I love this band.
It’s not just songs, it’s a stories…
“..You are just a lake, made to take and take and take and take. You’re not the ocean, I’m standing on my toes. You’re not the ocean, you’re not even close. You’re not the ocean, you’re up to my chin. You’re the ocean, you’re not coming in. You’re not coming in.”

Steve saw it one way, I saw it as “You think you are all that and a bag of chips, but you know what? You’re not. Oh, you think you can own me, but you got another thing coming… I’m in charge of this situation…”

I also love this song…. “Everyone’s got their breaking point, with me it’s spiders, and with you, it’s me.”

Oh, and you want a spooky true story about a prison break? “Spent so much time away from the world, he’s 38 years old, never kissed a girl.”, “A tap on the window in the middle of the night, held back the curtains for my older brother Mike.”

And I think this one is from the last show we went to, where my boyfriend Molson and I did not get along… “A generation so much dumber than it’s parents”

While at the optician’s office yesterday (and that’s an EYE doctor for all of you on BumpWatch 09-10) there were two girls waiting for their  mom.
I say “girls” because the older one MAY have been 13 and the younger was between 9 and 11. What? I’m bad at guessing these things.
ANYWAY.
So, OlderSister was wearing mid-calf Uggs, leggings, a short demin skirt, ribbed long sleeve, puffy vest and a Burberry scarf. Did I mention she was like, 13? Yeah. Okay.
And YoungerSister was in skinny jeans, a sweater and blue patent loafers.
When did I get so old?!
O.S. askes Y.S. who she is going to dress up as for her party. “Because Nevaeh is going as Paris Hilton and Cole and Clayton are going as-”
And at that point, I stopped listening and starting wondering what their parents did for a living.
(Note, the eye doctor is in my building, which is downtown, kinda slumming it. Especially if you’re from Clarence/East Amherst. Momma must have known someone.)
For the record, I have ordered perscription sunglasses for the trip.

My tint is darker, but nice, right!

You did know I have bifocals right?
Yeah, someones genes thought it’d be funny to give my right eye a tendency to turn inwards when things are close.
The good news is that the new glasses/frames are covered but the doc doesn’t really want to give me a script for contacts WHICH ARE ESSENTIAL TO MY SOCIAL LIFE.

http://twitter.com/big_ben_clock
(you know you want to)

And in what is only a poor coordination on my sinus’ part… my fall allergies are acting up.
I have a dry (non-prodcutive) cough and a stuffy/runny nose. My voice is on it’s way out.
And my co-workers are looking at me like I have some kind of F.l.U. which may be making it’s rounds. Thus, I have to remind everyone who walks by when I cough that I am not spiking a fever, I have no aches (outside of the residul gym), my insides are where they should be… AND this happens EVERY YEAR.

Since Grandpa passed away, I have been spending WAY too much time thinking.
Like WAY too much time.
Thinking about things that I can’t control, things I can’t change, things I can change but have not yet had the opportunity to…

Of course, there’s that screaming noise in the back of my head which sounds a lot like a ticking… like a clock.. say, a biological clock.
Now now, I know I’m nowhere near That Age, however, we’ve both agreed that we don’t want to have to show in up wheelchairs to our kids high school graduations. (unless it’s from broken pelvises in which case, we’re awesome)
Related, I’ve been thinking about how I was raised, how Steve was raised, how Mom and Dad were raised, how Grandma and Grandpa were raised and how I watch other people raise their kids.

There is plenty of potential to screw up.
Big time.

Lately, I’ve been overthinking coddling.
Former co-worker used to spend a great deal of her day on the phone, trying to correct her adult son’s missteps.
Some lady at the store took things the other way and basically toted her screaming 3-year-old on her hip around the grocery, not paying any mind.
My mom sympathizes with my toils and troubles and always wishes there was something she could do.
Steve played hockey on a chipped knee bone because SMS said it built character.
Grandpa was very here’s-the-rules-and-that’s-that.
My dad was “Stephanie Ann, if you (insert behavior here) again, I will (insert form of punishment).” and I would and he would.
Charlotte picks up baby Teppo whenever he cries, while daddy Teppo subscribes to the “he’s fine, let him cry”.

Is The Eventual going to end up on a comfy sofa claiming that his/her mom coddled her and that’s why he/she is constantly stuck in horrible relationship?
Or will he/she be a cutter because dad was too hard on him/her?

Ugh.

Perhaps focusing on how Not-Mullet-Trainer worked me over will divert my attention… if you will excuse me, I can’t feel my butt.

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.

lookin' right purty

(’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.

Are there weird pumpkin pricing protocols in your area?
There are two farmer’s markets (quite literally, a market on a farm) right near my house.
One markets sells pumpkins based on size, starting at$6-ish. The other market sells by the pound.
You know where I went.
Those butes above set me back $4.75. The pumpkins we purchased last weekend (for decoration) cost $11 and there’s only 3 of them.

I digress.
Seeing as my massage therapist had to testify, she couldn’t come over so I decided to murder some pumpkins.
(also, there’s two cameos in the reflection, Beans and me)

(obligatory Bailey/Pumpkin photo)

(this would be Kali cutting in front of the camera)

Right, so, back to pumpkins.
By now, we’re well acquainted my my sheer lack of artistic talent (see “animal crackers” and “gingerbread bears“)… So before taking a knife to the pumpkins…

It was rather ironic that I used a grape scented marker to pattern my pumpkins…

And so the supervision began:

Once Bailey approved my cleaning, the fun really began.

Holy crap, could it be?
Did I actually carve halfway what I wanted to?!?
Less the skull & crossbones looking a bit cartoonish…

It’s not something I hide… my lack of conventional religion.
However, being the curious creature that I am, I often find myself listening to Catholic Radio when there’s nothing musically intriguing on the dial.
Often, these sessions leave me with more questions than answers and I find myself wondering why I listen… I hardly agree with what is being said, thinking that what I call chance some call Divine Intervention.
I guess it’s more of a trying-to-see-it-from-the-other-side. What is it that makes religions so rampant?
Perhaps it’s part of me thinking/wondering if I’m missing something in my life (Nat, so help me if you say “babies!”). Am I shorting myself because I don’t get faith and all things church/mosque/temple related? Why is this not a big deal to me?

Not that I’m looking for answers to questions, but what do you find yourself doing that you don’t know why you do it?

Dear Driver,
I know and you know that when I’m walking, I have the right-of-way.

Dear Driver,
When I wave you though the intersection, the least you can do is wave back.
I will remember your face, namely your scowl and next time, I will enter the intersection.

Dear Driver,
Believe you me… I want to get hit as much as you want to hit me.

Dear Driver,
Put down the cell phone  and realize that white outlined stop signs aren’t optional.

Dear Guy in the Library Who Tried to Pick Me Up,
‘Twas cute.
Your whole, “I seen you around and well, was wondering if you was single.”
However, girls who are dressed business-like and in a library are often sticklers for proper grammar.
Even if I wasn’t taken.
P.S.
Please stop stalking me from behind the spinner of New Young Adult Fiction.

Dear Driver,
Looking to your right while turning your wheel left, into a crosswalk and not using a blinker while a cop is across the street is not a good idea.
Bonus points because I was a couple feet from your car.
But I’m sure you’re really important and have good insurance.

Dear Driver,
Maybe I like walking.
It’s not like it’s -4 out. Yet.
Save your pity stares for the bum in front of Rite Aid.

Dear Mummerer,
Were you calling me “gorgeous” or was your Turrets acting up?
It’s hard to tell with you downtown folk.

Love,
Stephanie

PITA*, trying to be all small-talk: Hey.
me, typing a report: Hey.
PITA: How’s that [spec] book [that I gave you four days ago and is 200+ pages without any real information available] coming along?
me, typing: It’s coming along.
PITA: Yeah?
me, slightly annoyed: Yup.
PITA: Okay, I’ll come back in a little while then.
me: No. I’ll come to you when it’s preliminarily done.
PITA, shocked: Well. Okay then.

Yes, You.

What is it with people not realizing that the more they bother the minions, the less miniony work gets done?!

*Pain In The Ass…