Random Musings.

I have a new obsession. Well, its not exactly new. It's just a new twist on an old obsession. You see, I need something to drink every day after work. And since people that immediately drink wine after work are called alcoholics, I turn to iced coffee for my fix. But here is the twist -- I've been making it myself. When I make my coffee every morning, I now make an extra few cups. I pour the hot coffee in a Nalgene, dump in wayyyy too much sugar and plop it in the fridge. That way when I get home I have a little pick-me-up. It just needs ice and a splash of cream. Otherwise, I fall asleep for 4 hours after work. Not that that would ever happen. It certainly didn't happen today. 

The Canadian doesn't have a sweet tooth. No. It's a whole new level. It's more like a sweet mouth. He has to have some sort of dessert every night. Since we are desperately trying to watch our waist lines (well I am, hence he is too) I've busted out the old school pudding. It's quick, it's cheap, and one box makes four nights worth of goodness. He loves it. Yes, he is a 10 year old. 

Our guest bedroom is actually my closet. We live in a very old house and old houses lack two major components: closet space and outlet plugs. Because the closet is so small in our bedroom I use the guest bedroom closet as my own. I keep all my stuff in there, including my dresser. It is where I get ready in the morning. As I said, there is also a lack of plugs. AKA - there is 1 outlet for the entire room. I have added a multi-plug to it but its full of my hair dryer, flat iron and printer cords. There is just no room for a clock and Lord knows I need to know what time it is if there is any hope of me making it to work on time. Enter, Big Ben. I love him. He's funny. Seriously, how many people have an old school clock with bells these days? He even makes the tick-tick noise so you constantly think the house is going to explode.

We were walking to breakfast the other day and decided to meander through the park. Summer is coming to an end but the flowers were still full of color and the leaves are just starting to change. But the best part of the walk? The fountain. I love it when high school kids find funny ways to entertain themselves. If I had grown up next to a park with a fountain I totally would have filled it with bubble bath every weekend. 

I have the best father-in-law in the world. Not only did he come over to help The Canadian paint the front of our house this week but he also donated a bottle of his home-made wine to the Keep Kate Sane Foundation. I just love it when he does that. In fact, I'm enjoying a glass right now as I type. Therefore, you are also reaping the rewards of his wine making skills. If I didn't have a glass of wine in me this post would be a lot shorter. Or it wouldn't exist at all.

My official Run for the Cure shirt came in the mail today. They must be feeding the huskies good food because the dog sled team sure got it here fast. My sister made the shirt for me. In her words, she chose "the most offensive pink color available". Plus, it has inappropriate language. It's perfect.

Two days until the Race! Get your game face on. Bust out the pink. Many thanks to all my sponsors!

On a final note, I have a tumor on my head. I know you can't really see it. Neither can I. Hence the reason I was frantically trying to take a iPhone photo of the back of my scalp. Two big bumps appeared on Tuesday (document that so I can tell the doctor when my head explodes). One is smaller and doesn't hurt. The bigger one, adjacent to the smaller, hurts like a...like a...well, I can't think of an non-inappropriate word. You get the idea. It feels like a goose egg and it hurts like a goose egg should hurt. But I can't seem to think of a recent time that I hit my head. Maybe I hit it so hard that I blacked out and that is why I can't remember. It's causing me problems. Maybe that is why I slept so much today. Maybe it wasn't the lack of iced coffee. Maybe it was my tumor taking over my head. 

Someone please remind me to go see a specialist if its still there next week. Not that I'll need reminding. My mother will be here. Surely she'll notice my huge tumor. She is a nurse after all. And if her nursing skills aren't enough to recognize my pain, I'm sure my incessant complaining will bring it to her attention.

Please Stop Teaching Me How to Sail.

Yesterday the Weather Gods decided to introduce fall. On Monday it was a glorious 85 degrees and I was loving it. In celebration of Summer 2.0 I even wore a dress to work. Yesterday though, the temperature dropped down to a cool 59 degrees. To my southern bones that is a reason to break out the ole scarf. Despite the cool temps we still decided to go sailing. It was crystal clear and breezy. I called Captain John to see if he still wanted to take the boat out and when I mentioned the cool weather he replied, "Well, we have lots of clothes." I tell you, that guy takes no prisoners. He wasn't about to let me out of an evening booze cruise just because of some chilly weather. Sailors are tough like that. So are Canadians. I, however, do not qualify as either a sailor or a Canadian. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

John's boat, Out of the Blue, is a J24 which means it is a 24 foot sail boat that is designed for racing. aka it's fast. It's meant to have a crew of five sailors for racing but it can be raced with just four crewmen. So, when we took it out last night and there were only three of us that meant that I was expected to actually contribute. And by contribute I mean help out with the whole sailing thing. John has a slightly different definition of contribute. He made me drive! Can you believe it? Clearly he did not get the memo about me not knowing how to sail.

Unfortunately for me, John used to be a sailing instructor. He actually enjoys teaching people how to sail. See, the problem with knowing how to sail is that the guys are going to start expecting me to help sail. Do you see what I'm getting at here? If I don't know how to sail then I can just sit there, hang out, and pour drinks. But if I do know how to sail I'll have to (gulp) work sail. Ignorance is bliss, in this case.

John made me drive the boat for almost all of the evening. Come to think of it, I'm not sure he touched the tiller (steering wheel wannabe) once. Granted, he never went too far away from me. And he reassured my 8 million times that he wasn't going to let anything bad happen. But I wasn't having it. I was convinced (here we go again with my irrational fears) that the boat was going to flip over. And yes, I know the technical term is capsize but using poor terminology helps remind them that I don't want to know how to sail.

Sailing the boat is like your own personal aquatic yoga workout. Every muscle in my body was tense. I was trying to use my whole 130(ish) pounds to keep the 3,000 pound boat from tipping. Its an exercise in futility. When you're a passenger the boat never seems to be going that fast. Nor does it seem to be heeling (leaning) all that much. But when you're driving? It's feels like it is about to tip the entire time. You can feel every move anyone makes, feel every wave, and every little gust of wind. You're constantly adjusting the course and trimming the sails. Or in my case, just yelling at John.

Me: John! We're going too fast!

John: Head up wind a little.

Me: What does that mean?! Like this?

John: Yup.

Me: John! We're going to tip!

John: crickets chirping...

Me: John! We're going to fast!

John: Well, what should you do?

Me: John! Come sail the boat! PLEASE! We're going to tip!

John: You're fine.

Me: JOHN! I don't like this. Can someone please get me a glass of wine!?

John: Here's your wine. Keep holding your course...

And so it went. Repeat that same conversation for about an hour and you'll get the idea.

After what seemed like hours, I finally managed to convince The Canadian to take the tiller for a few minutes so I could grab a photo of the sunset. Sucka! I didn't go anywhere near the back of the boat after that. Nope. I was going to sit and enjoy myself and enjoy not steering the boat.

Doesn't it look like we're sailing into Africa? If it were Africa there would be monkeys in those trees. And elephants grazing under them. But then there would probably be snakes too. On second thought, maybe it's better that its just Canada and not Africa. You know how I hate animals without legs.

Anyway, by the grace of God, we managed to make it back to land. I got home and promptly fell asleep in my clothes. Then I woke up this morning feeling like a truck hit me. That sailing stuff is exhausting.

There is one week left in the season before the boat comes out of the water and I'm willing to bet that I can make it without having to drive again. Then next year I'm just going to fake amnesia so I can go back to my old job of boat bartender. Genius. See? Not just a hat rack, my friend. (name that tv show!)

The Dirt Has Animals Without Legs.

Because I have nothing better to do with my time, like write yet another essay...

Because my dogs are trying to turn my hard wood floors into dog-fur-carpet...

Because I have laundry to do...

I decided to go outside and play in the dirt this afternoon.

Let me preface this with the fact that I am not a gardening type person. Not that this activity even remotely counts as gardening. But, oh my word, my weeds are trying to turn the driveway into the lawn. The flora is taking over. Can you even see the curb in there? It's barely recognizable as concrete.

And please excuse the busted asphalt driveway. Down south we all have pretty white driveways. I don't know why Northerners insist on black top. It cracks and collects dirt. Then it morphs into the lawn. Its lovely, really.

So I decided to get down on my hands and knees and launch my own counter attack on the renegade grass. 

I was doing well too. Until I ran into my arch nemesis. 

I hate, repeat: hate, animals without legs. You heard me. I do not like them. Where are their legs? Seriously.

I'm not just talking slugs and worms. Snakes are at the top of the list. Then comes fish, dolphins, seals, lizards (their legs are too small), frogs (no legs when they started), and anything else sans legs that I can't think of right now. Basically, going fishing with worms is my worst nightmare.

I know it's an irrational fear. But I have a long list of irrational fears, ie spontaneous house fires, boat trailers spontaneously flipping, diving boards spontaneously breaking in half, ect... Do you see a theme here?

Anyway, I was attacked by a slug in college. One night when Morgan and I were living together we were sitting on our porch swing. It had rained earlier that day so the plants on our porch were still wet with rain drops. We were sitting outside in our PJ pants taking a break from studying. When we went back inside I kept feeling something slightly damp on the back of my calf. I figured the back of my leg had brushed against one of the rainy plants. After kicking the back of my calf with my other foot about 800 times, I finally stopped what I was doing and pulled up my pant leg. And there, behind my knee, was a gignormous slug. It had crawled all the way up my calf leaving a trail of slime. I immediately ran across the house to the shower, pulled all of my clothes off, screamed at the top of my lungs and had a complete hissy fit. I've always been mature like that.





Back to the renegade lawn. Did I mention there were worms too? It was almost more than I could bare. The worm and I had a staring contest until he gave in and retreated back to the dirt. Score one for me!





So, do you think my torment was worth it? Now its a dirt lined driveway!

Let's review.





Before.





After.

I'm not sure it was worth it. But I'll let you be the judge.

I, for one, definitely could have survived the rest of my years without knowing I share a yard with the leg-less creatures that are not to be named.

Productivity.

"We're going to be productive this weekend. We're going to be productive this weekend," that is what I've been telling The Canadian all week. He needs time to mentally prepare. I was trying to give him plenty of warning. 

It's been crazy busy the past few weeks. My to-do list has been exponentially growing and my sanity has been wavering. So this weekend was going to be catch up time. We're going to be productive this weekend. Come hell or high water.

So we were. We were productive.

I bought new curtains for our bedroom. thank God.

I reorganized my closet. i need a walk-in.

The Canadian put the recycling in his truck because the bottle exchange was closed. that counts.

I fixed the porch light. it's only been broken for 5 years.

The Canadian hung a new hook on my closet door. i have too many bags.

We went out for drinks with friends. needed some water and advil this morning.

We went to the market. sushi for breakfast.

We had breakfast with Tyler and Carla. burp.

I vacuumed and windex-ed the house. hallelujah!

I cleaned out my car. my sanity thanks me.

TC organized his work bench. who knew there was even a bench under that mess?

I ran a couple of miles and lifted a few weights. i can't feel my biceps now.

I made a menu for the week and hit the grocery store in my sweaty gym clothes. seeexy.

I wrote at essay. fail.

The Canadian replaced the flusher/handle thingy on the toilet. always good.

I even managed to make some weird Oreo bar concoction. we'll discuss later.

The Canadian was great. He was helpful. He was productive. He even earned a nap this afternoon.

Wanna guess who wasn't helpful?

Somebody didn't get the memo about being productive.

Somebody took a nap anyway.

Yeah, well that somebody can clean up her own drool from now on. She's fired.

The Red Plate Award.

Do you have any great family traditions? Maybe something from when you were a kid? Something you want to incorporate into your own household?

Growing up, we had The Red Plate Award in my house. The Red Plate Award (RPA from here on out) was exactly that -- the privilege of eating dinner on a red plate as an award for a job well done. Anyone in my family was eligible for earning this prestigious honor although it seldom went to my parents. My sister and I were rather selfish with the RPA. Go figure.

The RPA could be earned for anything that deserved a high five or a pat on the back. Any achievement that didn't happen everyday. It could be major or minor. Things like winning your soccer game, being elected to student government, a birthday, getting a job, making the cheerleading squad, a good grade on a test, running a 5k...anything really. I'm sure there were other examples from our early childhood that I was too young to remember...but you'd have to ask my mom about that. Basically, you just had to do something that made you cool enough to eat on a special dinner plate.

I love this tradition so I was really excited when my mom gave me and TC our own Red Plate for Christmas last year. 

Tonight we used it for the first time. 

Currently, I'm working on getting a second degree in education. I'm taking four online classes and they are positively killing me. Thankfully, one of the classes was only 3 weeks long (read: intense) and it ended this week. Grades came out today and guess who got an A? This girl!

I emailed TC to tell him the good news. Being the amazingly supportive husband that he is (read: he is more excited about me taking classes than I am) he immediately responded with, "Guess who gets the Red Plate Award tonight?" I love that he was excited and that he embraces the ole RPA. I picked a winner, I tell ya.

The Red Plate now comes with its own fancy pen that allows you to write down all of your family's accolades...

That is today's date right? Is it still September? I can't keep up anymore. And for the record, it is NOT the first A I have ever recieved...although A's do seem to be rather elusive on my undergraduate transcripts. It's just the first A in my education courses. Furthermore, I want reiterate this is my first completed education class so stop judging my academic record.

Coincidentally, we were having my all time favorite meal for dinner and TC showed up with a good bottle of wine in celebration. Gosh, I love him.

If you don't have a Red Plate may I suggest you invest in one for your family? Even if it's just you and your dog. Bust out that RPA when you deserve it! Well, and obviously when someone else deserves it. Don't be like me. Try to remember that other people earn a fancy dinner plate too.

Oh, I didn't come up with the super creative name Red Plate either. That is really what it is called. I'm telling the truth. RPA recipients are not allowed to lie. It's in our oath.

_____________________________________

Run for the Cure update: Big thanks to Karen, Marissa and Schaefer for the hook-ups today! 

10 days to go! 

T-Shirt Making 101.

First things first. The Run for the Cure is in exactly one and a half weeks. I'm ready, as in I'll cross the finishing line...but it won't be pretty. I'll be all sweaty and gross but I will be a vision in pink. 

My sister was kind enough to donate a few tid-bits that she thought would make for funny t-shirts. My personal fave, and the one we're having 'professionally' made says...I'm not telling! You'll have to wait and see. However, there is some concern that the surprise shirt won't make it in time. So, I've instated Plan B - Operation Make A T-Shirt. I tackled the project today using one of her other witty suggestions.

Yesterday I went to Michael's to pick up the supplies. Silly me, I was thinking this was going to be cheap and easy. I mean, they're only iron-on letters. A fool could do this.

I was a little annoyed to realize the letters needed to be cut out individually but I figured that I'm a pretty smart girl and surely I could handle some snipping. 

And while I didn't destroy any letters I definitely had to go back and re-trim them all so the spacing would be even.

Do you see how important it is to cut evenly and straight? The letters have to be facing down when ironing so you can't see what the heck you're working with when you line them up! Annoying. 

I'm going to go into the iron-on letter making business and invent pre-cut letters that don't cause these problems. Laugh now, but you'll be sorry when I make my first million.

After getting the darn things lined up as best I could I ironed them on as instructed. 

I started peeling the paper off and things were going relatively smoothly at first...

Then it went down hill. There were some fatalities. RIP Mr. F and Mr. B and Miss C. It was nice knowing ya.

I don't know where it all went wrong with that E...

And seriously, why does the E look so much smaller than the A? They're from the same package!

What do you think?! Come on. That's funny. Even with the backwards E it's still funny. 

Do you think anyone will notice my backwards E?

After I finally got the letter situation under control I tackled the back of the shirt. 

Warning: Bling Ahead!

BOOM! What is more appropriate than a cupcake to represent my mom? It's like, her astrological sign or something. At least I come by my cupcake addiction honestly.

So, are you ready for the fashion show? Here it is!

The back...

And the front!

Look the E is forward in the mirror! Me so smart :) 

Special thanks to those that have so generously donated to the cause in honor of my mom -- Mom & Dad, Amy & Alex, Morgan & Charlie, Carla & Tyler, Lowell & Roy, Sally & Scott, Katie, Dotty & Jim, Dorris & Matt, Barb & Mark, Julie, Connie & Archie, The Canadian, Marissa and Tiffany! 

So far you've helped me raise $640! That is amazing. I feel so blessed.

If you are interested in donating to help me reach the goal of $700 then please click here to go to my site!

Check back in 11 days to see photos of me in my solid pink ensemble...get excited.

Sailing. A Poem.

We went sailing on Out of the Blue last week and I somehow managed to forget to tell y'all about it. There was no race, we were just out for some good times. And good times we had. So good, in fact, that I thought it was worthy of a poem rhyme. Please enjoy my second grade writing level.

Hello there, my good friend Out of the Blue.

Ahoy, other boats. How do you do?

Blow the horn to announce the waters we will sail through.

I'm sorry, I did not understand. You want me to work too?!

Carla is growing a baby, a few months 'til it's due. 

Watch out for the lobster! Dead we will be if we hit but a few.

It's my turn to drive and I don't have a clue.

John takes over. We are faster than a canoe!

The Canadian takes the rudder and we go a little askew.

The sun, it sets and there are drinks for the crew.

The green is so bright it almost looks like mildew.

We sailed back safely and my life I now value.

The End.