Moving on Up?

Mood: Angsty (Just out of sorts and can't settle my mind to anything - even writing - which is what I should be doing)

On Tv: Hoarders (Someone please tell me why I am so fascinated by the amount of filth in which some people are comfortable living?)

Is there anything more fun that getting together with friends and family to move an entire household full of stuff for my mother in one night? No? I didn't think so. So, that's what the hubs and I - and the rest of my family and some friends gathered to do last Thursday night after work.

Some of us were obviously a bit more excited about the upcoming move than others...




At one point in the evening's work, my sister Sarah and I found ourselves left in charge of entertaining our four nephews and two nieces (all under the age of 8) in a house that was nearly empty and devoid of any meaningful forms of entertainment outside two already tired aunties.

Striving to provide entertainment for the restless masses, Sarah and I sang endless verses of Jingle Bells, The Wheels on the Bus and various other half remembered childhood songs - thankfully none of the kids knows how to operate a video recorder so these precious moments of humiliation (complete with the accompanying movements to act them out) were not preserved for public consumption via YouTube.

Through the course of the evening I found myself saying things that I never thought I'd say. My favorites?

*Stop licking your sister (really? Why are you licking your sister?)
*Stop chewing on your feet (although I admire your flexibility)
*Stop chewing on your brother's/sister's feet (Ewwww...just...ewww)
*Don't shove that in your: nose, ears, mouth (because Auntie Rhonda is not going in after them)
*Don't shove that in your sister's/brother's: nose, ears, mouth (ditto on this one)
*Stop throwing your sister's dirty diaper around (Also, I don't need your comments on the contents and/or odor associated with that diaper)
*Stop throwing YOUR dirty diaper around (ditto here)
*No. You cannot eat Styrofoam. (although I appreciate your attempt to provide for yourself)
*No, tossing ripped up Styrofoam does NOT mean it's snowing (but it does mean Auntie Rhonda's eye is starting to twitch uncontrollably).

Luckily my sister Amanda and her husband showed up before they started making snow angels in the living room.
Next time? I'm going to take a page from my brother's book and just give them some cash to behave.

Dan Quayle Was Here?

Status: Crazy stressed (lots going on, not enough time or sanity to go around)

On tv: Addicted (Another intervention type show - wondering if my slight obsession with reality tv could be considered an addiction. Maybe I need an intervention?)

The hubs took me out to dinner tonight because, well, I was having a bad day and he knew that if I didn't feel like cooking, dinner prep would fall to him  he loves me and wanted to pamper me. It was steak night at the restaurant that he chose - so YAY!! Sorry, but I seriously loves me some steak! :)

However, when we sat down at the table and I glanced at the "special" steak menu, I felt my eye start to twitch. The special menu listed the different types of steaks one might order along with the note that each meal came complete with a salad, a dessert and my choice of POTATOE.

Really? You run a restaurant and you don't know how to spell "potato"? *sigh* I tried to ignore it. I tried to convince myself it didn't matter if the word was spelled wrong but really, it does matter. I couldn't sit there and eat at a table where the little standing menu proclaimed that I could have a potatoe.

So, I did what any self respecting writer would do. I pulled my favorite pen out of my purse, removed the paper insert and scribbled out the "e" at the end of the word. Finally all was right in my world and I could enjoy my dinner.

Tomorrow, I'm totally fixing the sign outside the local market advertising the fact that they "except" debit cards.

I seriously suspect my hubs has the local insane asylum on speed dial.

Eye Witness Report: Pig Tour 2009

Mood: Worn out (really worn out)

What I'm watching: Dateline, Real Life Mysteries (here's a thought, if a guy's last two wives have died under very suspicious circumstances, he might not make the best dating material...I'm just sayin').

Scott and I went to the Illinois State Fair this weekend. With all the things to see and do at the fair, my husband still insists on benchmarking the entire event by the foods that he's managed to consume (which has led me to dub it "Pig Tour 2009"). If it was deep fried, on a stick or somehow jammed into a bun with onions and peppers, he needed to eat it. Everything from a polish sausage to fried alligator (yes ALLIGATOR! Which surprisingly wasn't as disgusting one might expect) was consumed through the course of the day. FYI? A chocolate covered, deep fried twinkie? Not nearly as good as one might expect.

In addition to all the food, we saw our share of animals (is it sad that I want a pony?), arts and crafts displays (although really? some of what passes for art really just looks like a big pile of junk to me), and very interesting people (very interesting people).

We also did something that neither one of us has ever done before. We got a psychic reading. Now, I do believe that some people have some special 'abilities' for lack of a better term, but I also believe that most psychics who are out there making a living at it are probably just really good at reading people and making guesses.

But, I decided to go for it since it seemed like a fun and harmless way to pass some time. Besides? I figured that she would be completely wrong and Scott and I could spend the afternoon laughing about her erroneous assumptions and predictions.

Please note: I'm not laughing. I sat down, gave her my name and my birthdate....that was it. I tried to keep my face as unemotional as I could no matter what she said. To the point where she finally said that I was going to have to let her know if she was on the right track. She was. Uncomfortably on the right track as a matter of fact. She knew things that no one should have/could have known by just looking at me. Very specific things that couldn't just generally be guessed or generalizations that could be applied to anyone.

Not everything was spot on but I'd say fully 90% of what she said was so specifically accurate that it was all rather a bit unnerving honestly. The good news? She encouraged me to continue with my writing, (she said this a couple of times even though I never confirmed for her that I wrote). She said that I wasn't confident in my creative abilities (that's a given...what writer doesn't sometimes feel like a talentless hack?), but that I should continue to work on it...that I *needed* to write.

Lots to think about....

My (almost real) Tattoo

Mood: Forgetful (because I promised a while ago to post this picture)

What I'm Watching: Lockup: San Quentin (Wondering why on earth people become criminals...prison definitely doesn't look like fun to me)

So, I posted a couple of posts down about our adventures at the county fair, including my cool, albeit temporary, tattoo. I also promised to post a picture and then promptly forgot. So, here it is, the closest I will ever come to having an actual tattoo.




















It's a four leafed clover which has done me absolutely no good since I've since bought two lottery tickets that haven't won me a single penny. Also? This completely showcases how dry my legs are. Must remember to moisturize!!!

Adventures in Domestic Sciences

Mood: Happy...sort of (it's been a long day but I've more or less pleased with the results of my efforts and can't be completely happy because I'm intensely craving a blue raspberry ICEE.)

What I'm Watching: King of the Hill (Who knew that the guy who helped create the annoyingly stupid Beavis and Butthead could also create the genious of Hank Hill and Boomhauer. And Dale Gribble? Might not be as paranoid as everyone suspects him to be...I'm just sayin').

I have a confession to make. Despite my overacheiving, obsessive-compulsive must maintain a perfect 4.0 - having a nervous breakdown over my first 'B' (because I was sure that 'B' meant I was an absolute idiot who was doomed to work the slurpee machine for the rest of my life...Yes. I've always been over the top dramatic and obviously hadn't completely plugged in to just how fun running the slurpee machine could actually be) academic career, there is a rather large skeleton lurking in my academic closet.

Home Ec. Sewing, cooking, setting a proper table, etc.? So NOT my thing. While I sailed through honors Math, Science and English I struggled with properly running a sewing machine. Bobbins still confuse me (how the hell does that work?), patterns make no sense (and why do they make it out of such thin freaking paper?), and my one sewing project? Looked like it had been made by a drunk blind person on crack. The teacher gave me a pity 'C' because she knew how hard I'd tried. Yep. Even with concerted effort, that's the best I could do.

So, after weeks of looking for the perfect laptop case with no luck whatsoever, what do I decide to do? Make.my.own. What the hell was I thinking? I don't sew. I can barely thread a needle and now I'm trying to modify patterns, create pockets, and *gasp* use a newly purchased craft grade sewing machine.

The good news is that I found some super cute fabric so the laptop case will be competely funky if I finish it and if, in fact, it even resembles a laptop case when I'm done. *Sigh* At this point the most I can hope for is that it will look good enough that, instead of thinking that it was made by a drunk blind person on crack, people will think that it was made by an only slightly tipsy 80 year old woman with cataracts.

Never fear. Pictures will be posted when the project is finished so that the mocking may commence.