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Assessment of Damages

May 21, 2010

Your body is like a car.  It endures the stress of sun, heat, dings, and mileage.  Keeping this in mind I decided it was time to take my “car” in for an assessment of damages.

I spent yesterday afternoon going down my list of “dings” with the doctor:

  1. Smile line my a$$, it’s a deep rooted wrinkle to the left of my mouth, get rid of it

  2. Expression lines are for suckers, please remove all expression from my forehead

  3. Yeah, I know, I have laid out a time or two but I don’t want to LOOK like I have laid out, so please remove this sun damage

  4. And this vein on my leg is NOT “barely” noticeable so inject it, burn it whatever you gotta do just make it go away

I know.  I know.  I am a vain, superficial, awful person.  Please, keep your disapproval and judgment to yourself because I already know all the reasons why I am being ridiculous and selfish.  The thing is I don’t want to look like this in 10 years:


I figure that it’s cheaper and less invasive to do a few injections here and there than a total overhaul at 50.  I would rather NOT peel my face back, up, or off at any time so I look at this like tiny investments over time rather than a total makeover.  Because I know, without a doubt, that I do not want to look like this:



Hey, speaking of Heidi Montag the Hills is getting more and more disturbing.  Seriously.  Last season Heidi and Spencer were devout Christians and now they are crystal worshipers?  I can’t keep up.  All I know is that Lauren Conrad was one smart cookie to get out when she did.

Gosh, between my plastic surgery contemplations and my great taste in TV I sound about as deep as a puddle.   Speaking of blondes with a wealth of depth:


Sunday Funday

May 19, 2010

Most of my days include a good bit of HGTV and at the very least an episode or two of House Hunters (I kind of miss Suzanne Wong BTW though I used to consider her completely annoying).  But Sunday offered up a different kind of House Hunters – as in the real life kind.  Not for Chad and I but for Gigi, Sophia and Eric.  I LOVE looking at houses.  First and foremost because I am nosy.  I am the nosiest person I know, and I know this because I am nosy enough to ask.  I live to see the inside of someone’s house and I die to see their closet.  So yeah, house hunting is at the top of my list of fun things to do – a close second would be drinking wine.  Can you imagine a house tour/wine tasting, just think of the possibilities. 

Back to the hunt.  We visited several homes.  The first one was just lovely; crown molding, bright rooms, well decorated, and good neighborhood.  The fact that I spotted a spider could hardly be counted as a negative – though two spiders might have knocked down the overall rating and a roach would have killed the entire rating.  By the way, it was Gigi and Eric who were rating since they were buying but I can still have my opinions.  The second home, not so much.  Low ceilings and a lack of any kind of light was a real turn off.  Not to mention the parking lot of bumper to bumper cars at a nearby neighbor’s house.  The white custom van from 1992 was a real plus though in case Gigi and Eric ever need to take a road trip or have 6 kids.

At house number three we were greeted by a shirtless forty something man doing yard work.  Awkward.  He had the kind of build where you could tell he bench pressed every day while also downing cheese burgers.  Anyway a mixture of poorly planned Do-It-Yourself jobs combined to make an underwhelming impression.  But Gigi and I decided he was newly divorced and trying to get rid of a house too big – it seemed he only needs room for a water bed and workout room now.  The divorce story was later confirmed when Chad thanked him for letting us view the home.  We so called it!

The fourth home, oh the fourth home.  The selling agent stated that the sellers “no longer cared about the

  1. No electricity

  2. Bags of trash

  3. Filthy carpet (we were unwilling to verify the brown lump and accompanying stain)

  4. Scary toilets

  5. Something rustling in the closet (either that underwear had legs or there was a mouse)

  6. Get ready for the topper

  7. Are you ready

  8. A green pool full of THOUSANDS of tadpoles and a few full grown frogs 

That was quite enough for our tour.  We couldn’t get outside quick enough.  Poor Sophia was not pleased and she made it clear that she would not be having any play dates in that home.  Ever.

The fifth home was nice, nothing amazing but nice.

So back to the hunt we go which hopefully means that I get to snoop around in stranger’s homes some more!  It is not beneath me to thumb through clothing or scourer the property for family photos.  That’s just how I roll.  If you leave me alone in your home I will probably rummage through something.  But don’t worry, I’m not a klepto or anything just an eternally curious girl.  Hence my obsession with reality TV.

Who Wants a Bird Sandwich?

May 15, 2010

I have three words for you – Birds.  Are.  Scary.  Ok maybe not scary like outside in the open air but definitely in small enclosed areas.   You know, like our attic.  For the last three days we have been hosting some feathered squatters and we have had enough.  I am pretty sure they are crapping all over my Christmas decorations (don’t think baby Jesus appreciates bird poop), they stay up until all hours of the night squawking and fluttering about, and they are up at dawn doing the same thing.  And this is just between you and me but I think they are shacking up.  Yep, don’t tell my grandma because she gets pretty upset about that kind of thing. 

So I Googled “How to get rid of birds in you’re attic” and the only suggestion was to put out a trap with bird seed and wait for the bird to willingly and calmly enter the trap.  So far I think we have managed to open up a bird buffet and extend their lives at least a few days.  Sigh.  They are probably up there right now smoking and drinking and laughing their feathered butts off at our trap.  Dern birds.

Chad has even resorted to violence.  Since I rise at 6:00 AM anyway, for work and what not, my sleep isn’t really interfered with.  But Mr. Lemons enjoys a bit of a different schedule.  He rests his head from 2:00 AM to 10:30 AM.  The bird infused mornings have really been rough for him and the lack of sleep is catching up.  Today he grabbed a faux wooden blind (death by window treatment I suppose), screamed something about HAVING ENOUGH, and headed up the stairs to the attic Bird Chateaux.  Not sure what he had in mind exactly but 3.4 seconds later he swiftly made his way down the stairs mumbling something about a plan B.

So I am afraid we have exhausted our efforts.  Three days ago I was feeling sorry for our tiny captives and hoping we would be able to set them free from our genius trap (which, by the way was technically designed for squirrels) and see them off on their merry way.  Tonight, as I lose all hope of sleeping in tomorrow, I wouldn’t mind dragging our no-rent paying, loud, smug, disease-ridden neighbors down to the nearest KFC.  BUT being the gentle soul that I am I will probably just take two Tylenol PMs and cross my fingers.

Pretty sure this is one of the birds.

And this is the other.

So Board

May 13, 2010

While on a recent trip to Washington visiting a dear friend I was completely enamored with her beer glasses; which is funny mostly because I don’t drink beer (ever).  They were glass steins with a swatch of chalkboard paint so that the possessor of said beer stein could write their name in chalk. I fell in love with the idea and immediately began a search to acquire the wine glass counterpart.  Upon further inspection I realized that such a glass would:

  1.  Be very expensive – $12 for one glass is a bit insane.

  2. Result in a divorce, as Chad would probably kill me if I were to add one more wine glass to our current collection of  over 36 (and I am NOT exaggerating, at least not in this instance).

So my thoughts turned to CRAFTING, as they often do, and I decided to make my own.  I like to make things for other people so my friend Rebekah was the perfect candidate – as she recently moved into a new apartment (hello, did someone say house warming gift).  And here is the result:

The names will only make sense to Rebekah.



Pretty cute I think.  This weekend will most definitely result in me turning some of our 36 glasses into the above.


P.S. Last Saturday was Girl’s Night and while I cannot reveal all of our activities I will reveal the below pictures:

Marcy and Andrea


Tawna, Gigi and Erica



Renee and Kat

Andrea, Jenny, Beth, and Beth

Marcy, Beth, Kat, Andrea and that's Gigi in the back!

P.P.S. Don’t worry our “activities” can be summed up with wine, Italian food, and a cab ride home – nothing scandalous. 

Get Real

May 11, 2010

Is Red# 40 found in nature? Is there a Red# 40 plant somewhere in the desert? Or maybe the rainforest? I’m just wondering because it appears to be a in a lot of the things that Chad eats. Maybe we could save money if I planted a Red# 40 garden, then I could harvest it and make Chad’s delicious snacks myself.

While on the subject of things NOT found in nature I would like to take a moment to step up onto my organic soap box. People. Let’s get real. I mean, let’s start eating REAL food. The kind with 1-2 ingredients. You know, the kind that cannot live on a shelf for 8 years (that’s right Twinkies I am talking to you). A few years ago I stopped inhaling Diet Coke and indulging in sugar free ice cream. I also put the kibosh on Splenda, which until then was thought to be a good alternative to the little packets of pink poison. Then I found out it was originally a pesticide that they discovered also tasted sweet. Um yeah, pretty sure that doesn’t sound ok.

Listen, I am not saying that I eat perfectly all the time – I mean, HELLO, I keep Haribo and Jelly Belly in business. But I will say that all of my indulgences are in REAL sugar. That lifestyle change plus my gluten free diet (which I am still a bit bitter about sometimes) have done amazing things for my overall health. And I would just like to encourage everyone to do the same!

Yes, I know, I can sense you all rolling your eyes as you pop open a can of Diet Fanta and dig into a bag of Doritos with no transfats (but 34 ingredients, one of them being Red# 40 and the others being un-pronounceable). So I say to you – go ahead enjoy your incredibly complicated snacks with extraordinarily long shelf lives. Just do not be surprised when your shelf life is not as long.

This is why Chad is no longer allowed at Tom Thumb by himself.

You Want Me to Do What With My Leg?

May 5, 2010

I thought the hardest part of hot yoga would be the yoga.  I was wrong.  It was the hot part.

When I walked in the room was dark and hot.  My first thought – awesome, now nobody will see as I struggle to touch my chin to my toe.  But alas, the lights came up slowly but surely.  Did I mention it was very hot?  Well it was.

We began with some basics, eased in to some more challenging moves and ended with my heart pounding as I gasped for air.  By the way, all done in front of a large mirrored wall so that you can watch as your face turns bright red, your muscles shake and your clothing gets wetter and wetter.  I mean, who wouldn’t want a front row seat to that.  Me and this larger gentlemen seemed to be on pace with one another though I was thankful the instructor never had to kneel beside to ask if I was OK (AKA, “Are you gonna die right here in the studio because that’s the last thing we need?”).  My biggest fear towards the end was passing out or throwing up.  Nobody wants to be THAT girl.  Luckily I made it through – only to be reminded of why gym locker rooms creep me out.  I get it, we are all women but that doesn’t mean I want to see you butt naked as you prepare to shower.  I guess I will never understand how anyone can feel totally comfortable naked in front of strangers – women or not.  I get a little squeamish around Chewy and I am pretty sure he can only see black and white fuzzy shapes.

Here I am during class - darn photogs always stalking me.

Hot Yoga (Insert tune from Hot Blooded)

May 4, 2010

Last night I spent a good 20 minutes playing hide and go seek with the dog.  Is that lame?  Don’t answer that.  Mostly I do the hiding and Chewy does the finding.  But don’t worry I am not a total loser I also went to the grocery store (as I do every Monday), the dry cleaners, did some laundry, looked through old pictures and longed for my younger years.  Oh God.  I am lame.  Crap.

In an attempt to not be so old and lame I will be attending a hot yoga class this evening.  It’s apparently very hot, as in 98 degrees.  And I hear you sweat buckets and come out drenched.  Wait, why am I going again?  Oh yeah, to be less old and mushy.  Because as it turns out couch riding, while a perfectly legitimate sport, does not provide any muscle toning benefits.  I will be sure to update you on the outcome of hot yoga.  If my sore arm from playing Wii tennis last night is any indication I have a feeling I won’t be able to move tomorrow.

Maybe I will look like this after class?