Weekend…

Friday night I left work a little early to spend some time with Casey, Chris, and Beth at SeaWorld.

Note: Next time you take a photo on a concrete Manatee, wear skinny jeans. Wide leg jeans make you look fat.




Because honestly, I know everyone takes photos on concrete Manatees regularly.

We've been to the penguin exhibit so many times, I'm pretty sure I can give the seminar by heart...

Saturday night we went to Beth’s house for a Sparta party. And yes, there is a difference between a Sparta party and a Toga party. Sparta parties are more along the lines of the film ‘300’ (without all the violence) while Toga parties scream John Belushi in ‘Animal House’. And since we are all supposed to be ‘grown adults’, it was a Sparta party.

I spent a fortune on my outfit. I employed a poor woman on my street to do the handwork. Oh wait, the poor woman was me. I spent a whopping $3.75 on fabric - and yeah, I know it looks like I spent $3.75.

Mike was the Spartan in the middle

My Spartan protectors...

And yes, by the end of the night, Chris' toga resembled a diaper - that was about when I denied knowing him.

Flashback Friday...

I’m taking a short lunch today as I’ve got big plans for tonight so I don’t have time for an all new post. I figured I’d flashback to April of 2006 when I journaled the below entry.

The sad part is, at the time I thought my future life would be better than physical injuries I cause to myself, dental visits, and begging people to finance my house. I guess some things in life never change.

Oh, and just for your info, the dress didn’t help me seal the deal. The bank didn’t finance the condo we were looking into and I was devastated. I didn’t know that God had a beautiful house for me 13 months later with way better financing. Based on the week this has been, I’ve got to look at this and remember… HE can plan my life better than I can.


My ankle is still pretty jacked up from yesterday’s swan dive across the garage floor. I have a bit of a limp but it’s in between a full limp and a regular walk so it just looks like I’m trying to be gangsta’. Love it.

My dentist appointment went well yesterday. The doctor first asked what in heavens name I did and if I regularly ate rocks for meals. I would but I’ve heard they are fattening… and the whole coming out part wouldn’t be pleasant either. Anyway, he gave me a choice, he could drill out the crown or he could polish this one up. I thought about it for about a millisecond before shouting ‘Polish it!’ I’m no masochist!!

I’m wearing a dress today. Why? Trickery. I don’t normally wear dresses to work – come on, in my line of work, really? – but I want the bank guy to think I work in a place with some semblance of a dress code. I could roll in with a tankini and tell him I just got off work but I want to look respectable. Hold on that’s funny, me… respectable.

Hello? Alcoholics Anonymous?...

It’s already been a rough week. With work troubles, the violent lizard attack, and the complete lack of a good hair day, I was struggling to put on my happy face yesterday.

Last night I came home and picked up my mail only to be greeted with a letter that everyone will be jealous to hear about…

I received a letter from an attorney telling me I was being sued.

I can’t go into the details for obvious reasons but the highlights are as follows: There was an injury sustained near (not on) my property. The group who owns the item that caused the injury is pointing the finger at me for breaking the item (I didn’t of course) and thinks I should be held responsible for the injury.

Thanks.

So it got me thinking, is this what it feels like to have a complete and total mental breakdown? And, can I go to the same mental institution as Britney Spears? I think they have a spa.



I have to admit that I was a bit miffed by a part of the letter. The attorney included the name of the person who is suing me. Fortunately he picked the one out of the four households in the whole city featuring caring, compassionate, religious, moral, law-abiding citizens who would be safe with that information. As I walked out of Vons last night a souped up black SUV was parked directly in front of the door with a huge decal that read ‘Got Ammo?’ On the back was a National Rifle Association sign and a bumper sticker that read, ‘100% No Surrender!!!’

Surprisingly I wasn’t in Alabama.

I don’t know about you but in this city, I would have asked my attorney to keep my name anonymous and throw in lots of ‘please’, ‘thank yous’, and ‘have a nice days’ at the risk of sending a letter to someone like Mr. ‘Got Ammo’.

I dragged myself home, drank my dinner by double fisting bottles of wine (glasses are sooooo last week), and sat to watch the Simpson’s while wondering, “What is the technical definition of an alcoholic? Exactly how long do you have to be one before going to meetings? And how long is mom going to believe our story that the Corona’s we pour in plastic cups are ‘Mexican Soda’?”



After a couple hours I figured everything out! It was as clear as the bottom of my bottle of Gewürztraminer. I have two options:

A) Run away to Kansas. Permanently.

B) Go outside, fall on item that caused this mess and sue myself to pay for the other lawsuit.

I am such a genius.



The cool thing is, this has me so worked up I haven’t been able to eat. Maybe now I can finally get rid of those 10 pounds lurking around my lower half. How exciting is that? But I can’t let myself know how great that is because then I’ll get all happy or whatever and I’ll start eating again.

Shhh! Don’t tell me I look good! It's better for my outfit for the Toga party this Saturday if I stay down in the dumps for at least 2 more days.

Maybe then I could make my Toga a mid-drift.

What was her name? Bathsheba?

Our company is struggling due to the current market. Construction related fields are feast or famine and right now…

It’s famine.

Yesterday we were all notified that an investor would be coming to the office to (hopefully) help us out. Apparently the guy has significant capital and is capable of bailing us out if he chooses. Otherwise, we’re all on the bread lines.

I was talking to mom about it last night and she asked how I thought it would go.

‘Well, I plan on dressing as slutty as they come and ‘forgetting’ my wedding ring’ I said with a smile. ‘Maybe he’s single.’

‘Oh. Ok’ she said.


Excuse me mam. Have you seen my mother? She would have died 30 seconds ago.

Or maybe she brushed me off because she knows I lack significantly, or better yet, completely in the ‘slutty’ clothing department.

Bummer.



Since pops and I work for the same company, she’s obviously concerned about the welfare of the company and apparently…

Is willing to sell me.

Good thing we aren’t in biblical times. She would be three steps away from trading me for a donkey.


They’ve been in the meeting for three hours now and though they have the doors open, I can’t hear a danged word they are saying. I keep walking to the kitchen trying to ‘accidentally’ over-hear the conversation but then I actually have to get food from the kitchen and since I’m on the 8th trip, I’m getting very full.

Whelp, if you think of me and pops, say a prayer.

Funny thing happened on my way to the bathroom…

Sunday night I suffered a severe bite from the cleaning bug. I had just rid myself of some of the clutter in our bedroom and headed to the bathroom to trash some paper. I opened up the door and there HE was…

A 12” long alligator lizard hanging out on my bathroom floor. His head spun to look at me like Carrie – without the projectile vomit of course.

Naturally I addressed this issue calmly.

Riiiiiight.

I screamed.

I ran.

And I jumped on the bed.


2 seconds later Chris came running in because he knows there are only 3 things that warrant that kind of scream:

1 – There is a thief in the house
2 – There is a murderer in the house
Or
3 – They cancelled Judge Judy

I point (while still standing on the bed and screaming of course) to the bathroom.

Chris calmly closes the bathroom door, heads to the garage, and returns decades later with a box and some gloves. He goes back into the bathroom and after a few minutes says, ‘Hey babe, is the lizard out there?’

WHAT?!?!?

He opens and closes the door then looks at the bottom. ‘When I left to get the box, you watched the door right?’ he asked.

‘Uh. Why?’

‘Because there is a space below our door that he can easily go under. He’s not in the bathroom so that can only mean he’s out here’ Chris said while gesturing toward the bedroom.

It was about then that I thought about how much I hate moving. Why did I think about moving? Because there was no way I was going to share my house with a glorified snake.

Shortly after, the danged thing stuck his head out from behind my computer which only elicited more screaming and chants of ‘Chris get him!!!!’

He eventually caught it but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go to the bathroom or shower at home again.

Camping with tissue up my nose...

Chris and I went beach camping with some friends Thursday – Saturday.

Leave it to old reliable… I came down with a nasty cold on Wednesday.

The outdoors did me good but the hot bed of germs also known as a ‘public restroom’ evened the score. Sure the friendly park ranger staff cleaned the bathrooms. I saw them. They came out brandishing a hose with a spray nozzle and drenched the walls… the toilet… the sink… the toilet paper…….

No actual scrubbing was involved.

Can’t say I blame the guys. I was reluctant to go inside too.

We did have fun. Perhaps that was because the bathrooms lacked the luxuries in life – like mirrors.

I didn’t have to see what three days worth of nasty grime on my face looked like.


We were also fortunate enough to have the beach to ourselves - and only share with it a few other folks who all happened to be wearing skin colored swim suits… oh wait…. those aren’t swim suits.

And I thought naked beaches were limited to Europe.

Guess not.

Considering the fact that I haven’t worn a swimsuit without a cover-up since 1994, you can bet I wasn’t about to shed any articles of clothing, much less all of them.

I could have since the naked ‘gentlemen’ were more interested in nakedness of the same gender and wouldn’t have noticed me but…

Sorry trail #6 at San Onofre.

I don’t like naked beaches.

Day 2 we hit up trail #1 and tried to forget the images burned in our long term memory from trail #6.

I only took a few pictures. I’m reluctant to pull out items I can’t afford to replace near water or sand so the camera stayed in its case for the most part.


I'm not sure if it technically qualifies as 'camping' if you take this much stuff...

(OK, so most of it was fire wood)

We couldn't figure out how to keep the drinks cold so we used the wet suits...

















































Have mercy on me... I hadn't showered in a while...

Happy Birthday Aaron!

Have a good one!

Cole, you better make a good dinner! Or you could do it my way and just drive-thru somewhere...

Will the casket fit?

Thursday night, Chris came home from school just after 8 and decided to start digging for the retaining wall. Why? The man isn’t capable of sitting still.

Sure it was dark.

Sure he was working by a single flashlight beam.

Sure he was using a pick axe and a shovel.

After a couple hours, the neighbors began to cluster on their front lawns and stare.

I walked out to Chris and whispered, ‘Hon, I think the neighbors are assuming you are burying a body out here.’

Very seriously he leaned on the shovel, looked at me, and said, ‘Babe, when I bury a body, I’m burying it in the backyard.’

When? When he buries a body?





We dug most of the weekend (Chris doing most of the work) and our yard now looks like….

Sunday we enjoyed the company of Cousin Lisa, Jeff, and Josh. I didn’t have my camera so you’ll have to forgive my lack of pictures.

We don’t see enough of them!!

That’s it, I’m moving!

It’s been a rough week so and it’s an understatement to say my attitude hasn’t been the best.

I kinda realized this when I yelled at Chris to measure the yard twice because he was ‘soooo wrong’ about the 47 foot measurement he had already taken.

‘Babe!’ I yelled, ‘The spot between the driveway and the property line is no more than 25 feet!!’

And I’ll have you know.

He WAS wrong.

It was 48 feet.



We’re landscaping our front yard and putting in a retaining wall. The miser in me is freaking out about the price per foot. I wanted a 3 or 4 foot high wall but after I got a price quote from the block salesman, I suddenly had a hankering for no more than 18 inches.

We haven’t even priced out the cost for a lawn yet. Who knows? I may just keep the weeds and call them ‘California Native Landscaping’.


ANWAY, I was grumpy and as I was stomping across the lawn (I use the term ‘lawn’ loosely) with a measuring tape, and I saw a huge pile of dog poo right in the middle.

REALLY?!?!?

People are letting their dogs poo in our yard now?

GEEZ!

THEN, as I’m driving to work this morning, I noticed the new billboard in town that says…

‘Pulling the trigger will change your views. Let’s work together against gang violence.’

… written over a picture of a guy in prison.



I would be scared and should perhaps look more deeply into my right to bear arms but I’m a pretty annoyed and aggravated girl right now so Lord help the next person – or animal with the urge to poo - who ticks me off.

Focus on the mixer… Ignore the blood…

Once again, going to school with Jesus *cough*, I mean, mom has been difficult. Example… last night.

Our class is divided into teams for all our labs. Each team works to replicate the food of the week created by the chef. We get to divide our teams finished products and take them home.

Last night we made garlic herb focaccia bread topped with parmesan and salt. When my team pulled ours out of the oven, we placed it on the cooling rack. A guy, who I don’t particularly like at all from another team, decided to walk over to the cooling rack to feel the texture of his team’s bread. THEN - after touching his bread, licking his fingers, and while we were watching - he stuck his fingers into our bread.



Now, I’m sure this will come as a surprise (ha ha) but how do I put this delicately…

I have a hyper-aggressive personality.

I’m a cool gal, until you do something stupid like…

Put your slobbery mitts on my bread.



I looked at mom and immediately buttoned my lip. Otherwise I might have worked in the word ‘ass’ while not in reference to a donkey, and she would have knocked me up the side of the head.

I’ve seen the damage the woman can do with an ironing board on my brothers back. I’d hate to see her capabilities with a 50 pound Kitchen Aid mixer.

So I did the next best thing, told my teammate, who also is hyper aggressive. The girl ‘calmly’ asks him about the bread to which he responds by yelling, ‘Deal with it!’

Seriously?

Seriously dude? That’s how you respond?

I look over at mom again who is writing in her notebook and double checking the bread in the mixer and I immediately grab onto the table in an effort to keep my hands under control. I’m imagining explaining an ‘assault and battery’ charge to pops wouldn’t be easy – that and I spent any potential bail money on a retaining wall for the front yard.


Dang. I knew that was a mistake.


I managed to keep calm the rest of class and after class I asked mom what she thought about the situation.

‘Huh?’ she looked at me quizzically.

‘The guy! The guy who touched our bread and yelled at us!’ I said.

‘Huh?’ she said still confused.

‘Are you joking me?!?! All that self-restraint for nothing!?!?!’ I gasped.




OK. Now I know the level of concentration the woman has in regards to cooking. If I can keep the thumps from kicking the guys butt synchronized to the thumps of the bread in the mixer, she’ll never notice.




Slobbery Finger Dude.

Watch out.

It’s the handcuffs man…

Recently, I had to meet with an advisor at the East County Courthouse. Unfortunately the Advisor’s Office is next door to the Criminal Court. And even more unfortunate…

The people waiting for criminal court have the same waiting area.

I grabbed a small waiting number from the advisor’s door and sat to watch East County’s finest criminals.

Conversations filled the air…

‘You probably won’t get arrested but they will put you in handcuffs. Ugh. I hate the feeling of handcuffs.’

‘The people out by my car? Those are bill collectors. I don’t have my address registered and they noticed I’d be here today. I’ll just stay here until they get tired.’

‘So the story is… I didn’t see anything right?’

I sank lower and lower into my seat praying for the advisor to hurry. After what seemed like decades, she came out, looked at my blue ticket and asked if I were waiting for her. I would have said, ‘DUH!’ but was so grateful to be saved from sure death by association with white trash, I forgave her.


‘It’s a good thing I noticed your number ticket, I was just about to close up. I thought you were waiting for the criminal court’ the she said to me.

I looked down at myself.

Nice jeans, nice wrap shirt, nice shoes, perfectly curled hair, and painstakingly applied make-up.

What part of me looks like I’m waiting for criminal court?

I was hoping she’d amend her statement and say, ‘White collar crime of course’ but she didn’t.

Dang it.

Weekend...

Friday night we celebrated the fact that Casey got hired. We went to Shoguns...



















































Saturday we went to Jeff's housewarming in Laguna Niguel.
















Mmm... chocolate!
































Jeff's dad kept coming in the kitchen to make toasts. The guy was like a Leprechaun. Everything rhymed.

















Sunday, Chris and I went to a marriage conference and afterward met Beth and Zack at Seaworld.