"Home" means a lot of things. I tell people that I'm flying "home" tomorrow, and I mean Las Vegas. While at my cabin, I say that we're going to go "home" when we're finished snowmobiling, and I really just mean going back to my cabin. If I really had to define "home" for myself, though, I would define it as southwest Michigan. That is the place where I really belong. I grew up here, my family lives here, and I feel like a part of me will never truly fit in anywhere else.
Rex and I have been home since December 22, visiting family and friends for Christmas. It has been a blast, but we have to go back to Nevada tomorrow. As I sit here typing this in the final 23 minutes of the year 2012, I figure I will give you a few of the highlights of our trip:
1. When we first got on the plane to come home, the kid sitting in front of us was crazy. He was about three years old with mousy brown hair and skinny arms. We called him "Rocketship Kid" because as soon as he sat down he exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, this is going to be SO FUN! It's going to be just like going on a ROCKET SHIP!" He was talking non-stop. I started taking notes so I could transcribe his words for you. Here is a gem: "Hey dad I love you dad hey mom where is our luggage is it in the belly of the plane wow I am so excited this is going to be so great!!" I put no punctuation between those sentences because he said them as if they were all one sentence. He kept talking and talking so quickly that Rex turned to me and said, "Uhhh...is this kid on speed?!" He was so fun to listen to. He saw another plane on the tarmac and declared that our plane should marry that plane. His mom tried to explain that planes don't get married, but the kid wasn't buying it. Finally his mom said, "Aren't you tired, honey? Look, your dad is getting tired - he's closing his eyes!" The kid jumped on his dad and yelled, "WAKE UP, DAD! WE'RE ON A PLANE!!!" The kid was hilarious for a few hours, but I think I would be banging my head on the wall if he was mine.
2. My family went to our cabin up north for a few days. We had a great time snowmobiling, playing banagrams, and sitting by the fire. In order to kick off our road trip, I offered to buy everyone some Starbucks with the plethora of gift cards that I received from my students. My family is not a "Starbucks" kind of family. They don't generally spend more than 99 cents for a cup of joe. My dad ordered a large coffee, and when the lady handed it to him she said, "Here is your venti coffee." For those of you non-Starbucks-educated folks out there, venti means large. My dad misunderstood, though, and said, "Ew, a veggie coffee? Why would I want a veggie coffee?" I tried to correct him: "No, Dad, she said 'venti.'" My mom jumped in with, "Yeah, 'venti' is short for 'vintage.' It's like, an older type of roast." No parents, it's not. My dad finally accepted the coffees and then called to the lady, "Have a latte day!" I looked at him like he was crazy, and he said, "What? I'm just trying to use hip Starbucks lingo." I'm surprised my family didn't get permanently banned from the store... Luckily I don't think they will go back again anytime soon.
3. My dad LOVED the Perry the Platypus shorts that he got for Christmas. That's all there really is to say about that.
4. We went to go visit my Grandpa Hubert, who is pretty much the most ornery man you will ever meet. We talked to him about the "good ol'days" for a couple of hours. He used to be in the Navy, so my mom asked what he did for exercise when he lived on the ship. His answer? "We'd just shoot japs." Greeeeat... Then we talked about the sports that his son (my dad) played in high school. My grandpa said, "Sports are fine, but do you wanna know what I played? Spin the bottle. Now THERE'S a good game." We went to my dad's favorite pizza spot, Pizza Sam's, after we got wisdom from his dad. He pointed out the parking lot across from Pizza Sam's where he used to "do stuff that I can't tell you about." Oh my. I am a little bit ashamed to be related to these people. Just a little.
5. For New Year's Eve (aka RIGHT NOW), my mother-in-law is playing Scrabble with Rex, my father-in-law is watching a hunting show about killing elk, and my brother-in-law is making plans to go fishing in the morning. I mentioned, "Hey, it's five minutes till midnight...maybe we should turn on the Times Square coverage." They all glared at me and said, "No! Who cares about that?"
Who cares about that? WHO CARES ABOUT THAT?! It's New Year's Eve, people!!! We should all care about that! Who cares about a random elk that died in Nowheresville, Nowhere is what I'd like to know. Man, I married into a weird family. I really, really like them, too, which might make me even weirder.
Well, there it is - midnight. It's officially New Year's Day. No confetti, no midnight kiss, no party hats or noisemakers. Just a triple letter score and a dead elk. Happy New Year, people.
It's been an up and down kind of winter break. I've had some interesting revelations, a lot of fun times with family, and made some re-connections with old friends. 2012 was one of those "growing" years. I learned a lot. I'm that much more ready for the next year. Bring it on, 2013.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
My Unprofessional Moment
Today I kicked a hole in my desk.
Oh yeah, and I did it in front of all of my students. It wasn't my finest hour, but I figured it would make a good blog post.
It all started when I was having writing conferences with my students. They would come up to my desk, and I would help them edit the stories they are currently working on. I tried to open the top drawer of my desk to grab a colored pen, but my desk drawer was jammed. Blast! This had happened once before, but that was earlier this year when Rex was helping me set up my room before school started. At that time he jiggled the drawer a few times and forced it open, so I figured maybe that would work for me too.
Bad idea, Mrs. Webb.
I jiggled the drawer a few times and jerked it really hard (which obviously meant I now had the attention of everyone in the room). The drawer opened...but only because I broke it. The bottom fell out and all of my stuff started tumbling to the floor. I hurried to pick it up, and I ended up emptying the entire drawer of its contents. Then I pulled the drawer off of its tracks so that I could assess the damage. The picture below is a picture of a drawer like my drawer, but it isn't mine exactly (I didn't have the foresight to know I would be blogging about this, so I didn't take a picture).
As you can see, the bottom of the drawer has to fit into the grooved sides. Mine had popped out at the back right corner, so I had to pop it back into the grooves if I wanted the drawer to hold anything. I tried to pop it back in, but the bottom of the drawer was half in and half out of the grooves so it wouldn't budge. I tried pounding on it, but no luck. Of course, by this time everyone in the room was watching me, and about seven of my students were crowded around my desk. Usually I would have sternly chastised them and told them to sit down and get to work, but I was on a mission to repair my drawer. My arm strength wasn't working, but guess what? Legs are stronger than arms! So when one of my kids said, "Mrs. Webb, what if you stomp it back into place?" I decided to try it. Yes, I realize I was taking carpentry advice from a ten-year-old. It was a volatile situation, okay? Stop judging me.
So I flipped the drawer upside-down and tried to (carefully) smash the bottom of the drawer back into place. What neither I nor my ten-year-old student had accounted for was the fact that I was wearing high-heeled boots today. High-heeled boots with a nice skinny heel. Guess what happened? YEP! My heel went straight through the cheaply constructed board and stabbed a hole in the bottom of my drawer.
A collective gasp sounded across the room. The students looked at me, waiting for my reaction to see what they should do. I did what any professional teacher would have done in this situation - I started cracking up. Once they had "permission" to laugh, the kids started laughing too.
"See, kids? What did we learn today? Don't try to fix something if you don't know how to do it, and also high heels are evil."
Personally, I think that's a pretty valuable lesson. Also, I patched up the hole (kinda), finally got the drawer to pop back in, and put it back in my desk. The hole is in the back corner of the drawer, so probably no one will notice it. Probably... And if anyone does notice it, they are going to be very confused as to how it got there. I don't think many teachers put holes in their desks. I'll just blame the rats.
Oh yeah, and I did it in front of all of my students. It wasn't my finest hour, but I figured it would make a good blog post.
It all started when I was having writing conferences with my students. They would come up to my desk, and I would help them edit the stories they are currently working on. I tried to open the top drawer of my desk to grab a colored pen, but my desk drawer was jammed. Blast! This had happened once before, but that was earlier this year when Rex was helping me set up my room before school started. At that time he jiggled the drawer a few times and forced it open, so I figured maybe that would work for me too.
Bad idea, Mrs. Webb.
I jiggled the drawer a few times and jerked it really hard (which obviously meant I now had the attention of everyone in the room). The drawer opened...but only because I broke it. The bottom fell out and all of my stuff started tumbling to the floor. I hurried to pick it up, and I ended up emptying the entire drawer of its contents. Then I pulled the drawer off of its tracks so that I could assess the damage. The picture below is a picture of a drawer like my drawer, but it isn't mine exactly (I didn't have the foresight to know I would be blogging about this, so I didn't take a picture).
As you can see, the bottom of the drawer has to fit into the grooved sides. Mine had popped out at the back right corner, so I had to pop it back into the grooves if I wanted the drawer to hold anything. I tried to pop it back in, but the bottom of the drawer was half in and half out of the grooves so it wouldn't budge. I tried pounding on it, but no luck. Of course, by this time everyone in the room was watching me, and about seven of my students were crowded around my desk. Usually I would have sternly chastised them and told them to sit down and get to work, but I was on a mission to repair my drawer. My arm strength wasn't working, but guess what? Legs are stronger than arms! So when one of my kids said, "Mrs. Webb, what if you stomp it back into place?" I decided to try it. Yes, I realize I was taking carpentry advice from a ten-year-old. It was a volatile situation, okay? Stop judging me.
So I flipped the drawer upside-down and tried to (carefully) smash the bottom of the drawer back into place. What neither I nor my ten-year-old student had accounted for was the fact that I was wearing high-heeled boots today. High-heeled boots with a nice skinny heel. Guess what happened? YEP! My heel went straight through the cheaply constructed board and stabbed a hole in the bottom of my drawer.
A collective gasp sounded across the room. The students looked at me, waiting for my reaction to see what they should do. I did what any professional teacher would have done in this situation - I started cracking up. Once they had "permission" to laugh, the kids started laughing too.
"See, kids? What did we learn today? Don't try to fix something if you don't know how to do it, and also high heels are evil."
Personally, I think that's a pretty valuable lesson. Also, I patched up the hole (kinda), finally got the drawer to pop back in, and put it back in my desk. The hole is in the back corner of the drawer, so probably no one will notice it. Probably... And if anyone does notice it, they are going to be very confused as to how it got there. I don't think many teachers put holes in their desks. I'll just blame the rats.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Oh, Rats
The rats got out of their cage.
How did they get out of their cage? No idea. I just know that I came into work and saw that their cage was open. Furthermore, they had proceeded to chew on everything possible. My internet cord was chewed through, one of my kids' art projects was destroyed, two of my promotional posters for The Elsie Files were shredded in their cage, and a box of Kleenex was emptied so that they could make a nest in it. They did this all in one night. Do you want to know the best part? When I gasped in dismay, both of the rats poked their heads out of their hut as if to say, "Good morning, how are you?" They had apparently spent the night traveling around my room destroying everything, but once they got tired of that they just curled up in their cage again. I suppose we can see the bright side in this - at least I didn't spend my morning chasing them down and trying to find them.
And I guess that kid had a great excuse for art class: "The teacher's rats ate my homework." Oh geez. At least it wasn't anything too time consuming or critical. She wasn't upset. *phew!*
The funniest part to me was that the rats ate an entire red colored pencil. Specifically, they shredded the wood into shavings that they put in their nest, and then they ate the red part in the center. It's been two days now, and their poop is still BRIGHT red, like tiny little holly berries littered around their cage. If I weren't so annoyed with them I would actually consider it kind of festive. I don't know how they haven't died. They ate a magnet, a colored pencil, an internet cord, and an assortment of other weird stuff from around the room. I swear I feed them...so why are they eating all of my stuff?? Also, HOW DO THEY KEEP GETTING OUT OF THEIR CAGE?! This is the second time it's happened this year. I feel like I should take them out of the classroom to prevent further destruction, but if I bring them home then they will escape once and become cat food (literally). That seems like it would be kind of traumatizing for me.
I guess with all of the other drama going on at my school, destruction of school property by the class pet is pretty low on the list of things to deal with. In case you need to catch up on the drama you've been missing... Quest has been on the news three times now. Check out the videos if you want: http://search.journalbroadcastgroup.com/ktnv.aspx?k=quest%20academy
My rats are never even mentioned; those sneaky little buggers.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Elsie Files
My book The Elsie Files has a national release date of February 5, 2013, but I pre-ordered 100 copies to sell to my friends and family. This has been a lot of fun, as I can personally sign each book I sell. I have sold quite a few books to my students. It is an indescribably good feeling to tell students to "pull out their silent reading books" and see kids pull out something written by ME. I have had a few different reactions to the book, so I figure I will tell you about some of them here:
1. I almost had to take away the book from one girl because she wouldn't stop reading it during math class. After the second time I told her to put it down, she said that really it's my fault that she can't pay attention in math. If I would have made the book a bit more boring, she would be able to put it away. Ha ha... Interesting argument there. I still made her put it away, but I was a little flattered.
2. One girl came up to me the morning after she bought the book and said, "Mrs. Webb, your book is the BEST book I've ever read. I am allowed to stay up until 8:30 reading, and I couldn't stop until 8:42! I would highly recommend that every child read your book. Even the children in China." I'm not sure why specifically the Chinese kids got a shout-out there, but oh well. I would totally sell them books if they wanted them.
3. One of my boys bought two books. When I went to sign them, he said, "Could you please sign one of them to me, but in the other one just write your name? See, one of them is for me to read, and the other one I am going to wrap up to keep it in mint condition. That way, when you're really famous, I'll have a signed, mint-condition first edition copy of your first book. It's how I'm going to become rich." BWAHAHAHAHAHA! I really appreciate his faith in my writing abilities.
4. One girl came up to me and said, "Mrs. Webb, I'm so glad that I'm in your class. It's so fun to rub it in my friends' faces that MY teacher is a real author and THEIRS isn't. Ha ha! I win."
5. I have been especially humbled by the students who used their own money to buy my book. A couple of them are still saving up ($10 is a lot when you're in fifth grade). I don't know how many authors get their books purchased using all coins, but I have now sold two books that way. I have no idea what I'm going to do with all of those quarters and dimes.
6. At recess I came across three girls reading my book. I asked them how they were liking it so far, and they said they love it. Furthermore, they have named themselves the "Elsie Files Fan Club." SWEET! I HAVE A FAN CLUB! Now I've truly made it in life.
7. One of my boys came up to me and said, "Mrs. Webb, your book is actually really funny." It was as if he was truly surprised that teachers could be funny. I think I earned a little bit more of his respect that day.
Anyway, it's been a fun experience to be a "real" author. I am excited to do book signings and sell my books to strangers, but I don't think anything is going to be as satisfying as seeing how much my students enjoy it. It was worth every second of work that I put into it.
If you don't have your copy yet, order one today!
1. I almost had to take away the book from one girl because she wouldn't stop reading it during math class. After the second time I told her to put it down, she said that really it's my fault that she can't pay attention in math. If I would have made the book a bit more boring, she would be able to put it away. Ha ha... Interesting argument there. I still made her put it away, but I was a little flattered.
2. One girl came up to me the morning after she bought the book and said, "Mrs. Webb, your book is the BEST book I've ever read. I am allowed to stay up until 8:30 reading, and I couldn't stop until 8:42! I would highly recommend that every child read your book. Even the children in China." I'm not sure why specifically the Chinese kids got a shout-out there, but oh well. I would totally sell them books if they wanted them.
3. One of my boys bought two books. When I went to sign them, he said, "Could you please sign one of them to me, but in the other one just write your name? See, one of them is for me to read, and the other one I am going to wrap up to keep it in mint condition. That way, when you're really famous, I'll have a signed, mint-condition first edition copy of your first book. It's how I'm going to become rich." BWAHAHAHAHAHA! I really appreciate his faith in my writing abilities.
4. One girl came up to me and said, "Mrs. Webb, I'm so glad that I'm in your class. It's so fun to rub it in my friends' faces that MY teacher is a real author and THEIRS isn't. Ha ha! I win."
5. I have been especially humbled by the students who used their own money to buy my book. A couple of them are still saving up ($10 is a lot when you're in fifth grade). I don't know how many authors get their books purchased using all coins, but I have now sold two books that way. I have no idea what I'm going to do with all of those quarters and dimes.
6. At recess I came across three girls reading my book. I asked them how they were liking it so far, and they said they love it. Furthermore, they have named themselves the "Elsie Files Fan Club." SWEET! I HAVE A FAN CLUB! Now I've truly made it in life.
7. One of my boys came up to me and said, "Mrs. Webb, your book is actually really funny." It was as if he was truly surprised that teachers could be funny. I think I earned a little bit more of his respect that day.
Anyway, it's been a fun experience to be a "real" author. I am excited to do book signings and sell my books to strangers, but I don't think anything is going to be as satisfying as seeing how much my students enjoy it. It was worth every second of work that I put into it.
If you don't have your copy yet, order one today!
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Free Turkey
Rex and I were shopping at WinCo yesterday, enjoying our supply of low-priced grocery options, when I saw the following sign: "Happy Thanksgiving from WinCo! Spend $100 and receive a FREE TURKEY!" I gazed at the hastily scribbled grocery list that I clutched in my hand. I did some quick mental math, and I realized that Rex and I had just over $100 in groceries to buy. I pointed out the sign to Rex, and he got excited. "Whoo hoo! A free turkey!" he exclaimed. He forgot the fact that I'm not his mother or his grandmother, and I can't just whip up a delicious Thanksgiving turkey at the drop of a hat. I ducked into a nearby produce aisle and tried to call my mother-in-law for advice on what I should buy to cook this turkey, but she didn't answer. Blast! I went back to Rex and said, "I mean, we don't really NEED a turkey...maybe we don't have the freezer space..." Rex gave me a look like I had just suggested we don't celebrate Christmas this year. "Ummm...are you kidding me?! It's a FREE TURKEY! We HAVE to get it!" Okay, I really can't argue with that. How can I pass up a FREE turkey? Since I'm horribly inept at cooking complicated recipes (of which a homemade turkey must top that list), I started contemplating what to do with our free bird carcass. Here is what I came up with:
WHAT TO DO WHEN THE GROCERY STORE GIVES YOU A FREE FROZEN TURKEY
1. Attempt to cook it - bad idea, as this could result in burning down your apartment.
2. Take it ice fishing - You can throw it onto the ice, and the weight of the frozen turkey will splash through and make the hole in the ice where you can then go fishing.
3. Give it to a homeless guy - This idea sounds good until you realize that it's actually kind of mean unless the next person to come along is going to give the homeless guy an oven.
4. Take it turkey hunting and use it as a decoy - Maybe the turkeys will come to investigate and/or grieve for their fallen brother. Then - BANG! - you can shoot the turkey. Except then you just end up with two dead turkeys. Never mind. Bad idea.
5. Use it as a murder weapon - It's the perfect crime. You COOK the murder weapon after you use it to bludgeon someone to death, and then you EAT it. No evidence.
6. Videotape your dog trying to gnaw on the turkey that's bigger than him - Go win $10,000 on America's Funniest Home Videos
7. Put it in your bed on hot nights - it will keep you cool.
8. Put it in a bird cage and try to convince your fifth graders that it's alive - Ten bucks says I could actually convince some of them.
9. Sit on it for that extra boost of height at the movie theater when an annoying tall guy is sitting in front of you - Bring a blanket to put over it, though, because otherwise your butt will get really cold.
10. Throw it through a car window in a random act of vandalism - Mostly because I really want to see the police report that says, "Suspect is charged with throwing a frozen turkey through a window."
See? The possibilities are endless. Half of our freezer is now filled with this turkey, and I'm still not sure what we're going to do with it. Maybe there is a choice #11 - fly your mother-in-law out to Vegas to cook the darn thing for you. But then again, that would be so expensive that it would really defeat the purpose of getting the free turkey.
Curses, Winco. Why are you making my life so complicated?!
WHAT TO DO WHEN THE GROCERY STORE GIVES YOU A FREE FROZEN TURKEY
1. Attempt to cook it - bad idea, as this could result in burning down your apartment.
2. Take it ice fishing - You can throw it onto the ice, and the weight of the frozen turkey will splash through and make the hole in the ice where you can then go fishing.
3. Give it to a homeless guy - This idea sounds good until you realize that it's actually kind of mean unless the next person to come along is going to give the homeless guy an oven.
4. Take it turkey hunting and use it as a decoy - Maybe the turkeys will come to investigate and/or grieve for their fallen brother. Then - BANG! - you can shoot the turkey. Except then you just end up with two dead turkeys. Never mind. Bad idea.
5. Use it as a murder weapon - It's the perfect crime. You COOK the murder weapon after you use it to bludgeon someone to death, and then you EAT it. No evidence.
6. Videotape your dog trying to gnaw on the turkey that's bigger than him - Go win $10,000 on America's Funniest Home Videos
7. Put it in your bed on hot nights - it will keep you cool.
8. Put it in a bird cage and try to convince your fifth graders that it's alive - Ten bucks says I could actually convince some of them.
9. Sit on it for that extra boost of height at the movie theater when an annoying tall guy is sitting in front of you - Bring a blanket to put over it, though, because otherwise your butt will get really cold.
10. Throw it through a car window in a random act of vandalism - Mostly because I really want to see the police report that says, "Suspect is charged with throwing a frozen turkey through a window."
See? The possibilities are endless. Half of our freezer is now filled with this turkey, and I'm still not sure what we're going to do with it. Maybe there is a choice #11 - fly your mother-in-law out to Vegas to cook the darn thing for you. But then again, that would be so expensive that it would really defeat the purpose of getting the free turkey.
Curses, Winco. Why are you making my life so complicated?!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
My Life as a Character in Law and Order
I can't believe it's been almost a month since I've blogged. That is so sad, and I apologize to my loyal readers (if any of you are left, lol). There has been a lot going on at school. A LOT. So much that I can't even write out the details for fear that I will be implicated in having knowledge that I'm not supposed to have. Creepy, huh? Does it feel strangely CSI to you? Law and Order, perhaps? Well, it does to me too. When your life is a crime show, you don't have much time to blog. Hopefully it will all be over soon, though. There is a good chance that my school might get shut down (AHHHHH!), but I'll deal with that if/when it happens. I've been applying for a few other jobs, but I hope it doesn't come to that.
Besides all of the drama, school has been okay. The administration sent me to Colorado for a conference, so that was fun! I went with my friend Terri (4th grade teacher). It snowed while we were there. She was freaking out because, as a Las Vegas native, she hardly ever sees snow. It was fun to make fun of her, and we made a snowman on the side of the highway. We ate delicious food and stayed in a fancy hotel. I love conferences.
Okay hmmm...what else has happened? Oh, I know! I got a release date for my book! The Elsie Files will be hitting bookshelves on February 5, 2013. Yay! I am getting a bunch of copies sent to me at my apartment, so I will be able to sell copies before then. I want to get my students to buy copies before our school potentially shuts down. *stressful sigh*
I won't let it be weeks before I blog again. Scout's honor.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Flower Girl
Last weekend I flew home to Michigan to be in a wedding. My best friend from kindergarten got married. Who could have guessed that when I was five years old and I asked if she needed help cutting the orange top off her Elmer's glue, a beautiful friendship would fluorish? Cool!
Anyway, it was absolutely wonderful to be back in Michigan. The trees were all fall colors (something I haven't seen in two years), and the air was cool and crisp ("but not 'fried chicken' cripsy," as Cara would tell you). My mom and sister came to Ann Arbor, and we had a blast having a girls' weekend. We got a fun hotel, did a lot of shopping (where I was TOTALLY spoiled by my mom!), and split a jar of pickles and a box of zebra cakes at midnight on Saturday. These are the little things in life that you never forget. I will also never forget watching my 17 year-old sister teaching my mom how to "Wobble." I have it on video, but my mom made me promise noto to put it online. Come to think of it, maybe that's why she spoiled me so much... ha ha! What can I say? Bribes work. I'm not showing you the video.
With that said, the true purpose of this post is to tell you about my new best friend. She's five years old, and her name is Kylan. She was the flower girl in Betsy's wedding, and I guess she decided that she liked me because she glued herself to my side for the entire time. I was trying to spend time with my mom and sister, but she kept saying, "Christine! Come here! I gotta show you something!" and then she would pull on my dress until I went with her to go see whatever thing is was that she "had" to show me. It was usually something really awkward like, "Look! That guy's name is RICK!" At which point Rick would look at me quizically, and I would apologize and drag Kylan away.
The climax of the awkwardness with Kylan came at the reception. Her mom was who-knows-where, and her dad was about to pray to bless the food. Kylan chose that moment to pull on my dress and whisper, "Christine...I have to go potty!" I leaned down and whispered, "We're about to pray, can you wait?" She agreed. About two words into the prayer, though, I felt a small tug on my dress again. I looked down at her, and Kylan's white dress was all poofed out because she was trying to grab at her underwear. She looked at me desparately and said, "I can't hold it...." I looked around frantically for a bathroom, but I couldn't find one. I couldn't ask anyone because I didn't want to interrupt the prayer. I grabbed Kylan and raced upstairs to the deli that was located above the reception hall. I went to the first worker I saw and said, "I've got a five year old here who really has to go." (Kylan was bouncing and making whiny noises in the background). The deli person was confused. "Isn't there a bathroom downstairs?" "Yes, probably..." I replied, "but they're praying and I don't know where it is!" "Oh my!" declared the worker, realizing that she was probably about to have pee all over her floor. She hurried us to the deli bathroom.
I tried to stand outside while Kylan went, but she pulled me inside. "Christine, I need your help!!" Oh, great. So I ran inside and was about to help Kylan lift up her dress, but she insisted that I had to take the entire thing off. Ummm...okay. So I found myself standing in a bathroom stall with a butt-naked five year old that I had only met a few hours earlier. That didn't seem sketchy or awkward... Kylan finished doing her business and asked me to help get her dress back on. I said okay. As I bent down to zip up her dress, Kylan giggled and said, "Oops, I just farted on you. Sorry!" Good heavens. I am SO never having kids.
I took Kylan back downstairs and explained to her mother why her daughter had mysteriously disappeared. The mom seemed unfazed, responding with "No problem. I figured she was with you somewhere." I bet the mom was just happy that it wasn't her day to get farted on. :-/
Now I am safely back in Vegas, 2,000 miles away from the adorable and exasperating Kylan. Phew!
Anyway, it was absolutely wonderful to be back in Michigan. The trees were all fall colors (something I haven't seen in two years), and the air was cool and crisp ("but not 'fried chicken' cripsy," as Cara would tell you). My mom and sister came to Ann Arbor, and we had a blast having a girls' weekend. We got a fun hotel, did a lot of shopping (where I was TOTALLY spoiled by my mom!), and split a jar of pickles and a box of zebra cakes at midnight on Saturday. These are the little things in life that you never forget. I will also never forget watching my 17 year-old sister teaching my mom how to "Wobble." I have it on video, but my mom made me promise noto to put it online. Come to think of it, maybe that's why she spoiled me so much... ha ha! What can I say? Bribes work. I'm not showing you the video.
With that said, the true purpose of this post is to tell you about my new best friend. She's five years old, and her name is Kylan. She was the flower girl in Betsy's wedding, and I guess she decided that she liked me because she glued herself to my side for the entire time. I was trying to spend time with my mom and sister, but she kept saying, "Christine! Come here! I gotta show you something!" and then she would pull on my dress until I went with her to go see whatever thing is was that she "had" to show me. It was usually something really awkward like, "Look! That guy's name is RICK!" At which point Rick would look at me quizically, and I would apologize and drag Kylan away.
The climax of the awkwardness with Kylan came at the reception. Her mom was who-knows-where, and her dad was about to pray to bless the food. Kylan chose that moment to pull on my dress and whisper, "Christine...I have to go potty!" I leaned down and whispered, "We're about to pray, can you wait?" She agreed. About two words into the prayer, though, I felt a small tug on my dress again. I looked down at her, and Kylan's white dress was all poofed out because she was trying to grab at her underwear. She looked at me desparately and said, "I can't hold it...." I looked around frantically for a bathroom, but I couldn't find one. I couldn't ask anyone because I didn't want to interrupt the prayer. I grabbed Kylan and raced upstairs to the deli that was located above the reception hall. I went to the first worker I saw and said, "I've got a five year old here who really has to go." (Kylan was bouncing and making whiny noises in the background). The deli person was confused. "Isn't there a bathroom downstairs?" "Yes, probably..." I replied, "but they're praying and I don't know where it is!" "Oh my!" declared the worker, realizing that she was probably about to have pee all over her floor. She hurried us to the deli bathroom.
I tried to stand outside while Kylan went, but she pulled me inside. "Christine, I need your help!!" Oh, great. So I ran inside and was about to help Kylan lift up her dress, but she insisted that I had to take the entire thing off. Ummm...okay. So I found myself standing in a bathroom stall with a butt-naked five year old that I had only met a few hours earlier. That didn't seem sketchy or awkward... Kylan finished doing her business and asked me to help get her dress back on. I said okay. As I bent down to zip up her dress, Kylan giggled and said, "Oops, I just farted on you. Sorry!" Good heavens. I am SO never having kids.
I took Kylan back downstairs and explained to her mother why her daughter had mysteriously disappeared. The mom seemed unfazed, responding with "No problem. I figured she was with you somewhere." I bet the mom was just happy that it wasn't her day to get farted on. :-/
Now I am safely back in Vegas, 2,000 miles away from the adorable and exasperating Kylan. Phew!
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Big Day!
Well, friends, today is a big day for me: the book I've been writing for the past year finally made it to the print stage! I got my copy in the mail to look over, and then once I approve it the book will be printed and distributed nationwide! Whooooooo hooooo! *happy dance*
You might say to yourself, "Why is Christine writing a blog when she should be out celebrating? She should be eating at a fancy restaurant and letting the champagne flow! Months of work are paying off!"
Yeah, well...no one is here to celebrate with me. I don't want to go out to dinner by myself. Plus, even if I did want to, I don't have a car. I'll just have to celebrate on my official release date, when the book hits bookstores.
For today, though, I'm finding my own ways to celebrate. For example: I showed Elvis the book. I don't think he really realized what a huge deal this is for me, even though I told him. Once I held a treat up by the book, he began to show more appropriate levels of excitement. Good boy. We danced around the kitchen together.
I am seriously considering taking my book down to the front office and showing it to the people who work at the front desk. They seem nice enough. I bet they would be excited for me. Maybe I could even get a discount on next month's rent if I promise to put something complimentary about these apartments in my next novel. Hmmmm... I'm going to be a best-selling author someday. They should get in good with me while they can. Maybe when I'm really famous, my apartment will be a museum exhibit or something. Kind of like how people travel from all over to see the cafe where JK Rowling wrote the Harry Potter books (I bet that cafe owner is PUMPED about that, ha ha.)
I know, I know. I didn't write Harry Potter. I wrote 149 pages of juvenile fiction about my cat. Still, it's a start, right?? Hmmmmm?? BE HAPPY FOR ME!
Aw, screw it. I don't care who is happy for me. I'M HAPPY FOR ME!!! WHOOOO HOOOOO!!! GO ME!!!
Today is a good day.
You might say to yourself, "Why is Christine writing a blog when she should be out celebrating? She should be eating at a fancy restaurant and letting the champagne flow! Months of work are paying off!"
Yeah, well...no one is here to celebrate with me. I don't want to go out to dinner by myself. Plus, even if I did want to, I don't have a car. I'll just have to celebrate on my official release date, when the book hits bookstores.
For today, though, I'm finding my own ways to celebrate. For example: I showed Elvis the book. I don't think he really realized what a huge deal this is for me, even though I told him. Once I held a treat up by the book, he began to show more appropriate levels of excitement. Good boy. We danced around the kitchen together.
I am seriously considering taking my book down to the front office and showing it to the people who work at the front desk. They seem nice enough. I bet they would be excited for me. Maybe I could even get a discount on next month's rent if I promise to put something complimentary about these apartments in my next novel. Hmmmm... I'm going to be a best-selling author someday. They should get in good with me while they can. Maybe when I'm really famous, my apartment will be a museum exhibit or something. Kind of like how people travel from all over to see the cafe where JK Rowling wrote the Harry Potter books (I bet that cafe owner is PUMPED about that, ha ha.)
I know, I know. I didn't write Harry Potter. I wrote 149 pages of juvenile fiction about my cat. Still, it's a start, right?? Hmmmmm?? BE HAPPY FOR ME!
Aw, screw it. I don't care who is happy for me. I'M HAPPY FOR ME!!! WHOOOO HOOOOO!!! GO ME!!!
Today is a good day.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Alone
Okay friends, it's official: I'm not good at living alone.
I said goodbye to my husband this morning, and it was super sad. He's moving to Reno until October 26 so that he can do a clinical rotation. It's a necessary step on our way to being "Dr. and Mrs. Webb," but I don't like it.
I felt so pathetic standing out there by the suburban, tearing up as I said goodbye. I wore some chunky sunglasses to hide it, but a pesky tear escaped the sanctuary of my plastic sunglass-shield. "Are you crying?" asked Rex. "Don't cry - you're going to be fine!" He wiped the tear off of my cheek and pulled me in for another hug.
I spent a bit of time feeling stupid. I mean, people have spouses in the military who are deployed for a year at a time, and I'm crying over a month....that's dumb. But you know what? I decided something: being away from my best friend for a month STINKS, and there's no way around that. It's just going to be sad, and it's okay that I'm sad about it.
Another reason I'm sad is this: I don't know how to live alone! I really don't. In the six years that Rex and I have been together, the longest we've been apart was for ten days when I went to Australia. It feels really weird to be without him. For example, I set out to cook lunch and realized that I don't know how to cook for one person. I'm used to cooking for five people (one person is me and the other four are all Rex...he eats a lot). How do you cook for just one? It seems depressing.
Then I went to go clean up our bedroom, and I started thinking - what am I going to wear to bed tonight? My extensive collection of silky lingerie seems pretty dumb to wear when it's just me and the cat sleeping in the bed, but I don't know if I even have "normal" pajamas anymore. I mean, what's the point of pajamas again? Why don't I just sleep in my everyday clothes? I guess maybe I'll wear gym clothes to be comfy... Hmmm...
Also, there's our beagle Elvis. As soon as Rex left, Elvis started running around the apartment sniffing for him. He looked at me as if to say, "Umm...you both went outside, so how come only you came back?" It's no secret that Rex and Elvis have a special connection, so I'm pretty sure that Elvis is bummed to be stuck with only me. I tried to warm Elvis up to the idea of living just the two of us by letting him lick the dirty dishes before I washed them, but it was a bit anticlimactic because my favorite part of doing that is when Rex sees Elvis licking the dishes and says, "Christine! What are you doing?! He can't eat people food! And it's nasty to let him lick off of our dishes! Ewwwwww!" And then we have a flirty fight about how to "raise our dog" correctly. Today, though, no one was there to yell at me. It made me even sadder.
To cheer myself up, I decided to go try on my bridesmaid's dress for the wedding I'm in next weekend. After all, I bought the dress in July so I figured I should probably make sure that it still fits. It's a really pretty dress that I will actually wear again (I've been tempted to wear it quite a few times since I bought it, but I figure it's rude to wear it before the wedding). It's hard to feel sad when you're wearing a pretty dress, so I put it on. As soon as I put it on, I ran into a problem. Explain this one to me, you live-aloners: How are you supposed to get a zipper unstuck if you live alone?!?! Is my DOG supposed to get it unstuck for me? Do I walk down to my old-man neighbor while I'm half-dressed and ask him to get me out of this situation? I pretty much hopped around my room looking ridiculous until I got my zipper unstuck. Good news, though: the dress still fits. The zipper just stinks.
Rex bought me a bouquet of lilies yesterday, and they are gorgeous. I came home from school and they were sitting on the counter. Rex told me that the lilies should stay alive for about two weeks, and when they die he'll send me some new ones. Then, by the time those die, he'll be home. So really he's not going to be long for too long: just two lily lifetimes. It was really sweet and romantic, but it makes me miss him even more every time I see the lilies.
Isn't this pathetic?! It's a month. ONE MONTH! I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and realize that lots of people are separated for way longer than that. I've always suspected that Rex and I are more in love than a lot of other couples, though, so that makes it harder... Life seems like a two-person job. I don't like trying to do it alone.
Hurry home, Rex. I miss you.
I said goodbye to my husband this morning, and it was super sad. He's moving to Reno until October 26 so that he can do a clinical rotation. It's a necessary step on our way to being "Dr. and Mrs. Webb," but I don't like it.
I felt so pathetic standing out there by the suburban, tearing up as I said goodbye. I wore some chunky sunglasses to hide it, but a pesky tear escaped the sanctuary of my plastic sunglass-shield. "Are you crying?" asked Rex. "Don't cry - you're going to be fine!" He wiped the tear off of my cheek and pulled me in for another hug.
I spent a bit of time feeling stupid. I mean, people have spouses in the military who are deployed for a year at a time, and I'm crying over a month....that's dumb. But you know what? I decided something: being away from my best friend for a month STINKS, and there's no way around that. It's just going to be sad, and it's okay that I'm sad about it.
Another reason I'm sad is this: I don't know how to live alone! I really don't. In the six years that Rex and I have been together, the longest we've been apart was for ten days when I went to Australia. It feels really weird to be without him. For example, I set out to cook lunch and realized that I don't know how to cook for one person. I'm used to cooking for five people (one person is me and the other four are all Rex...he eats a lot). How do you cook for just one? It seems depressing.
Then I went to go clean up our bedroom, and I started thinking - what am I going to wear to bed tonight? My extensive collection of silky lingerie seems pretty dumb to wear when it's just me and the cat sleeping in the bed, but I don't know if I even have "normal" pajamas anymore. I mean, what's the point of pajamas again? Why don't I just sleep in my everyday clothes? I guess maybe I'll wear gym clothes to be comfy... Hmmm...
Also, there's our beagle Elvis. As soon as Rex left, Elvis started running around the apartment sniffing for him. He looked at me as if to say, "Umm...you both went outside, so how come only you came back?" It's no secret that Rex and Elvis have a special connection, so I'm pretty sure that Elvis is bummed to be stuck with only me. I tried to warm Elvis up to the idea of living just the two of us by letting him lick the dirty dishes before I washed them, but it was a bit anticlimactic because my favorite part of doing that is when Rex sees Elvis licking the dishes and says, "Christine! What are you doing?! He can't eat people food! And it's nasty to let him lick off of our dishes! Ewwwwww!" And then we have a flirty fight about how to "raise our dog" correctly. Today, though, no one was there to yell at me. It made me even sadder.
To cheer myself up, I decided to go try on my bridesmaid's dress for the wedding I'm in next weekend. After all, I bought the dress in July so I figured I should probably make sure that it still fits. It's a really pretty dress that I will actually wear again (I've been tempted to wear it quite a few times since I bought it, but I figure it's rude to wear it before the wedding). It's hard to feel sad when you're wearing a pretty dress, so I put it on. As soon as I put it on, I ran into a problem. Explain this one to me, you live-aloners: How are you supposed to get a zipper unstuck if you live alone?!?! Is my DOG supposed to get it unstuck for me? Do I walk down to my old-man neighbor while I'm half-dressed and ask him to get me out of this situation? I pretty much hopped around my room looking ridiculous until I got my zipper unstuck. Good news, though: the dress still fits. The zipper just stinks.
Rex bought me a bouquet of lilies yesterday, and they are gorgeous. I came home from school and they were sitting on the counter. Rex told me that the lilies should stay alive for about two weeks, and when they die he'll send me some new ones. Then, by the time those die, he'll be home. So really he's not going to be long for too long: just two lily lifetimes. It was really sweet and romantic, but it makes me miss him even more every time I see the lilies.
Isn't this pathetic?! It's a month. ONE MONTH! I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and realize that lots of people are separated for way longer than that. I've always suspected that Rex and I are more in love than a lot of other couples, though, so that makes it harder... Life seems like a two-person job. I don't like trying to do it alone.
Hurry home, Rex. I miss you.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
E-Stim
I wasn't really nervous until we were walking out to the car and Rex said, "Wait! I forgot my electrodes!" and ran back upstairs to get them.
Rex needed his electrodes because my back was hurting me. Rex, in his physical therapy brilliance, said that he could easily fix it with something called "E-Stim." We had to go to his school to use the machine.
"E-Stim" stands for "Electrical Stimulation." Apparently something about putting electricity through the appropriate muscles makes them loosen up and not hurt anymore or something. I figured it was worth a try.
So we got to Rex's school and he pulled out the crazy looking E-Stim machine. It looked like a weird robot with tentacle arms that Rex was ready to hook up to my body. Ummm...eeeeeek.
We went into an empty classroom, and Rex started getting the machine ready for the procedure. He started monitoring the levels of electrical activity, and I started getting nervous. I forced a small laugh and wondered aloud, "Isn't electricity what the government uses to execute people? I mean, is this procedure...safe? My back doesn't hurt so badly that I want to die." He answered with a dismissive "You're fine" and pretty much ignored me because he was still setting up. I couldn't tell if this made me more or less nervous.
As he was setting up, I had visions of future front page headlines: "CHRISTINE WEBB'S BODY FOUND; DEATH DEEMED 'MYSTERIOUS.'" I thought back to earlier that day, earlier that week, and earlier that year. Had I done anything to make Rex particularly angry? I didn't think so. I figured he didn't bring me to his deserted school on a Friday night to kill me. I mean.....probably.
I trusted Rex enough to let him hook the electrodes up on me, confident that if I died the murder would be accidental. He had me lie down on a table, and he taped the crazy wires to my back. Okay, he didn't actually "tape" them with tape, but I don't know the technical term for "sticky material that makes the electrodes stick to you." Whatever that is, he used that.
Once I was all hooked up to his Frankenstein machine, he started turning up the electrical pulses. He told me to tell him when I started "feeling it." What?! What was THAT supposed to mean? What was I supposed to feel? Was I going to start twitching uncontrollably like a person hooked up to electricity in a mad scientist's lab? I pictured this and wished I hadn't. Was it going to burn? Was it going to sting? I started thinking that maybe this was a bad idea after all.
Suddenly an odd sensation started spreading over my back. It felt prickly, like your foot feels when it falls asleep. But everyone knows that your back doesn't fall asleep, so it felt really weird. I wasn't at all sure that I liked it.
After a few minutes of this, I told Rex that I was done. He said that I couldn't be done until the machine said I was. Are you kidding me? Doctors these days are taking their orders from machines? Our world is going to be run by robots pretty soon, like Ray Bradbury and George Orwell have always predicted. Does no one read old-days science fiction any more?! We must stop this madness! I wanted to rip the electrodes off of me and run screaming from the building, but I figured that was probably a bad idea.
Finally, after what felt like years (but was apparently only fifteen minutes), the machine told me I was "done." Specifically, it let off a mechanical melody that sounded almost exactly like the little song at the end of each Super Mario Brothers level when Mario jumps up to grab the flag. It was oddly cheery yet vindictive, and I found myself glaring at the machine.
Rex made me do a couple stretches, and then we went home. I have to admit, the whole experience kind of freaked me out. Technology is getting weird. At least Rex didn't use too much electricity and kill me, though, so I had that to be thankful for. Also, the Mario Machine ended up totally fixing my back. I woke up the next morning completely pain free. Cool!
Rex needed his electrodes because my back was hurting me. Rex, in his physical therapy brilliance, said that he could easily fix it with something called "E-Stim." We had to go to his school to use the machine.
"E-Stim" stands for "Electrical Stimulation." Apparently something about putting electricity through the appropriate muscles makes them loosen up and not hurt anymore or something. I figured it was worth a try.
So we got to Rex's school and he pulled out the crazy looking E-Stim machine. It looked like a weird robot with tentacle arms that Rex was ready to hook up to my body. Ummm...eeeeeek.
We went into an empty classroom, and Rex started getting the machine ready for the procedure. He started monitoring the levels of electrical activity, and I started getting nervous. I forced a small laugh and wondered aloud, "Isn't electricity what the government uses to execute people? I mean, is this procedure...safe? My back doesn't hurt so badly that I want to die." He answered with a dismissive "You're fine" and pretty much ignored me because he was still setting up. I couldn't tell if this made me more or less nervous.
As he was setting up, I had visions of future front page headlines: "CHRISTINE WEBB'S BODY FOUND; DEATH DEEMED 'MYSTERIOUS.'" I thought back to earlier that day, earlier that week, and earlier that year. Had I done anything to make Rex particularly angry? I didn't think so. I figured he didn't bring me to his deserted school on a Friday night to kill me. I mean.....probably.
I trusted Rex enough to let him hook the electrodes up on me, confident that if I died the murder would be accidental. He had me lie down on a table, and he taped the crazy wires to my back. Okay, he didn't actually "tape" them with tape, but I don't know the technical term for "sticky material that makes the electrodes stick to you." Whatever that is, he used that.
Once I was all hooked up to his Frankenstein machine, he started turning up the electrical pulses. He told me to tell him when I started "feeling it." What?! What was THAT supposed to mean? What was I supposed to feel? Was I going to start twitching uncontrollably like a person hooked up to electricity in a mad scientist's lab? I pictured this and wished I hadn't. Was it going to burn? Was it going to sting? I started thinking that maybe this was a bad idea after all.
Suddenly an odd sensation started spreading over my back. It felt prickly, like your foot feels when it falls asleep. But everyone knows that your back doesn't fall asleep, so it felt really weird. I wasn't at all sure that I liked it.
After a few minutes of this, I told Rex that I was done. He said that I couldn't be done until the machine said I was. Are you kidding me? Doctors these days are taking their orders from machines? Our world is going to be run by robots pretty soon, like Ray Bradbury and George Orwell have always predicted. Does no one read old-days science fiction any more?! We must stop this madness! I wanted to rip the electrodes off of me and run screaming from the building, but I figured that was probably a bad idea.
Finally, after what felt like years (but was apparently only fifteen minutes), the machine told me I was "done." Specifically, it let off a mechanical melody that sounded almost exactly like the little song at the end of each Super Mario Brothers level when Mario jumps up to grab the flag. It was oddly cheery yet vindictive, and I found myself glaring at the machine.
Rex made me do a couple stretches, and then we went home. I have to admit, the whole experience kind of freaked me out. Technology is getting weird. At least Rex didn't use too much electricity and kill me, though, so I had that to be thankful for. Also, the Mario Machine ended up totally fixing my back. I woke up the next morning completely pain free. Cool!
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Maid of Honor Speech
Let me begin by saying how happy I am that you are all able to be here today to celebrate the wedding of Cara and Clayton. I am thrilled to be able to be here to celebrate their love.
*Cara and Clayton share an affectionate glance*
Back when Cara and Clayton first met, I was living in Las Vegas. I lived so far away that I couldn't keep up on Cara's life, so I talked to some people about keeping an eye on her and filling me in on how she was doing. My main informants were Jacob (Rex's brother) Stephanie (Jacob's girlfriend at the time, now his wife) and Valerie (Rex's cousin). They would text me updates about how she was adjusting to life at her new high school.
Might I point out that if Cara would have taken the time to update me on her own life, I wouldn't have had to resort to espionage? But alas, a sister's gotta do what a sister's gotta do.
So one weekend, Kalamazoo Christian High School had a football game followed by a dance called the "Fall Mixer." This is when I was first informed of Cara's new alleged love interest. Jacob sent me a picture text from the dance that showed Cara chatting up a mysterious handsome man wearing a gray shirt. I was a bit disturbed by the shortness of Cara's shorts, but I was thankful for the picture anyway. Who was this man? Was he worthy of my sister?
I texted Jacob back, but he assured me that the two of them were just "talking." Hmmm... I decided to sleep on it. The next day, Rex was talking to his mom on the phone when she mentioned, "Cara was wearing some guy's football jersey at the game...are they together?" AH HA! She was wearing his JERSEY?! Well, they were practically going steady. If this was the year 1957, she would have been wearing his letterman jacket. In the year 1978, she would have been wearing his class ring. You get the idea.
Armed with this new bit of information, I decided to call Cara. She didn't answer (BECAUSE SHE NEVER KEEPS ME INFORMED ABOUT HER LIFE!), so I called my dad. I asked him what was up with this new "Clayton" character. My dad said that he and Cara spent all of their time together, and they were as good as officially dating. I told him that I already knew that because of the jersey thing, and my dad said, "I'm pretty sure he plays basketball. Why was Cara wearing a basketball jersey to a football game?" I responded that I'm quite sure Clayton also plays football, or else Cara looked like a total idiot at that football game wearing the wrong type of jersey. Ha ha.
Finally I got my dad to pass the phone on to Cara (HA! Now she HAD to talk to me!). I confronted her with my truckload of evidence, and she started laughing. She claimed that she and Clayton are just friends. Now let me ask you, friends and family - the first time you saw this couple together, did you ever think they would be okay with being "just friends"?
*good humored laughter from the crowd*
I asked Cara about the jersey thing, and she said that Clayton's mom asked him to have someone wear his jersey, so she was just bailing him out so that his mom would stop bothering him. At this point, Rex piped up in the background: "It's like she thinks we were never in high school or something! His MOM asked him to ask her to wear it?! That's the best story she could come up with?!"
*Clayton kisses Cara on the forehead, and she blushes at the obvious transparency of the my-mom-made-you-wear-my-jersey story*
I wanted Cara to be able to trust me, so I continued: "Cara, you can tell me the truth. It's not like I heard you were wearing some guy's jersey and immediately started looking up wedding dress designs for you!" There was a long silence before Cara said, "Christine....please tell me that you're being sarcastic right now."
Dang! The girl knew me too well. But looking up wedding dresses is FUN! Anyway, I made a promise to her: "Cara, if you really do start dating him, I promise to stop planning your wedding......in front of your face, anyway...." Ha ha. He sounded like a great guy. The only downfall I saw was his last name. I don't remember it exactly, but it was something weird like "Murple." Oh well - I guess with a last name like "Knasel," almost anything would be an upgrade.
While Cara and I were talking, my dad walked into her room. She yelled at him indignantly, "Daaaaaaad, I can't believe you told Christine that I'm dating Clayton!"
He shrugged (I guess I didn't see that since we were on the phone, but I know my dad and I'm pretty sure that he shrugged here). "Sorry, what's his name? Caleb or something? Conor? I thought it was Clayton."
She got even more annoyed. "Daaaaaaaad! I'm not dating anyone!" He replied with something along the lines of "Okay, whatever," and left.
Cara turned back to our conversation. "I knew you were going to hear about the jersey thing. I just knew it! I avoided Jake, Stephanie, AND Valerie all night so they wouldn't snitch to you. My friends thought I was crazy. They were like, 'Your sister's not that creepy...no one is going to tell her about your life.' I didn't realize that I also needed to avoid REX'S MOTHER! I didn't even see her!" I warned Cara that I have eyes out everywhere...she's not going to sneak anything past me.
Anyway, things got a lot easier when I moved back to Michigan in 2013 and could actually be a part of Cara's life without creepily stalking her via my in-laws. I learned that Clayton was actually a really nice guy, and maybe Cara didn't need me to be as protective as I thought I needed to be.
*I tear up a little bit here*
Clayton is a wonderful man who will take great care of my baby sister, and I'm so glad that you found each other. I'll stop stalking you now, Cara, I promise. Stalking a married lady is creepy. Anyway.....to the bride and groom!
*Cara and Clayton share an affectionate glance*
Back when Cara and Clayton first met, I was living in Las Vegas. I lived so far away that I couldn't keep up on Cara's life, so I talked to some people about keeping an eye on her and filling me in on how she was doing. My main informants were Jacob (Rex's brother) Stephanie (Jacob's girlfriend at the time, now his wife) and Valerie (Rex's cousin). They would text me updates about how she was adjusting to life at her new high school.
Might I point out that if Cara would have taken the time to update me on her own life, I wouldn't have had to resort to espionage? But alas, a sister's gotta do what a sister's gotta do.
So one weekend, Kalamazoo Christian High School had a football game followed by a dance called the "Fall Mixer." This is when I was first informed of Cara's new alleged love interest. Jacob sent me a picture text from the dance that showed Cara chatting up a mysterious handsome man wearing a gray shirt. I was a bit disturbed by the shortness of Cara's shorts, but I was thankful for the picture anyway. Who was this man? Was he worthy of my sister?
I texted Jacob back, but he assured me that the two of them were just "talking." Hmmm... I decided to sleep on it. The next day, Rex was talking to his mom on the phone when she mentioned, "Cara was wearing some guy's football jersey at the game...are they together?" AH HA! She was wearing his JERSEY?! Well, they were practically going steady. If this was the year 1957, she would have been wearing his letterman jacket. In the year 1978, she would have been wearing his class ring. You get the idea.
Armed with this new bit of information, I decided to call Cara. She didn't answer (BECAUSE SHE NEVER KEEPS ME INFORMED ABOUT HER LIFE!), so I called my dad. I asked him what was up with this new "Clayton" character. My dad said that he and Cara spent all of their time together, and they were as good as officially dating. I told him that I already knew that because of the jersey thing, and my dad said, "I'm pretty sure he plays basketball. Why was Cara wearing a basketball jersey to a football game?" I responded that I'm quite sure Clayton also plays football, or else Cara looked like a total idiot at that football game wearing the wrong type of jersey. Ha ha.
Finally I got my dad to pass the phone on to Cara (HA! Now she HAD to talk to me!). I confronted her with my truckload of evidence, and she started laughing. She claimed that she and Clayton are just friends. Now let me ask you, friends and family - the first time you saw this couple together, did you ever think they would be okay with being "just friends"?
*good humored laughter from the crowd*
I asked Cara about the jersey thing, and she said that Clayton's mom asked him to have someone wear his jersey, so she was just bailing him out so that his mom would stop bothering him. At this point, Rex piped up in the background: "It's like she thinks we were never in high school or something! His MOM asked him to ask her to wear it?! That's the best story she could come up with?!"
*Clayton kisses Cara on the forehead, and she blushes at the obvious transparency of the my-mom-made-you-wear-my-jersey story*
I wanted Cara to be able to trust me, so I continued: "Cara, you can tell me the truth. It's not like I heard you were wearing some guy's jersey and immediately started looking up wedding dress designs for you!" There was a long silence before Cara said, "Christine....please tell me that you're being sarcastic right now."
Dang! The girl knew me too well. But looking up wedding dresses is FUN! Anyway, I made a promise to her: "Cara, if you really do start dating him, I promise to stop planning your wedding......in front of your face, anyway...." Ha ha. He sounded like a great guy. The only downfall I saw was his last name. I don't remember it exactly, but it was something weird like "Murple." Oh well - I guess with a last name like "Knasel," almost anything would be an upgrade.
While Cara and I were talking, my dad walked into her room. She yelled at him indignantly, "Daaaaaaad, I can't believe you told Christine that I'm dating Clayton!"
He shrugged (I guess I didn't see that since we were on the phone, but I know my dad and I'm pretty sure that he shrugged here). "Sorry, what's his name? Caleb or something? Conor? I thought it was Clayton."
She got even more annoyed. "Daaaaaaaad! I'm not dating anyone!" He replied with something along the lines of "Okay, whatever," and left.
Cara turned back to our conversation. "I knew you were going to hear about the jersey thing. I just knew it! I avoided Jake, Stephanie, AND Valerie all night so they wouldn't snitch to you. My friends thought I was crazy. They were like, 'Your sister's not that creepy...no one is going to tell her about your life.' I didn't realize that I also needed to avoid REX'S MOTHER! I didn't even see her!" I warned Cara that I have eyes out everywhere...she's not going to sneak anything past me.
Anyway, things got a lot easier when I moved back to Michigan in 2013 and could actually be a part of Cara's life without creepily stalking her via my in-laws. I learned that Clayton was actually a really nice guy, and maybe Cara didn't need me to be as protective as I thought I needed to be.
*I tear up a little bit here*
Clayton is a wonderful man who will take great care of my baby sister, and I'm so glad that you found each other. I'll stop stalking you now, Cara, I promise. Stalking a married lady is creepy. Anyway.....to the bride and groom!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Watching College Football
Rex and I are all about free stuff. Seriously. This is the way we see it: the less money we spend on other stuff, the more money we have to spend on dogs and Olive Garden.
We have always been this way. For a recap on some of our free-stuff-searching experiences, you can check out my blog post from a year and a half ago: http://webbnewlyweds.blogspot.com/2011/02/things-we-do-for-free-pizza.html
In order to save money, Rex and I have never bought TV service (cable or otherwise). We have a television set in order to watch DVDs, but it gets zero channels. This is great for us during the majority of the year, but it becomes a real problem during college football season.
College football season is the one time a year when we really want to watch TV. As I sit here watching the Michigan State game and typing this blog in the deserted student lounge of Rex's school, I can't help but run a mental recap of all of the stuff we've done to be able to watch our beloved Spartans play:
1. One of the best Saturdays of my college career was when we got to volunteer to do parking duty for MSU. Rex and I spent four hours telling people where to park, and in exchange we each got a free ticket to the game! Whoooo hooooo! We were super pumped.
2. During other home games, Rex and I would walk in circles around Spartan Stadium. We could hear the announcer and the cheers from the 70,000+ screaming fans, so it was almost like we were at the game. Almost.
3. There was a big screen TV in the cafeteria, so sometimes we would watch games in there. I always felt a little bit sheepish, though, as if I was joining some "We're too poor to get tickets to the game" club. I felt like I was less of a fan than the ones in the stadium, but that's not true! I was just poor!
4. Once we got married, things got a bit more complicated since we no longer lived on campus. Luckily, we made friends with our new neighbors. Even more luckily, they loved college football and had a party every Saturday for people to come watch the games on their really nice TV. To this day, every time I watch football I get kind of hungry for Karl's homemade nachos.
5. In 2011, Rex and I moved to Las Vegas, 2000 miles away from our beloved Spartans. This became really complicated, as we did not have a social group of Spartan fans to invite us to warm their couches. During the football season last year, we spent a considerable amount of time at our local Buffalo Wild Wings. We originally tried to watch games at the casino close to our apartment, but they play the game with no sound! What's a football game with no sound?! So anyway, we went to Buffalo Wild Wings. The problem with this is that you can't just go sit there. You have to buy something. Rex and I would stay there for hours and only buy six chicken wings total....that always made me feel a bit guilty.
6. This year, we found a new TV to claim - the TV in Rex's school's student lounge. We can spread out on the couches and turn up the game. Rex yells at the TV and annoys all of the other people in the lounge, so they go study somewhere else. It makes me feel bad, but Rex just says, "There are a million study rooms in this building, and this is the only one with a TV. I'm claiming it." Silly Rex...but I guess he takes football pretty seriously.
We have always found a way to watch the games. I wonder what we'll do next year, when we are back in Michigan? Will we just go to one of our parents' houses every Saturday? Sounds good to me....Rex's mom makes some really good nachos. Mmmmmm....now I'm hungry. Oh well, this year we're still TV nomads, so we get no snacks. I don't care (that much). GO GREEN!
We have always been this way. For a recap on some of our free-stuff-searching experiences, you can check out my blog post from a year and a half ago: http://webbnewlyweds.blogspot.com/2011/02/things-we-do-for-free-pizza.html
In order to save money, Rex and I have never bought TV service (cable or otherwise). We have a television set in order to watch DVDs, but it gets zero channels. This is great for us during the majority of the year, but it becomes a real problem during college football season.
College football season is the one time a year when we really want to watch TV. As I sit here watching the Michigan State game and typing this blog in the deserted student lounge of Rex's school, I can't help but run a mental recap of all of the stuff we've done to be able to watch our beloved Spartans play:
1. One of the best Saturdays of my college career was when we got to volunteer to do parking duty for MSU. Rex and I spent four hours telling people where to park, and in exchange we each got a free ticket to the game! Whoooo hooooo! We were super pumped.
2. During other home games, Rex and I would walk in circles around Spartan Stadium. We could hear the announcer and the cheers from the 70,000+ screaming fans, so it was almost like we were at the game. Almost.
3. There was a big screen TV in the cafeteria, so sometimes we would watch games in there. I always felt a little bit sheepish, though, as if I was joining some "We're too poor to get tickets to the game" club. I felt like I was less of a fan than the ones in the stadium, but that's not true! I was just poor!
4. Once we got married, things got a bit more complicated since we no longer lived on campus. Luckily, we made friends with our new neighbors. Even more luckily, they loved college football and had a party every Saturday for people to come watch the games on their really nice TV. To this day, every time I watch football I get kind of hungry for Karl's homemade nachos.
5. In 2011, Rex and I moved to Las Vegas, 2000 miles away from our beloved Spartans. This became really complicated, as we did not have a social group of Spartan fans to invite us to warm their couches. During the football season last year, we spent a considerable amount of time at our local Buffalo Wild Wings. We originally tried to watch games at the casino close to our apartment, but they play the game with no sound! What's a football game with no sound?! So anyway, we went to Buffalo Wild Wings. The problem with this is that you can't just go sit there. You have to buy something. Rex and I would stay there for hours and only buy six chicken wings total....that always made me feel a bit guilty.
6. This year, we found a new TV to claim - the TV in Rex's school's student lounge. We can spread out on the couches and turn up the game. Rex yells at the TV and annoys all of the other people in the lounge, so they go study somewhere else. It makes me feel bad, but Rex just says, "There are a million study rooms in this building, and this is the only one with a TV. I'm claiming it." Silly Rex...but I guess he takes football pretty seriously.
We have always found a way to watch the games. I wonder what we'll do next year, when we are back in Michigan? Will we just go to one of our parents' houses every Saturday? Sounds good to me....Rex's mom makes some really good nachos. Mmmmmm....now I'm hungry. Oh well, this year we're still TV nomads, so we get no snacks. I don't care (that much). GO GREEN!
Monday, September 3, 2012
Fifth Grade
Ahhhhh...the first blog post of September. If I could make this a "Scratch-n-Sniff" post, it would smell of sharpened pencils, new books, and industrial cleaner (haven't you ever noticed that all schools smell like industrial cleaner at the beginning of the year?!) Anyway, school is officially in session, so you know what it's time for....STUDENT STORIES!
Names have been changed.
1. Part of the beginning of the year is establishing routines. One routine is that if I'm working one-on-one with a student, other students are not to interrupt unless they are "bleeding or barfing." During the second week of school, I was working with a student when Pete came up to talk to me. He started to interrupt, which was weird for Pete because he seems very quiet and responsible. I said to him, "Pete, you need to wait a moment while I help Wendy." Pete seemed very insistent and said it was "important," so I turned around and said, "Okay, Pete. What is it?" He responded urgently, "The rats grabbed your internet cord and are DEMOLISHING it." BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! They were indeed chewing on my yellow ethernet cord as if it was made out of rat treats. Don't ask me how they pulled it into their cage, but they did. I ran over and fixed the situation, and then I thanked Pete. I had to change my rule to, "You can interrupt me if you are bleeding, barfing, or if the rats are destroying something important."
2. On one of the first days of school, Juan came up to me and said, "Here Miss Webb. I made these for you." The cookies he gave me are pictured below. One has my name on it, and one has a spider web "because your name is web, like a spider." It doesn't really matter that my name is Mrs., not Miss, and also that he spelled my name wrong.... it's the thought that counts. I think they are adorable, and they were tasty too!
3. Have you ever heard of "Skylanders"? Well, they are creepy little things that are probably a new generation of Pokemon. There are Skylander figurines that are very popular with the boys in my class, and I think they are all creepy looking. They are tiny little monsters with plastic weapons. One boy was playing with one during class, and I turned from my lecture and said, "David. If someone is playing with toys during my class, I take them away. You have to understand, though, that the toy you are playing with CREEPS ME OUT, and I really really really don't want to take it from you because I think it will give me nightmares. If you could put it away, I think it would save both of us some trouble." He put it away, but then later that day put it on my keyboard so that when I went to my computer it would be there to scare me. Ha ha! Goofy kids. They crack me up.
4. I have a student who is very special needs. You have to understand that for this story to make sense. He is very respectful and cute, but he's just.......special. I had been talking all week about an English quiz, yet when we got to Friday he was still surprised by it. He did not mean to be disrespectful AT ALL, but when I started to pass out the quiz he put on a southern accent and said, "Heeeeeey! You didn't tell us about no quiz, Cowgirl!" L.O.L.
5. When students are finished with their quizzes, they can either read or draw on the back of their quiz. Johnny was drawing on the back of his paper. He drew a ship with a flag that said "USA," and all of the people on the ship were freaking out because a giant shark was about to take a bite out of it. I bent down to Johnny and whispered, "I really like your picture, but why is the shark killing Americans? That's kind of sad." He said, "Wow, you're right!" and quickly erased the USA flag and replaced it with a flag that said "Russia." "Now the shark is killing the communists!" Hahahaha...politics by a ten-year-old. I love it.
Welllllp, there are five stories to get you excited about fifth grade. I know I am! These kids crack me up, and they are a zillion times more respectful than middle schoolers. Also, I get to be with the same kids all day, so I'm getting to know them really well. We're only two weeks in, but I think it's going to be a great year.
Names have been changed.
1. Part of the beginning of the year is establishing routines. One routine is that if I'm working one-on-one with a student, other students are not to interrupt unless they are "bleeding or barfing." During the second week of school, I was working with a student when Pete came up to talk to me. He started to interrupt, which was weird for Pete because he seems very quiet and responsible. I said to him, "Pete, you need to wait a moment while I help Wendy." Pete seemed very insistent and said it was "important," so I turned around and said, "Okay, Pete. What is it?" He responded urgently, "The rats grabbed your internet cord and are DEMOLISHING it." BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! They were indeed chewing on my yellow ethernet cord as if it was made out of rat treats. Don't ask me how they pulled it into their cage, but they did. I ran over and fixed the situation, and then I thanked Pete. I had to change my rule to, "You can interrupt me if you are bleeding, barfing, or if the rats are destroying something important."
2. On one of the first days of school, Juan came up to me and said, "Here Miss Webb. I made these for you." The cookies he gave me are pictured below. One has my name on it, and one has a spider web "because your name is web, like a spider." It doesn't really matter that my name is Mrs., not Miss, and also that he spelled my name wrong.... it's the thought that counts. I think they are adorable, and they were tasty too!
3. Have you ever heard of "Skylanders"? Well, they are creepy little things that are probably a new generation of Pokemon. There are Skylander figurines that are very popular with the boys in my class, and I think they are all creepy looking. They are tiny little monsters with plastic weapons. One boy was playing with one during class, and I turned from my lecture and said, "David. If someone is playing with toys during my class, I take them away. You have to understand, though, that the toy you are playing with CREEPS ME OUT, and I really really really don't want to take it from you because I think it will give me nightmares. If you could put it away, I think it would save both of us some trouble." He put it away, but then later that day put it on my keyboard so that when I went to my computer it would be there to scare me. Ha ha! Goofy kids. They crack me up.
4. I have a student who is very special needs. You have to understand that for this story to make sense. He is very respectful and cute, but he's just.......special. I had been talking all week about an English quiz, yet when we got to Friday he was still surprised by it. He did not mean to be disrespectful AT ALL, but when I started to pass out the quiz he put on a southern accent and said, "Heeeeeey! You didn't tell us about no quiz, Cowgirl!" L.O.L.
5. When students are finished with their quizzes, they can either read or draw on the back of their quiz. Johnny was drawing on the back of his paper. He drew a ship with a flag that said "USA," and all of the people on the ship were freaking out because a giant shark was about to take a bite out of it. I bent down to Johnny and whispered, "I really like your picture, but why is the shark killing Americans? That's kind of sad." He said, "Wow, you're right!" and quickly erased the USA flag and replaced it with a flag that said "Russia." "Now the shark is killing the communists!" Hahahaha...politics by a ten-year-old. I love it.
Welllllp, there are five stories to get you excited about fifth grade. I know I am! These kids crack me up, and they are a zillion times more respectful than middle schoolers. Also, I get to be with the same kids all day, so I'm getting to know them really well. We're only two weeks in, but I think it's going to be a great year.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Dumpster Diving
Teachers spend a lot of money on their classrooms, and to be honest with you - I am out of money.
I mean, I technically still have money in our bank account, but Rex insists that we should spend that on "practical" things such as rent and groceries.
Long story short, I can't afford to buy a bookshelf.
I have some great books to share with my fifth graders, but I can't afford a bookshelf to put them on. The only shelf space available in my room is a shelf above the coat rack. It was better than nothing, so I put my books on it. For the entire first week of school, students would have to drag a chair over to the shelf and stand on the chair just to be tall enough to read the titles.
Then yesterday, as I was walking out of school to go home for the day, something in the dumpster caught my eye.
It was like in those cheesy movies when the detective finds just the clue he was looking for, and it lights up all shiny like the sun was shining directly on it. My bookshelf was glowing in the dumpster.
I hurried over to the dumpster, thinking that maybe I was hallucinating a bookshelf because I wanted one so badly. Nope - there it was - a perfect wooden.............something. I'm still not exactly sure what this item was in a past life. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a bookshelf. It's a bookshelf now, though, and that's what matters.
I quickly hauled the wooden something out of the dumpster area and examined it. Why would someone throw this away?! It was a perfectly nice wooden something! I inspected it for infestations of spiders or scorpions, but it looked clean and perfect. I wanted to jump for joy, but can you imagine what you would think if you saw your teacher jumping around and dancing in the dumpster? I decided to play it cool.
I picked the something up and carried it into the building (good thing I've been working out!). It fit perfectly in the space where I wanted my nonexistent bookshelf to go, and my kids were so excited about it when they came to school today. Hooray for my dumpster find! My kids don't know it's from the dumpster, though. Shhhhh...that's our little secret.
I mean, I technically still have money in our bank account, but Rex insists that we should spend that on "practical" things such as rent and groceries.
Long story short, I can't afford to buy a bookshelf.
I have some great books to share with my fifth graders, but I can't afford a bookshelf to put them on. The only shelf space available in my room is a shelf above the coat rack. It was better than nothing, so I put my books on it. For the entire first week of school, students would have to drag a chair over to the shelf and stand on the chair just to be tall enough to read the titles.
Then yesterday, as I was walking out of school to go home for the day, something in the dumpster caught my eye.
It was like in those cheesy movies when the detective finds just the clue he was looking for, and it lights up all shiny like the sun was shining directly on it. My bookshelf was glowing in the dumpster.
I hurried over to the dumpster, thinking that maybe I was hallucinating a bookshelf because I wanted one so badly. Nope - there it was - a perfect wooden.............something. I'm still not exactly sure what this item was in a past life. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a bookshelf. It's a bookshelf now, though, and that's what matters.
I quickly hauled the wooden something out of the dumpster area and examined it. Why would someone throw this away?! It was a perfectly nice wooden something! I inspected it for infestations of spiders or scorpions, but it looked clean and perfect. I wanted to jump for joy, but can you imagine what you would think if you saw your teacher jumping around and dancing in the dumpster? I decided to play it cool.
I picked the something up and carried it into the building (good thing I've been working out!). It fit perfectly in the space where I wanted my nonexistent bookshelf to go, and my kids were so excited about it when they came to school today. Hooray for my dumpster find! My kids don't know it's from the dumpster, though. Shhhhh...that's our little secret.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Fatty
I am happy to announce that Rex and I have a new foster pug! This is our third one. I LOVE pugs, and Rex LOVES me, so he lets me have pugs in our apartment.
The issue with this pug is that his name is Rex. Obviously I don't get to name them. Foster pugs come pre-named. I can't have two Rex's living here, though. I realized that the first day when Rex was pooping on the floor (the dog, not the husband), and I yelled, "REX! STOP IT!" Well, my husband Rex got all freaked out because I almost never yell at him, and he was like, "Aaaah! What did I do?!"
Obviously we had to come up with a new name for this pug. Based on the fact that he is FAT (exactly twice the size of our last pug), we decided to call him "Fatty." Fatty is now on a diet and goes on a bunch of walks every day. We are determined to get him into slim, trim puggy shape. It's funny because we will walk him for a little while, and then he will just plop down in the grass, legs splayed out in four different directions, and pant as if to stay, "STOP THIS MADNESS! I CANNOT GO ANOTHER STEP!" And then we say, "It's only been a block, Fatty. Suck it up." Ha ha... We're not quite that mean. We are trying to get him in shape, though, and we've been pushing Fatty to his limits. It's The Biggest Loser - Webb Edition. Fatty is competing against our cat Elsie, who is also on a diet. She started stress eating when we got Elvis (on account of the fact that she hates him), and I knew it was time to put her on a diet when someone told me that her calico splotches looked like the continents on a giant furry globe. She's been losing a lot of weight, though, so that's good! Now we're focusing on Fatty...
For your viewing pleasure, here are a few photos of our new fat friend. Please notice his fatness, his cuteness, and his extreeeeemely long tongue:
The issue with this pug is that his name is Rex. Obviously I don't get to name them. Foster pugs come pre-named. I can't have two Rex's living here, though. I realized that the first day when Rex was pooping on the floor (the dog, not the husband), and I yelled, "REX! STOP IT!" Well, my husband Rex got all freaked out because I almost never yell at him, and he was like, "Aaaah! What did I do?!"
Obviously we had to come up with a new name for this pug. Based on the fact that he is FAT (exactly twice the size of our last pug), we decided to call him "Fatty." Fatty is now on a diet and goes on a bunch of walks every day. We are determined to get him into slim, trim puggy shape. It's funny because we will walk him for a little while, and then he will just plop down in the grass, legs splayed out in four different directions, and pant as if to stay, "STOP THIS MADNESS! I CANNOT GO ANOTHER STEP!" And then we say, "It's only been a block, Fatty. Suck it up." Ha ha... We're not quite that mean. We are trying to get him in shape, though, and we've been pushing Fatty to his limits. It's The Biggest Loser - Webb Edition. Fatty is competing against our cat Elsie, who is also on a diet. She started stress eating when we got Elvis (on account of the fact that she hates him), and I knew it was time to put her on a diet when someone told me that her calico splotches looked like the continents on a giant furry globe. She's been losing a lot of weight, though, so that's good! Now we're focusing on Fatty...
For your viewing pleasure, here are a few photos of our new fat friend. Please notice his fatness, his cuteness, and his extreeeeemely long tongue:
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
About the Author
My book The Elsie Files will come out in a few short months...I am very excited! It is currently in the design department, and I got an e-mail from one of the guys working on my cover. He said that he needs an "about the author" picture to go next to my bio on the back cover of my book, and that it should probably be a professional photo since it will also be on my website and displayed at book signings.
Of course I don't have the money to go get professional photos taken, but I don't want to use any old profile pic when I am trying to look like a real author. I had the idea to call Petographique, a pet photography place that collaborates with the Southern Nevada Pug Rescue on fundraisers and such. I told them that I volunteer with the rescue, and that I really needed a picture for my book. Because they are a PET photography business, I told them that I would bring my cat to be in the picture, and therefore it could still be classified as "pet" photography. Luckily, the owner of Petographique offered to give me an extremely steep discount in exchange for the publicity they will receive from having their studio credited in the book for my picture. Hooray!
I was very excited about my luck until I realized that my arrangement meant that I would have to actually transport my devilish cat to the studio and then somehow compel her to pose with me, preferably in a pose that included no blood or claws. I was not at all sure that it was possible for Elsie to do that. She hates people, traveling, and ESPECIALLY hates cuddling.
Sure enough, she was super cranky when we arrived at the studio. Rex and I walked into the beautiful lobby and were awed by the chandeliers and dark wood finishings around the room. Elsie just looked around as if she was trying to shoot lazers out of her eyes to destroy everything in sight. We went to the back room where the actual picture shooting takes place, and the photographer told me that I could let Elsie out of her cage. I opened the cage, and Elsie immediately ran and hid under a bench. We let her hang out there while the photographer set up the background, and then our photographer said, "Okay, go ahead and grab Elsie." She may as well have said, "Okay, now go jump across that thousand foot crevasse."
I tentatively tried to grab Elsie, and I finally got her to the set amid a literal hissy fit. She was spitting and hissing and trying to claw me, but I somehow wrestled her onto the couch. The photographer tried to pose us, but Elsie dug her claws into the couch and glared as if to say, "You move me, YOU DIE." Trying a new approach, the photographer asked me to scoot closer to Elsie. I did, and my heart started beating a little faster because I was within clawing reach. Then the photographer said, "You guys are too far away from each other...put your face down near hers?" I wanted to ask the photographer why she hated me so much. I wanted to say that I had thought of plenty of ways to die, and getting my face scratched off by a cat while on camera was not one of my favorites. Still, I shut up, put my face two inches closer to Elsie's, and smiled through my fear. The THINGS we do to get a good picture. If this wasn't getting printed in my book for a bunch of people to see, I absolutely would have refused. It was scary...my life flashed before my eyes a little. I think my life flashed before Elsie's eyes too, as she was trying to plot how to make my life as short as possible.
Luckily, the photographer snapped a few pictures before Elsie completely lost her mind. I actually don't think it turned out too badly. It almost looks like Elsie and I actually like each other! Let me know what you think. :-)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Rich Girl
I crossed an important line today. It was a line that I've been trying to cross for YEARS, and I've finally done it. This is a very significant day in my life.
I have crossed over the line from "poor person" to "rich person."
Adios, ramen noodles! So long, random meetings that I attended only because there was free food! Bye bye Goodwill! Actually, there are some great finds at Goodwill. Okay, Goodwill can stay. Ramen noodles are DEFINITELY gone though.
"How did she become so rich?" you might be asking yourself. Well. I'm not actually more rich than I was yesterday, but I am now an official "rich person" when I wasn't before. How? Simple.
I now shop at New York and Company.
Have you ever been to New York and Company? Probably not, unless you too are in the club of richie riches. Let me tell you about it. It is the penultimate of professional wear. That is probably why they make everything in there so expensive; you can't shop there unless you are a professional with a real career and steady paychecks. (Not "I'm a professional actor because I had a gig ten years ago" or "I'm a professional artist because my friend gave me a penny to paint a picture of his dog." You have to be a REAL professional). Their clothes are made with the finest fabrics, and the top designers design their clothes. Everything about their products oozes cosmopolitan chic.
Sometimes when I picture going to New York City (where I will go someday, I promise you), I picture all of the people there walking around in clothes from New York and Company. Like, even the hobos are wearing blazers. And then, while I'm trotting along to go hang out with Monica and Chandler and the rest of the cast of Friends (who obviously live in the apartment from the TV show), everyone will look at me and say, "Wow, she must be a real New Yorker, since she's wearing clothes from New York and Company!"
Yep, my whole life has changed today, and I owe it all to my dad. When I was growing up, my dad used to buy me a "First Day of School" outfit every year. It was a really fun father/daughter date, and it always gave me an extra boost of confidence on the first day of school. He hasn't done it since high school, but suddenly this year he decided to send me FIFTY DOLLARS because he's proud of how I'm doing and wants to buy me a back to school outfit. Hooray for Dad! As I was contemplating all the things I could do with this money, my dad called and said, "Listen. I know you. Do NOT put this money into savings. Don't use it to pay the electric bill. I want you to go out and buy something nice for yourself for the first day of school. I want to see picture proof of how you used the money." Ha ha my dad knows me too well...I was fully thinking about spending $10 at Goodwill and saving the other $40 for groceries.
With $50 burning a hole in my pocket, I told Rex that we were going to the mall. I started off with my usual shopping (Clearance rack at Khols), but I didn't find anything. I found a shirt that I liked at Forever 21, but I didn't love it so I decided to think about it and come back later. I was dejected at my lack of success, but you can't just spend $50 on the first outfit that jumps out at you. I told Rex that I guess we should just leave and come back shopping another time.
As we were walking out, we passed New York and Company. I started to say what I say every time we pass that store: "One day, when I'm rich, I'm going to shop there." This time, though, I stopped. Hundreds of times window shopping at that store came down to this moment. I had fifty dollars to spend on a single outfit...maybe, juuuuuust maybe, I could afford New York and Company?
I told Rex that I wanted to stop and check it out. I cautiously stepped over the threshold into the store, worried that some sort of "poor girl" alert was going to sound and they would know I was a fraud. Before I had much time to worry, though, there it was in front of me: the most beautiful blouse in the history of blouses. It was a vintage pink rose color with a black stripe design on it. It would look absolutely fantastic with my black pencil skirt. I picked it up, and my hands softened on the glorious silky fabric. There was only one left, and guess what size it was? MINE! I searched around the store, but nothing came close to the awesomeness of my blouse. I told Rex that I was going to try it on, and I headed to the fitting room.
I pulled the blouse on over my head, and it hugged my body perfectly as if to say, "Hello, Christine, I am a high-fashion blouse. I think I was made for you." I didn't want to take it off. It was so comfortable and so professional and so...beautiful! I felt like a million bucks. I bet the Duchess of Cambridge has a blouse just like that one. Maybe she even has the same one. I could totally see her wearing it. I can be just like the Duchess of Cambridge! Maybe I will teach with a British accent all year. I can only picture the calls my boss would get: "Ummm...hello? I'd like to transfer my student to another fifth grade class. Yeah, she's in the one with the wackadoodle teacher who thinks she's a duchess."
Anyway, I was in love with the blouse. I turned over the price tag, and - GASP! - $36! $36 for one shirt? It wasn't even on clearance! It wasn't on sale at all! I took the shirt off, forlorn at my loss, and went to return it to its lonely place on the shelf. I wanted to cry, but $36 for a shirt is ridiculous. Plus, I never pay full price for anything. I think Rex sensed my despair, because he said, "Christine, your dad wanted you to get something special, right? Well, if you love this shirt so much, maybe you should get it."
By George, he's right! (See? I am so British). I marched up to the counter to pay for the new love of my life, the pink shirt. As I was waiting in line, a pair of earrings caught my eye. They were a perfect match for my shirt. It was as if they were made to go with it. They practically jumped off of the rack into my hands, and who was I to stop them? As I paid for my purchase, I told the cashier how excited I was that I was getting a new first day of school outfit. She raised her eyebrows and said, "A teacher, huh? Well then, you get 15% off!" WHOOO HOOOOO! So my earrings and shirt together cost only around $40, so I still have $10 left to spend on something else! I am so rich.
Now my goal is that when I wear the shirt, someone will say to me, "Hey Christine, great top. Where did you get it?" I'll toss my hair casually aside and look to the ceiling as if trying to remember where I got it (since I have to pretend that I'm a true fashionista and have lots of high fashion things). Then I'll casually say, "Oh yeah, I got it at New York and Company." I will say it in such a way as to make the person think that I pretty much shop at New York and Company all the time. They will think I'm super awesome (which, now that I have that shirt, I am).
Thanks, Dad. You made me a really happy daughter today. :-)
I have crossed over the line from "poor person" to "rich person."
Adios, ramen noodles! So long, random meetings that I attended only because there was free food! Bye bye Goodwill! Actually, there are some great finds at Goodwill. Okay, Goodwill can stay. Ramen noodles are DEFINITELY gone though.
"How did she become so rich?" you might be asking yourself. Well. I'm not actually more rich than I was yesterday, but I am now an official "rich person" when I wasn't before. How? Simple.
I now shop at New York and Company.
Have you ever been to New York and Company? Probably not, unless you too are in the club of richie riches. Let me tell you about it. It is the penultimate of professional wear. That is probably why they make everything in there so expensive; you can't shop there unless you are a professional with a real career and steady paychecks. (Not "I'm a professional actor because I had a gig ten years ago" or "I'm a professional artist because my friend gave me a penny to paint a picture of his dog." You have to be a REAL professional). Their clothes are made with the finest fabrics, and the top designers design their clothes. Everything about their products oozes cosmopolitan chic.
Sometimes when I picture going to New York City (where I will go someday, I promise you), I picture all of the people there walking around in clothes from New York and Company. Like, even the hobos are wearing blazers. And then, while I'm trotting along to go hang out with Monica and Chandler and the rest of the cast of Friends (who obviously live in the apartment from the TV show), everyone will look at me and say, "Wow, she must be a real New Yorker, since she's wearing clothes from New York and Company!"
Yep, my whole life has changed today, and I owe it all to my dad. When I was growing up, my dad used to buy me a "First Day of School" outfit every year. It was a really fun father/daughter date, and it always gave me an extra boost of confidence on the first day of school. He hasn't done it since high school, but suddenly this year he decided to send me FIFTY DOLLARS because he's proud of how I'm doing and wants to buy me a back to school outfit. Hooray for Dad! As I was contemplating all the things I could do with this money, my dad called and said, "Listen. I know you. Do NOT put this money into savings. Don't use it to pay the electric bill. I want you to go out and buy something nice for yourself for the first day of school. I want to see picture proof of how you used the money." Ha ha my dad knows me too well...I was fully thinking about spending $10 at Goodwill and saving the other $40 for groceries.
With $50 burning a hole in my pocket, I told Rex that we were going to the mall. I started off with my usual shopping (Clearance rack at Khols), but I didn't find anything. I found a shirt that I liked at Forever 21, but I didn't love it so I decided to think about it and come back later. I was dejected at my lack of success, but you can't just spend $50 on the first outfit that jumps out at you. I told Rex that I guess we should just leave and come back shopping another time.
As we were walking out, we passed New York and Company. I started to say what I say every time we pass that store: "One day, when I'm rich, I'm going to shop there." This time, though, I stopped. Hundreds of times window shopping at that store came down to this moment. I had fifty dollars to spend on a single outfit...maybe, juuuuuust maybe, I could afford New York and Company?
I told Rex that I wanted to stop and check it out. I cautiously stepped over the threshold into the store, worried that some sort of "poor girl" alert was going to sound and they would know I was a fraud. Before I had much time to worry, though, there it was in front of me: the most beautiful blouse in the history of blouses. It was a vintage pink rose color with a black stripe design on it. It would look absolutely fantastic with my black pencil skirt. I picked it up, and my hands softened on the glorious silky fabric. There was only one left, and guess what size it was? MINE! I searched around the store, but nothing came close to the awesomeness of my blouse. I told Rex that I was going to try it on, and I headed to the fitting room.
I pulled the blouse on over my head, and it hugged my body perfectly as if to say, "Hello, Christine, I am a high-fashion blouse. I think I was made for you." I didn't want to take it off. It was so comfortable and so professional and so...beautiful! I felt like a million bucks. I bet the Duchess of Cambridge has a blouse just like that one. Maybe she even has the same one. I could totally see her wearing it. I can be just like the Duchess of Cambridge! Maybe I will teach with a British accent all year. I can only picture the calls my boss would get: "Ummm...hello? I'd like to transfer my student to another fifth grade class. Yeah, she's in the one with the wackadoodle teacher who thinks she's a duchess."
Anyway, I was in love with the blouse. I turned over the price tag, and - GASP! - $36! $36 for one shirt? It wasn't even on clearance! It wasn't on sale at all! I took the shirt off, forlorn at my loss, and went to return it to its lonely place on the shelf. I wanted to cry, but $36 for a shirt is ridiculous. Plus, I never pay full price for anything. I think Rex sensed my despair, because he said, "Christine, your dad wanted you to get something special, right? Well, if you love this shirt so much, maybe you should get it."
By George, he's right! (See? I am so British). I marched up to the counter to pay for the new love of my life, the pink shirt. As I was waiting in line, a pair of earrings caught my eye. They were a perfect match for my shirt. It was as if they were made to go with it. They practically jumped off of the rack into my hands, and who was I to stop them? As I paid for my purchase, I told the cashier how excited I was that I was getting a new first day of school outfit. She raised her eyebrows and said, "A teacher, huh? Well then, you get 15% off!" WHOOO HOOOOO! So my earrings and shirt together cost only around $40, so I still have $10 left to spend on something else! I am so rich.
Now my goal is that when I wear the shirt, someone will say to me, "Hey Christine, great top. Where did you get it?" I'll toss my hair casually aside and look to the ceiling as if trying to remember where I got it (since I have to pretend that I'm a true fashionista and have lots of high fashion things). Then I'll casually say, "Oh yeah, I got it at New York and Company." I will say it in such a way as to make the person think that I pretty much shop at New York and Company all the time. They will think I'm super awesome (which, now that I have that shirt, I am).
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Bad Husband
Tonight was date night. Rex took me to our favorite date place ever - Olive Garden! I shudder to think of how much money we have spent there over the past six years... It's a lot.
Rex and I were sitting at the table waiting for our food, and we got into a conversation about the newest gossip among our friend group. My friend Becky had a baby today, so we talked about that. Rex said, "The process of birth is really weird...like how your body suddenly decides, 'Okay, time to get this thing out of here!'" I agreed. It really is quite weird. I know that Rex's family dog had puppies when Rex was a kid, and I asked him whether or not he watched that birthing process. His answer startled me, to say the least:
"Yes. I saw it. And if you ever do that, I am instantly divorcing you."
Geez, a little harsh, don't you think? I was kind of offended. I mean, I know we're not planning on having any kids, but if we accidentally got pregnant he would just leave me?! This is not the Rex that I know and love. The scene flashed through my mind, and it went something like this:
Doctor: PUSH! We're almost there!
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!
Rex: (covering his eyes) Ewwww...
Doctor: Come on, Christine!
Rex: That's it, it's too gross! I'M OUTTA HERE! (he sprints out the door)
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Doctor: We got it!
Baby: Waaaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaah!
Doctor: Here is your baby, Mrs. Webb. (he hands me the baby)
Me: Hello, baby. (look around for Rex) Oh crap, you don't have a dad. He warned me this would happen back when we lived in Las Vegas, but I always hoped he would stick around. Oh well. I guess it's me and you, kid.
Somehow I really couldn't see that happening. I decided to figure out what he meant, so I asked: "If I had a baby, you would just leave me in the hospital because it's too gross? And you would actually divorce me because you don't want a baby?"
Rex looked at me like I was crazy and responded, "Of course not. I'm not going to leave you if you get pregnant. I'm just going to be really freaked out if you pull the baby out of you with your teeth, lick it clean, and then eat the placenta. I would find it difficult to ever kiss you again."
BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Apparently that's what his dog did. I thought he was freaked out by the birthing process (which, really, sounds quite freaky), but I'm pretty sure I can avoid lunching on an umbilical cord and eating placenta dessert. It looks like our marriage is going to be okay after all - you can stop panicking.
Rex and I were sitting at the table waiting for our food, and we got into a conversation about the newest gossip among our friend group. My friend Becky had a baby today, so we talked about that. Rex said, "The process of birth is really weird...like how your body suddenly decides, 'Okay, time to get this thing out of here!'" I agreed. It really is quite weird. I know that Rex's family dog had puppies when Rex was a kid, and I asked him whether or not he watched that birthing process. His answer startled me, to say the least:
"Yes. I saw it. And if you ever do that, I am instantly divorcing you."
Geez, a little harsh, don't you think? I was kind of offended. I mean, I know we're not planning on having any kids, but if we accidentally got pregnant he would just leave me?! This is not the Rex that I know and love. The scene flashed through my mind, and it went something like this:
Doctor: PUSH! We're almost there!
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!
Rex: (covering his eyes) Ewwww...
Doctor: Come on, Christine!
Rex: That's it, it's too gross! I'M OUTTA HERE! (he sprints out the door)
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Doctor: We got it!
Baby: Waaaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaah!
Doctor: Here is your baby, Mrs. Webb. (he hands me the baby)
Me: Hello, baby. (look around for Rex) Oh crap, you don't have a dad. He warned me this would happen back when we lived in Las Vegas, but I always hoped he would stick around. Oh well. I guess it's me and you, kid.
Somehow I really couldn't see that happening. I decided to figure out what he meant, so I asked: "If I had a baby, you would just leave me in the hospital because it's too gross? And you would actually divorce me because you don't want a baby?"
Rex looked at me like I was crazy and responded, "Of course not. I'm not going to leave you if you get pregnant. I'm just going to be really freaked out if you pull the baby out of you with your teeth, lick it clean, and then eat the placenta. I would find it difficult to ever kiss you again."
BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Apparently that's what his dog did. I thought he was freaked out by the birthing process (which, really, sounds quite freaky), but I'm pretty sure I can avoid lunching on an umbilical cord and eating placenta dessert. It looks like our marriage is going to be okay after all - you can stop panicking.
Vegas Manicure
Have you ever had your nails done by a transvestite? I have.
I have had a few people say to me, "Your life is so cool. Exciting things always happen to you, so that's how you have things to blog about. I never have anything interesting happen, which is why I don't blog."
Let me say: that is dumb. 99% of the things I blog about are just normal, every day things. I just write about them because I like to write. This post, however, is the 1%. I bet not many of you have had this experience. It seems like a specifically Vegas-esque thing to happen.
I walked into the salon to get my manicure done, and I signed the little register to signal to the people that I was waiting my turn for a manicure. After waiting for about five minutes, "Daniella" came out and said, "Christina? I'm ready for you!" Apparently Daniella can't read very well since my name is Christine, but as no one else was waiting I figured that it was my turn.
Let me pause here for a moment and say that I am not at all sure what pronoun to use for a man who is trying to be a woman. He or she? A quick Google search tells me that the correct pronoun is "ze," a new politically correct and gender neutral term. As an English teacher, though, I use my power of language authority to say that "ze" is the dumbest word I've ever heard, and I refuse to use it. I'm going to use the pronoun "he" in this post, because God made that person a man, and when in doubt, I'll use the pronoun God assigned.
Anyway, Daniella came out, and he looked super weird. He was wearing heavy make-up, and his shoulder length hair was pulled back in a pony tail. He had large hoop earrings on and a black lacy top. His hands were adorned with rings and jewelry from Tiffany and Co. You might not have known he was a man except for the deep voice, the adams apple, and the complete lack of boobs. So actually, I guess it was kind of easy to tell. He was trying pretty hard to be a girl though.
Daniella and I sat down at his manicure station, and he started doing my nails. I was a bit nervous at first, because men in general are very bad at giving manicures. Apparently Daniella was more female when it came to this talent, though, because he did a very good job. This was especially impressive considering the fact that I think he might have been high. I can't know for sure, but every time I tried to talk to him he would pause and then look up at the ceiling, startled, as if confused as to who was talking. He would flip his bangs out of his eyes in a valley-girl style and then say, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" in a really airy and nasal voice. I would repeat whatever I said, and he would finally look at me, pause again, and then say, "Oh." I can see why other professions didn't work out for you, Daniella.
When it came time to choose the color for my nails, I decided to do an experiment. I told Daniella to choose the color for me, because I really didn't care. I was mostly just intensely curious to see what kind of color a transvestite would choose for my manicure. I knew that he couldn't choose the same nails that he had for me, because his ridiculously long nails were peppered with Hello Kitty designs. (HELLO KITTY. ON A TWENTY-SOMETHING YEAR OLD MAN). So I let Daniella decide the color for my tranny mani. He immediately exclaimed, "Glitter! Let's use glitter! I LOVE GLITTER!" Awesome.
Now my nails are covered in "Olympic Gold" glitter. It's quite fitting since the 2012 London Olympics are on for the next couple of weeks. (GO USA!) I actually really like the way they turned out. Yay for the he/she manicurist!
When the manicure was finally over, I went to pay the receptionist. Daniella went back to his station. When talking to the receptionist, I left a tip for my manicurist. She asked who had done my nails, and I told her. The receptionist said, "Oh, we just love him! Or...her....or.....it. We love it around here!" Ha ha... I may not be sure about the proper pronoun usage for Daniella, but I can guarantee you that the correct word is not "it." That's a bit dehumanizing. Oh well. Transvestites are confusing. At least my nails are pretty!
I have had a few people say to me, "Your life is so cool. Exciting things always happen to you, so that's how you have things to blog about. I never have anything interesting happen, which is why I don't blog."
Let me say: that is dumb. 99% of the things I blog about are just normal, every day things. I just write about them because I like to write. This post, however, is the 1%. I bet not many of you have had this experience. It seems like a specifically Vegas-esque thing to happen.
I walked into the salon to get my manicure done, and I signed the little register to signal to the people that I was waiting my turn for a manicure. After waiting for about five minutes, "Daniella" came out and said, "Christina? I'm ready for you!" Apparently Daniella can't read very well since my name is Christine, but as no one else was waiting I figured that it was my turn.
Let me pause here for a moment and say that I am not at all sure what pronoun to use for a man who is trying to be a woman. He or she? A quick Google search tells me that the correct pronoun is "ze," a new politically correct and gender neutral term. As an English teacher, though, I use my power of language authority to say that "ze" is the dumbest word I've ever heard, and I refuse to use it. I'm going to use the pronoun "he" in this post, because God made that person a man, and when in doubt, I'll use the pronoun God assigned.
Anyway, Daniella came out, and he looked super weird. He was wearing heavy make-up, and his shoulder length hair was pulled back in a pony tail. He had large hoop earrings on and a black lacy top. His hands were adorned with rings and jewelry from Tiffany and Co. You might not have known he was a man except for the deep voice, the adams apple, and the complete lack of boobs. So actually, I guess it was kind of easy to tell. He was trying pretty hard to be a girl though.
Daniella and I sat down at his manicure station, and he started doing my nails. I was a bit nervous at first, because men in general are very bad at giving manicures. Apparently Daniella was more female when it came to this talent, though, because he did a very good job. This was especially impressive considering the fact that I think he might have been high. I can't know for sure, but every time I tried to talk to him he would pause and then look up at the ceiling, startled, as if confused as to who was talking. He would flip his bangs out of his eyes in a valley-girl style and then say, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" in a really airy and nasal voice. I would repeat whatever I said, and he would finally look at me, pause again, and then say, "Oh." I can see why other professions didn't work out for you, Daniella.
When it came time to choose the color for my nails, I decided to do an experiment. I told Daniella to choose the color for me, because I really didn't care. I was mostly just intensely curious to see what kind of color a transvestite would choose for my manicure. I knew that he couldn't choose the same nails that he had for me, because his ridiculously long nails were peppered with Hello Kitty designs. (HELLO KITTY. ON A TWENTY-SOMETHING YEAR OLD MAN). So I let Daniella decide the color for my tranny mani. He immediately exclaimed, "Glitter! Let's use glitter! I LOVE GLITTER!" Awesome.
Now my nails are covered in "Olympic Gold" glitter. It's quite fitting since the 2012 London Olympics are on for the next couple of weeks. (GO USA!) I actually really like the way they turned out. Yay for the he/she manicurist!
When the manicure was finally over, I went to pay the receptionist. Daniella went back to his station. When talking to the receptionist, I left a tip for my manicurist. She asked who had done my nails, and I told her. The receptionist said, "Oh, we just love him! Or...her....or.....it. We love it around here!" Ha ha... I may not be sure about the proper pronoun usage for Daniella, but I can guarantee you that the correct word is not "it." That's a bit dehumanizing. Oh well. Transvestites are confusing. At least my nails are pretty!
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Thank You, Creepers
This one's for you, random person who reads my blog but doesn't tell me because you think it would be awkward since we haven't talked in so long or I don't know you at all.
Blogger has this new thing that tells you how many people view your blog. According to me, I have four blog followers (Hi Mom, Sarah, Elle, and Bri!! Oh, and occasionally Jake!). According to this weird tracker thing, way more people look at it than what I think. It also shows a map of where my views come from, and it said that a couple came from as far away as Malaysia! Whoa!
So obviously I knew this tracker thing was bunk. Who in Malaysia would randomly stumble upon my blog? And how come, post after post, I have no comments on anything? So obviously no one reads this (or so I thought). I keep writing, though, because I write for the same reason that I breathe: I just have to.
I appreciated the weird vanity tracking thing that blogger was doing, telling me that people read this, but I wished for a more accurate number. How is it possible that thirty people read a single post when I only know of four? I decided to dismiss my concerns and just keep writing, because really - who cares who reads it?
My blogger world was shattered one day a few weeks ago when I was having lunch with my friend Betsy. I'm in her wedding this upcoming October, so we were doing some planning. As we were eating she got a call from her Maid of Honor. Her Maid of Honor is named Sarah (though not the same Sarah that openly follows my blog). I was on middle school drama team with this Sarah, but I literally don't think I've seen her since I was thirteen. I had no clue what she wanted when Betsy handed over the phone and said, "Sarah wants to talk to you..."
She started the conversation by saying, "Hi Christine. It's Sarah. I have a confession to make."A confession? How could she have done something that has been on her conscience for the past ten years? Did she put something gross in my juice once at a drama team meeting? Did she make funny faces behind my back while I was performing? Did she spread some crazy rumor about me?
I didn't have to wonder for too long. She continued: "Here's the thing: I totally read your blog. Like, every post. So I pretty much know everything going on in your life even though I haven't seen you in forever. I've actually been out of the country for the past few years. I was in Malaysia. I showed your blog to some of my friends over there, so they read it too. I've been feeling creepy so I guessed it was time to confess."I wanted to scream: YOU'RE THE MALAYSIA FOLLOWER! BLOGGER WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!!!! But obviously I didn't do that because 1. that's weird and 2. we were in public. So actually I just said that I was glad she read it because that means that someone does.
Then I started wondering, though....is it possible that THIRTY people actually read this blog?! And I only know four of them?! I decided that I am going to let myself think so. After all, blogger was right on the Malaysia thing. So thank you, you twenty-six to thirty-five (depending on the post) readers who I don't know. I'm glad you read my blog. I don't think it's creepy. I'm really glad that someone actually chooses to read this, and if you continually choose to read it then that's probably because you enjoy it, which is even better! Thanks for the virtual ego boost, because even if you don't tell me that you're reading, blogger does. :-) Creepy, huh?
Blogger has this new thing that tells you how many people view your blog. According to me, I have four blog followers (Hi Mom, Sarah, Elle, and Bri!! Oh, and occasionally Jake!). According to this weird tracker thing, way more people look at it than what I think. It also shows a map of where my views come from, and it said that a couple came from as far away as Malaysia! Whoa!
So obviously I knew this tracker thing was bunk. Who in Malaysia would randomly stumble upon my blog? And how come, post after post, I have no comments on anything? So obviously no one reads this (or so I thought). I keep writing, though, because I write for the same reason that I breathe: I just have to.
I appreciated the weird vanity tracking thing that blogger was doing, telling me that people read this, but I wished for a more accurate number. How is it possible that thirty people read a single post when I only know of four? I decided to dismiss my concerns and just keep writing, because really - who cares who reads it?
My blogger world was shattered one day a few weeks ago when I was having lunch with my friend Betsy. I'm in her wedding this upcoming October, so we were doing some planning. As we were eating she got a call from her Maid of Honor. Her Maid of Honor is named Sarah (though not the same Sarah that openly follows my blog). I was on middle school drama team with this Sarah, but I literally don't think I've seen her since I was thirteen. I had no clue what she wanted when Betsy handed over the phone and said, "Sarah wants to talk to you..."
She started the conversation by saying, "Hi Christine. It's Sarah. I have a confession to make."A confession? How could she have done something that has been on her conscience for the past ten years? Did she put something gross in my juice once at a drama team meeting? Did she make funny faces behind my back while I was performing? Did she spread some crazy rumor about me?
I didn't have to wonder for too long. She continued: "Here's the thing: I totally read your blog. Like, every post. So I pretty much know everything going on in your life even though I haven't seen you in forever. I've actually been out of the country for the past few years. I was in Malaysia. I showed your blog to some of my friends over there, so they read it too. I've been feeling creepy so I guessed it was time to confess."I wanted to scream: YOU'RE THE MALAYSIA FOLLOWER! BLOGGER WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!!!! But obviously I didn't do that because 1. that's weird and 2. we were in public. So actually I just said that I was glad she read it because that means that someone does.
Then I started wondering, though....is it possible that THIRTY people actually read this blog?! And I only know four of them?! I decided that I am going to let myself think so. After all, blogger was right on the Malaysia thing. So thank you, you twenty-six to thirty-five (depending on the post) readers who I don't know. I'm glad you read my blog. I don't think it's creepy. I'm really glad that someone actually chooses to read this, and if you continually choose to read it then that's probably because you enjoy it, which is even better! Thanks for the virtual ego boost, because even if you don't tell me that you're reading, blogger does. :-) Creepy, huh?
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Elvis on Cooking
Elvis has asked if he can write a post in this blog. I said okay. Here it is. He wrote it while I was cooking lunch:
My mom is cooking again! Hooray! I love when she cooks because sometimes she drops stuff of the ground and then I get to eat it. YUM!
Today she is cooking...hmmm...something meaty smelling. I LOVE MEAT. I will sit here next to where she is standing by the stove and put on my cutest face, where I open my eyes real wide and tip my head just a little bit. Maybe she will share her food.
She's looking at me, but she's not giving me any meat. Why isn't my cute face working? I add a small whimper for effect to say, "Look at me, I'm sooooo hungry." Mom claims that I can't be that hungry, as I've just eaten dog food. I say that you don't have to be that hungry to want some meat. I'm full of dog food, but I'm starving for meat!
She's still mixing the beefy stuff in one skillet, but wait! She's doing something else! She's taking a pot of water over to the sink.... I follow, obviously. She drains the water and takes something out of the pot. She starts chopping it on her chopping board. I get a good whiff of what it is...
POTATOES! I FREAKING LOVE POTATOES! I must have some.
I try the cute face again, but to no avail. Mom claims that last time she let me have people food I puked, so she's not going to share any more. That is so unfair! I did not puke because of the food she gave me; I puked because of the bug I ate while we were on a walk. She doesn't believe me, though, so I need to resort to another method of securing potatoes.
I muster up some energy and try to jump up onto the counter. Unfortunately, I'm too short. When I jump as high as I can, I can barely get my face over the counter for half a second before I fall back down to the ground again. I start jumping in rapid succession, thinking that maybe if I jump multiple times I will be able to get higher and higher. Every time my face goes over the counter, I see the potatoes! My ultimate prize! Here is my thought process:
(jump)
HOORAY! POTATOES!
(fall)
Crap. I'm too short.
(jump)
YES! POTATOES!
(fall)
Blast. Not quite tall enough.
(jump)
THEY LOOK SO DELICIOUS!
(fall)
Dang. Missed em again.
My mom is happily chopping away, taking no pity on my potato plight. Finally I muster all my strength, jump as high as I can, and stick my tongue out at the same time. When my face is above the plane of the counter, my long tongue finally scrapes one of the potatoes. What JOY! What HAPPINESS! The taste of potato is in my mouth. I must have more. I brace myself to jump again but am taken aback by Mom screaming, "Ewwwww! ELVIS! You licked that potato! NASTY! Now I can't use that one. That is disgusting. Here, you can have it."
She throws that chunk of potato on the floor! HOOOOOORAY! I gobble it up all too quickly and resume my jumping mission to try to lick another potato so that she will give it to me. Instead, she locks me in my kennel and isn't letting me help her cook anymore. Life is unfair.
My mom is cooking again! Hooray! I love when she cooks because sometimes she drops stuff of the ground and then I get to eat it. YUM!
Today she is cooking...hmmm...something meaty smelling. I LOVE MEAT. I will sit here next to where she is standing by the stove and put on my cutest face, where I open my eyes real wide and tip my head just a little bit. Maybe she will share her food.
She's looking at me, but she's not giving me any meat. Why isn't my cute face working? I add a small whimper for effect to say, "Look at me, I'm sooooo hungry." Mom claims that I can't be that hungry, as I've just eaten dog food. I say that you don't have to be that hungry to want some meat. I'm full of dog food, but I'm starving for meat!
She's still mixing the beefy stuff in one skillet, but wait! She's doing something else! She's taking a pot of water over to the sink.... I follow, obviously. She drains the water and takes something out of the pot. She starts chopping it on her chopping board. I get a good whiff of what it is...
POTATOES! I FREAKING LOVE POTATOES! I must have some.
I try the cute face again, but to no avail. Mom claims that last time she let me have people food I puked, so she's not going to share any more. That is so unfair! I did not puke because of the food she gave me; I puked because of the bug I ate while we were on a walk. She doesn't believe me, though, so I need to resort to another method of securing potatoes.
I muster up some energy and try to jump up onto the counter. Unfortunately, I'm too short. When I jump as high as I can, I can barely get my face over the counter for half a second before I fall back down to the ground again. I start jumping in rapid succession, thinking that maybe if I jump multiple times I will be able to get higher and higher. Every time my face goes over the counter, I see the potatoes! My ultimate prize! Here is my thought process:
(jump)
HOORAY! POTATOES!
(fall)
Crap. I'm too short.
(jump)
YES! POTATOES!
(fall)
Blast. Not quite tall enough.
(jump)
THEY LOOK SO DELICIOUS!
(fall)
Dang. Missed em again.
My mom is happily chopping away, taking no pity on my potato plight. Finally I muster all my strength, jump as high as I can, and stick my tongue out at the same time. When my face is above the plane of the counter, my long tongue finally scrapes one of the potatoes. What JOY! What HAPPINESS! The taste of potato is in my mouth. I must have more. I brace myself to jump again but am taken aback by Mom screaming, "Ewwwww! ELVIS! You licked that potato! NASTY! Now I can't use that one. That is disgusting. Here, you can have it."
She throws that chunk of potato on the floor! HOOOOOORAY! I gobble it up all too quickly and resume my jumping mission to try to lick another potato so that she will give it to me. Instead, she locks me in my kennel and isn't letting me help her cook anymore. Life is unfair.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Errands Part 2: Winco
This post is going to be short, but this experience was still noteworthy:
Just as we finished our weekly grocery shopping expedition, Rex decided to stop for a moment and look at the alcohol. He was looking, not buying, but still. I immediately stopped the cart and exclaimed, "No! I will not support you in your Jack Daniels obsession!" This drew an odd look from the lady working. To a normal person, that would mean "Be quiet." To me, that meant, "Look, an audience!"
Let me add, by the way, that I can count on one hand the amount of times Rex or I have bought liquor. It just doesn't happen. We're not big drinkers. I mean, everyone loves college football with a little pizza and beer, but other than that we stick to water and juice.
Anyway, I continued. "Rex, you have a PROBLEM. You need to stop. I can't take it any more."
Rex looked at me, very confused, and chuckled. "Are you telling me that I'm an alcoholic?"
Perfect opening, Rex. You shouldn't have given it to me. Here is an approximation of the speech that followed:
"Rex, PLEASE! Think of the FAMILY! I just can't take this any more. You spend all of your money on expensive alcohol. I need to buy shampoo and toilet paper! What about Elvis? We're not going to be able to afford his kibble any more, and he's going to have to survive on only water and Jim Beam! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!" (at this point I started adding in some sobs for effect). "Walk away, Rex. JUST WALK AWAY!"
He walked away, and we bought no alcohol. A true victory for all alcoholics. Well, actually, more of a victory for non-alcoholics-whose-wife-pretends-they're-alcoholics-because-it-makes-grocery-shopping-more-interesting. You know, whichever, depending on the way you look at it.
Just as we finished our weekly grocery shopping expedition, Rex decided to stop for a moment and look at the alcohol. He was looking, not buying, but still. I immediately stopped the cart and exclaimed, "No! I will not support you in your Jack Daniels obsession!" This drew an odd look from the lady working. To a normal person, that would mean "Be quiet." To me, that meant, "Look, an audience!"
Let me add, by the way, that I can count on one hand the amount of times Rex or I have bought liquor. It just doesn't happen. We're not big drinkers. I mean, everyone loves college football with a little pizza and beer, but other than that we stick to water and juice.
Anyway, I continued. "Rex, you have a PROBLEM. You need to stop. I can't take it any more."
Rex looked at me, very confused, and chuckled. "Are you telling me that I'm an alcoholic?"
Perfect opening, Rex. You shouldn't have given it to me. Here is an approximation of the speech that followed:
"Rex, PLEASE! Think of the FAMILY! I just can't take this any more. You spend all of your money on expensive alcohol. I need to buy shampoo and toilet paper! What about Elvis? We're not going to be able to afford his kibble any more, and he's going to have to survive on only water and Jim Beam! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!" (at this point I started adding in some sobs for effect). "Walk away, Rex. JUST WALK AWAY!"
He walked away, and we bought no alcohol. A true victory for all alcoholics. Well, actually, more of a victory for non-alcoholics-whose-wife-pretends-they're-alcoholics-because-it-makes-grocery-shopping-more-interesting. You know, whichever, depending on the way you look at it.
Errands Part 1: Pep Boys
Wait...how old did you say Rex and I are? Twenty-three? Oooooooh... sorry, I must have misunderstood. I thought we were three.
At least that's how we were acting in Pep Boys today. Did you ever notice that auto parts shops never have anything fun to do? You have to sit there forever waiting for your car to be worked on, and they offer no sort of entertainment. I want to bring in a Nintendo and start charging people to use it. This is how I will make my millions. I would pay a lot for a little Super Mario when I'm bored out of my mind, wouldn't you?
No one caught onto the Nintendo idea yet, so Rex and I were left with nothing to do. We wandered around the store looking at various tires, speakers, and other car things that I know nothing about, and then suddenly I saw them right in front of me: a whole display of HOT WHEELS.
"Rex, pick your car," I commanded. "We're Hot Wheels racing until our real car is ready."
We spent a fair amount of time picking out the perfect cars. I finally chose mine, and Rex said, "Wow, the Aston Martin! Cool!" Yeah... I chose it because it was the only turquoise one and I thought it looked pretty, but don't tell Rex. He thought I chose it for the speed and finesse associated with that type of luxury vehicle. Um, okay. He chose a lime colored car. Chevelle, maybe? If you're reading this blog to learn about cars, you've found the wrong site. Move along.
So Rex and I went to the checkout counter and paid for our cars so we could rip them out of the packaging. Yay! Before we started racing, I told Rex that he had to name his race car. I named mine "Turbo Teal," which is an awesome name for a fast car. Rex named his "Rocco," which sounds like the name of a fast chihuahua. Take a look!
Rex and I found the most deserted aisles and raced our cars down them. We tried to race them outside, but the sidewalk cracks kept stopping our races. We raced the cars around the inside of full sized tires, which actually made a very nice race track. We finally decided to continue with aisle racing (it was the easiest), but Rocco took a bad turn and ended up underneath one of the aisles! Aaaaaaaah! ROCCO! COME BACK! Rex and I tried to retrieve Rocco, but it was no use. Rex told me to hand him the hammer that was displayed in that aisle, because he was somehow going to use that to get his car back (don't ask me how; I'm not sure that I want to know). Before he could use the hammer, one of the sales associates walked up to us and said, "Ummm...did you guys lose something?" Only then did I realize how ridiculous we looked, lying on our stomachs and staring earnestly underneath a hammer display.
I tried (in vain) to rectify the situation: "No, we didn't! I mean, yes, we did lose something, but it's really no big deal. We'll just be moving along..." The sales associate looked confused. "We can pull out the floor of the display for you...." I tried to assure him that we were fine, but I guess he took the idea of "friendly service" pretty seriously. WE REMOVED THE BOTTOM OF A STORE AISLE TO RETRIEVE A TOY CAR! I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Actually, that's a total lie. I'm sure I have been. But I will tell you - the rescue mission for Rocco was not one of my finest moments. The Pep Boys employee gave us a strange look, as if to say, "Would you like to explain why there was a toy car under this aisle, and why we went through all of this trouble to retrieve it?" But I just pretended like nothing was weird at all and said, "Come on, Rex, we'd better go," before sauntering back outside.
I am SO not going with him next time we need an oil change.
At least that's how we were acting in Pep Boys today. Did you ever notice that auto parts shops never have anything fun to do? You have to sit there forever waiting for your car to be worked on, and they offer no sort of entertainment. I want to bring in a Nintendo and start charging people to use it. This is how I will make my millions. I would pay a lot for a little Super Mario when I'm bored out of my mind, wouldn't you?
No one caught onto the Nintendo idea yet, so Rex and I were left with nothing to do. We wandered around the store looking at various tires, speakers, and other car things that I know nothing about, and then suddenly I saw them right in front of me: a whole display of HOT WHEELS.
"Rex, pick your car," I commanded. "We're Hot Wheels racing until our real car is ready."
We spent a fair amount of time picking out the perfect cars. I finally chose mine, and Rex said, "Wow, the Aston Martin! Cool!" Yeah... I chose it because it was the only turquoise one and I thought it looked pretty, but don't tell Rex. He thought I chose it for the speed and finesse associated with that type of luxury vehicle. Um, okay. He chose a lime colored car. Chevelle, maybe? If you're reading this blog to learn about cars, you've found the wrong site. Move along.
So Rex and I went to the checkout counter and paid for our cars so we could rip them out of the packaging. Yay! Before we started racing, I told Rex that he had to name his race car. I named mine "Turbo Teal," which is an awesome name for a fast car. Rex named his "Rocco," which sounds like the name of a fast chihuahua. Take a look!
Rex and I found the most deserted aisles and raced our cars down them. We tried to race them outside, but the sidewalk cracks kept stopping our races. We raced the cars around the inside of full sized tires, which actually made a very nice race track. We finally decided to continue with aisle racing (it was the easiest), but Rocco took a bad turn and ended up underneath one of the aisles! Aaaaaaaah! ROCCO! COME BACK! Rex and I tried to retrieve Rocco, but it was no use. Rex told me to hand him the hammer that was displayed in that aisle, because he was somehow going to use that to get his car back (don't ask me how; I'm not sure that I want to know). Before he could use the hammer, one of the sales associates walked up to us and said, "Ummm...did you guys lose something?" Only then did I realize how ridiculous we looked, lying on our stomachs and staring earnestly underneath a hammer display.
I tried (in vain) to rectify the situation: "No, we didn't! I mean, yes, we did lose something, but it's really no big deal. We'll just be moving along..." The sales associate looked confused. "We can pull out the floor of the display for you...." I tried to assure him that we were fine, but I guess he took the idea of "friendly service" pretty seriously. WE REMOVED THE BOTTOM OF A STORE AISLE TO RETRIEVE A TOY CAR! I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Actually, that's a total lie. I'm sure I have been. But I will tell you - the rescue mission for Rocco was not one of my finest moments. The Pep Boys employee gave us a strange look, as if to say, "Would you like to explain why there was a toy car under this aisle, and why we went through all of this trouble to retrieve it?" But I just pretended like nothing was weird at all and said, "Come on, Rex, we'd better go," before sauntering back outside.
I am SO not going with him next time we need an oil change.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Attack of the Killer Fireworks
Hello Blog Friends,
Sorry I've been gone for a while. I've had a really crazy past month. Here's how I spent the last four weeks:
Week 1: Big Bear Lake hiking trip with my husband and dog.
Weeks 2 and 3: Home to Michigan to spend some time with family and friends.
Week 4: Had a "staycation" in Las Vegas because our friends Josh and Charissa came out and we got to show them all around.
Wait a second - when you see a blog post title such as "Attack of the Killer Fireworks," I suppose you didn't click on this link to read about what I've been doing for the past few weeks, now did you? You clicked because you want to read about killer fireworks! Okay, here we go:
The Fourth of July is always fun in Las Vegas. The city of Henderson (which is where Rex and I live...it's right next to Vegas) puts on a free fireworks show every year. Thousands of people attend - it's really fun! Rex and I went last year and were excited about taking our friends Josh and Charissa with us this year. After a delicious and patriotic barbeque (we had blueberry/strawberry shortcake with whipped cream for dessert - red, white, and blue!), we headed down to the park to watch the fireworks.
We staked out a good spot in the grass where we could sit and watch the fireworks. We were a bit early, so we sat and talked for a while. It was pretty normal other than the frantic search of a mom looking for her five-year-old named Candance (she found her) and the disturbing-ness of watching a couple of forty-somethings rolling around making out on the blanket next to ours (um, EW).
Finally the fireworks started - hooray! They were huge! I leaned in to Rex and said, "They look like they're right over our heads and super close! Wow!" Rex leaned back to me and said, "Umm...I think that is because they are." I got my first inkling that something was wrong when one of those sparkly willow tree looking fireworks sent a shower of sparks toward the earth that went out a little too close for comfort. We were showered with ashes.
It all went down hill from there. The fireworks kept exploding closer and closer to the ground until the sparks started hitting the ground while they were still burning. Some fireworks only partially exploded, and then the fireballs would smash into the ground like some sort of patriotic apocalypse. People started running around and screaming. A mom grabbed her two children and sprinted away, leaving all of their stuff in the park. Rex gave me his hat to try to shield my eyes, saying that his glasses would keep his eyes safe. I really wanted to watch the fireworks, but I think I spent more time watching the burning embers fall and trying to dodge them. A kid sitting behind me got hit. He screamed, "Ahhhh! It BURNS!" and ran over to his mom to get ice.
At this point I was getting nervous. I thought maybe we should go. I turned to express this sentiment to Rex, but the excitement in his eyes glowed brighter than the embers. He exclaimed, "This is the best fireworks show EVER!" I smiled weakly and replied, "...but it's kind of dangerous..." Rex either didn't catch my trepidation or didn't care, because he said, "I KNOW! HENCE THE FUN!"
A piece of flaming firework landed behind Charissa. Josh was looking out for her and pushed her forward so that it wouldn't hit her, and then he put it out when it hit the grass so that it wouldn't start a fire. While he was doing that, another piece landed in Charissa's hair. Luckily that one wasn't on fire, but when she picked it out, the clump of ash was probably as wide as a golf ball.
A man to our right had a cloth cooler on his blanket. A semi-exploded firework hurdled towards his blanket and landed on top of his cooler. It was all flame-y and looked as if the man had spontaneously started a campfire on top of his cooler. At first he looked very startled, then he looked around as if he didn't know what to do. It was almost like he was waiting for a firetruck to rumble through the thousands of people and put out his flaming cooler. When he realized that no firetrucks were coming, he turned and attacked his cooler with his shoe to put out the fire. Luckily, he was successful. I'm not sure how the cooler fared, but alas. We can count it among the casualties of the firework attack.
The fireworks FINALLY ended after around a half an hour of terror. I looked around and saw lots of people hiding under the blankets they brought to sit on. They peeked out apprehensively as if to say, "Is it really over? Have we survived? Can we go home now?" Moms hugged their children to celebrate that they were finally safe. Friends checked each other for bits of ash and embers. Rex turned to me and said, "Okay, that was AWESOME!" What a weirdo.
Anyway, I'm glad we survived the Henderson fireworks of 2012. I hope for the Fourth of July in 2013 we will be safely back at McCamley Field in Portage, where the fireworks never attack anyone.
Sorry I've been gone for a while. I've had a really crazy past month. Here's how I spent the last four weeks:
Week 1: Big Bear Lake hiking trip with my husband and dog.
Weeks 2 and 3: Home to Michigan to spend some time with family and friends.
Week 4: Had a "staycation" in Las Vegas because our friends Josh and Charissa came out and we got to show them all around.
Wait a second - when you see a blog post title such as "Attack of the Killer Fireworks," I suppose you didn't click on this link to read about what I've been doing for the past few weeks, now did you? You clicked because you want to read about killer fireworks! Okay, here we go:
The Fourth of July is always fun in Las Vegas. The city of Henderson (which is where Rex and I live...it's right next to Vegas) puts on a free fireworks show every year. Thousands of people attend - it's really fun! Rex and I went last year and were excited about taking our friends Josh and Charissa with us this year. After a delicious and patriotic barbeque (we had blueberry/strawberry shortcake with whipped cream for dessert - red, white, and blue!), we headed down to the park to watch the fireworks.
We staked out a good spot in the grass where we could sit and watch the fireworks. We were a bit early, so we sat and talked for a while. It was pretty normal other than the frantic search of a mom looking for her five-year-old named Candance (she found her) and the disturbing-ness of watching a couple of forty-somethings rolling around making out on the blanket next to ours (um, EW).
Finally the fireworks started - hooray! They were huge! I leaned in to Rex and said, "They look like they're right over our heads and super close! Wow!" Rex leaned back to me and said, "Umm...I think that is because they are." I got my first inkling that something was wrong when one of those sparkly willow tree looking fireworks sent a shower of sparks toward the earth that went out a little too close for comfort. We were showered with ashes.
It all went down hill from there. The fireworks kept exploding closer and closer to the ground until the sparks started hitting the ground while they were still burning. Some fireworks only partially exploded, and then the fireballs would smash into the ground like some sort of patriotic apocalypse. People started running around and screaming. A mom grabbed her two children and sprinted away, leaving all of their stuff in the park. Rex gave me his hat to try to shield my eyes, saying that his glasses would keep his eyes safe. I really wanted to watch the fireworks, but I think I spent more time watching the burning embers fall and trying to dodge them. A kid sitting behind me got hit. He screamed, "Ahhhh! It BURNS!" and ran over to his mom to get ice.
At this point I was getting nervous. I thought maybe we should go. I turned to express this sentiment to Rex, but the excitement in his eyes glowed brighter than the embers. He exclaimed, "This is the best fireworks show EVER!" I smiled weakly and replied, "...but it's kind of dangerous..." Rex either didn't catch my trepidation or didn't care, because he said, "I KNOW! HENCE THE FUN!"
A piece of flaming firework landed behind Charissa. Josh was looking out for her and pushed her forward so that it wouldn't hit her, and then he put it out when it hit the grass so that it wouldn't start a fire. While he was doing that, another piece landed in Charissa's hair. Luckily that one wasn't on fire, but when she picked it out, the clump of ash was probably as wide as a golf ball.
A man to our right had a cloth cooler on his blanket. A semi-exploded firework hurdled towards his blanket and landed on top of his cooler. It was all flame-y and looked as if the man had spontaneously started a campfire on top of his cooler. At first he looked very startled, then he looked around as if he didn't know what to do. It was almost like he was waiting for a firetruck to rumble through the thousands of people and put out his flaming cooler. When he realized that no firetrucks were coming, he turned and attacked his cooler with his shoe to put out the fire. Luckily, he was successful. I'm not sure how the cooler fared, but alas. We can count it among the casualties of the firework attack.
The fireworks FINALLY ended after around a half an hour of terror. I looked around and saw lots of people hiding under the blankets they brought to sit on. They peeked out apprehensively as if to say, "Is it really over? Have we survived? Can we go home now?" Moms hugged their children to celebrate that they were finally safe. Friends checked each other for bits of ash and embers. Rex turned to me and said, "Okay, that was AWESOME!" What a weirdo.
Anyway, I'm glad we survived the Henderson fireworks of 2012. I hope for the Fourth of July in 2013 we will be safely back at McCamley Field in Portage, where the fireworks never attack anyone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)