Bump in the night

It’s hard to see in the dark: a true story.

The light switch for the stairs is at the top of the stairs.  The door to our bedroom is not by the stairs.  The door to our room is closed because it’s the only room with A/C.

Tonight, just a few minutes ago, I stood at the top of the stairs, hand on the light switch, eyes locked on the doorknob.  I turned off the light and walked the four steps to the door with my hand reaching out for the doorknob.

I missed.  I didn’t miss the door – I found the door with my forehead, bending forward to find the doorknob.  I’m pretty sure the doorknob moved out of the way.

Masseuse is a funny word. Masseur is funnier.

I have posts I want to write, but they require pictures (they don’t require pictures, but I have pictures, so I should include pictures), and my phone isn’t right here right now and I’m too lazy to go get it and download them.  So I’m sorry, but you can’t have those posts.

Instead, you can read my new fairy tale: Zannah and The Three Massage Therapists.

I have had three massages in the last month or so because I am finally using the Massage Envy benefits that have been building up since we left Virginia.  The first one was pretty good.  Middle pressure, listened when I asked for a change in pressure, made a couple of pressure changes based on how I moved in response (she was paying attention!).  The second one was also very good except for the feet – way too much pressure on the tops of my feet, and every time she slid off my left big toe, the knuckle cracked.  (Yes, I should have said something.  No, I didn’t.)  The third one (today) was lighter on pressure (as requested by me) except when she was trying to get the knots out of my shoulders.  That was downright painful, and yes, DUH, I should have said something, but I toughed it out because I kept hoping it would work.  Nobody else can work those knots out – maybe serious pressure and non-stop digging in right on top of them and from every direction around would do it.

It didn’t.  Appointment number 4 will be with Massage Therapist #1.  And I will speak up.  Because I’m not a masochist.

The End.

Somebody really sculpted faces into a mountain


Our plan worked!  We have become shadows of our former selves and are drifting aimlessly through life. Or, the early morning snow cleared out and we got a perfect day for Mount Rushmore.  That’s the plan I meant.


It was surreal and SO weird.  What a strange thing to want to do!  And how VERY strange to be driving along and all of a sudden see these giant faces in the mountainside.  In person, it’s even weirder than just knowing it’s out there.

I learned something about myself yesterday.  As we were driving up to the park, we caught our first glimpse of it, and THAT’S when it sank in to me that this giant sculpture actually existed.  If you had asked me the day before if Mount Rushmore was a real thing, I would have said of course it is, but when I saw it, just that first glimpse from a moving car, it felt almost like learning that Bugs Bunny is a real talking rabbit.  Mount Rushmore is something I’ve only heard about, only seen in movies, and I guess I never really processed it as real.  I don’t do that with other things I haven’t seen for myself, do I?


We’re being photobombed by stone heads.  Also, I am incapable of looking at the lens.

New floors, a little insanity, and an epiphany

We spent Saturday wincing at all the hammering and other assorted loud noises coming from upstairs as a team of four put in hardwood floors.   Totally worth it, but man, it was loud.  And COLD.  They had windows open up there and a saw set up on the front porch, so they had to keep going outside, meaning the door was always open.  On top of that, it snowed all morning and then my car wouldn’t start, so we just huddled in the dining room with the dogs and lit a fire.  And played on the internet.  And read.  And reshelved books.

Starting Saturday night, we became crazy people who clean.  And clean.  And clean.  And also crazy people who walk into a mattress store and buy a new bed in less than 20 minutes.  And then tie it to the roof of the car and drive home.  On the coldest,windiest day of the year.  (This was Sunday, I think).  And then, because Monday was New Year’s Eve and we were having people over and some of them were spending the night (and this new bed was for the guest room), we became the crazy people who have to run out and buy sheets and then wash them so they can go on the bed.  (This new bed that is a double, which is a size we’ve never owned before, so we didn’t have any sheets that would fit.)  On the day people are actually coming over.  And THEN, because I’m a crazy person who is also an idiot, I went to Wegmans on one of the four worst days of the year to go to Wegmans to get everything we’d need for these people coming over in LESS THAN FOUR HOURS.  What are the four worst days of the year to go to Wegmans?  The day before Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, the day before Easter, and NEW YEAR’S EVE.  It was a madhouse.  And they were completely out of the yummy pre-made dips made of cheesy goodness that I usually get.  Otherwise, I found everything I was looking for.  I just had to fight for some of it.

New Year’s Eve was fun, but as John and I were dragging our tired asses to bed at 2am that night, I came to a realization.  The demographics of our little group have changed.  (Okay, yes, duh – I know.)  Our friends have babies, and babies mean schedules and crying and parents who leave early to put said babies to bed.  All of that is perfectly understandable (and we love their babies and love to see their babies), but if half of our guests are going to go home long before midnight, maybe New Year’s Eve isn’t the best night to have our little get-together.  (Also, DAMN I’m tired today.  2am is entirely too late for me.) Instead, I declare Derby Day to be our day.  It’s always a Saturday (so no one has to work), it doesn’t immediately follow any other holiday (so no one’s exhausted from family and travel), it starts earlier, and there’s no obligation to make it to midnight (although people are more than welcome to stay late).  And it’s fun!

(I think we should try to do a summery picnic thing on the Mall (or somewhere in DC when the weather’s nice), too.  Easier for everyone to get to and also fun!)

That’s what I learned from New Year’s Eve this year.  I’ll show you the screaming sheep I found tomorrow.

Chivalry isn’t dead, but it drives the wrong car

A guy in a fedora held a door open for me today.  That makes him twice the gentleman any other guy holding a door open would be.  But then he got into a Jeep Wrangler.  That is not the right car for a guy in a fedora.  But what is the right car for a fedora-wearing dude?  (It’s possible he was wearing a trench coat, too, but it’s more likely that my memory is making things up to fill in the blanks.  Apparently, my memory wants him to be Humphrey Bogart (or Rick Blaine, anyway).  But taller.  This guy was taller.)  I really don’t know the answer to that question – wait!  I totally do (because I watch Mad Men).  He should be driving a ’60s era Cadillac or something with fins.  (John says a giant Cadillac or a ’58 Lincoln.)  Definitely not a little bitty Jeep.

Wildlife sighting! Hearing, really, but who’s ever heard of a wildlife hearing?

The other night, John and I got up at 2am to let Riley out.  (Riley has been having intestinal difficulties, and we were trying to avoid waking up to another gigantic mess.)  I stepped out onto the deck to shoo him into the yard, and I heard hooting.  Like actual owl-type hooting.  The kind I’ve only ever heard exaggerated in scary nighttime scenes in Disney movies.  And those are always set deep in the woods or on farms or something.  I certainly didn’t expect to hear it in our treeless suburban neighborhood.  And then I heard a second one.  TWO OWLS.  In my backyard.  At 2 in the morning.  May I never hear that again (if only because I prefer not to be up at 2 in the morning).

Hey, I managed to embarrass myself on Twitter this morning.  On the plus side, John Scalzi replied to my tweet.  On the minus side, I came off looking like an idiot.

And on top of that, I look like a nerd trying to impress someone with a big word.  In my defense, I ran out of characters when I tried to say “irrelevant to the discussion” instead.  I was being concise.

I’m going to hide now.

Update: To make the whole Twitter thing worse, I was just catching up on my blog reading, went to Whatever, and found that the article was apparently in yesterday’s Washington Post and John Scalzi posted it on his own blog then.  So now I’m an idiot who clearly doesn’t keep up with his blog.  Just great.

I swear I’m not a moron…

…but I recently had two “Are you kidding me?” moments.  One was today.  I usually keep a close eye on the forecast, but for some reason this week, I just haven’t.  John’ll tell you I prefer to trust weather.com than my own arm stuck out the front door.  I didn’t do either of those things today.  I just left the house to go to the store in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops.  It was 60 degrees out, overcast, and breezy.  I was a little chilly.  In my defense, it was 80 yesterday and it isn’t fall yet…  But a guy at Wegmans still totally made fun of me.

My other moment was last weekend, and it was more of the “oh, that really DOES make a difference” kind.  I was helping John unload the IKEA boxes from the car on Saturday, and I usually have a really hard time wrestling with the bookshelf boxes.  Those things are heavy, and in the past, I’ve nearly dropped them on the way into the house because I just couldn’t hold my end up anymore.  Not this time, though.  I wouldn’t say it was easy or that the shelves were light (I certainly can’t carry them on my own), but it was no big deal.  I find it very unlikely that they’ve gotten lighter since my birthday (the last time we bought some), so the only conclusion I can come to is, hey!  Those strength classes I’ve been going to twice a week for the last seven months?  They work!  Amazing, mixed with a little of course they do, ya idiot.