Those Bastards!

     I used to have the perfect pair of cheap sunglasses. They were cool. They were light and airy. They were a souvenir from Los Vegas. They were Aviators. And as of last summer, they are in the bottom of Lake Belton. Such a shame. I had just finished lecturing my nieces on the subject of how to protect one's sunglasses from becoming a fish toy, when I jumped off the boat into the deep green water, and as gravity was taking it's course, I heard shouting but couldn't register what it was about until it was too late. When I arose feeling refreshed from the water, I looked around to see gasping faces and hear Patrick saying, "Babe, you just jumped in the water with your sunglasses on!" "I did? Are you sure? They aren't on my face." And that's when it hit me. BAM! You just lost your favorite sunglasses fool. I suppose they were so comfortable I didn't even realize I had them on. But that's what happens when you lecture a child. "Do as I say, not as I do." Am I right or am I right?!?!

     Since, I've searched high and low for another pair under $10 that so perfectly fits my needs, but so far it seems hopeless. Too bulky, too tight, nose sliders, eyebrow pinchers (seriously). . . . . . .and those are just descriptions of the cream of the crop that I've actually bought! I'm too chicken, too rough, and too careless to spend a decent amount of money on a pair of quality sunglasses. And besides, the last time I had an expensive pair, they were stolen, straight out of my car! "You killed Kenny! Those Bastards!"

     Any advice? Anyone else have this problem?

     A couple of days ago at the gym I was having my "me time" on the bike, minding my own business, very introverted into my kindle, when something extremely obnoxious happened. Picture this: I work out in a huge gym. Lots of machines. Lots of rows. Lots of options. Lots of space. You can work out with no one beside you at any time of day. I happened to pick a stationary bike that is in a row of bikes spanning down the entire mirrored wall the width of the building. You know how many bikes that is? Probably like 25; and I was the only person riding one. That's is until this rude lady with her whipper snapper son (couldn't have been older that 8) came and sat on my immediate right, no space between. That would have been fine if they really wanted to work out, but what they really wanted to do is talk, whine, and argue. I kept giving the "sneaky" stink eye look in hopes of sending a hint their way, but the same type of person that would have the audacity to do such a thing is also the same type of person to act oblivious to my sudle gestures. Thank you lady who ruined my "me time", causing me to read every sentence 3 times and make my blood pressure boil. You stink. I kept my composure and restrained myself from having a "Carrie moment" (referring to Carrie from the sitcom King of Queens), but as a result, I still needed to vent the toxic negativeness from my body. So there. Now it's done.

I Almost Kissed It!




Sorry Patrick, you missed out!!!



    Yesterday I went to the American Airlines Center and scored half season Maverick tickets for Patrick and I next year! This is why I work extra!!!!!!! We can personally thank our friend Daiquiri for sharing his ticket holder benefits so that we could get the seats. Patrick was unable to attend the event for work related reasons, so I decided to make him drool with jealousy and have a photoshoot with the championship trophy. I wasn't allowed to touch it, but I got really close to kissing it! It sure was shiny, and I could picture how great it would look on our dining room table, but there were too many security guards around to sneak it into my large satchel. I also had the privilege of walking on court with my own two feet and while I was doing so, pretended that all the seats were filled with spectators that came to watch me do my thing. Too bad I didn't have a basketball in hand so I could show off with a couple of layups. I sat in a $50,000 floor seat just to see what it would be like. . . . . . .it would be pretty sweet is what it would be.



Thanks Daiquri!

      When I got back in my car at 5pm, the thermastat said 108 degrees Farhenheit. I'm suprised my tires didn't melt in the parking lot. I survived the traffic from two different wrecks on the way home and stopped by Robbins Bros to get my rings cleaned, polished, inspected, and re-dipped in the white gold. That trophy may have been shiny, but my rings put it to shame now.


The guy taking my picture kept making me laugh,
so it was hard to keep a pucker!



     Have you seen the movie Extraordinary Measures starring Harrison Ford and Brendan Fraser? It's based on a true story and although I wouldn't rate the film "the best picture since sliced bread", I will say that it's quite inspiring to watch a father and mother risk so much to support a theory that would possibly save their children's lives.  The movie briefly explains Pompe disease so you are not completely lost and then you wait while the majorly conflicting cooperate-world system battles it out with a determined samaritan trying to develop a life saving enzyme. I'm glad it had an ending I could agree with or I may have thrown the DVD out the window instead of returning it back to Netflix.



Do Yourself a Favor, LAUGH



Ouchy



    Saturday, Patrick and I took the dogs out for a little fresh air and exercise at our favorite park down the road. I introduced him to the long off road trails I discovered a couple of months back and we were having a grand 'ol time jogging when I heard a thump. That's when I turned around and found Patrick laying belly up, feet over head with a bloody knee, on the ground and a little stunned! I made sure the first thing out of my mouth was, "Are you okay?!?", before I started laughing my face off. That's the thing about dirt trails. . . . . . It's pertinent that you pick up your feet and watch for tree stumps and large rocks! My knees were feeling great thanks to spin and quad strengthening, so Sumo and I ran for a good 15minutes longer and then waited for Patrick and Callie to catch up since Callie wimped out in the sun and had to be carried. It was before 11am and she was crawling for shade, and Sumo followed her once, which left them both covered in grass burs, almost instantly creating knots and mats in their hair. After getting back home, without exaggeration, it took us about 1.5-2 hours to bathe them and brush our all the burs.



Sumo, cooling down in the spring water



Callie soaking wet



     Last night after introducing my parents to the infamous Ra happy hour sushi, we headed to the Improv to listen to Craig Shoemaker deliver a continuous stream of knee slapping wise cracks. This guy spent 2 hours making hilarious comments about everyday generational gap issues that ordinary people discuss often, which helped him connect with the entire audience, except the poor sap setting too close to the stage that got picked on the entire show for being born in 1991. Isn't it amazing how you can laugh until your face hurts and keep laughing, but those muscles are never sore the next day like other body parts would be from excessive use?



Yeah, we coordinate, so what?!?



awwwww

 

Chillin' in the freezing water



Getting our grill on

     The next morning was glorious, which I decided called for a nice walk to Dunkin' Donuts to replenish our bodies from the night before. Then it was to the kitchen to prepare for lunch. You never realize how much you utilize your left thumb pad until you slice open the tip of it with a pear knife, which I managed to do while slicing a sweet potato. Just keeping myself in check. The four of us took it easy down at the pool, grilling some shishp-kabobs, eating some homemade salsa. . . . . . . . you know, making everyone else in the vicinity jealous. "Yeah, enjoy your snack bar buddy, I bet it's the best you ever had while you’re smelling this!" And although I'm well aware through past experiences of how unpleasant a back sunburn can be, it didn't stop me from being careless enough with my sunscreen application to obtain a killer unattractive 3 layer sunburn. At least I escaped acquiring those inconvenient halter top lines by wearing a tube top and maintained my pearly white face with my over sized pink hat. Every girl needs a ridiculously huge hat to up the glamour power and to help keep her skin looking young and vampire style sexy! Sunburn anywhere is an avoidable terrible curse for irresponsible fair skinned populations, but facial sunburns are not only viciously unforgiving to all feminine enhancement products, they also continue to punish you in front of the world for no less than the following 2 weeks until the dreadful peeling process has taken its course. Therefore, I prefer to avoid those at all costs.

My moment of stupidity

No Rock, No Prize

     This morning as I climbed onto the spin bike and I thought to myself, "Geez, I wish they would play something else today besides techno pop."  "To my delight, the instructor was a substitute and the very first thing out of her mouth was, "Hi, I'm a sub, and today we are not listening to techno, pop, or country. . . . . It's going to be ROCK! I made the play list last night after a few drinks, so I have no idea what I put on here, but we're going to rock 'n roll." I was so excited I could have peed my pants. Rock gets me going. It gives me energy. It makes me feel strong, mean, tough, and invincible to my anaerobic threshold. I actually enjoy it, so I can try and get lost in the song instead focusing on the fact that my legs are about to fall off and my lungs are spasming. So much for hopes and dreams though, turns out it was a bunch of classic crap, and I'd never even heard half of them in my life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a hater of classic rock; there happens to be a lot that I enjoy, but not today. Not these songs. If I was a spin instructor, I would have the coolest play lists ever. EVER. PERIOD.  In class during breaks, the instructor was throwing out quiz questions and giving away training prizes to those few who could answer. She asked a couple of questions about vO2 and cardiac output and when I was the only one answering them (with extended pauses due to being out of breath of course), she questioned if I was a nurse. My conscience got the best of me and I admitted that I was, which I guess unfortunately disqualified me from winning anything, because I only walked away with the satisfaction of burning a lot of calories and no free training session to look forward to. Others that won something were older and answered questions correctly about the stupid music she was playing. Maybe they should be disqualified for having the advantage of growing up in a different decade than me! Oh well.

     We celebrated Vickie's birthday tonight (my mother-in-law) with a scrumptilicious dinner at Papadeaux.   The weather was actually below smoldering with a slight breeze, so we decided to have dinner on the porch and enjoy the fresh air. I love to be outside when weather permits. Unfortunately, the 6 other people that were originally going to have dinner with us don't, which resulted in the group splitting due to the fact that they preferred to dine in a noisy, clustered, dark room instead. To each his own; I'm just glad the birthday girl was on my side. We topped off our tummies with birthday cookie cake at home and did it right by lighting up some candles while we sang happy birthday. Apparently CVS must have played a dirty prank on me and sold me some trick candles because even with group effort they refused to be extinguished. By the time they were practically stubs, we ended up forfeiting and had to soak them under the faucet! You just can't go wrong with chocolate chip cookie cake.



Callie and Sumo love their Granny-time!

     Before hitting the sack tonight I attempted to shorten the to-do-list for tomorrow and drove myself to Wally-world to get a couple of things and something amazing happened. I hit every single traffic light on green on my way to the store. Okay, I know what you're thinking. . . . . . . that was just lucky, but what was amazing is that I did the exact same thing on the way back home! Talk about skill. . . . . . . . . 

Vickie brought my lots of fresh veggies from her garden! Yummy and organic!



Cruising Commando

     Don't you hate inconvenient wedgies? The kinda that sneak up your bum in an uncomfortable way in a moment at which either your hands are all tied up or you are in a completely professional and public area where you can't relieve the wad of material from between your butt cheeks? You then spend your next moments concentrating hard on trying not to squirm around and make unflattering faces like a child. . . . . . . "Keep your train of thought, keep your train of thought", you say to yourself, which throws you even more off track. There's an easy solution to this; it's why I prefer to sport commando, which also eliminates the visible panty-line issue simultaneously! Look at me; I'm multi-tasking! In the past I tried to be a lady and experimented with various kinds of sexy and anti-bulky undergarments, A.K.A. thongs, but I could never think of them as anything other than permanent wedgies, which is significantly worse than the occasional kind. When meeting my Mom for lunch one day, she once said to me, "It looks like you don't have any panties on!" . . . . . . . .Well guess what Mom? That's because I DON'T! Now days she doesn't even ask. In case you where wondering, there are only 4 types of circumstances where I consider commando a no go: church, work, while wearing short skirts/dresses, and while wearing blue jeans. Another convenient and comfortable trade I like to practice is the art of free boobing it. You can count me in about 70% of the time, but lets not underestimate the powers of a push up bra for a night on the town!
     Turd Warner is really cruising for a bruising. Some might know them as Time Warner Cable, but in our house, proper names are only reserved for respectable and dependable companies. In efforts not to go off on a bashing soap box rant, I will just explain the my immediate complication. In the mornings after I get off work I always turn the T.V. to channel 744, TBS, to listen to "Yes Dear" or "Fresh Prince of Bel-air" since I've seen all of the episodes and wont feel tempted to stay awake to see what happens, put the sleep timer on, and go to sleep. Lately, when I try to select a channel, the stupid screen goes black and says "the channel will be available momentarily", and it never comes available! I can channel up or down, and THOSE channels work, but never the channel I want. We've never even had as many problems with a Dish in a thunderstorm under an oak tree as we've had with Crap Warner on a regular basis.

     Since I was restricted from listening to my faithfully favorite bedtime shows, I was forced to do some searching for a replacement and came across Roseanne. Now there's an entertaining cynic! It reminded me of how much I used to love that show. Her glass is neither half empty or half full, her life is destined to go no where, she's blessed with a senile mother and codependent sister, they have little money with 3 kids to raise, and yet she finds a way to keep her cool and laugh in the face of virtue. Any time things in life aren't living up to par, I try to compare them to a classic sitcom and realize how funny it could be. And I bet Roseanne always had panty lines.

Daddy Day

     The very first Father's Day was celebrated in 1908.

     Okay, I'm a bit late on my Daddy's Day post due to a conflicting schedule, but not to worry! I didn't forget!
     A couple of years ago Patrick and I, kpLove, finding ourselves living only on love and enough money to pay the bills, sat down and composed a song for our Fathers as a gift from the heart, for none other day than Father's day. The pressures of writing about a forced topic are so much more difficult than just "seeing what comes to you", but that day's finished product resulted in one of my favorite kpLove originals. It was an adventure trying to sum both of our Father's into one song, since they are night and day different. Sports vs. Hunting. Golf vs. Fishing. A Cappella vs Led Zeppelin. One verbalizes his I love you's all the time and gives out hugs like they were handshakes, and the other is a man of few words when it comes to topics involving emotion and his loving gestures come more commonly in a form of fixing something for you that needs to be fixed, but the traits that tie them both together are simply put: love for their children, a life mission of teaching us lessons to help mold us into respectable adults, and being blessed with fabulously good looking children that love them back.
     We are both so lucky and eternally grateful for having strong, reliable, and loving male role models our entire lives.

"Hey Daddy, thanks for what you do. Hey Daddy you've better than tiramisu!"

**I'd like to add: You know you didn't short change your self in Barbell Class when afterwards, you have to use your left arm to help lift your right arm high enough to scratch your face. I also had to drive home with both hands griping the steering wheel in order to steer the car due to my lack of remaining strength. The soreness has settled in now and I'm grunting my way on and off the toilet, and not because of intestinal disturbances!**

{I held off to add some pictures and a song to this post, but THERE'S JUST NOT ENOUGH TIME!!!! I mean, how the heck am I suppose to work 48hours a week, find time to work out everyday, play/walk the dogs, be an amazing wife, have my nose stuck in a ridiculously good series AND have extra good blogs?!?!?!? I'm now on book 4 of the Janet Evavovich series, starring Stephanie Plum, remember? I'm sucked in, and real life is taking a close second.}

Keeping Breezy

     Endurance spin class really kicked my butt yesterday, but it felt good to work that lactic acid out of my muscles from the barbell class the day before. It was especially all worth it when I got a high five from my spin class instructor. It was nice to receive acknowledgement for my hard work.



Before

    So the heat won; I gave in and sacrificed my hair in a desperate attempt to feel lighter and cooler the best and fastest way I know how. I grew some balls and tried a new hairstylist, in a completely unplanned manner. I actually just happened to walk into the salon at our gym to inquire and was practically talked into a same day appointment, on the account that cancellations are very rare. The stylist was a pretty cool dude, a young musician with a Mohawk, and gave a killer head/neck massage during my shampoo. I had the initial naked face feeling afterwards, and my fingers where a little shocked when I washed my hair for the first time, but I can't explain how amazing it felt after working out, to be able to get ready for my lunch date in no time flat since it only took about 4 minutes total to take my hair from soaking wet to a  finished look! A guy down at the dog park actually reintroduced himself and his dog to me, because he didn't recognize me without my pigtails!!! I gave him a sarcastic look and said, "Yeah, I know you. . . . . .I just cut my hair", and his face immediately changed to shock, and I could tell he was embarrassed. It was funny. Someone at work mentioned I always look different. . . . . . . . . . .yeah, gotta keep the boredom monster away.



After



People of DFW, have you ever ate at Cowboy Chicken? It is delicious! And it has a lot of healthy food choices.



Cats never neglect their stretching time. Lucie is owning
the Panda Express bag here.



     I've been having quite a bit of back and neck discomfort lately despite extensive stretching and core strengthening, so I decided it was time for an intervention. I treated myself to a 1hr massage at Massage Envy. They are all about taking a wholistic approach to wellness by taking care of your muscles; you have to fill out a form about your own health and stressors. She really focused on my problem areas and stretched my arms/shoulders/neck for me in ways that I could never do by myself. It felt amazing. I love to stretch. It's my favorite part of working out. I outlast everyone on the stretching mats at the gym; I always add on about 30 minutes to my time, just dedicated to lengthening those muscles! When I'm not flexible, my entire body feels unhealthy and out of whack; I think it's a key to staying young. The therapist found 2 knots of equal size, equally spaced close to my lower scapula area (shoulder blades), which totally explains everything I've been feeling! We've decided it's been caused by doing repeated tasks in a world built for short people. Apparently the massage releases tons of toxins from your muscles and I'm suppose to drink a load of water for the next 24 hours, which is a huge struggle for me, but I'm giving my best go at it. My hypothalamus already fails to acknowledge when my body is dehydrated, so this will be a task.

     If anyone ever wants to go to Massage Envy and get their back rub on, tell them I referred you so I can work on getting a free massage!

     I started to feel like Stephanie Plum again yesterday when I made a phony phone call for my Dad to investigate about a home for sale (my parents old house). Sometimes it's fun to tell white lies to strangers.



I swear I try to keep this man in socks that don't look like they belong to a Hobo. He rips holes in his socks
faster than anyone I know. He could set world records. I have socks that I've had for YEARS without holes.
Does anyone else have this strange problem?



Minor Mayhem

     Yesterday I'm guessing it was a good idea to not buy any lottery tickets, because luck just wasn't in my cut of the cards. I managed dragged myself out of bed early to squeeze in a workout before my shift, to find the gym might as well have been pad locked considering the gut wrenching, eardrum exploding, screech of a siren radiating boisterously throughout the building. It was almost unbearable to even overhear the noise while spectating from the sidewalk as the Firemen tried to contain the obnoxious sound waves. After they gave up, the calculated time wasted, plus the time it would take for another service to come fix the problem, equaled twiddling away enough of my afternoon to cut my chances of breaking a sweat, aside from the one already caused by the heat, down to the negatives. In my past, I've only almost cried over spilled milk once, and it was because it was the last of the cartoon and the last of my chocolate mix all at the same time. But today, crying over lost sleep seemed to make much more perfect sense. I didn't let myself cry however, but I really wanted to, out of rage and disappointment, not sorrow. Well. . . . . . . . . only sorry for my skinny jeans at the top of the closet that might not get flaunted for a while.
     I could never reveal anything specific about my job due to confidentially laws, but I can say there was a part of last night that I would like to erase from memory. It wasn't gory-filled or laced with tragedy by any means, but it was an unpleasant circumstance beyond my control that left me with a feeling like I had been kicked back into my teenage years and just been scolded by my father for a wrong doing. The worst part is that if compared to that past reference, I had inadvertently and involuntarily taken the hit on account of an accomplice. {Much like the time I went to spend the night with a friend of mine in High School, and we went to a party where she found herself desperately wasted and dry-heaving over a trash can, slumped over with her head between her knees on a driveway in the pouring rain, on the verge of unconsciousness, despite my earlier warnings to stop drinking. When we brought her home in fear of her health, she and I BOTH took the punishment. Grounded. For the entire summer. At the risk of sounding dramatic, that's almost comparable to a lifetime in the eyes of a teenager! Guilty by association. Lesson learned the hard way.}
     Last night I didn't get myself grounded for the entire summer, or anything close, but I did learn something the hard way, and didn't manage to escape the situation without the feeling of being slapped with a plentiful helping of guilt, and harboring a residual feeling of overall ickyness. Ouch. Stings the nostrils a bit, similar to the way I'd imagine "Sex Panther by Oden" would. "It’s illegal in nine countries… Yep, it’s made with bits of real panther, so you know it’s good." ---------Compliments of Anchorman.----------- I began to feel a nagging sting in my eyes, but only out of pure frustration. I hate anger tears, they make you appear weak on the outside when all you feel on the inside is feisty and mad. Misleading hormones that women posses; no wonder men stay in a state of constant confusion over females.
     The only really good thing that came of the past day was finishing my book "One for the Money" by Janet Evanovich. It was good. Really good. I'd describe it as a sexy, scandalous, mystery murder and drug case packed with humor and suspense by a amateur bounty hunting female who's clumsiness and internal curious mischievousness make it hard to put down. This type of book really challenges my memory because to put the crime together you need to remember the characters names and situations, unlike in a movie where you can just be familiar with their faces. The author does a great job at painting a mental picture for you, down to describing their wardrobe and the scenes based out of a New Jersey neighborhood in what I'm guessing is in the early 1990's, based on the mentioning of a tape deck, spandex, and car phones. I started reading the second book of the series today. "Two for the Dough". I'll let you know if it keeps my attention.
     After a couple of my misfortunes lately, I'm starting to feel like Stephanie Plum (the leading lady of the above book) and I have a few things in common.

Translation: I Must Be Retarded

    You know what's more gross than the dried up dead worms decomposing on the local paver sidewalks? Callie crouching down and rubbing her head/neck/shoulders all over them!!!! I can't figure out why she does this. It's disgusting. She must be sending out a message like, "Yeah, I killed that.........I'm deadly!" or "That's right, don't mess with my scent or you'll end up like this pathetic worm!" or "Agh, I love the smell of worm compost so much I want to wear it as perfume.". . . . . . . . Any other ideas? Do I have the only dog that behaves this way or are there others? And why are all the worms getting so lost? Remember those sand worms on Beetlejuice???? CREEPY!
     Sumo has always wanted to do everything he sees Callie doing and a couple of weeks ago he started burning out/kicking up grass with his hind feet after certain potties, just like his sister. . . . . . . .Well, KINDA. It's especially funny when he does it because he is huge, heavy, and clumsy which causes him to do it abnormally slow, lacking the graceful quickness that his older sister has.
     I wish I could imitate a good dancing robot. But, similar to my son Sumo, I lack sharp organized movements as well, but if I was gifted with the ability, I would do the robot all the time. One of the other things that makes for a good robot is the beat of a good song, and that is what I was definitely missing today while I was working out. My "me time" lately has been on the stationary bike gently huffing and puffing away at a mild-moderate intensity to help increase my heart rate’s threshold to a maintain fat burning level for longer periods of time and while doing that, I treat myself to a good read on the Kindle. Yesterday when I finished, I thought I'd squeeze in a short run on the treadmill, so I set up my headphones and Pandora . . . . . . . . . to realize that about 9 minutes into my 10 minute run, my ears where hot and stuffy, but not rocking out to any kind of beat! Translation: my music stopped after half of the very first song, never to came back on, and I was too occupied in some sort of transverse universe to even notice until it was too late! Bummer! I was wondering why I was having such a hard time blocking out the sound of my own lungs gasping for air. (I feel like if I drown out my heavy breathing with music, it helps me forget a little bit about how hard I'm working and more about getting through a number of songs without stopping.)
     Tonight, one of my patients has a CD player soundtrack playing some random collection of classical children songs over and over and over and over again, with one of them being the song from Milo and Otis. Ever see that movie? I conned Patrick into watching it with me one day, exclaiming it was a must see! I have it on DVD. No joke. I love the way the narrator does their voices in that movie! So now I can't get the image of a barn cat and pug dog running together through fields of grass and floating down the river in a tiny crate. Silly I know.
     Note to self: I need an intervention for one of these two things. Either my love affair/addiction with fruit punch must come to a devastating end or my clumsy mannerisms need to step aside and let those mature body functions prevail. I have spilled again. This time ruining the seat cushion to one of the break room chairs at work and probably staining my pretty lime green scrub top for life. Whoever is coating my fingertips with butter in my sleep can just go ahead and cease their shenanigans now.

No Time for Losing

I know I've already posted for today, but this called for a separate post of it's own.

GO MAVS!

WE ARE THE NBA CHAMPIONS!

"NO TIME FOR LOSING ................'CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!"

Who's coughing now!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? Bahhahahahahahahahahahahahaha



Thorough Enjoyment





   I let the 'ol man sleep in yesterday morning while I took the pups out for some morning air, morning deuces (for the dogs obviously) and morning food (for myself of course), and thought we might as well catch a glimpse of the Race for a Cure that was taking place in the village. Little did I know it would be hard to miss with the hovering helicopters, upbeat music bumping through gigantic speakers, and thousands of people decked out in pink waiting for the count down to start the run. Remember this post about the crappy race that tried cramp my Saturday morning? Well it doesn't even count as a race compared to this, and thankfully our complex even sent out a warning email this time! I'm further more thankful the race started on the street of the opposing South side building because I'm convinced no one in the proximity managed to sleep past 6am unless they were deaf. Have you noticed people-watching at a race is really good? The things people wear to be comfortable while working out can be really funny. . . . . . like the guy who wore oversized Texas flag windshorts! We took a field trip through the organized chaos (getting lots of  "aww, what cute doggies" comments along the way), stopping at Dunkin Donuts for a breakfast treat of munchins, a mocha latte and croissant sandwich, and headed to the fake grass dog park on the North side to play with some new friends while I ate in the shade and listened to a girl I didn't know vent to me about her terminal mother, their bad relationship and her feelings of empathy and duty to take care of her mother despite it all. I'm still not sure if it was because I still had on my scrubs (coincidentally pink, not going un-noticed by a woman that told me I picked the right color for the occasion), or if she felt the same energy I must often project out to strangers. Strangers just talk to me. . . . . . . . . it's a gift I have. . . . . . . I think? I'm glad though. I enjoy hearing their stories.



Sumo didn't make it far in the sun before I was dragging him through the grass! Even though it was prior to 8am, it was
very already hot and I had sympathy for him because I was sweating too!




I tied Callie and Sumo to a pole outside DD and was so proud at how good they were!

 


Juggling Spatulas

 

     It was one of the most ironically comical Saturday nights. A night filled with new adventures in semi-familiar territory with the new married couple. We hitched a ride in a cab and headed to Addison for some late evening fun, driven by a guy that bad mouthed side-ways drunk people stumbling out of bars and into taxi's; at least they're not driving dude! We started off with grill-side entertainment at a hibachi bar for dinner featuring a talented oriental chef with a funny sense of humor and a Caucasian waiter named Ninja who swore that was his real name. Ironic right? There were more birthday song celebrations squeezed in to that hour that I had previously imagined was possible and we couldn't help but wonder if it was a 40-Year-Old Virgin moment, with people making up false birthdays just for the dessert and serenade. Next we found ourselves the only non-Mexican predominately English speaking bodies not interested in the soccer game on screen in a placed called the Red Room, but who cares when there's Saturday night drink specials with no cover charge while you're waiting on your comedy act. The place had a second room with disco lights, a sloppy wired DJ, and a bar with a contradicting food menu and we chilled on the short contemporary couches until the techno music started drowning out our voices as we talked Spanish talk. We chuckled about the weirdness as we headed to the Improv, to yet be further more surprised when we arrived to the 11:30pm Tony Rock show and found ourselves minority by about 200:4, which made it even funnier as we laughed hysterically at every cheap low blow and racist comment throughout the act. All in all, I rate it one of the best no rules attached shows we've been to, besides Ralphie May of course, and would not hesitant to a repeat experience. We wrapped up the night at home with pizza in bed, other un-writables, and enjoyed an amazing sleep-in until 2pm this afternoon.

So why am I still so sleepy?!?!?




The cute newlyweds in the Red Room. Congrats guys!!!!

The very funny Tony Rock. Resembles his brother Chris, huh? I broke the "no camera" rule BIG TIME. Livin' like a rebel!

 

Flaky Fake Fake

Watch these videos

Proof that the Heat has it coming. I'm growing tired of their Petty McPettyness. Grow up fakers and stop crying because you got flat out beat. I hope Dirk gets what he deserves and has worked his ass off for.

"Is 26, looks 36, and acts 16."..................LOL 

"You used to be Much Muchier"

     Do you like make believe places; places that really utilize the imagination, reminding you of when you were a kid and Disney movies were so magical and real, if you just closed your eyes and believed hard enough it might all come true; with vibrant colors, quirky characters, and things that are fascinatingly cool because they shouldn't make sense but in this world there is no questions asked?

I do!

     I love make believe. I remember spending hours outside just pretending up anything I could imagine. I love to read and design the entire world myself. But I can't change my own surroundings anymore like I used to. I can only try and alter my perception of my surroundings. The closest I come to being in another world is with a good book, or watching a good Tim Burton movie, especially if it's in 3-D. I LOVE Alice in Wonderland (AND Batman, Beetlejuice {I used to beg my mother to rent this for me every single time we went to the store to get a movie. I can't believe she never bought it for me. She would usually say, "let's try out a different movie today", but EVERY now and then she would give in!}, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach . . . . . . pretty much all his movies). I was watching Alice in Wonderland the other day and it never fails to break my heart when the Mad Hatter asks her to stay in Wonderland because he adores her so much and she goes back to her crappy real life instead. "Do you know why I raven is like a writing desk?", he asks with the saddest little eyes. Johnny did such a great job at making the Hatter a lovable yet "mad" character.

     Don't even get me going on how much a like Johnny Depp! If you've never seen Finding Neverland, and you are a fellow make-believe admirer like myself, do me a favor and make time in your life to enlighten yourself with that movie. It won't be a waste.

     I was put to the test, being forced to exercise my real life imagination skills last night. (Just know that although I have never bought anything from the cafeteria downstairs during a shift, I couldn't if I wanted to because IT'S CLOSED!!! Nightshift workers don't need extra food options, isn't that obvious??) I had just sat down to enjoy my left-overs when I reached for my drink and managed to spill the entirely full cup into my tubaware container filled with jalapeno cheese sausage, and splashed a bit into my cheese potato soup as well. "Oh no!!!!" As I had no other food options, I put my sausage (which was already conveniently cut up into small pieces and had completely absorbed the benefiber infused fruit punch flavored juice) on top of my salad and pretended that the sweet flavor was nothing less than the finest Raspberry Walnut Vinaigrette salad dressing. It was a stretch, but do-able; miles from enchanting. Not exactly the type of make-believe I prefer to exercise, but when duty calls!
     ***This dummy also put two caramel hershey kisses in her only scrub pocket at the begining of her shift to enjoy later as a treat, and forgot they ever existed, to find in the morning her cell phone, keys, and chapstick were completely covered with melted chocolate and carmel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . guess why?***

Oh yeah, and "GO MAVS!!!" I wore my lucky Mav's shirt (featured in this last blog) to work for game night and it paid off.

Triple Digit Doomsday



Jess dancing to Cotton-eyed Joe! I was too
hot to dance!



     It happens every year. The moment at which the thermostat in my car reaches triple digits, an air conditioned space feels like the arctic circle compared to the outside air, and my body starts rebelling against the Texas heat and humidity. "I can't do it!", every inch of my frame cries out. My entire body feels sluggish. . . . . . . . . . . . . . I can barely put one foot in front of the other when outdoors, and I can't distract myself away from thoughts of indoor couches positioned perfectly under ceiling fans and sugar saturated snow cones. Yesterday at the Rangers game I thought I wasn't going to make it. I'm sure my posse was growing tired of hearing my constant complaints of how overheated I was, but I couldn't contain my comments. I was just so hot! I was nervous that my insides were going to reach boiling temperatures and I might spontaneously combust, my bones disintegrating to ashes, reminding me of that South Park episode where Kenny held in his farts too much (since he had a new girlfriend) and he eventually exploded. While working out it's a different story, but when I'm sitting still and there's even a breeze and I'm sweating bullets. . . . . .  . . . .it's no bueno in my book. I'm sure I'll find a way to survive until fall, as I have for 26 consecutive years now, but as of this moment my foresight is . . . . .  .nearsighted. This is not helping my attempt at self control in not chopping off my hair. All I can think about lately is how breezy it would feel to just say goodbye to the locks and hello to the pixie. I need help.



     So the Rangers game really sucked it up Tuesday night, but our packed lunch was exactly opposite of that. It was amazingly delicious (the people next to us even felt compelled to comment on how good it smelled), AND we bounced in perfect timing to tune in the Mavericks vs Heat game on the radio and listen to the full blown suspense old school style on the way home. We may or may not have been the crazy car bouncing up and down on the highway, caused by the four adults inside restless with a little syndrome called end-of-game-close-call-anxiety! If you haven't been watching the finals, you are missing out on a good match up. Poor Dirk even kept up his hero status last night with a fever to add to his finger's torn ligament. What a trooper! We shall all be on the edge of our seats tonight, and regardless of what happens: those sorry-good-for-nothing-dramatic-floppers (we all know who they are) can kiss my pearly white voluptuous asset they call a booty! 




Jess and I supported our Mavs at the Ranger Game,
just so they didn't think we forgot about them!



     Speaking of heat and voluptuousness: I was working off that booty of mine yesterday at the gym when my trainer friend spotted me and without hesitation called me out for not being at the gym lately. Hey, I got a bag full of excuses! Crazy work schedule, needy doggies, vacation, illness, Ranger games, and who wants to be stuck inside a gym when there's gorgeous last minute spring air to enjoy outside? Well, those days are over for now. The heat is here to stay and has officially driven me indoors. (The dogs look up at me like I've taken them to a torture chamber when we go downstairs.  . . . . . . . . ."What???? This isn't what we wanted! We just wanted to go outside, not to visit Hades!" Sumo won't even walk. He lays in the grassy shade and then makes you drag him.)

Get That Gal Some Hormones, Would Ya?

     Not to be old and stuffy by mentioning the weather every blogging moment, but I think Mother Nature is having a menopausal meltdown. I have evidence.

1. Without warning she started having these unbearable hot-flashes this week

2. Sunday evening her mood was happy-go-lucky and then for no good reason, she starts crying (raining) in the middle of sunshine

3. She let what should have been a healthy little cry, turn into a weird and unmapped raging mad storm with hail and wind........our weather radar didn't even pick up on it.

     Ture Story. Weird, huh? We need to check in to some hormone pills for her. How 'bout nice and easy. . . . .say. . . . .65-80 degrees Fahrenheit, sunny, with a light breeze? Yes. That would be perfect. Please and Thank you.



This is what my Saturday Night
looked like.

     I don't have much to show for my last 4 days off work, unless bragging about getting an average of 18 hours of sleep per day tickles anyone's fancy. On one day....my memory is foggy as to which, I thought I was feeling better, and convinced Patrick into taking me to Ikea to window shop. Those people are marketing geniuses; to create a maze of merchandise organized and staged, forcing browsers to look at the entire store before finding their way to the exit. It's almost impossible to leave that place without finding SOMETHING that you can't live without. And if you don't? Well you've probably spent enough time shopping that the aroma coming from the food court may be enticing! And the kids? Don't worry, they've made a play oasis for them to stay entertained! I think my favorite thing about their mission, is they display plenty of examples to show how tight spaces can be fabulous, efficient, and organized. It's difficult to envision how to make the most of a tiny apartment/condo or small house, but Ikea is there to help!


I treated myself to a coffee treat
in my FAV mug
from my FAV Newyorkers!



     As if I don't brag about him enough (and I swear it's not because I know he reads this), my husband made the ultimate sacrifice for me this weekend. We watched this mouth watering show about southern BBQ, and if you know Patrick, you might have guessed that he wanted to eat BBQ ASAP after that. As a fellow BBQ lover, I was having a hard time feeling the vibe through my sickly-ness. But trying to be a good wife, I put on some street clothes and prepared myself to wear a happy face to the nearest BBQ joint with that handsome man of mine. On the way there, he sensed my queasy aura and re-routed to Corner Bakery so I could get soup. We never ate BBQ; he sacrificed his craving in mid-execution so his wife could eat at her favorite soup/sandwich place just to see her smile. Did I mention he picked up after all the messes that I made for the last 4 days? I don't clean when I'm sick. I'm more like a disastrous tornado.



Pat also made a Beer Can Chicken!



     I did manage to be slightly adventurous Sunday and tried cooking an entire artichoke for the first time. After some extensive Internet research and much contemplation, I decided to oven roast it in foil with minced garlic, drizzled with olive oil and a bit of lime juice. Then I made a dipping sauce with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, fresh ground pepper and Worcestershire sauce. The result?. . . . . . . I even had to research how to eat the darn thing, but I'm glad I was prepared. I ate the entire thing by myself in about 5 minutes while Patrick was in the bedroom with his head buried in a pillow trying not to break things after the Mavericks game.

     And if you were thinking of watching Invictus. . . . . . . . BORING! I almost didn't make it through, despite getting to stare at Matt Damon the entire time.

   

Porkaliciously Obsessed

     Pig femurs are all the rage right now with Callie and Sumo. It's hilarious to watch them carry around and obsess over a bone that's about 10 times the size of anything else we've ever given them. The most entertaining part is they keep getting jealous of each other’s bones, forgetting that there's one for each of them. I've never heard Sumo bark so much. This is one thing Callie won't let him steal!

     I can't even think clearly to write today with all the congestion of snot in my head...........pressure.............. everywhere........ I called in sick to work yesterday and slept from 9am-4:30pm, woke to take the dogs out (to discover it's so hot outside it will take your breath away) and send Patrick to GoGo China to get me some egg drop soup, and then went back to sleep from 9pm-12pm today (which stinks because it's the first play-off game I have been off from work for and could actually watch and I couldn’t hold my eyes open). Anyone want to calculate how many hours that is? With my cloudy cognitive skills, I think that's 22hours of sleep out of 27hours. That means I'm sick. Everything tastes salty, I can't smell, my head feels funny, and I'm having hot/cold flashes. I guess I'll rub some more metholatum on my nose, crawl back into my cave, and hibernate some more.



It's never safe!......................



I Can Hardly Believe It

     I dislike checking the snail mail almost as much as I dislike checking my voice mail. It's one of those things I usually resist doing until I absolutely must, or just let Patrick do it for me. Call me lazy if you want, but if it's serious enough now days, I'll expect to get it in a the form of text or email. I don't know why I did it, but on Monday I actually checked the mail without any coaxing. As it turns out I had something waiting for me.

Something small . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something plastic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something with my picture on it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Can you guess what it was? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

MY DRIVER'S LICENSE!

    A kind hearted woman found my driver's license on the bike trails somewhere in the park (exactly where I presumed it was), and actually took the time to pick it up, fold it neatly into a piece of personalized stationary with a note, and mail it to me. Of course I probably would have received it before going to New Orleans had my current address been updated, but it had to travel all the way to Belton, and then back to Plano before arriving to my current place of residence.

     Just to think, I could have saved myself hours of frustration had I either had a later planned trip, updated address, or just not have lost it at all! I also might not have had to carry around a wadded up piece of paper masquerading as a DL to New Orleans. But now instead, I have a hideous updated license that I had to needlessly pay money for on it's way.

 Bah-hum-bug!

   So, thank you Pam from Plano. Thank you for being so sweet and generous with your time to return my license. Thank you for relieving my mother's warning of identity theft, and thank you for proving that there are other worthy morally conscious humans out there. Maybe I'll try to make Martha Stewart proud and send you a thank you note. The old fashioned way.