Living on the Edge



Our faces reflecting the the morning's events


     I awoke to my cell phone alarm and realized I had been dreaming about our trip. What was my last dream memory? Acknowledging in my subconscious that I had failed to gather the rent-a-car information. I thought hard to clear my head. Was it real or just a dream? My eyes widened . . . . . it was both! I immediately opened the computer and rummaged through my emails. . . . Not a single conformation letter to be found. There was also no bank trail due to the fact that there was no down payment for reservations. The worst part? I couldn't remember what company I had booked the car with. DOPE! I quickly thought of a plan of attack and looked up rental companies in L.A., made a list, and hopelessly started working my way through it as we drove to the airport. Every operator must have thought I was insane when they asked "What's your confirmation number?" and I replied "I don't have one," immediately explaining my story. Finally, I got lucky and found it.

I relaxed with my kindle, my neighbor
relaxed with his knee. . . . . . . . .

     When we got to the airport, the parking garage near American Airlines was closed for renovation, without warning, so we inadvertently got pushed into outdoor parking in B.F.E. We didn't even know where our terminal was from such a direction. We hopped on a nearby shuttle that dropped us off at our correct check-in station, thanked the driver, and after walking into the airport, we immediately got kicked out and was told to go somewhere else. They had the drug dogs out, the section closed off, and area was saturated with officers . . . . .someone was in trouble and although we were thankful it wasn't us, we were also upset we had to find another station by foot. I started questioning the employees and just as we were about to start on our new way, an officer walked out and said they were finished and we could return inside.

     We politely smiled and proceeded, to soon lose our smiles at the luggage check when we saw our bag was 64lbs and discovered the new over-weight charge is $100. CRAP. Guess it wasn't such a good idea to squeeze all of our stuff into one bag after all. But Cassandra, the nicest bag check woman on the planet, had faith we could shift our weight to save some dough. Actually she forced us to, saying it definitely wasn't worth the money. "Here's a plastic bag. I know you can do it," she said. We started shuffling, but it just didn't make much difference. "Shoes? Jeans? Those are the heaviest, get those out of there," she encouraged. But we already had those things in our back packs. Just as we had completely run out of shifting room and given up, she decided that the last 5 lbs wasn't really that big of a deal and since we put in so much effort, would let it slide. "That's good enough," she said and then directed her next statement to Patrick, "Now you can take your lady out for a really nice dinner."

. . . . .And Patrick, calming down now enough
to fake a smile. . . . . .

     After finding the terminal waiting area, taking a seat, and squeezing all our new carry-on luggage from the ripped-stuffed-to-the-brim-plastic-bag to our back packs, I abandoned Patrick with only my debit card in hand, on a mission to find a frou-frou coffee for a sweet tooth kick in the metabolism. As I was headed back his direction, we crossed paths, him lugging all our bags saying, "We've been at the wrong terminal." Just then, the overhead announcer says, "Last call for flight 709 to Burbank Terminal C31. All passengers should be boarded." OH SHIT. We were merely standing in front of C18.
     We both started in a dead sprint, recklessly bobbing and dodging through luggage cars and innocent bystanders, coffee steady in hand. We arrived at the empty gate just before close and handed over our tickets with apologies. Before we disappeared into the empty tunnel, a man said, "Ma'am! Excuse me ma'am," with his hand extended towards me, "You dropped your sunglasses back there", and handed me my precious second favorite cheapos. We then placed our bags in the first class overhead compartments, since that's all that was left, sat in the last two remaining seats, and let out a deep breath with cautious relief. Living on the edge.
     I didn't even break a sweat. It's nice when regular exercise actually pays off. My coffee was safe and so were we. Now that's what I call excitement. Kayla the adrenaline junky; it gives me the giggles just thinking about the feeling. (Maybe that's why I've always liked working in the ICU. . . . .And Six Flags?) I looked over at Patrick and said, "That was fun!" I assessed him. He was sweating, appeared stressed, and definitely lacking my sense of excited amusement, "I'm planning our trips from now on," he said, "And you should never go off somewhere without your cell phone!" I just smiled, becuase I know he will be able to laugh about it later.
     If everything always went ridiculously smooth, then I might miss great opportunities for writing! If we hadn't made a scene at the airport, no one may have noticed me enough to see I lost my sunglasses! Anywho, that's how vacations are suppose to go . . . . . . . . . . right?

Weekly Wal-Lah!

     This left over-queen doesn't like to be wasteful. I try to find a way to eat everything we buy. If we buy something new and don't like it, we don't throw it away; we save it until I can figure out a creative way to sneak it into something and disguise it as tasty.
     A couple of months ago I was trying to be adventurous with my salad dressing list. It's easy to get boring with dressing, and finding ways to keep things upbeat is a must for me. Venturing out to unknown territory with one's tastebuds can be both scary and exciting. This time it was just a bit dissapointing. The Ginger Seasame wasn't all I dreamed of and more, but I saved it, trusting a light bulb would eventually flicker with a idea on how to utilize it.  . . . . . . until now.
     I recently discovered the perfect soultion! Stir fry seasoning. Those crazy orientals use ginger and seasame in everything don't they? So I made a concoction of fresh chopped broccoli, carrot chips, chicken breast, minced garlic, soy sauce and Ginger Seasame Salad Dressing (just some things I had lerking in the cracks of the refrigerator). I cheated and put some "semi-fresh" refigerated egg rolls from Walmart on broil in the oven to crisp them up, and Wal-Lah, american authentic oriental at home! It was almost perfect; I only wished I had some mushrooms, fried rice, chow-mein, eggdrop soup with crunchies, cheese wontons, and pork dumplings to pair with it, which is probably why we usually go to a buffett!
     My new salad dressing addiction is homemade from Oliver's, a restuarant down the Tollway that several people I work with order from often. I always get someone to sneak an extra side of the Sweet Maple Syrup Vinagarrette in the with the order so I can use it on my salads. It rocks louder than pop rocks. What's your favorite salad dressing (If you say Ranch, I may shoot myself.)?

I'm A Good Loser....Sometimes

     No one likes to lose a bet. There are those who don't mind or don't care, but it's never a like-able thing. But the other day I lost a bet to my husband and was actually happy about it. Scratch the losing part; I was happy for what the bet meant.
     I was running around like a mad woman, as always, attempting to get ready for work in the unorganized crunch of time I left myself. There's never enough time! Sometimes Most of the time I rely on Patrick to help me. Here's me, "I've lost something! I don't have time to make my lunch. Can you make my coffee? Will you throw a pizza in the oven? I can't find a pair of matching socks! Can you tie my shoes while I finish eating my dinner?" (That very last one was a joke, but I'm sure Patrick wouldn't be surprised if I actually asked him that one day.) My manager often compliments me on my delegating abilities.
     I was doing just that one evening last week while I was jumping out of the shower and asked Patrick to turn the oven on (so I could toast the bread to my subway sandwich he had bought me earlier that day while I was sleeping).
     "I already did," he replied.
     "You already did what?" as I was towel drying and picking out my clothes at the same time.
     "I already turned the oven on."
     "Oh ok, well will you put my sandwich in there so it can be toasted when I finish getting ready?"
     "I already did."
     "You already did? No you didn't. I didn't ask you to. How did you know I wanted my bread toasted? What if I didn't want my bread toasted?" I smiled because I knew the answer to this. I ALWAYS like my bread toasted. Even if I don't originally think of it, I'd never turn down crunchy toasted bread. It is simply the best.
     "You wanna bet?" He was still standing in the bathroom and proceeded to sit down on the toilet, with the lid closed. "I'm not going anywhere until you go check." He knew what I was thinking. I was thinking he may run into the kitchen, turn the oven on and put my sandwich in while I was blow-drying my hair just so he could by sly.
     So I did what any good doubting wife would do and made the bet. What's the worse that could happen? Either way, I still got toasted bread.
     Now I know what you're thinking. . . . is there a point to this ridiculous story? "Why yes Sir Watson, there is." It's okay to lose a bet as long as it's still a win win situation. I'm so happy I married a man that pays enough attention to me to know how I like my sandwiches, can predict what I'm going to ask him to do and just does it, and continues to love everything about me even through all my glitches.



Happy Baby Shower Jess! Love you!



P.S. What kind of nerd buys clear wrapping paper by accident (under the impression that it was silver) for a last minute gift? Oh yeah, that would be me. It's a good thing I freakishly stash, under the bed, every scrap of wrapping and stuffing supplies I ever come across for emergencies such as this. I turned this decorative tissue paper inside-out and taped it together to make it larger like wrapping paper and then covered it with the stupid CLEAR wrapping paper so it wouldn't tear. I had to disguise the loose item on top with extra ribbon, since I had originally planned for it to be covered with solid paper! I don't think it turned out too shabby.

P.S.S. I got a compliment on my owl tattoo from a stranger today. She said it was pretty and then asked me if it hurt. Not any more it doesn't. I love getting compliments, especially on my tat. Next time you see me, pay it some kind words and I might even be compelled to make out with you!

Just Call Me Gretel

     I leave a trail of bobby pins around the apartment as a lead to my favorite places, just like the bread crumbs Hansel and Gretel left behind. Blue, pink, brown, black, green, sparkly, decorative, they're all over; it's one of my messy habits. Sometimes I just get tired of my hair being on my forehead or in my face--so in they go; and other time's I feel like the roots get sore when it's pulled back--so out they come. It's usually an urgent-feeling situation, so I like them to be in convenient places. It's something that works for me. If you didn't know, I have a neat-freak husband, a devil cat who's paws love to rearrange my decorating by shoveling everything movable to the floor, and dogs with gnarly teeth that salivate with cravings to cease and destroy my pretties once found at a reachable level (No thanks to Lucifer!). Consequently what works for me, sometimes turns out to work against me. . . . .Ever feel like that?
     When was the last time you saw someone at the gym sporting a cassette tape Walkman? I saw one last week at the hoity toity gym, so I know they have enough money to buy something a little more. . . . . . . . updated. That's a true testimate to love of vintage right there! I couldn't imagine not having my easy to use iPod play list or Pandora to jam to while I'm working out now days, but I used to take my Walkman with me everywhere. I knew every word to every song on my The Judds tape.  Remember when the batteries on those things were going dead and your music tempo would slow to about 1/8th the speed and the voices would fall about 10 octaves lower? I can recall spending countless hours by the stereo waiting for my favorite songs to air so I could press record and create the best mixed tapes ever! Can you imagine present day kids having the patience to make their own mixed tapes? Did you ever record yourself being silly or singing so you could play it back for fun? We have some really funny evidence of Patrick pretending to be a Fart Expert with his cousin Laura interviewing him about his fart knowledge, back in their little person years! Priceless memories. Hours of entertainment.
     My trainer friend confiscated my heart rate monitor watch the last couple of days to program a few heart rate controlled workouts for me. After getting it back and experimenting with it for the first time, I think I may need to make some changes to the way I exercise while using it. The watch beeps at me when my heart rate falls out of the pre-set range, which is very handy, except for the fact that I cannot hear the beep with my amazing external-sound-blocking headphones blaring motivational music through my ears. (My heart rate automatically shows up on the machine, but the machine doesn't know what range my heart rate is suppose to be in.) The only way I could asses my heart rate exceeding the zones, aside from memorization which requires too much thinking for my meat-head time, is by the older lady on the treadmill in front of me that wasn't wearing any head phones. I would receive a cue to look down at my beeping watch every time she veered over her right shoulder to glare at the annoying girl wearing the noisy gadget (that's me). So what can I do in the future to make sure I hear my watch when zone training? Just grit my teeth and bear not listening to my headphones, look down at my watch every 5 seconds like a freak, or continue to annoy the weird silence lovers around me and risk receiving a hex from all the evil eyes? I haven't decided if I want to be "that girl" or not.

The Pulveriser: Weekly Wal-Lah

     My Kitchen Aid food processor is kick-butt! I got it a couple of weeks ago and am loving everything about it so far. I've nick-named it the Pulverizer. Here are a few of my favorite things about it:

#1 It's red to match my red Kitchen Aid mixer, red toaster, and red kettle. 

# 2 It's the perfect size to keep on my tiny kitchen counter so that I don't have to take it out of a cabinet every time I want to use it.

#3 It's extremely powerful and simple, so I can do anything from chop to puree with the same button 

#4 I can just pull the blade out and slide it back in at any time, so it's so easy to just pour the contents into a container without having to fight around the blade like in a blender.

     This week I made the most amazing salsa/topping/dip with my neat gadget. I threw in an entire package of cherry tomatoes, about 3/4 of a yellow onion, a "bunch" of cilantro (after squirting quite a bit of lime juice on it), a proportionate amount of fresh pineapple, and fresh ground pepper. After chopping all ingredients, I mixed them together and WAL-LAH;a spoon was required for mixing, but I never touched a knife!
     It's great on chips or tacos or chicken, and I can eat it by the spoonful, but I've been using it to top my salad. It's Mexican meets Hawaiian; the perfect intercultural relationship for a summer food affair. A bowl of organic mixed greens with sprinkled feta cheese, sliced flavored almonds, and diced avocado, topped with jalapeno cheese sausage has been my poison of choice the last couple of days, but I can fathom it would be perfect on a Mexican inspired salad with corn and black beans. . . . . . . . .
     What do you think?!?! I think it's a keeper!

That's What She Said

Sumo, we can see your eyes!!!!

     If you're a female getting a massage from a male in a professional setting, what are the  politically correct terms for direction of technique? I needed to squeeze in my monthly massage yesterday and called last minute, of course, to make an appointment. I took the only spot they had left, which left me with a male masseuse. He did a great job, but I was biting my tongue any time I thought about giving him direction for fear that everything I said might come out as a "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!" statement. When he asked me about the application of pressure, I was going to say, "I like it firm". . . . . that's what she said. . . . . so instead I just said "It's okay", because I really couldn't say "Do it harder". . . . . . since that's what she said. . . . When he found my problem area, I wanted to let him know, so as professional as I am, I said, "You hit the money spot right there". . . . . .that one's a little on the fence. I think in the future I may just need to stick with female to female action.
     Patrick got a little bump in his chump last week. He's the new and improved team leader at his work. Go Patty, Go Patty, Go GO Go Patty. You're awesome, I know it. You're awesome, you show it!!!!! Speaking of work, they begged, pleaded, and suckered me in to coming to help for a few hours on my only day off yesterday. How weak am I? That makes 6 days in a row to be at the hospital. What a sad pitiful story, huh? I figured one should never turn down time-and-a-half-call-back+nightshift differential+weekend differential pay when they are headed to a mini-vacation in less than a week and are in dire need of a new computer.

Stinky, you look so dark and shiny!!

     We donned it makeover day in the Carruth residence, so Callie and Sumo got a spa treatment; deodorizing bath, heartworm treated, flea and tick treated, haircut and blow-dry! What a chore. They look like spring chickens, if chickens were covered with hair and had 4 legs! I can't get over how cute and perky they both look. It knocked about 7 dog years off their appearance. "Look Maw, no more dingle-berries!" Hopefully this will lighten their chances of coming home next week covered in mats and stickers from running around in the country fields at Grannie's and maybe not be so hot when we go for our walks. Now I've just got to find a time to pin down Patrick and Lucie to groom them!

     So since I had to go in to work, Patrick and I decided to go for an old married couple dinner, which means we ate dinner at 4:30pm on a Saturday night. We went to a place called Burger Girl and had the most amazing appetizer of waffle fries with blue cheese and gorgaonzola cheese sauce! Then we sunk our teeth into the greasiest sandwich/hamburgers, me with loaded french fries, and Patrick with sweet potato french fries. Our plate overflow-eth with MORE FRIES! It's a must to finish a hot afternoon date with Red Mango, so we drove by with expectations of me running in while Patrick kept driving (never any parking in the village on a Saturday night), but by an amazing run of luck, we got front row parking! Maybe it's because our date took place when all other couples less than 90 years old were still at home getting ready?!?

All the restaurant walls were decorated with casual pictures of famous people eating hamburgers, so we went ahead and took ours, to save for when we are famous someday. How do you like my classic stylin' tie die? I made it myself.

Counting Sheep

     I'm a dreamer. I'm talking vivid, in your face, hard core dreamer. I'm NOT talking about things I aspire to do, because I usually make those things happen. I'm talking about the stories I create in my brain while my eyes are closed. My dreams feel so real that sometimes when I awake, I can't decipher past reality from dream. They feel like real memories; a type of memory that even feels more factual than a previous night's drunken events, if you know what I mean. It sometimes worries me that one day I'll be a crazy person like what happened to Leonardo DiCaprio on Shutter Island. I'm well aware that there are published books in the world about analyzing these subconscious illusions, but I'd rather just shake it off and try to pretend that I'm normal. I always try to recap my dreams with Patrick, who already thinks I'm crazy because I can remember almost every single thing that happened after I wake up. . . . . .and most of the time, they're not good things.
     For starters, my husband almost never behaves himself in my dreams.  (Let me just set the record straight that we have an amazing relationship to the point that it's odd and maybe a little unbelievable to some people.) I have spent many a morning so angry at him for what he did to me in my dream the night before. (He doesn't seem to think it's fair to have to apologize for what he did in his dream, but sometimes it's the only way I can get over it.) Two nights ago, for instance, he came home and told me he cheated on me. Just once! Since it was only once, I should just forgive him, no problem. I was so angry and pissed that it completely ruined my sleep and woke me up. Now it's double whammy anger material: cheat on me, and ruin my sleep! What a jerk (the Patrick in my dream of course, not in real life. So I called him at work immediately after waking to tell him about it so he could apologize and assure me it wasn't real.) The real kicker is in my dream I told the girl, I knew it wasn't real and my husband would never do such a thing and I completely trusted him despite rumors. . . and then Patrick came home and told me it was true. IF he's not cheating on me, he's left me behind somewhere and I have no way to contact anyone. (The real life Patrick seems to think that maybe I want to be mad at him sometimes, and because he never does anything wrong, I have to dream stuff up. . . . . . . . sounds like a load of bull to me.) 
     Second, the people in my dreams are often times people I know, in familiar situations, so it further blurs the line between reality and dream. Since I was a little girl I've had this nightmare that I'm at my original childhood home and when I go outside to look for my father, he is frozen into a stone statue. I try to ignore the fact, but he crumbles into a million pieces. I immediately search for my mother to later find she is an elephant and can't give me a hug because she only has a trunk. So I go in search for someone else and find my grandmother sitting in a rocking chair, rocking slowly back and forth and singing while staring into space, completely ignoring me. (For another record, no one in my family has ever given me any reason to feel like I may become abandoned at any time in my life that I can remember. I don't ever recall an existing fear of such, and I've never been scared to be on my own.)
     Third, I have dreams sometimes that I beat people up, only for justified reasons, occasionally sending them to be hospitalized as a result. I've gone to the hospital to see for myself and I never think they're injured enough for treatment and bully them, calling them babies and fakers. (I've never been a bully! Feisty sometimes, but never a bully, I swear!)
     Lastly, those things are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my crazy dream memories. I write songs, go for runs, meet people, travel. . . . . . . it's basically like living a second life, except it's not. . . . All in a night's work!
     So why do I continue to torture myself with nightmares of abandonment, betrail, and violence? Does anyone else do this? Do I need brain surgery? Do I watch too many movies?!?!

** And I actually never count sheep. I can just close my eyes and fall asleep immediately. It's curse of a gift I have. **

Too Much of a Good Thing

     In any normal circumstance, scoring a seat on row 1 for a recreational activity is like a gift from above. It usually requires waiting in lines for hours to days, preparation, fame, or a lot of money. Only two times in my life have I been bummed to sit in the front row and they both have been at the movie theater. Titanic and Just Go With It. Seriously, Just Go With It, seriously? Like are you SERIOUS? What was it, acclaimed as the next Academy Award winning movie?!?!? Nope. . . . .but it was pretty darn funny and cute. My point is the front row can be a great thing, but sometimes good things, though it can be rare, turn out to be too much of a good thing.
     I'm sure you're well aware of my ongoing love and appreciation for photography. I love taking pictures, posing for pictures, and looking at other people's pictures. But speaking of circumstantial happiness, I got the raw end of photographic technology yesterday. I received a suspicious looking envelope in the mail from the police station and although I normally wait a good week or so to open my mail, I was feeling enticed enough to sneak a peek right away. Unfortunately, it confirmed my suspicion that I may have run a red light 2 weeks ago. What a downer! I was headed home in a daze after a couple of long night shifts and while mentally slapping and kicking myself for being retarded enough to stop at a flashing yellow light, I proceeded to drive through the flashing red light with my eyes focused on the green light a block ahead. Very confusing, I know! It registered in my brain what may have happened post incident, and although it may be one of the fastest and dumbest ways of spending a quick $75, I'm just thankful neither myself nor the car was injured (Even though it was a holiday weekend day at the butt crack of dawn and no one was on the road except for this loony toon!). Photography is great, but when it backs you into a corner with blackmail and costs you un-foresighted expenses, it sucks! Hence, too much of a good thing.
     On the topic of movies, stupidity, and misfortunate events, Patrick and I watched 127hrs last night over dinner. It was a great method to not over eating, because as soon as he smashed his arm between the bolder and rock wall, my stomach immediately knotted from grief and nervousness for the poor sap. I had previously been worried that watching a guy alone in the desert mountains cut his arm off for 1.5 hours may be slightly short of entertaining, but it creatively kept my mind engaged! I always wonder if I am ever forced into a similar situation: would I have the willpower and balls to fight through it tooth and nail, or would I let the sadness and hysteria take over and die in my own tears of pitty? It was a weird feeling to know how the movie was going to play out, and still feel the hopelessness for him. And although it's bittersweet, through the great loss of his arm, what a gift he must have to be able to more thoroughly appreciate the people in his life now, and have a deeper understanding of his self in hindsight of such an extreme situation and suffering. In the end, I was so happy for him, I cried a little (just with my left eye). I told Patrick, if it was me, I would want to go back and get my arm so I could have a burial service for it. I really mean that too. I officially recomend this movie to everyone; it moved me. So yeah, the great outdoors is amazing and peaceful in so many ways, and being by yourself sometimes has its perks, but in this situation it turned into too much of a good thing.

Belly Up



The mouth piece connected to tubing
and I wore 2 heart rate monitors.

      Have you ever tried working out with an occlusive mask on your face; something that pinches your nostril's air supply, forcing you to inhale and exhale via your mouth and into a tube the entire warm up, workout, and cool down? I have. First, overcoming the feeling of claustrophobia was a feat, then I felt like I was going to hyperventilate, like I was getting too much oxygen. The ironic part is, I wasn't getting enough oxygen. My cardio-point test results said I'm only in the 38% percentile, for my age, in my ability to deliver oxygen efficiently to my muscles during a exercising state. This means that approximately 62% of people my age are better at it than me! (Gag me with a spoon.) Another thing I just recently learned about myself from this test is I work out too hard. Can you believe that there's such a thing?!?! At first, I was taken back, but really it makes sense. And even though the stubborn me still believes there's no such thing, the rational me can see reason in the method. I have been consistently working out to a point at which my heart and body are working so hard I am only burning up emergency sugar stores, which are immediately replaced the next time I eat. The only reason this type of workout would benefit me, is if I was performance training for a type of race. But for my personal goals, it's more beneficial for me to actually tone it down a notch and interval train while keeping my heart rate less than or equal to 176 (my personal anaerobic threshold, the point at which my body is about it go into an anaerobic state), to burn fat instead of glucose (which my body will only restore if I eat too much or not enough) and help stabilize and improve my body's ability to convert oxygen to my body during exercise. I did whine to my trainer friend about it today and we decided it's okay to push myself to the limits once a week, as long as I don't let my heart rate exceed 194, because then I might have a heart attack.

The sweet potato fries were good too! Menus are dangerous.

     So Patrick and I had a night out in Denton for the first time together. We went with a work friend of mine, Latricia, to a tavern called Sweet Water and listened to live Jazz on the patio. I have to say it was one of the best jazz performances I've ever heard. Anytime I listen to great musicians like that, I immediately feel like scum about my music practicing discipline and then I want to go back to school to major in music. I never will, but it's healthy to have dreams. The pianist's face was so expressive, and he would just close his eyes and let his fingers fly 90 miles per hour over the keys, hitting too many right notes to count. Beautiful. I'd catch myself bobbing my head around and side to side, slightly erratic like the beat, and look around to see everyone else doing the exact same thing. I had an amazing shrimp and bacon salad, except for the tiny belly-up fly I found on a piece of my romaine, but I didn't let it hold me back! {I have a naturally developed talent to notice things like that. Maybe it's a curse and ignorance is bliss, but I remember back to my shorty days always being the one that found things in my food/drinks. Is it because I look? Is it because I have amazing culinary vision? I'm usually the one to also point it out in other people's food as well. There's a few long stories about that, but I'll elaborate another time.} I gingerly passed on that specific type of protein, numbed by familiarization, and moved my motives on to the shiner boch homemade ice-cream sitting atop the chocolate brownie Patrick ordered. And as good as that was, I still don't think it could beat the one savory bite I had of Latricia's bread pudding with caramelized whiskey sauce!

I know that blonde chick.

We're Surviving

Back off Ladies. This stud is taken!

     You know you're experiencing extreme weather when your glasses fog upon transition from inside to outside.  We've actually had a few heat advisories already this year, and all the news channels seem to mention, besides obscene crimes, is the ridoncilous heat and humidity we are dealing with this year. On that note, it's caused a few changes in my day to day way of life.


The heat induced delirium has set in.



     The only way I can survive outside is to hibernate during the day, only venturing out before and after sunrise, or to be submerged in H20 (minus the few minutes a day I suffer for the love of my dogs to relieve their bladders and bowels on the neighborhood bushes). While growing up, I took for granted having a river in my backyard and upon spreading my wings and moving to other places, I realized what a luxury I had grown accustomed to. Now days, I settle for chlorine induced cemented pools instead of naturally fresh, rugged, moss growing, muddy bottom running water, but all the same, I can't live with water. (Yes, I realize human kind can't survive without hydration, but I'm speaking of the recreational form.)

     We had a Sunday-funday with friends Jessica and Bobby, and I do believe I won the sparkling golden star prize for having too much fun (if you know what I mean)! Grilling out, laying out, yelling out, and passing out are rarely an over-rated event, as long as there's a recovery day involved.

     Patrick broke his sunglasses just in time to migrate to the cool pool douche-o-roma watering hole. The boys participated in an unfriendly game of water volleyball against a team of single-for-obvious-reasons scum bags while Jessica and I spent our energy professionally cheering them on. It was comical in a sense that it felt like a scene from an American Pie wanna be movie, and we walked away winners (only by moral, definitely not by volleyball points).

     All things aside, it was a memorable afternoon filled with laughter, and waterproof digital cameras are the bomb-diggity!

Silly Mc.Sillyson

The above video totally reminds me of Callie. She is just like this, minus the talking. Those eyes, so intent. The face so innocent and open for receiving pity party table scraps. Sometimes she acts like she knows exactly what you are saying. . . .and sometimes she really does know what we are saying. When she is around, we have to speak in "code" or spell certain words out so she doesn't hear them and get prematurely excited. Sumo on the other hand, has eyes full of. . . . . . . . .flowers and butterflies and rainbows? But he is my little cuddle bear.

I'm sure I bore you all enough with my own personal gibberish, so today, I'm filling your brain with someone else's. I received the following story in an email and thought it was hilarious. Please read carefully.

"A young engineer was leaving the office at 5:45pm when he saw the CEO standing in front of a shredder with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Listen," said the CEO, this is a very sensitive and important document, and my secretary is not here. Can you make this thing work?" 
"Certainly," said the young engineer. He turned on the machine, inserted the paper, and pressed the start button.
"Excellent,excellent!" Said the CEO, as his paper disappeared inside the machine, "I just need one copy."

Lesson Learned: Never assume your boss knows what he is doing."

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Just A Short Prayer.....

     My entire heart goes out to 2 families in the DFW metroplex today. Two lives too many were lost yesterday, one of them a 39 year old devoted father and firefighter who died on his way to the hospital after diving to catch a foul ball for his 6 year old son that was at the game with him. There has been a memorial fund set up in his memory if anyone's heart urges them to donate. The other's life had began prematurely and ended prematurely, but touched the hearts of many in his short time with us on earth.

     Please pray for peace and strength for everyone involved in this time of difficulty and sadness. It is always a test of faith when something so devastating takes place. We can only trust God's implementation of divine plan is far better than we can foresee.

It's FRIDAY!

     It's Friday! Not that it matters, because I thought I was working today, but turns out I'm not scheduled until tomorrow, so then I signed up to work extra tonight since I got put on call on my extra day Wednesday night . . . . What a mess!
     I'm in love with this song. Always have been; and I'm in love with my hunny, always will be! (I found a pretty groovy punk cover version of the song, but then you miss out on the way The Cure lead singer pronounces "satt-ttur-daaaayy", which is one of the best parts! And since acoustic almost always beats out the original version. . . . here ya go!)

Happy Friday everyone!

     Give it your best. Make someone smile like the tiniest lady I've ever seen in real life made me smile at the gym yesterday. The top of her head might have reached the height of my thigh and she wore a glistening smile on her face from ear to ear with her perky little blonde pony tail bouncing from side to side and I just wanted  to pick her up and put her in my satchel and for her to be my cute little-person friend forever and ever. . . . . . . .Like Chelsea Handler and her little-person side kick. I told Patrick about it and the first thing he said was, "Oh my gosh. You didn't tell her that, did you?!?!?!?" I would personally be flattered if someone told me something of that context, but "NO!" I didn't. . . . . (or did I?)

Pea-Brained and Big-Eyed

     How many user-names and passwords does one person really need? I have about 10,237.5. (Just kidding, but sometimes that's how it feels.) That is ridiculous. Expanding my memory for actual knowledge is one thing, but having to remember all of that technical crap is completely unnecessary. I've seen small advanced attempts lately in the internet world to connect certain programs to make signing in to multiple accounts easier, but they are still divided between Yahoo and Google. Then you have to remember which sites are connected to which. The best program I've found so far is at Mint.com, which manages all your financial accounts for you. It's actually pretty cool, and even sends you emails when you have charges made, gone over budget on something, and lets you know when a payment is due. I wish I was smart enough to make one mother-board program that grants me access to all my accounts, and when I sign in, it creates a dashboard for me like blogger, so I can get to anything with the same user name and password. Please tell me this system is out there and I just don't know about it. If so, someone needs to spill the beans and let me in on the secret, because I am getting sick and tired of getting locked out and resetting stuff because my pea-brain can't remember 10,000 different accounts.



My "berry yummy" breakfast. I used a saucer plate

so it would look full! Strawberries, blackberries,

spoon of nutella, and a fiber one whole grain version

of cinnamon toast crunch.



     I've had my Driod since last October and just now figured out how to connect it to the USB and transfer all the pictures and videos! It's so much faster and reliable then the Wi-Fi transfer of information! YAY!

     Update: The meatloaf was amazing as always. The cauliflower "moch mashed potatoes" were very good; the best part being that they definitely didn't taste like cauliflower, the okay part being that you could tell they weren't quite potatoes. But I do think they are a pretty decent way to sneak in an extra serving of veggies instead of pure starch. When Patrick finishes his plate and looks to mine and asks me if he can have the rest of it. . . . . . . . that's when I know it's a winning dish. (And he did, in case you were wondering.) He always laughs at me and asks why I put way more food on my plate than I can eat. First of all, my eyes are way bigger than my stomach, and it's a good thing too, becuase if my stomach was as big as my eyes I would be as big as a house. But the truth is, when I'm hungry and the meal's aroma fills my nostrils, I just love the way a huge-filled-out-to-the-edge plate looks setting in front of me. (And I joke that I do it on purpose so he doesn't actually have to go to the kitchen for his seconds.)



Speaking of Yikes, I found these in our village!

I guess they're KINDA cute. . . . . .



     You know that commercial with the cute Rachel Bilson girl driving down Highway 1 in California that gets caught up in a traffic jam and trots out of her car to the ice-cream truck for a Magnum? Well, as dirty as it sounds, I gave in and bought some: double caramel dark chocolate with vanilla ice-cream, and I've decided Magnum might be an appropriate name for it because it almost gave me an orgasm in my mouth. It was big enough to share too, so the Magnum and I had a three way with the hubby, which made me feel a little less guilty for consuming a single ice-cream containing 350 calories!!! Yikes.

Te Gusta??

     You like this song? I do. It feels like new age rock with a R&B rhythm. . . . . . .Yeah, I like it.

     You know what I don't like?!?! Isometric exercises! They make me restless. When I'm feeling the burn, I like to push through it; grunt and move on to get to the end. In my mind, I know I'm going somewhere. But while holding a difficult pose for as long as I can, all I want to do is move and I can't! It's so frustrating! The guy who instructed core class today, LOVES isometric everything. He can't help himself but to participate, and he's almost laughing through class. "Doesn't this feel great?!?", rings his annoying humor leached in my brain, "Stop making such ugly faces! Keep your face muscles relaxed! When it hurts, just smile!!!!!!" Dear sir, I'll tell you what I'd really like to do right now, and it doesn't have anything to do with smiling. It's more or less a little something related to my foot, and your. . . . . .  .Well anyway. . . .I'm already sore.
     I can't seem to keep myself in a recovered state lately. I more like a walking band-aid instead. Currently I have a ruthless abrasion on my left pinky (self inflicted fingernail wound), a terrible oven burn on my right forearm (domestic hazard while cooking my love some manicotti per his request), and just finished healing from my sunburn and pearing knife incidents from last week! Do I need to start rolling around in a hamster ball to stay safe?!?!
     Speaking of walking disasters, we watched "Dinner for Schmucks" last night. I was actually getting pissy because it was such a frustrating movie! But in the end, there's a nice moral and a cliche ending, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.
     I bought new running shoes today and can't wait to break them in! I'm so excited that I actually wouldn't have minded going to for a second workout this afternoon, but I'm bound to the kitchen instead on account that I promised Patrick I would make him my famous homemade barbecue meatloaf tonight. I'm trying something new by sneaking in pulverized carrots, and for a side we'll be eating creamy cauliflower " moch mashed potatoes" (also something new). I'm very interested to see if they actually taste like cauliflower or mashed potatoes!