... And I can't W A I T!!!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday's Pick
Quite by accident a while ago (read: I don't remember when), I found the book Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs in my public library. After reading the description I just knew I had to rush home and read it. I was not disappointed. It produced many laughs and also many WTF? situations. This kid was seriously screwed up; but it was oh-so-humorous. After reading that one little book, I felt compelled to read everything else he'd written: Sellevision, Possible Side Effects, Dry, Magical Thinking. They were all so incredible. That's why, when I read the latest Bestseller list at Barnes and Noble.com and saw that he'd turned out another bestseller, I just had to track it down. Thank you public library for recognizing the awesomeness that is Augusten Burroughs! This book is slightly different than his other works. This book is a memoir of his father. If you have read any of his other pieces, you will have noted the absence of his father. This book explains why. It's like a pre-cursor to the rest of the story. I was truly captivated by this book that sometimes made me shudder and gasp in the horrific events that almost took place. Yet another great read. Rush (Hurry, I'll wait) right out and pick this up. And if you haven't read "Running With Scissors," pick that up too. It'll finish where this one leaves off.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Thursday's Pick
By far the best book I have had the pleasure of reading in a long time.*Edited to Add: I have picked this book up from the library before, and after reading a couple of pages found that I wasn't that interested. However, I'm always willing to give books a second chance as sometimes my mood reflects what I read, so for the second time I picked up "The Friday Night Knitting Club." I liked this book for the female comaraderie, the unexpected plot, and the characters whose lives are told in such detail that you could point them out on the street. It felt as if each one's soul was bared just expressly for the purpose of the reader. They feel like old friends that everybody knows. After the initial chapters, I found that I just could not put it down. My husband would beg me to turn off the nightstand light so he could sleep, but I couldn't. I just had to know what happened next. From the book's title, one would assume that this book was about old ladies in a knitting club; Although there is a knitting club involved, these women are far from old. They are full of spirit and humor and wit. Such an awesome read. To my friend Lindz, PLEASE, PLEASE go get this book. I promise, you will not be disappointed!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Don't forget to duck!!
Flashback: When I was living at home way back when, I remember when my parents would argue. I vowed that when I got married I would try my hardest not to argue with my spouse. My parents could be eating supper and an argument would break out and Padre would just get so disgusted that he would dump his plate, food and all, in the trash can. Then he would go to the living room and settle in his recliner and watch tv. I remember Ma Dukes cringing and willing herself not to cry while making sure that she and I finished our food as quietly as possible. Hopefully, after a while one or the other would apologize and all would be right with the world once again. I hated those dinners. The shouting, the snarling expressions on their faces, the heated discussion and the "who knows what's gonna happen next." Years later, I read an article that suggested that people shouldn't talk about argument-provoking items at the dinner table because it hendered the digestion process and had the ability to cause heartburn.
Flashforward: I guess this is why I take 2 Nexiums a day, heh. Last night Hubbs and I had a "heated discussion" (read:fight) at the dinner table. I admit that I was a little irritated before we sat down to eat. I like to cook. I like to cook uninterrupted. I like to cook alone. I wanted to make Hubbs a nice meal and was doing a damn fine job when he walked in the door and tried to "help." I don't know what happened. I just, like, didn't want him to help me. I got supper into the oven and cleaned up the mess and distributed the mail. Then when it was done, I was more than curt to him as we fixed our plates. Then we sat down. He made a snide comment about my attitude.. "pissy" and I like, lost it. We fired back and forth at each other and he got up and put his empty plate in the sink and stalked off to the living room. Me, trying to finish eating, just let my short fuse blow. I picked up my plate and hurled it into the sink, food and all, on top of all the other dishes, grabbed my Marlboro lights and slammed the garage door on my way out of the kitchen. What is wrong with me?? I was beyond irate. How dare he insult my attitude!? Of course there is more to it than my attitude. There are other underlying issues that played a hand in this dish-hurling frenzy, but I'm not going to air my dirty laundry here. After chain smoking 2 cigarettes and deciding it really wasn't worth the headache I was about to incur, I went back inside. I cleaned up the dishes. I made a plate for the next days lunch. I finished the laundry. I gave Pookie a bath. Then, I took time for me. I took a nice looonnngg shower. Read some of my current book, The Friday Night Knitting Club, and took my fabulously refreshed self to bed. Last night I was angry and like my mom, I willed myself not to cry. This morning I shared the events with my Padre cause we're close like that. He offered some suggestions. He was a bit shocked when I told him, "I pulled a Padre last night at dinner." I guess he thought his actions wouldn't have rubbed off on me. (Y'all, I swear I was so mad last night I could have broke every.dish.in.the.house. and it wouldn't have fazed me.) After he left my office (we work at the same company) the tears just started rollin'. Why do the small things irritate me so? Why couldn't I just be happy that he wanted to help me make a meal? Why do I let my anger build up so much and then unleash my wrath all at one time?
I went to Target on my lunch break because, you know, retail therapy cures EVERYTHING. And I bought a fabulous bathing suit and pair of shorts. On my way over, I called Hubbs. (Can I just say that sometimes, I get tired of apologizing. I just want to call a truce sometimes.) He was home so the garage door guy could fix the garage doors. I just called to tell him I loved him. Non-pissy. Non-apologetic. Purely genuine. Because I do. Love him. He makes me madder than a wet sitting hen, but I wouldn't trade him for nothin'. I know what life is like without him, and being with him (fighting and throwing plates, and all) is soo much better.
**Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday!
Flashforward: I guess this is why I take 2 Nexiums a day, heh. Last night Hubbs and I had a "heated discussion" (read:fight) at the dinner table. I admit that I was a little irritated before we sat down to eat. I like to cook. I like to cook uninterrupted. I like to cook alone. I wanted to make Hubbs a nice meal and was doing a damn fine job when he walked in the door and tried to "help." I don't know what happened. I just, like, didn't want him to help me. I got supper into the oven and cleaned up the mess and distributed the mail. Then when it was done, I was more than curt to him as we fixed our plates. Then we sat down. He made a snide comment about my attitude.. "pissy" and I like, lost it. We fired back and forth at each other and he got up and put his empty plate in the sink and stalked off to the living room. Me, trying to finish eating, just let my short fuse blow. I picked up my plate and hurled it into the sink, food and all, on top of all the other dishes, grabbed my Marlboro lights and slammed the garage door on my way out of the kitchen. What is wrong with me?? I was beyond irate. How dare he insult my attitude!? Of course there is more to it than my attitude. There are other underlying issues that played a hand in this dish-hurling frenzy, but I'm not going to air my dirty laundry here. After chain smoking 2 cigarettes and deciding it really wasn't worth the headache I was about to incur, I went back inside. I cleaned up the dishes. I made a plate for the next days lunch. I finished the laundry. I gave Pookie a bath. Then, I took time for me. I took a nice looonnngg shower. Read some of my current book, The Friday Night Knitting Club, and took my fabulously refreshed self to bed. Last night I was angry and like my mom, I willed myself not to cry. This morning I shared the events with my Padre cause we're close like that. He offered some suggestions. He was a bit shocked when I told him, "I pulled a Padre last night at dinner." I guess he thought his actions wouldn't have rubbed off on me. (Y'all, I swear I was so mad last night I could have broke every.dish.in.the.house. and it wouldn't have fazed me.) After he left my office (we work at the same company) the tears just started rollin'. Why do the small things irritate me so? Why couldn't I just be happy that he wanted to help me make a meal? Why do I let my anger build up so much and then unleash my wrath all at one time?
I went to Target on my lunch break because, you know, retail therapy cures EVERYTHING. And I bought a fabulous bathing suit and pair of shorts. On my way over, I called Hubbs. (Can I just say that sometimes, I get tired of apologizing. I just want to call a truce sometimes.) He was home so the garage door guy could fix the garage doors. I just called to tell him I loved him. Non-pissy. Non-apologetic. Purely genuine. Because I do. Love him. He makes me madder than a wet sitting hen, but I wouldn't trade him for nothin'. I know what life is like without him, and being with him (fighting and throwing plates, and all) is soo much better.
**Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Don't mind me..
We are officially moved in!! I promise to post some pics next week. You know, after I cut the grass so it looks all neat-like. Poor Pookie. The first night we stayed there (last Friday) he wouldn't sleep on his bed or our bed. He slept UNDER the bed. All night. The next night he slept with us, as usual. But, he's been moping around, taking to deep sighs and then ceremoniously flopping on the floor on his stomach with those sad puppy dog eyes. It's so pouty; yet so funny. I keep bribing him with treats to boost his morale. I think it's starting to work.
When we lived in the little house (our first marital home), we had two very small bedrooms, one bathroom, and the washer/dryer was out on the back screened-in porch. Let me tell you, it was hell washing clothes in the winter. But the house was soo cute. Our first home. But we had So. Much. Junk. So now that we have 3. Whole. Bedrooms. I am beside myself. One is full, which leaves the Guest Room/Nursery. I can't get over how much space we have. It's totally awesome, yo.
Still, we have to call the landlord. The dishwasher spinny thingy at the bottom won't go down flush like it's supposed to. And that means, after the dishes are clean, I have to lift those heavy bastards over the spinny thingy that won't go down. Needless to say, I've been hand-washing my dishes. Then the valve packing to the valves for the washer hook up are leaking. It's either got to be wide open or off. Not "we're gonna flood the whole house" leaking, but a slight "we'll get it a trickle at a time" leaking. Not a major concern, but still something that needs to be fixed so it won't cause other problems (floor damage) down the road. Have I mentioned that we have fifty-leven light switches and none of them are where you'd expect them to be in a room. Like, when you walk in a room you expect them to be on the wall you're walking past. Nope! They're on the opposite wall. And this is why I bought nightlights at Lowe's last weekend. Strange house + Strange light switch arrangement= A trip to the emergency room. We still haven't even figured out what most of them go to. We still haven't figured out why some of the outside lights aren't working. We're not ruling out blown bulbs, but where are the damned switches to them?!?
We have almost a two acre lot. And no lawn mower. So sad. Thankfully, Ma Dukes rode her riding mower down the street to our house before we moved in and cut our grass. Otherwise, we'd have lost the dog. Last night my Padre gave us new(er) push mower to use because Ma Dukes' riding one is going in the shop for seasonal maintenance. Hubbs took one look at me, then the push mower and guffawed himself into a frenzy pointing and laughing. Ha. Ha. He seems to think I'll be out of breath after the first hour. (Note: It took Ma Dukes almost 3 hours to cut our grass.) At that rate, it'll take me all.day.long. But, as I keep explaining, it's exercise and a chance to get some sun. I may want to have someone present to witness the fact that 1) I am cutting grass, 2) I am exercising, and 3) It's of my own free will. Hubbs is still insisting that he go get MIL's riding mower this weekend so I will not die of either a heart attack or a heat stroke while cutting the yard, and I have to tell ya, I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. I mean, the sight of a sunburned fat chick laid out in the middle of the yard screaming, "I ain't movin' til the Life Flight lands!" is not really appealling.. well, to anyone. Also, I'd hate to make a spectacle of myself in front of the new neighbors. We'll see what happens.
When we lived in the little house (our first marital home), we had two very small bedrooms, one bathroom, and the washer/dryer was out on the back screened-in porch. Let me tell you, it was hell washing clothes in the winter. But the house was soo cute. Our first home. But we had So. Much. Junk. So now that we have 3. Whole. Bedrooms. I am beside myself. One is full, which leaves the Guest Room/Nursery. I can't get over how much space we have. It's totally awesome, yo.
Still, we have to call the landlord. The dishwasher spinny thingy at the bottom won't go down flush like it's supposed to. And that means, after the dishes are clean, I have to lift those heavy bastards over the spinny thingy that won't go down. Needless to say, I've been hand-washing my dishes. Then the valve packing to the valves for the washer hook up are leaking. It's either got to be wide open or off. Not "we're gonna flood the whole house" leaking, but a slight "we'll get it a trickle at a time" leaking. Not a major concern, but still something that needs to be fixed so it won't cause other problems (floor damage) down the road. Have I mentioned that we have fifty-leven light switches and none of them are where you'd expect them to be in a room. Like, when you walk in a room you expect them to be on the wall you're walking past. Nope! They're on the opposite wall. And this is why I bought nightlights at Lowe's last weekend. Strange house + Strange light switch arrangement= A trip to the emergency room. We still haven't even figured out what most of them go to. We still haven't figured out why some of the outside lights aren't working. We're not ruling out blown bulbs, but where are the damned switches to them?!?
We have almost a two acre lot. And no lawn mower. So sad. Thankfully, Ma Dukes rode her riding mower down the street to our house before we moved in and cut our grass. Otherwise, we'd have lost the dog. Last night my Padre gave us new(er) push mower to use because Ma Dukes' riding one is going in the shop for seasonal maintenance. Hubbs took one look at me, then the push mower and guffawed himself into a frenzy pointing and laughing. Ha. Ha. He seems to think I'll be out of breath after the first hour. (Note: It took Ma Dukes almost 3 hours to cut our grass.) At that rate, it'll take me all.day.long. But, as I keep explaining, it's exercise and a chance to get some sun. I may want to have someone present to witness the fact that 1) I am cutting grass, 2) I am exercising, and 3) It's of my own free will. Hubbs is still insisting that he go get MIL's riding mower this weekend so I will not die of either a heart attack or a heat stroke while cutting the yard, and I have to tell ya, I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. I mean, the sight of a sunburned fat chick laid out in the middle of the yard screaming, "I ain't movin' til the Life Flight lands!" is not really appealling.. well, to anyone. Also, I'd hate to make a spectacle of myself in front of the new neighbors. We'll see what happens.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Christmas Underwear in May and a John Grisham novel
Okay, it's official. I'm not going to die an untimely death from Lyme's Disease. Whew! That was a close one! It turns out that you're not supposed to put Neosporin on a tick bite, which I may or may not have done, and that apparently, I'm allergic to Neosporin. I've been using this stuff for years. YEARS. And it's never affected me in any way. Until now. I'm glad that was all cleared up. There is nothing more humbling than lying on your stomach in your underwear in a doctor's office while she takes sharp objects and pokes around in a tick bite to "make sure you got the head and everything out." To top it all off, I was wearing my Christmas underwear. It's May. No, I don't like Christmas Just-that-much. I just got new draws for Christmas and like 3 pair just happened to be Christmas-y. At least I remembered to shave my legs, yo. You never know when you'll be at the doctor's office and they'll tell you to "Drop'em." I like to be prepared. So now that I'm done fearing every bug bite disease listed on Webmd.com, I've been pretty productive for a procrastinator. The goodie boxes got shipped. I've been packing up our room at the MIL's. I enlisted the help of my parents to help get my new kitchen situated. Hubbs and I got everything out of our two storage units and moved it all to the new house (in less than 2 hours!!). I have to finish moving boxes from MIL's to the new house today, drop off library books, check the mail box, call the landlord about the broken dishwasher, distribute Hubbs' paycheck to the appropriate outlets (read: bills), and unpack more stuff. I also have to go buy a trash can, Q-tips, a new razor, and shower curtain rings. Then I have to go to Ma Dukes' house and raid her linen closet for curtains and bath mats. I do believe it's gonna be a busy weekend, and it hasn't even started yet! I just got finished reading John Grisham's The Appeal. Oh, it was good! But the ending sucked. I was disappointed to say the least. But overall, the book was awesome. Now I have to work my way through the massive pile (20) of books I may or may not have ordered online from the library. And I may or may not have forgotten that they send them as they come in and not just hold a couple at a time so you'll have adequate time to read what you have. Sadly, I have to send some back after scanning the first two chapters and deciding that they are not worthy of my time at the present moment. I probably would not have this problem if not for my Padre bringing home books like The Appeal (when he knows I'm a die-hard Grisham fan) and other assortments of books from the auction he and Ma Dukes regularly attend. Seriously? The Appeal is still in hardback and is close to $25-$30 in stores and they got it for $2. Two Bucks!! This has thus interrupted my library time. Those books need love too. I just hope I don't lose any in the move!
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