publicly, if I do cross a line, David has no problem pointing it out to me and requesting I not do that again.

Okay, with that disclaimer out of the way, let me say this: I hate facial hair. Period. I'm not criticizing you if you like it. I just don't. Maybe it's because my dad had a mustache my entire childhood. Maybe it's because it skeeves me out when food gets stuck on them. Perhaps my fear of goats makes me naturally repelled by the goatee. Whatever it is, I hate facial hair. On anyone! (Well, except maybe Bradley Cooper... he can rock the short, stubbly beard.)

The very first time I saw David, he had a goatee. It was months before he actually started coming through my teller line and asked me out and that whole thing. He was in another teller's line. I remember seeing him from afar and thinking "That guy would be cute if he didn't have that stupid goatee."  Fortunately, by the time he decided to flirt with me, he was clean shaven. Then, as we started dating, I was really glad he had chosen to be a police officer. For some reason, most police departments only allow officers to wear a mustache... not a beard or a goatee. And, given the many jokes he had made about "porn 'staches" and that sort of thing, I thought I was in the clear. But, just to be sure, I said "You promise you'll never grow a mustache?" He said "Yeah, totally!" And so we moved forward with a smooth-faced life together...

I'm not sure why he and his fellow officer, Bobby, randomly decided to grow mustaches last week. At first, I thought it was part of Mustache for Mallett... a campaign whereby the men of Arkansas are hoping that sporting a 'stache will somehow help our quarterback Ryan Mallett win a Heisman. (And they're raising money for charity also, so that part is cool.) However, he and Bobby didn't even know about the campaign. Either way, he texted me their plan and I quickly vetoed. Then, yes, I went so far as to prey on every fear he has in order to deter him. (You read that correctly. He's afraid of little girl dolls, spiders, snakes and any abnormality of the fingernail.) I also threaten to shave it in his sleep (he's a very heavy sleeper) or to dye it pink with food color.

So, in true guy fashion, he told his co-workers his wife wouldn't let him grow a mustache. Every lunch hour since, I've sat at a table with 5 or 6 mustached men chiding David for not standing up to me. Yesterday he even said "Guys, she's never this adamant about something. I really don't think growing a 'stache is in my best interest."

Almost a week into the Great Mustache Debate, I've grown weary. In what I hoped would be the final nail in the coffin, I created a collage proving the 'stache would not suit him.

And, believe it or not, IT WORKED!! When I showed him this picture, he said "WOW! I look REALLY bad with a mustache!!!"  Now, here's hoping everyone else's renewed interest in the 'stache passes quickly!

 

Dancing With The Stars: Week 2

So far, this season of Dancing With The Stars has proven a couple of things to me: I will most likely always be wrong about who is going home... and these people cry, a lot. Don't get me wrong, if I were forced to do cardio and be coordinated for multiple hours a day, I would cry too. Add that to the list of reasons I won't be on DWTS. (Shockingly, that list does not include "I'm not a star" because I'm not sure that's actually a requirement.)

Rick Fox and Cheryl: Cheryl describes Rick as a "tall, heavy guy". I can officially never be friends with Cheryl. If Rick is "heavy", I must be "the size of Jupiter". But, he agreed with her, stating his nickname was The Tank when he was playing basketball. Then he goes on to tell about a traumatic injury to his foot that is affecting his dancing. But, Larry Byrd told him that pros play hurt, so on with the dancing...   I thought it was a pretty good jive. It was entertaining. Cheryl had the word "tush" on... wait for it... her tush. (I feel roughly the same about words across the butt as I do shorts with Uggs, Affliction t-shirts on men over 22, etc.) Oh, maybe add "tank tops on men" to that list. Seriously, I know Rick is a muscular dude, but men should really limit tank top wearing to yard work and episodes of COPS.

Reaction from the judges: Carrie Ann thought it was good but that Rick did better last week. Len said it was fun and anyone who can dance a good jive is definitely a contender. I have no idea what Bruno said. I picked up the word "California" and nothing else.  Score: 21

Florence Henderson and Corky: Their rehearsal featured Florence saying the Quickstep was basically running. Then she flipped off Corky. That was fun. The dance itself was alright. I wrote down "Very twirly, not particularly quick". However, she got my "Best Dressed" award last night.

Reaction from the judges: Bruno said it was lovely at times but a bit Driving Miss Daisy and 'esitant. (I think that was "hesitant".) Carrie Ann said she was light and elegant and to do this at 76 was incredible. Len says he judges the dance (well, actually, he said 'daaahhhnce' because he's British and all) not the age, injuries, etc. and that he would see them next week.  Score: 19

At this point, I suddenly became annoyed that the announcer says the judges full name every.single.time. Why? Is Len going to change him name halfway through? "Len Goodman... oh, wait, no, it's now Len Banana Hammock."

Battle of the UAs... followed by Battle of the Bottoms

You know it's going to be a good party when there is a warning sign on the front door!

Saturday, in conjunction with the Arkansas / Alabama game, Kerri hosted a watch party, which she deemed Battle of the UAs... because she's awesome like that. Of course, it's not a battle if no one from the other team shows up, so a token Bama alum was invited. But, before you feel too bad for Paige, it should be noted that she would have been invited anyway... because she's also awesome like that... and that she can totally hold her own in a room of Razorback fans. Not to mention that she knows more about football than all of us put together. Plus, she was tolerable gracious when her stupid team Alabama squeaked out a victory in the fourth quarter. (In other words, she didn't say anything about Ryan Mallett that the rest of us hadn't already shouted said. Seriously, dude! We had that game!! If Ryan Mallett did somehow manage to win the Heisman trophy after this, he'd probably just choke on it. Okay, deep breaths... I will not relive it. I will not relive it...)  Hmm, I wonder if Kelli is upset she left before the worst of the shouting began. I doubt it! But it was great to see her... and my goal of getting her to like football by osmosis remains.

At least there was plenty of delicious food in which to drown our sorrows! Someday, when I'm super rich, I'm going to hire Becca to make me these empanadas once a week. And she can be on paid vacation the rest of the time. (She should probably not put in her two week's notice just yet.) But seriously... so good!

Speaking of drowning sorrows, it was the eve of the 21st birthday of one of the world's sweetest young ladies. So, I made her this cake (in coordinating Razorbacks colors, of course)...

...but didn't have the foresight to bring a candle, so Darth Vader made an appearance to wish Katy Kat well.



And, despite the fact that she was not drinking, it was decided that David should give her a sobriety test... because, you know, why not? (Please pardon my cheesy horrible rudimentary movie making skills. To be honest, I didn't even know my computer had this program.)

Bottom line: Battle of the UAs was fantastic, even if the outcome of the game wasn't.

Not fantastic? After the party, we met some friends (oh wait, you know them... the Olive Garden Virgins) to go bowling. The company was great, the bowling itself was fun... but the people bowling on either side of us? Not fantastic at all!! The girl to the left of us was wearing the shortest shorts I've ever seen. I mean, seriously! I thought they were underwear at first. Only underwear might have been more modest. (Of course she came in wearing a sweatshirt and Uggs along with her completely ridiculous shorts.)  Then, the guy to the right of us was in desperate need of a belt. Every time he bowled, several inches of crack were exposed. So you know I took a picture (as David looked on in horror)...

Yes, in addition to exposing his hiney, the guy bowled like Fred Flintstone. For real, when he swung the ball back, it was as high as his head. And he did arm stretches after each turn. Ridiculous. It's Glow-and-Blow in Central Arkansas, not the PBA tour. Between him and Booty Shorts, I tweeted that we were the meat in an inappropriate sandwich. Why? BUNS EVERYWHERE!!  (Ba dum ching! Thanks, folks... I'm here all week... remember to tip your waitress...)

So, there you have it... a summary of a fantastic weekend! So fantastic that I slept until 7:47 this morning. Ooops...

Goat Attack: A Survivor's Harrowing Tale

This week's Writer's Workshop included a prompt entitled "A time you should have listened to your mom". Boy, do I have a story for this...

Picture it... suburban Chicago, mid-1980s.

I was 7. Some family friends had come from our hometown to visit us in our new home in Suburbia. To entertain us kids, a trip was planned to Santa's Village - a small amusement park in the area. As amusement parks go, it wasn't particularly fancy. We're talking somewhere between county fair and Six Flags. Not that I've ever been to the county fair. And you're about to find out why.

The coolest thing (literally) at Santa's Village was the "North Pole"... a pole that stayed ice-covered all year. You could touch it. It rocked. There were some rides and other attractions. There was also a petting zoo. That's where this story goes downhill.

Dressed in my adorable little pink parka, I headed in the goat pen. I was immediately swarmed by a gaggle of angry goats. They knocked me over. They started pawing at me. I remember their razor-sharp hoof talons coming within inches of my jugular. (Yes, at 7, I knew what a jugular was. My mom was in paramedic school and I helped her study.) They didn't relent. More goats joined in. I was completely surrounded. They poked at me with their evil little horns. I screamed. No one heard me over their fiendish bleating. Finally, just as my body was about to give up the fight, my dad swooped in, picked me up by the hood of my parka and whisked me away from the diabolic beings.

Pardon my double chin.
I didn't want my neck exposed.



Ever since then, I don't want to be anywhere near a goat. I don't go to the fair because I'm afraid the goats will stampede. I don't go to homes of people who own goats. (In Arkansas, this is more people than you might think.) I tried to overcome my fear a few years ago. It didn't go well. In fact, I think it made it worse. People tease me. They tag me in goat pictures on Facebook. They make goat sounds at me. But, whatever, I know I'm totally justified. Just last month, a man in Georgia died from goat-inflicted injuries. For real. I'm not making it up. Google it.

I'm pretty sure this is how it happened.

To be fair and to cover the "Should've listened to Mom" portion of the story, I "interviewed" my mother. My dad jumped in too.

Perhaps their version is a little less dramatic. I chalk that up to the fact that bystanders often forget the specifics. The survivor, on the other hand, remembers it in vivid detail. In fact, have we considered that I could be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of this brutal attack? I mean, that could actually explain a lot. Anyway, where was I? Right, my mom's version of the event...  (Note: the italicized portions should be read with a tone of extreme sarcasm.)

Me: Tell me how you recall the goat attack.

Mom: You wanted to go in the petting zoo... and you wanted that food they had (the animal feed usually available at petting zoos) We told you not to go in there with food in your hand! You didn't listen. Anyway, there were different sized goats. You saw this little bitty cute one and you wanted to give it the food. Well, there was this bigger goat who wanted the food. You wouldn't give it to him. You only wanted to give it to the tiny goat. So, the big goat head butted you, knocked you down and took the food.
Me: Then did the other goats swarm me?
Mom: No. I think the tiny goat took some of the food too. But the other goats you remember were just around the pen. Nothing swarmed you.
Me: How long was I down?
Mom: Like 2 seconds.
Dad: 3 seconds, at most.
Me: At any point, were you in fear for my life?
Mom: No, dear. I was not in fear for your life.
Dad: The goat took what he wanted and left.
Mom: That's what men do.
Me: Was park security alerted?
Mom: No, park security wasn't alerted. You fell down, you screamed, you got up.
Me: No one rescued me? I remember Dad rescuing me.
Mom: You remember a lot of things. Mike, did you rescue her?
Dad: How the (bleep) should I know? That was 25 years ago. But sure, I rescued her from the ferocious attack.
Mom: (laughing): Attack...

At this point, I ended the interview. It was clear they were just being hostile and argumentative. Or, you know, something about Mother knows best...

This post is part of Writer's Workshop at Mama's Losin' It

Dancing with the Stars: Week 1

Well, you just thought you were done with my reality TV recaps for a while. Little did you know, people would request me to do a Dancing With The Stars recap. And who am I to deny them that? Oh, but before we jump into DWTS, did you hear the Bachelor updates? Brad Womack is going to be the next Bachelor. Again. Now, I know some of you will want to hate on Brad… but here's a reminder of how I feel about him. Needless to say, I'm stoked.

Okay, DWTS. Let me say up front that I am a sporadic watcher. I've watched about half the seasons, based on if any of my cute boy celeb crushes are dancing if there are any stars I think would make for good TV. Then I got tired of seeing Edyta's vajayjay and I quit watching. But, she's not dancing this season, so I'm back in business. Also not dancing this season? Anyone stars I care that much about. So you can expect biased-free sarcasm in these recaps. An equal opportunity offender, if you will. Alright, here goes nothing… PS: I'm not even attempting most of the pro dancers' last names.

Audrina Patridge and Tony: My knowledge of Audrina is limited to the fact that she was on some MTV show I didn't watch and that her first name is a lot like mine. Don't be surprised if I type "Audreya" at some point during the season. Oh, and now I also know that she has a giant tattoo covering the base of her neck. Yuck. I like tattoos. Heck, I have one. But, unless you're in prison, I can't see why you'd need one on the base of your neck. Anyway, they dance the Cha Cha. Practice session looked pretty good. Their performance was good. It's not their fault they had to dance to Katy Perry's California Gurls. A song (and a spelling) that makes me want to gouge out my ears with a popsicle.

Reaction from the judges: Len said something about his butt cheeks being clenched. Bruno called her a show pony. Carrie Ann said something about opening with a solo took cajones. Only, she didn't say "cajones". I couldn't understand what she said. But it was essentially "cajones". Score: 19

Lowering my standards

Did you know that only 6% of cars sold in America have manual transmissions? It's true. This article says so. Did you also know that one of them sits in my driveway all day long? And are you wondering why you should care? Well, I'll tell you why...

My car needs tires. Badly. The problem is that we didn't notice until it was too late. Normally, we keep up with things like that so we can set a little money back here and there to cover the cost. This time, not so much. In fact, we never did notice on our own. We took the car for an oil change and the guy was like "Dude! Get some new tires."  That was well over a month ago. Then we drove to Illinois. On the way into Chicago, it rained. Like monsoon rain. Even good tires would have had a hard time. But my racing slicks? Let's just say I sang a few verses of "Jesus, take the wheel."  And then David and I were like "Dude! We've got to get some new tires!!"

So I started pricing tires. Then I fainted. Then I priced some more. Then I slipped into a coma. I came up with the following options:

• Become Amish
• Sell a kidney
• Drive David's truck for a while so we can save up
• Put it on the Visa. Promise to pay it off quickly. End up paying a cringe-worthy amount of interest.

I know what you're thinking. Become Amish. They don't have the Internet and then we never have to read your stupid blog again. Or perhaps you're thinking "Choose C. Always choose C."  And driving David's truck would be the easiest option. But it's not that simple.

You see, when David was truck shopping, he narrowed it down to two. One truck was a tiny bit older and had a few more miles, but had an extended cab and was automatic. So, of course, he chose the other one. I said "There is going to come a time when I need to drive your truck. Please get the automatic." He said "Learn to drive a standard."

UGH! NO! I CAN'T!!!  I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent person (stop laughing) but I'm also a fairly decisive person. If you tell me something, I either get it or I don't. Period. And if I don't get it, you can stand on your head, you can sprinkle fairy dust, you can explain it to me any which way you want and I still won't get it. Ask any of my math teachers.

Driving a standard falls into the "don't get it" category. I've tried. Multiple times. With multiple teachers. In fact, it's one of the few things I've ever not understood and still made any effort to care about. Everyone who drives a standard - every.single.one.of.them - says "It's soooo fun! I can teach you! It's so easy!"  Then, after I've killed the engine a few times or refused to go fast enough to get it through all the gears (I mean, seriously, why would I go 45 mph in a parking lot? That's just unsafe!) the teacher begins yelling at me. So I stall the engine again and climb out. I would just put it in Park... but there is no freaking Park in a standard. AAAAHH!!

But alas, I keep thinking of how it would be so much more responsible to drive the truck while we save up. Want an oldest child to do something? Appeal to their sense of responsibility.

Last night, over dinner with my BIL, we discussed the situation. David says "She does fine getting it into first and second, but after that, she freaks out." I argued that it's only a mile and a half to my office... and were the higher gears even that necessary? Then my BIL announced that he could teach a dog to drive a standard.  (And maybe he can. You HAVE TO check out this picture from my friend Evolved Mommy. Click here. Seriously. Do it!)

I came up with a plan: successfully teach my sister to drive a standard and then I will learn. And no, it's not some competitive "I can't let me little sister one-up me" thing. (Okay, not much anyway). It's that she is even more easily frustrated with things than I am. If he can teach her and stay married to her, he really can teach anyone.

When we were kids, my grandpa would let us drive his riding lawn mower. (Yes, I could shift that puppy no problem. Transfer the same principle to a car? Not so much.) My sister never got the hang of it. Nor did she want to. Instead, she would pop the clutch, the lawn mower would jerk and jump a few feet. She would let out an ear-piercing giggle. Repeat scenario until Papa finally made her stop.

So, that's what BIL has to work with. Teach the easily frustrated intentional clutch-popping giggler to drive a standard and then I'll learn. In the meantime, I be researching which Amish community I'd like to join.

I look good, right?
What? The Amish don't take pictures of themselves?
Never mind.

Last Month in Italy Pants

Alternate title: How I Almost Got Deported

(Okay, fine, not almost... but, you know, totally acted like an obnoxious American tourist.)

If you recall, I didn't love the book Eat Pray Love. I actually liked the movie better than the book, but that's another story. However, one part of the book I did love was when, after three months in Italy, the author had to buy a new pair of pants. Months of pasta and rich desserts rendered her existing pants a bit too tight. Why did I love this part so much? Because I could totally relate to it.

Fiesole, 2001
Before everyone had a digital camera

In the fall of 2001, I spent a semester studying in Florence, Italy. I could go on and on about Italy, but suffice it to say, it's amazing. Period.  Yet, despite walking up and down a ridiculous hill every.single.time I went into town - not to mention all the walking I did in town and while traveling - it wasn't quite enough to nullify the copious amount of carbs I ate. Plus, I lived in a villa owned by my university. Two kindly Italian women cooked our meals and did our laundry. Understandably when you're doing laundry for 30 people, there could be no "this can't go in the dryer" special requests. I had brought with me two not-brand-new-but-not-super-old pairs of jeans. (In addition to a skirt or two.) After several laundry cycles, both jeans were beginning to show some wear and tear. Before long, one pair got a gaping hole and had to be retired. Then the other pair split down the inseam. It was just as well... they were getting snug anyway.

And that's how I came to need "last month in Italy" pants.

So, one of my housemates and I headed into Florence to buy a new pair of jeans. She had just gotten a really cute pair the week before at United Colors of Benetton. (It should be noted that, in Italy, Benetton has the same "one on every corner" situation as Starbucks does here.)  I never did get the hang of European sizing... and since it was pre-iPhone, I didn't have a handy converter with me. But the girl with me was probably about 2 sizes smaller than I was. So she told me what "number" she got and I figured I'd just go with one a little higher than that.

We went to the first Benetton: Nothing big enough. (PS: I was about a US size 10 at the time. Another reason they are the "good ol' days".)

Second Benetton: Same result

Third Benetton: Tried on a pair... got them buttoned but they did not "fit". Realized women in Italy wore their pants much tighter than I did.

Fourth Benetton: Tried on a pair... a bit snug but not nearly as much as the previous pair. Thought "These might work." Did the "squat test" (Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean!)  The inseam ripped from crotch to knee!!

OH CRAP!!

My time in clothing retail helped comfort me. It wasn't so much that I was a fat cow... I could see that the stitching hadn't caught well. They would have ripped regardless. But now what? We weren't in the most touristy part of Florence and I hadn't heard the employees talking to anyone in English. My Italian was pretty limited. I knew there was no way I'd be able to explain what happened. So, I folded them neatly and left them in the dressing room. Then I walked briskly to my friend and said "Let's go!"

Her: But what about that last pair?
Me: Andiamo!  (Italian for "Let's go"... somehow it was our group's favorite word.)
Her: Did they fit? Where are they?
Me: (talking in a husky whisper-type voice) Seriously, let's go.
Her: Why are you being weird?
Me: I'll tell you outside.
Her: What is going on?
(The employees were looking at us by this point)
Me: Come on!

When we got outside, she confessed to wondering if I had stolen the jeans. She was pretty relieved that I had "only" ruined them. I, on the other hand, kept looking over my shoulder and expecting one of the Benetton girls to be chasing behind us, shaking the ripped pants and yelling in Italian. I just knew I was going to be deported!

Fortunately, no one followed us and we stopped by the Co-op on the way back so I could buy a pair of yoga pants.

Moral of the story: If you go to Italy for an extended period of time, bring a pair of pants one size up with you. Otherwise, you'll end up like me... still thinking about it nine years later with an equal amount of humor and "I can't believe I did that"!

Incidentally, my passport comes up for renewal next year. I'm still the teensiest bit afraid it's been flagged "Do not renew. Pants ruiner."

Comment Changes

I've changed the comments on my blog to use Disqus. It's an experiment and I'd like your feedback. I've heard several people say that leaving comments on Blogger blogs can be a pain in the butt. I know sometimes reading my posts in general can be a pain it the butt... so I'm trying to give you a break where I can.

In theory, you'll be able to sign in a variety of ways to leave comments, including using your Facebook login. I know a lot of people who read come over from Facebook and I hope it will make it a little easier if you want to comment.

As I've said before, I don't write so that people will say things about it... but I do like it when they do! Not so much as a measure of popularity but just because I like the interaction it provides.  Disqus also has a "reply" feature I'm excited about. If there is a comment I (or you, of course) want to reply to, it will keep those things together, rather than random comments spread throughout. So, you know... more like a discussion. Or would it be "disqussion".  (Insert "rimshot" sound here)

Anyway, let me know what you think. If it's a pain, I'll go back to the standard format. It won't hurt my feelings either way. And don't think not commenting will stop me from blogging. You're not that lucky.

But, for real, thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting. Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for the memories. Thank you, nothingness. Thank you, clarity. Thank you, thank you... silence. Sorry, went a little Alanis Morrisette there at the end, didn't I?

Bachelor Pad finale: "Between meeting and the 'I love you' thing, I really started to like her"

Wouldn't you know it? I forgot my notes on the Bachelor Pad finale and my husband doesn't think that constitutes an "emergency". I also forgot my perfume and my breakfast bar. Surely we're into emergency territory now, right? So, unless he miraculously brings it to me, this recap will be from memory… and given the list of things I've forgotten so far today, I should probably just quit now. But, I press on…

The show opened with Dave saying it was down to the "Super Duper Six". I can think of no reason a man ever needs to say "super duper". Except maybe Ross the Intern from The Tonight Show. He can pull off "super duper". No other men can. Period. Anyway, the Super Duper Six gather in the living room for Chris to give them their final challenge. And Natalie isn't wearing eye makeup. Now, if women choose not to wear makeup, that's totally fine. But if you always wear makeup - especially heavy eye makeup - and then you don't wear it, you look bizarre to me. I've literally not recognized people when I've seen them un-makeupped. I suspect Natalie would be one of those people.

So, the challenge is ballroom dancing. If I didn't know better, I'd think Dancing With The Stars premiered next week. What's that you say? It does? Oh, gotcha. Either way, I'm just glad the challenge actually resembles a challenge. Webster's Dictionary defines "challenge" as… just kidding. I hate when people do random dictionary drop-ins. But the point is that playing Twister is not a 'challenge' worthy of a quarter-million dollars. Nor is determining who is the best kisser. At least this will take the contestants out of their element. I'm guessing they already have a lot of experience bending themselves around people and making out with strangers. Ballroom dancing? Doubtful. Except for Tenley. Dancing, yes. Skanky behavior, not as much. To add to the fun, the couple who wins will choose which couple goes home.

Of course, we have to have a token crazy Elizabeth moment. She tells Kovacs she hopes their dance instructor is male. Because if it's a female and he's paying attention to her instead, it will distract Elizabeth. This girl and her threats. Ugh. But, of course their instructor is female. And not just any female. Edyta. The longest, leanest, scantily-claddest dancer on the show. I mean, one of the reasons I quit watching DWTS was because I was tired of seeing Edyta's gynecological bits. For real. The other reason was that the stars stopped being, you know, stars. If over half the cast isn't currently famous, why bother? So anyway, yeah, not good for Elizabeth. Edyta's mile-long legs wrapped around Kovacs. I'm sure he hardly noticed. It's not like he said she had the best body he'd ever seen. Oh wait, he totally said that.

Tenley and Kiptyn work with Chelsie Hightower. Tenley is thrilled by this. Even more so than the normal way Tenley is thrilled by things. This was like full-on "Oh my goodness, my fairy godmother just got me a pet unicorn" thrilled. I totally picture Tenley as the type who (currently) has posters of ballroom dancers on her bedroom walls. That being said, how can you not like Tenley? I want to be friends with her. But I also want her to live far away. So when I saw her, it would be fun… but not often enough I'd want to suffocate her. Oh, and KipTen will be dancing the Foxtrot. Tenley, since it's her profession and all, looks awesome from the get-go. Kiptyn doesn't look like a bumbling idiot. That comes later when he puts on a bow tie and looks like a magician.

That leaves Natalie and Dave. And Louis van Amstel. I love Louis! He and Tenley would make a great couple… except for the fact that he is openly gay. As expected, Dave and Natalie learning to dance is BleepFest 2010. Poor censors. Those two have potty mouths. I did, however, enjoy that Dave said he was totally willing to dance with a dude if it would help him win $250K. For once, Natalie has a little problem rubbing herself up against a guy. I think the best line of the night goes to Louis: "Do you two have sex?" Dave and Natalie are all "Whaa? Um? Huh?" Which is weird to me since Natalie has said about 400 times how they have "connected" physically. But with the sex metaphor in place, suddenly the Cha-Cha clicks in place. Hmmm. Natalie even tells Dave (as he is trying to figure out where to pick her up for a lift) "Grab my boobs. It's safer." Even Louis is taken aback by this technique. But, whatevs.

Next up, we see them back at the house practicing and picking out their costumes. And finally, it's time to dance!!

The first "official" Me vs. The Weekend

Last week I borrowed Kelli's "scorecard" fashion to recap the weekend. Since she noticed a trend of other people borrowing it, she decided to make it a weekly feature on her blog. And she enlisted my help to make the button (I know, I hope I don't hurt my shoulder patting myself on the back!) But seriously, it's pretty cute, right?

More importantly, if you click it, it will take you back to her page where you can read other weekend recaps in the same, awesome fashion. Want to play along? It's pretty easy. Just tell what you did and who "won". Then go to Kelli's page and add a link to your post. Like this...

Friday night: Me vs. attempting to get home from a football game

What do you call someone whose husband is working (at the game... you know, as the cop who says "Get back to your seats!" and "No making out behind the bleachers!") and who has no children / nephews / etc. playing but goes to a high school football game anyway? Either child predator or true fan. Where it applies to me, let's go with true fan! And I did find a friend to sit with, so I wasn't a total creeper. (For the record, the winner of the game was evident. Our home team won 53-0!)

Normally, I walk to and from the games. The stadium is right behind our house. (This isn't helping my "not a child predator" argument, is it?) However, the school is building a new facility smack in the middle of my path. On the way there, I walked around the "Do Not Enter" signs. You know, because I'm a rebel. I knew I wouldn't be able to navigate home in the dark, so I told David I would need a ride. As we were leaving the stadium, a car flagged him down and said there was an accident on the highway just outside the stadium. He headed over there and jumped out to help the other officers on scene.  It's a fairly busy highway so he took traffic directing duty. I waited in the car. (This is not new for me. With a State Trooper for a dad and a paramedic for a mom, I spent approximately 63% of my childhood waiting in the car at the scene of accidents we happened upon.) Anyway, the kicker? The accident was car vs. golf cart. There is a woman who lives on the highway and, for some reason, always drives a golf cart around her property and the property across the road. As it was nighttime, the driver didn't see her when she popped up over her little ditch into the highway. Because of her age and injuries (though thankfully not life-threatening), they decided it was best to Medflight her. Which, of course, made me cry. No word on how she's doing since then. And finally, an hour after leaving the stadium, I made it to my home a block away.

Winner:  Car vs. Golf Cart... CAR!!

 Me vs. the trip home... Not me

Saturday morning: Me vs. Cake

I had two cakes to do this weekend. I'll let you declare the winner.

(The birthday boy on the right is a truck driver. Dough Boy is his CB handle. Not his official name. Though that would be cool)

Saturday afternoon: Me vs. More Football

I'm a Notre Dame fan. My husband is a Michigan fan. Guess who played each other this weekend. There was a lot of yelling. Some stuff was thrown. There was more yelling. There was pouting. There was a video taken of me doing all those things. (No, you can't see it.) In the end, Notre Dame came away with a moral victory, but that's about all.

Winner: Notre Dame vs. Michigan... terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Michigan

Saturday night: Ms vs. Dinner

For the second weekend in a row, I got to see my BFF Rose Petal. Last weekend, I saw her in IL at my grandparents' party. This weekend, I saw her in AR. She was in town for her nephew's birthday and was able to have dinner with us. (Yes, the majority of people I know have an Illinois / Arkansas connection.) We went to dinner at Red Lobster. We had the most fun waiter in the world. What's up, Jeff? As he walked up to the table, I yelled "EFF!!" (For someone who doesn't cuss, I do use the letters a lot!) At that moment, I had realized I'd forgotten something for Rose at my house. Jeff thought I had Tourette's. It was all downhill from there.

In college, Rose and I would squish potatoes through our teeth and gross out those dining with us. No, I don't know why. Other than "we were in college". If you're wondering, it looks like this:

Next up, we asked David to take a "behaved" picture of us. While my husband has many talents, taking pictures is not one of them. After about 40 attempts, we gave up and took a self-portrait. I hate self-portraits. I think they are the photographic equivalent of being a Woo Girl. But, you know...

Winner: Acting like I have no home training vs. Great time with Rose: Tie... the two often go hand-in-hand

Me vs. Sunday

I take the whole "day of rest" thing pretty seriously. I churched, lunched, made a quick trip to Target, napped, churched again, dinnered, watched TV.

Winner: Me!

Okay, your turn. And no, yours doesn't have to be as long as mine. In a contest of Me vs. Brevity, brevity doesn't stand a chance!

Writer's Workshop: I don't hate kids

I loved one of the Writer's Workshop prompts this week...

"A list of things you no longer have in common with your married/child bearing friends…and why you love them anyways."

I am married, so I will just focus on the part where I don't have kids. But being over 30 and having been married for 6 years, it makes sense that the majority of our friends are parents. Needless to say, there are many things I can't relate to... such as:

• Diapers. I have never changed a diaper. This comes as a shock to most people, but honestly, why would I have changed a diaper? I've never been keen on babysitting. I've never worked at a daycare. I can't imagine why I would volunteer to wipe the hiney of someone for whom I am not legally responsible.
• Smelling someone's hiney at the dinner table (or anywhere, for that matter). Plain and simple: If you lift your child's butt up to your face and take a big whiff while I'm eating, I think it's only fair you pay for my meal.
• Ultrasound pictures. They skeeve me out. I'm sorry if that offends you. I know you have the precious gift of life growing in your womb... but I believe you. You don't have to show me photographic evidence. I had an ultrasound a few months ago to check for "female troubles". Should I make that my Facebook profile picture?
• Pregnancy. It's not that David and I never plan to have children, but we do plan to adopt. When people say "Are you upset that can't be pregnant?" The answer is NO! (To clarify: It's not that I can't be pregnant. I don't know if I can or not. We've never tried. Nor will we. The medication I take for my lupus is not safe for pregnancy. And not taking it is not an option I'm okay with. Adoption is an option I am very much okay with.) Anyway, no, I'm not sad. I've seen the movie Alien. That's all I'm saying. Please don't put my hand on your belly when the baby is kicking.

          Besides, if you asked me to pick between parenthood and soft cheeses, I'd have to do some soul-searching.

• The ungodly hour at which you wake up. I can get over the poo and the vomit and maybe even the necessity of watching Yo Gabba Gabba, but I simply can't fathom how you get up before dawn every day. If someone jumps on my head at 5:30 AM, I might pepper spray them... not fix them breakfast. (In our hypothetical parenting plan, David has agreed to the morning shift.)

• 

  Me with children as recently
  as last weekend!

  Some people with kids assume people without kids hate kids. And yes, that is definitely the minority. While most of our friends, relatives, medical professionals, church folk, neighbors, random people at Walmart have asked when we are going to have kids, they are generally understanding when we say we're not quite there yet. But there are always a few who look down their nose like we're some sort of weirdos. And some even comment on it. The fact of the matter is I don't hate kids. (David, for his part, ADORES kids and is great with them. I am definitely the hold-out in this situation.) I am just not a "kid person", per se. I would make a lousy kindergarten teacher. But I think I make a pretty good aunt / older cousin. The other day after SW randomly told me he loved me, I probably would have signed over the deed to my house if he had asked. The kids I am close to, I positively love. No, I don't goo-goo gaa-gaa over every child I meet. And are there kids I can't stand to be around? Abso-freaking-lutely. However, in almost every one of those cases, it's the parenting (or lack thereof) I can't stand... not the kid. So no, I don't hate kids.

And finally,

• Dora the Explorer She yells too much. There has to be a better way to teach children to count in Spanish.

So there you have it... my list of the main things I can't relate to / no longer have in common with my parent friends.

As for the "why I love them anyway" part? I am lucky that most of my friends with kids are amazing parents. It gives me hope that I can do it at some point. The fact that they can't make plans at the drop of a hat doesn't bother me. The fact that sometimes we play board games in the kitchen while the kids watch TV in the living room is just fine. The only thing that really causes a problem is that when they do get a kid-free night, they want to stay out and relish every moment of it. I might not have kids, but I'm not getting any younger... I need to be in my pajamas by 10:00.

Audreya versus Labor Day Weekend

Some of my friends have started "keeping score" of their weekends or vacations and using it as a way to recap their adventures. It's always seemed fun... so let's give it a try with my recent trip to IL, shall we?

Background info: David and I went up to Illinois for my annual visit to the immunologist and my grandparents' 60th anniversary party. David's mom had never been and decided she would like to come with us. So, we also scheduled a "Chicago Day" to show her around the best city in America.

Day One: Trip Up / Lunch

My MIL had never eaten at Lambert's. For my money, it's a roadtrip must! Flying carbs!!

 

Lambert's vs Us... winner? EVERYONE

Day One: Trip Up

My dad suggested a new route up to IL. After lunch, David missed a turn. The GPS sent us back to the highway via the world's worst gravel road. We were in fear for our lives. And don't get me started on how the GPS sometimes overlooks major highways but manages to know the location of something that even charitably barely qualifies as a road. At one point, a tiny stream crossed the road. You know, because nothing says "suitable for off-roading" like my Hyundai!

GPS vs Us... winner? GPS (and by winner, I mean loser)

Day Two: Chicago

The Bean
(or, as my mom calls it) an upside-down bedpan

It POURED as we were headed into the city, so I was afraid we would have a yucky day, but it turned out pretty well. We did as much touristy stuff as you can do in one day. Highlights: Millennium Park, pizza at Gino's East, Shedd Aquarium, an absolutely fantastic sunset / nighttime cruise down the river and around Lake Michigan. Oh, and I actually got my mom to ride the El. And she didn't get murdered. (My entire childhood, anytime we were in Chicago and I saw the El, I was fascinated by it. And she would tell me how it was just an invitation to be raped or murdered. Bottom line: she watches too much TV.)

If you ever go to Chicago, TAKE THIS CRUISE!
I've taken a day cruise too, which was fantastic... but the night one... WOW!

 Chicago vs. Us... winner? US!!!

Day Three: Doctor's visit

Everything went incredibly well. My lupus is staying under control... so much so that the doctor cut my medication in half!! This is great news. I've not had any significant side effects at the higher dosage but I'm still happy to be putting less of it in my body. I will have to have monthly blood work to make sure I continue to stay well-controlled. If anything gets off kilter, I'll have to bump back up. With lupus, my immune system is too strong and kills off stuff I need, so the medicine suppresses it. Hopefully with a less-suppressed immune system, I won't catch every bug that goes around.  

Also, because I have had this cough / asthma / bronchitis-type situation for almost 6 weeks now, he wanted lung function tests done. He agreed with my local doctor that it's mostly allergy-related, but just wanted to be certain. Indeed, just allergy related. In fact, for all my age / weight / etc. criteria, I scored 112% on the test. Medical confirmation that I am full of hot air!!

Lupus vs. Audreya... winner? AUDREYA (with help from a great doctor!)

Day Four: My grandparents' 60th anniversary party

I can't even fathom 60 years! It was great to get to celebrate with them... and with family and friends who took the time to come in from all over. They had an amazing turnout. It was neat to see how many people they have befriended and impacted over the years. And, of course, there was cake. And, of course, because I'm a control freak and wouldn't dream of letting someone else do that cake, I hauled my supplies to IL and made it there. So, of course, there were a few issues... but nothing some flowers didn't cover!

Congratulations, Mama and Papa!

Marriage statistics vs my grandparents... winner? GRANDPARENTS!!

Cake vs. Audreya... winner? Audreya. In overtime. With help from Mom, flora and fauna.

Day Five: Trip Home

Aside from a bathroom stop in Creepytown, there were no major issues. That I know of. I was asleep or reading most of the time. But we made it home, so it appears David won this round.



I tried to pick just a few of my favorite pictures so I wouldn't have a 40 mile long blog post. But if you're a picture addict like me... here's a slide show with the rest of the weekend shots.

Bachelor Pad Week 5: It just got real... real serious

I'm baaack... and so is my Bachelor Pad recap. (Is anyone even still watching this train wreck at this point?) Anyway, I missed last week's post (explanation here) and then went on vacation, leaving you with only a scheduled post of my kitchen makeover. (Did you see it? Did you? Did you? It's pretty cool, if I do say so myself.)

Okay, so on with the hijinx at the Bachelor Pad. After some discussion of last week's decision to vote out Krisily and Dave delivering the oh-so-annoying "Don't hate the player, hate the game" line, Chris Harrison comes in to tell us about a big shake up. 3 ladies are on their way out this morning - and the numbers of girls to guys will now be even. Kiptyn tells us "This is the biggest elimination to date!"  Um, really? You mean getting rid of all those people a few weeks back whose names I can't even remember (and Wes) wasn't "big"? You mean by mathematics alone, voting out 3 people is bigger than voting out 2? Wow, Kiptyn, you're my hero! Now, let's just hope this elimination challenge is something worthwhile and not something completely juvenile like, I don't know, Spin the Bottle.

Oh, crap. Spin the Bottle. Well, I guess that goes with Twister and pie eating and all the other things that might go happen at a 13 year old's birthday party. At least Survivor has the courtesy to throw mud on people and make them wrestle around in the name of the "challenge". Bachelor Pad challenges = super lame. If nothing else, the Spin the Bottle game itself was pretty posh. A wine bottle on a fancy Lazy Susan? That'll solve all the world's problems!!  Okay, the game - the bottle gets spun and the guy it points to gets to go pick a girl and offer them a kiss. If the girl accepts (like she wouldn't?), they will be partnered up for the rest of the game. So, you know, Gwen, Nikki, and Ashley are basically screwed from the get-go.

As expected, Kiptyn chooses Tenley. Kovacs says Elizabeth is unstable and has a screw loose but keeps her. Then he says he went with emotions over strategic planning. What he meant was he went with his anatomy over his brain. Same difference. Jesse B. picks Peyton, much to the delight of Natalie - who didn't want to be paired up with him anyway. Then it's Dave's turn. He gives a speech about how they are all awesome and classy, but he's got to go with Natalie. At least he acknowledges that Natalie is neither awesome nor classy. But she takes her top off for him, so what's a guy to do?

Elizabeth tells us she feels bad for Gwen. She, too, might be in her 40s and still waiting for love to find her. I'm sure this made Gwen, who is 39, feel even better about herself. So, the three girls who never stood a chance head home. And with relative dignity, I thought - you know, aside from the fact that they came on the show to begin with. No horrifying limo scenes, anyway.

The Kitchen is DONE!!

The day I began to wonder would ever come is finally here! The kitchen is (more or less) done... at least done enough that I'm ready to show you before an after pictures.

Here's how it all played out...

Step One: Decide on counters, sink and faucet.

Step Two: Destroy horrible tile counters

I drew first blood

Demolished... Time elapsed: 8 minutes

Step Three: Have counter tops installed. Set sink and faucet

I chose the granite single basin sink.

LOVE IT!! Perfect for washing my cake stuff.

Went with the pull out handle.
Hardest part: finding one that didn't look like a
telephone receiver or "alien nozzle".

Step Four: Paint cabinets

We used Benjamin Moore Impervo paint. I can't say enough good things about this paint. It's pricey (about $50 for the gallon) but it is FANTASTIC. It goes on like a latex paint (doesn't require a lot of sanding or priming, goes on smoothly, doesn't stink to the high heavens, dries quickly) but it "acts" like an oil-based paint (fills in uneven parts of the wood nicely, dries hard and is very scrubbable). And no, they didn't pay me to say that.

Yes, I always insist on doing the first
part of each project.

Thanks, Mom!

Step Five: Change out hinges and hardware

Rather than try to strip the nasty paint off of the hinges and then spray paint them, we opted to just replace with white hinges.  The hardware came from Target. I heart Target. We went for a mix-and-match approach with knob pulls on the drawers and lower cabinets, bar pulls on the upper cabinets.

Step Six: Paint walls

This is where progress hit a major snag. I spent MONTHS debating a paint color. I stayed in the terracotta / tan / brown mindset but never could find the color. Then I got a Pottery Barn catalog and one of their Benjamin Moore paint colors was perfect. It was called Firenze. It was the Goldilocks shade of terracotta... not too red / not too brown / not too orange. Plus, as I planned to relocate my watercolors of the Duomo and Ponte Vecchio in Florence, Italy (Firenze, if you will), I KNEW it was the perfect color. So, based on a tiny little dot in a magazine, I sent David back to the paint store. And I couldn't be happier.

Dark corner of the room

David on upper-level duty

Step Seven: Deal with tacky brass chandelier

We had the standard cheapo builder-grade chandelier in the dining room. We considered replacing it but weren't keen on spending $200+ for the look we liked. So, I settled on a $7 can of spray paint. I think the finished product was well worth it.

A little Krylon "hammered finish" spray paint...
and my parents' tree

MUCH better!

Step Eight: Accessorize and REVEAL!!

Counter tops before and after

White tile in a kitchen? Yeah, I can
keep that clean...

We went with a Formica product. Formica!

 Sink area before and after

Stove area before and after

Cabinet close up before and after

Dining room

I didn't think to take any before pictures of the dining room. I assure you, it was utterly unimpressive. Cheap prints on the wall, a table, a bookcase holding china. Cramped. Dull. Nothing special. But now, I rather like it! (The curio cabinet will not be staying long. I have an antique corner cabinet that needs some repairs and then will be built into that area.)

Step Nine: Host a brunch

And there you have it!

At some point, we will add a backsplash. I'm thinking subway tiles in a natural beige stone?? We need to save up a little while for that (read: go on and then recover financially from vacation... then the holidays...) so we're not in a rush. I also need to do something decorative but functional above the cabinets. I need to store my glassware (pitchers, serving dishes, etc) there but also want to work in some decorations and maybe greenery. Again, not a high priority. We may also change out the fluorescent light with a fan. It gets really hot in the kitchen (duh) and it can be a pain when I'm working with my cakes and the icing gets too melty... so a fan might help with that. Or might not. We'll see. But, aside from those few items, I declare the project DONE!!

For those of you who are interested in that sort of thing (like I am when I see a makeover project), we did all the work ourselves with the exception of the counter tops. All total, we spent about $1400 to complete the project. ($850 of that being the counters. We also had a Lowe's coupon that saved some on the sink and faucet). So, HGTV, I'll be expecting your call about my own show. I promise to be a little more decisive and speedy with someone else's money!