(disclaimer: cell phone photos)
(disclaimer: cell phone photos)
I’m still banging around, things have just been CRAZY lately.
Since we last talked:
* Mr.C Turned 1
* Mr. C is an INTERNATIONAL MODEL on a Fisher-Price toy. He’s on Amazon.com right now, we’re waiting to see if he gets on the box.
(Yes, that really is MY KID. Those toes drive me insane with nibbles!)
* Mr. C has 8 teeth, including one molar.
* Mr. C got baptized. Which, if you know me, is a big freakin’ deal.
* We’re up to about 10 words, “Baywee” (Bailey), Kitty, Doggie, MOMMA!, Dada, Piggies (toes), Up, Yeah, Hi, Bye, Baby. He’ll imitate syllable noises too.
* I have not been committed to the nuthouse. yet.
* Steve and I celebrated our 7-year wedding anniversary.
* In late June, I had a “wacky” idea. Started working on it in July. Did a whole bunch of legal stuff. Found out on Mr. C’s birthday that I AM A SMALL BUSINESS OWNER.
You may say that my cloth diapering obsession has reached epic proportions.
Parking farther away then I care to, in the rain (uphill, both ways), wind and cold, I made my way to the front of the store.
There’s a car parked directly in front of the doors.
“Who the hell does that person think they are?!”, Angry Stephanie wonders.
As I get closer, I see there’s no one in the drivers seat.
“They must be pretty damn important to just leave their car here!”, comments Angry Stephanie. “AND, no [handicapped] parking permit…”
As I round the back of the car, I see a woman, about my age, fighting to get an ottoman-style storage bench from the backseat onto a cart.
“Do you need a hand?”, I asked her, double-taking as my anger turned to apathy.
“No no… I’ve got it.”, She said as the cart was being blown away.
A woman so much like myself.
“Well, I’m going to at least hold the cart her for you… it’d be annoying to get it on the cart only to have it push the cart further away.” And I put a foot on the bottom and held the handle bar.
Grunting, she got the bench from the back seat and situated on the cart.
“And I’ll even get the door for you…”, I said, holding the door from behind.
Another woman joined in, getting the other swinging door and we got the bench into the store.
Afterward, I felt so much more rejuvenated than exhausted.
It’s hard work being angry and I think I want to be done with that.
Vhhhattt is deeeeeseee?
It almost looks as though our incapable blogmistress is playing a sport!
Let’s take a look…
Team Canada jersey? Check!
Left foot covered in clear packing tape? CHECK!
Yes, it’s true.
Stephanie played a sport.
And yes, curling is a sport.
Don’t believe me?
You try hurdling a 34 lb rock down a sheet of ice while not overshooting or undershooting. Oh, and aim towards a big ol’bullseye.
By the end of the two hours, my gloves were off, sleeves were up and hat was removed.
You chase a rock down a sheet of ice, pushing with one foot and sliding with the other while whisking a burlap covered brush!
As far as injuries, I fell over almost every time I threw the rock and in one of my woo-woo-woo-ing falls, I overstretched something in my inner thigh.
All in all, not too bad.
I’d do it again!
Well, things have achieved normality again… or as normal as I can expect them to be.
Work is insanely crazy which makes me just want to go home and sleep, but alas…
Spent most of the weekend wondering how my house gets so trashed when we don’t have people over and I’m [feeling like I've been] constantly cleaning.
Sunday continued in our “typical Sunday” fashion. Watched the Buffalo Bills make asshats of themselves, mulched leaves, yelled at Bailey to stop running in the swampland that is our backyard, washed the dog, changed into jammies, had dinner, went to bed.
Saturday was Halloween and we went to Teppo and Charlotte’s house for a party.
(‘scuse the camera phone photo… knowing how these things get, I wasn’t about to have my camera lost/ruined/flooded/dropped)
We I made chicken wing dip* and served it as roadkill. I picked up a toy dog, cut open the tummy, removed stuffing and inserted the dish of dip. People were scared to eat it; knowing that I almost ALWAYS bring chicken wing dip.
Anyway, Steve ended up getting a bit too into character and by midnightish, I was assisting him out to YOT.
Despite the approching deadline, we do not have Eurorail passes nor hotels for London or Dublin…
Between The Grief Diet** and actually GOING to the gym, I am feeling progress. Despite that stupid scale not moving. And my trainer quitting (I have a new trainer I’m trying this evening.. I think he has a mullet if it’s who I think it is. Deets to come). And being so busy that I have to make myself go for the half hour. My bag is in the trunk, hopefully I will be able to go right from work and get some cardio in before Mullet makes me cry.
* -2 8oz packages of cream cheese, softened
- 1 bottle (wazzat, 16oz?) blue cheese
- 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
- 2 large cans of chicken breast (found near the tuna in most stores)
- Hot sauce to taste
DO NOT go all low fat or it won’t melt right or taste right.
Mix everything together and bake at 350 for about 20 minutes, until gooey and bubbly.
** Being really sad and not wanting to eat. You’ll be happy to know that when I’m eating, it’s fairly healthy.
1)Some people are naturally talented at putting together outfits that work.
1a) I am not one of those people.
1b) “Charlotte” is. We went shopping Tuesday night and while I picked out a plain gray sweater, we agreed on a ruffled (gasp!) plaid (gasp!) tank for underneath,
she picked out a necklace that set the whole thing off.
It was worn yesterday (with standard black pants) and I felt so good, I felt, well, good.
2) When the voice in the back of your head says, “Rethink”, you should.
Opting to hit the snooze bar once more and pluck my eyebrows this morning, left little time to pick out an outfit*. So I chose a bright teal shirt, a tie-died purple/pink/brown scarf and (shock) black pants; “Meh. Not happy, but ‘ever.” I also opted to just use concealer, seeing as I felt my outfit was “loud”. Little did I know that there’s a big meeting today, including some predominate business people (*cough*formercountyexecutive*cough*) and here I sit, feeling torribly unprofessional.
3) I know NOTHING when it comes to stocks, bonds, annuities, etc. Well, not nothing, I got schooled last night when we met with a financial adviser about RETIREMENT.
“Yup. This is it. We’re officially adults now.”, I said as we clinked MGD64 and Coors Light.
* “Gee Stephanie, why don’t you just pick one out the night before?”. Well, because whatever I put out the night before won’t please me in the morning and I’ll end up with another outfit anyway.
Last time I played volleyball (like, two years ago), I thought the ball was hitting my forearms and learned it wasn’t when I proceeded to smash the ball into my own face, lacerating my eyebrow and bending my glasses.
“Don’t be afraid of the ball!” has no meaning to me because I’m pretty sure that sporting equipment has it out for me. This coming from a girl who has hit herself in the head with golf clubs, whacked her back with a baseball bat, kicked bocce balls, bent herself in half while skiing, used her elbows/knees to dust a tennis court, fell off a bike, pulled muscles while paddle-boating…. you get the idea.
So, against my better judgment, I decided to play in the weekly [non-league] volleyball game.
My first game left much to be desired, seeing as I mainly duck-and-covered, screamed in terror whenever the ball came towards me. The second game saw me hitting the ball, just not in an over-the-net fashion. By the third game, I was serving over the net and returning in a somewhat organized fashion.
Game four, however… It’s a close game… within two points or so. I get up to serve. Over the net. Returned. And here’s where things get blurry… The ball came towards me and I backed up to return, and I didn’t back up quite enough… well, let’s say that ones face is not as effective at ball return as say, one’s arms.
The ball slams into my face, knocking me over.
“OH MY GOD!”
“ARE YOU OKAY?!?!”
“Yup. Just gimme a second to writhe here…” As tears flooded to my eyes, no doubt as a result from my nose being walloped with a volleyball. And, for those of you who are wondering how large my head is, the ball hit both my chin and my nose concurrently. At least I had my contacts in.
I finished the game (thank goodness it was a few points from the end) and weaved off the court.
Shortly thereafter I went home, applied ice to my nose and a bag of corn to my forehead.
Clearly, I do not have a concussion as I woke up this morning and neither one of the medical professionals seemed overly concerned.
From hereon out, you will find me guarding beer cooler or on grill prep.
Well, things went well last night.
There wasn’t a catfight, much to the sadness of my readers, I know…
Instead… over dinner
SMS: So, what do you want for your birthday?
me: Well, are we starting from scratch or have you started shopping?
SMS: Let’s say we’re starting from scratch.
me: OH! A Bike!
SMS: A bike?
me: Yeah, I think I would like a bike.
SMS: I was going to get you a bike, but I didn’t know what kind you wanted. Okay, we can head to Dick’s.*
SMS: Let’s say we’re NOT starting from scratch…
me: Um, well, a summer comforter for the bed, some clothes, maybe some kitchen gadget, a make-up consultation.
SMS: Ummmm hmmmmm.
While at Dick’s, the sales guy asks me what kind of riding I do.
It is then that it occurs me me that my last bike was a Huffy. Not that there’s anything wrong with the fine products from Huffy, but I’m pretty sure that I pedaled backward to stop.
A couple of very wobbly trips around the store (“Look out! Bike rider in heels! Coming through!”), we agree upon the DiamondBack Vital 2.
We end up having to go tot the other end of the mall and in doing so, we pass Build-a-Bear.
“Mom! Can we build a bear?! MOM! Can we build a bear?!”, I mockingly ask.
And the next thing I know, she’s telling me to pick out a toy. “You know I was kidding right?” I say.
“Pick. Out. A. Toy.”
Well, when everything was said and done, I ended up with a teddy bear.
We named him “Tres Zee”; for thirty, get it?!?! And he sings happy birthday. If anyone else is on buildabearville.com, let me know, we can be beary friends!
Part of me feels silly, “I got a BIKE! and a TEDDY BEAR for my birthday!!!” and part of me is like, “I am helping the environment and economy by purchasing a bicycle and a portion of Tres’ purchase is going to help sick kids. AWESOME!”
Worth mention: We had one drink a piece.
* Note: Dick’s Sporting Goods. Also note, dickssportinggoods.com, not dicks.com. One has things for watersports while the other features watersports. Just saying.