John

New floors, a little insanity, and an epiphany

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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.

I’ll stay up and moan

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Home now.  Still sick.  Thoroughly exhausted.  I think I could have been good at writing telegrams.  We were right on the edges of that big snowstorm that is heading northeast, so there were multiple accidents on the highway this afternoon, and John and I took an alternate route home.  It took us five hours, but the GPS said staying on the highway would have taken almost seven.  Eight, really, since we’d been on the road for an hour when we checked. So we’re home, and the car is unloaded, and the Chinese food has been ordered, and John is out getting milk and yogurt.  Roxy is resting on her own bed.  She was really good this past week.  Very quiet, no accidents, no incidents with Mabel – she was the perfect houseguest-dog.  My head feels both clearer and runnier than it has for days.  I think that’s an improvement, but I’m so over this horrible cold/congestion/sinus infection/HORRIBLE THING I could just scream.  But that would make me cough. And THAT would make me dive head first into a fire pit.  (Because it might feel better.  Also because it was 57 degrees in the house when we walked in, and a fire pit would probably be warmer.)

We remembered!

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For reasons I cannot explain, my internet connection is really slow tonight, so this will be short.  Today is the 12th of December, as I’m sure you’re all aware.  The entire world has gone crazy about it being 12/12/12, but that’s not what this is about.  The year is irrelevant to me, except that it helps me count.  Today, 12/12/12, is the 15th anniversary of our first kiss.  This is very nearly the first time either of us has remembered this little anniversary on the actual day.  Of course, it’s a Wednesday, and John didn’t get home until nearly six, and I have yoga tonight (in a couple of minutes, so I have to be quick here), AND his office holiday party was today, so he ate there, and I ate a quick dinner when I got home.  So….we went out for frozen yogurt.  Because we’re in luuuuuurrrrvvvve.

I don’t plan to make that a habit

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We live in a very safe area.  I knew this already, but it was reinforced for me tonight.  I went out to pick up dinner from Noodles & Company (mac and cheese with meatballs for John, Bangkok curry with shrimp for me), which is located in one of those new mixed-use shopping centers, with lots of apartments upstairs and lots of shops and restaurants downstairs.  I parked right across from the place, went in, got ignored by the staff for a few minutes (for no reason I could tell – the place was completely empty), ordered our food, read my book while waiting, got the food, and left.  I was in there for maybe 15 minutes.  I walked outside and noticed my car immediately.  “Why is that so unusual?” you may ask.  “Surely you know where you parked, and since it was “right across from the place”, why wouldn’t you look right at it?”  “Well,” I might answer, “it was dark and lots of people drive cars like mine, so shut up.”  Most people, however, do NOT leave the driver’s side door open, even if it means the dome light will be on to welcome you in (which is what I saw immediately, by the by).  I’ll admit to being a little hesitant as I got closer to the car.  I mean, obviously I must have left the door open.  I seriously doubt some car thief got into my car and then left it like that.  But what if a crazy murderer had taken the opportunity to hide in my backseat?  Well, again, the light was on, and I could see that there wasn’t anyone in the car.  Couldn’t see into the back, though, so I checked the trunk, too.  THEN I got in and went home.  (Confession: I wasn’t that scared. There were lots of people around to hear me scream if I HAD found someone in the car.)  The real question is this: how on EARTH did I get out of the car and not close the door?  Usually, John gets on me because I slam it instead of closing it gently.  And it wasn’t just ajar or not quite latched – it was OPEN.  I can’t even blame this on the cold medicine.  Today was my first unmedicated day since Friday.  I should maybe just go to bed.  After I eat the rice krispie treat I’m pretty sure I got for free.  Maybe the guy felt bad for ignoring me.

A slow decline into congestion

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Hey, guys.  It’s miserable me, checking in.  I have a cold.  I think I put up a good fight yesterday, but I gave in when we got home last night, and I have spent all of today on the couch.  I watched a couple episodes of Arrow and a pre-election episode of SNL with John this morning, and I watched two episodes of Glee after he went upstairs to do some programming.  (He gave up on Glee a long time ago.  I’m not entirely sure why I haven’t yet.)  I think I’m TV’d out for now, and I just took some more medicine, so I’m going to curl up under a blanket and read for a while until John gets hungry.  And then I think we’re going to order Chinese so I can have egg drop soup.  I love egg drop soup, even when I can’t taste it.

Update: I burned my tongue on the egg drop soup.  Go me.

I swear I’ve got it all under control

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I baked today.  In fact, I’m still baking.  And I need to check on my pies – the last thing I need is burned pie after all that effort.

So far so good.  Now, at least.  I was up to my elbows in pie filling about an hour ago.  I pulled up my recipe (yes, MY recipe – eleven Thanksgivings ago, I experimented until I came up with the ideal sweet potato pie recipe), checked that I had everything to make two pies (I had double the ingredients listed in my recipe), and threw the sweet potatoes (I got them before breakfast this morning) into a pot to boil.  All EIGHT largish sweet potatoes, because my recipe called for four.  They boiled forever, and then they cooled, and then I got my mixer out.  I peeled four of them, put them in the mixer, and realized that was about all that would fit.  Okay, no problem, I’ll just get one pie ready, then do the second.  I mixed everything together, pulled out my pie crusts (I make pie filling, not pie crusts), filled one of them, and realized I had enough filling left in the bowl for a whole ‘nother pie.  What?  So I filled the second pie crust.  (I may have overfilled it a little.)  Then I looked at the other FOUR giant sweet potatoes that were sitting there in the pot, already cooked, just waiting to be peeled and turned into pie.  I had one more pie crust because I always buy one extra (I usually have enough filling left over for a little pie), but that clearly wasn’t going to be enough.  I put the two pies that were ready to go into the oven, shoved the dogs into the backyard so they wouldn’t be tempted to counter-surf for drops of pie filling, and raced to the nearest grocery store for another pie crust.  (I get nervous leaving the house with the oven on.)  I got there, picked up one crust, grabbed a set of six mini-pie crusts (perfect for that little bit of filling left over, right?), and raced back home.  Nothing burned down, so I made the rest of the pie filling.  Turns out those last four sweet potatoes were ALL bigger than the first four, so after I filled the other two regular size pie crusts, I had enough filling left in the bowl for at least another whole pie.  No more whole crusts, though, so I filled the six little mini crusts and called my neighbor Beth.  “Anyone in the family allergic to pie?  No?  Wonderful!  ‘Cause I seem to have vastly overestimated how many sweet potatoes I needed to cook.”  She opted for the mini pies, so John and I are now discussing who we’re giving the fourth pie to.  (We’re keeping one, and two are slated for Thanksgiving dessert.)  It has to be someone we’ll see in the next day or two, so it’ll either be a work friend or another neighbor.  Tough choices to make.

Anyway, I have now added the crucial information that was missing from my recipe.  My sweet potato pie recipe, as written, makes TWO pies.  Never forget.

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

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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.

Blah blah, complain complain, shut up already

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Riley is going insane, I’m freezing to death, and I think I just heard “Gangnam Style” coming out of John’s office.  The world is ending TONIGHT.  Hug your loved ones and duck and cover.  (Isn’t that what the Mayans said to do?)

Riley has been one uncontrollable bundle of annoying energy today.  If he could focus that energy on keeping me warm, I could handle it, but instead he’s been bouncing off the walls while I sit at my computer and shiver.  The thermostat says it’s 67 degrees in here.  I don’t see how it could be. I’m so COLD.

[Pause while I wrap myself in a blanket.  It’s times like these when I wish I had a snuggie.  Kind of.]

Just got distracted by Bookshelf Pr0n and Better Book Titles.  And my fingers are too cold for typing.  So…sure, I’ll publish this disjointed and not very entertaining blog post.  Don’t judge me!

Baffled

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I’m confused.  The time change, the weather, the fact that Thanksgiving is next week already – all of these things are throwing me.  Also, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don’t have anything to worry about.  There’s usually something, and given another day or so, I’m sure I could come up with a new thing to gnaw on, but it probably won’t be big.  Why do I feel so weird?  John does, too.  We had a good weekend, fun, even productive: we finally made an appointment to get an estimate for putting hardwood floors in upstairs, something we’ve been talking about for probably a year now.  I’m not that excited about my book – that’s probably part of it.  I haven’t been making the time to read (what is WRONG with me?).  The book I just finished (Sheri S. Tepper’s latest) was okay, but not gripping (definitely not her best).  WAY heavy on the exposition.

Okay, you know what?  I can’t solve the mystery of why I feel at loose ends, but I can go upstairs and put something light on TV and clean up before the flooring guy shows up tomorrow.  He needs to be able to measure, and right now you can’t see where the wall meets the floor.

Lost, not found

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What do you do with one diamond earring?  Sounds rhetorical, but I really need an answer.  John bought me a pair (little diamond studs) last Christmas, and I love them.  They’re exactly what I wanted, and I wore them every day, with everything.  Then, out at dinner the evening after we spent the day at the Maryland Renaissance Festival (more on that later), I reached up to my earlobes and noticed that one of them was bare.  How do you lose just one earring?  Clearly, it’s not that hard.  And since the earring wasn’t in my immediate vicinity in the restaurant, and it wasn’t in the car, it was most likely lost on the ground in 16th century England (otherwise known as some woods not too far from Annapolis).  Maybe I can get my remaining earring turned into a necklace or something.

Guess who we ran into while we were there?

We don’t know what Captain America was doing at a 16th century renaissance festival, but his was the best costume we saw all day.  Other than the Doctor’s, of course.  His being there made more sense, what with all the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff (speaking of that, I totally want these).  I wasn’t able to get a picture of him, but his costume was fantastic.

Costumes are fun

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I’m exhausted from last weekend.  May I have another?  I promise to rest for much of it.  No?  Too bad.

Friday night we went to a costume party.  We were pretty happy with our costumes, but the party was a little awkward at the start.  It got better, and we had a good time.  All that’s minor.  Let’s stick with the important stuff.  For the most part, our costumes were created from things we had at home.  John went as Wolverine.  We had to buy his claws (would you believe we didn’t have a spare set at home already?), but that’s it. 

John realized that I had everything I needed to be Hermione except the wand.  I’d forgotten about the scarf I bought at Universal over the summer.

Not crazy about my hair here. I left in braids all day to get that kinda curly messy younger Hermione look, but I think it came out a little too much like Weird Al.

Classic Hermione pose coming up.  I know!  I know!

Notice I’m holding a wand?  Yup.  That’s ’cause John made me one.  An awesome one.  Because he’s wonderful.

Check it out!  He even burned the Deathly Hallows into the end.  Because he’s the best.

Now, I think our costumes turned out pretty good, but my first choices for us were Dr. Horrible (me) and Captain Hammer (John).  Unfortunately, we don’t have ANYthing we need for those, and we didn’t have enough prep time to get them.  Maybe next year.  I really want to be Dr. Horrible.

Only at my house

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Background: Yesterday evening, I got up to make some tea.  (Good background, right?  I mean, that really sets the scene for you, doesn’t it?)

Me, to John: What size mug?

John: Mexican.

Let me explain.  We don’t do sizes the normal way when it comes to mugs.  Oh, no.  Small, medium, large, tall, grande, venti – those are not descriptive enough. Here’s a selection of the mugs we use most often:

  • In the front row, from left to right, we have littlest and little – these match our dishes.  We’ve had them since we got married.
  • In the middle row, also from left to right, the answer to the mug size question is college (the last remaining dishware from our college years – I think the rest of those dishes went to Tom after we graduated), Jess’s (no one uses those but her), Mexican (we bought them  in Mexico, I swear), and big Mexican (same as the others, but bigger)
  • And in the back row, we have the more obvious self-explanatory descriptions: Superman, Beatles, Mad Hatter

We have entirely too many mugs.  Okay, now I need to know how many.  Hang on.

You can let go now.  41.  We have 41 mugs, not counting travel mugs.  And how many people live here?  Yeah.  TWO.  Ridiculous.

I still have paint in my hair

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I think someone cheated and skipped a few days in September.  It went by awfully fast.  What I remember of it was nice, though.  Especially last weekend.  The weather was perfect, and we spent the majority of those two days outside painting the porch.  Not normally my favorite thing to do, but we had a good time.  (Let me tell you a secret: I like spending entire days with John, just us.  It’s fun.  Shh.  Don’t tell anyone.)  We finished the second coat yesterday, and I went for a long bike ride, and now my butt is sore.  I can’t decide if I want to keep doing that.  If I do, I think I might need to invest in those padded bike shorts.  Just checked – those can be kind of expensive.  Also, they look kind of ridiculous.  But not as ridiculous as I look when my butt hurts.

On to the opposite of ridiculous:

I WANT THIS DRESS.  (Thank you, Tom and Lorenzo, for giving me a style goal.)

Not the shoes.  I don’t like the shoes.  (I totally just spelled shoes “shoose”.)  The dress has a Grace Kelly-esque silhouette and have I mentioned how much I want to dress like Grace Kelly?

 

Of course, I all too often have paint in my hair (all too often = every time I paint something), so I shouldn’t really be allowed near nice clothes.

 

Did you know…

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…that if I don’t drink coffee/tea/something with caffeine in it on the mornings I drive to DC that I will be struggling to stay awake by the time I get to the GW Parkway?

…that Riley doesn’t like it when John plays his guitar?  He gets all nervous and whiny.

…that we’re putting off watching the 2nd season of Sherlock so we’ll still have it look forward to?

…and that we’re doing the same thing with Doctor Who because of how freakin’ long we have to wait between seasons?  We’re two episodes into season 6 and afraid to watch any more.

…that we haven’t watched the Downton Abbey Christmas episode yet because it seemed weird to watch it when it’s nowhere near Christmastime?

…that once I start thinking about TV I really like I apparently can’t stop?

…that Roxy can tell time and is nudging me because she knows it’s time for her medicine?

I’d better stop before I reveal too much. I’ve gotta keep some secrets.

Not a life-changing experience

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I already knew this, but now that I’ve been to a concert, I feel the need to say it again: Bruce Springsteen is not for me.  John and I went to the Springsteen concert in DC on Friday night.  Wait – I need to back up.  A few years back, John went to his first Bruce concert with a few friends of ours who are rabid fans.  I mean, these guys know every song he’s ever recorded, have all the albums, always go to concerts when Springsteen is on tour.  That stuff doesn’t make them rabid fans.  No, they go to as many concerts on each tour that they can manage, sometimes traveling miles and miles to go to back to back shows in three different cities.  Friday’s concert was the sixth show our buddy Joe has gone to on this tour alone.  On top of that, they know the set lists of practically every concert he’s ever played ever.  It’s not unusual to have a conversation with one of them that goes like this:

Hey, I kinda like song X from that one album.

Yeah, that’s a great song, but you won’t hear that when we go to this concert.  He hasn’t played that one live since the Evanston show of 1993.  Now THAT was a great show.

Anyway, John was just a casual fan before he went to that show (he’s more than that now, but hasn’t reach rabid levels of fandom yet) .  These guys (and every Springsteen fan I’ve talked to since) told him he HAS to go to a live show, it’s AWESOME, it’s an experience you’ll never get anywhere else – it’s just amazing.  So John went, and it was great.  He had a really good time, it was a really great show, and he started paying more attention to the Boss.  That’s fine – doesn’t bother me one bit.  He went to a couple more shows over the next couple of years, and I had to suffer through a little more Springsteen in the house, but that’s not that big a deal.  Then this tour started, and the guys got together and decided to all go.  John really wanted me to get in on this, and I’d been hearing how great these shows are, so I agreed and we bought two tickets.

I have to admit to not being all that excited as the date approached.  I love live music, and I knew I’d have a good time, but I didn’t prep for it.  I know a handful of songs (“Glory Days”, “Born in the USA”, “Dancing in the Dark”), and I recognize a few more but don’t know more than a couple lines from them (“Born to Run”, “Thunder Road”), but that’s it.  Frankly, I don’t really like his stuff, so prepping didn’t sound appealing at all.  Why listen to more of what I don’t like?  I was counting on the LIVE aspect of the show to be more entertaining than his depressing and repetitive songs.

Ultimately?  It was fun, but I’m in no hurry to go again.  It was loud and crowded (both in a good way) and energetic and everything, and all of that is cool and fun to watch, but it was still Bruce Springsteen, and you know what?  I still don’t like Bruce Springsteen.  Well, personally, I’m sure he’s a fun guy.  I don’t like his songs.  When the band did some covers (“Devil in a Blue Dress”, “Twist and Shout”) at the end of the almost four-hour concert, I thought it was great.  Did it change concert-going for me forever?  No.  No, it did not.

Visiting dignitary

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John and I did some yardwork yesterday (mowing, weeding, clipping back the creeping vines, etc.) – it’s a good thing we did it yesterday morning, too, since the rest of the weekend was rainy – and we noticed a wee visitor in the yard.  Say hello to Mr. Toad.

At least, we think he’s a toad.  Pretty sure he’s a toad.  John nearly hit him with the lawn mower, and even then the little dude didn’t move.  He was hanging out under a tree.  He eventually hopped over to the mulch near the fence.  Riley barely noticed he was there.  Can’t blame him for that, really.  In the mulch and the dead leaves, Mr. Toad was nearly invisible.

When we finally finished up and went inside, he was snuggled up underneath the leaves right there by the fencepost, showing no signs of heading out.  I’m not sure where he would have gone.  Don’t toads need moisture, like near a pond or a swamp?  I wouldn’t have thought our backyard was his ideal habitat.  I know Google and Wikipedia could help me out here, but toads creep me out a little and I don’t really want to know that toads are happiest when they’re living under my bed or something.  I only like them when they go on wild rides and sing.  Speaking of Disney, did you know Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride in Fantasyland was replaced by a Winnie the Pooh ride?  Looks like it still exists in Disneyland, but not Disney World.  Sad.

Not the actions of a responsible adult

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Lunch today with John: frozen yogurt at a local Sweet Frog.  Delicious, low(ish) in calories, not at all nutritious.  Perfect for a Friday.  Of course, then we noticed the sign near the register that says that F.R.O.G stands for Fully Rely On God.  Really?  It’s frozen yogurt, for crying out loud.  So maybe Zinga! (which has no religious affiliations or views) will remain our favorite local frozen yogurt spot.  (John has threatened to stop talking to me if I call it froyo one more time.  Froyo is right up there with vacay in his list of annoying words.  I don’t really disagree, except when it comes to veggies.  I refuse to give up veggies.)