put your feet up, and your expectations down

It's been awhile since I've shared a good story about the Ex that made my life kind of miserable interesting. Some people might say it's because I've now matured and no longer feel hurt or betrayed by many of the things he did because I now realize they were his issues and not mine.

Those people are wrong.

More than likely, the reason I barely think about this Ex any longer is because I'm way happily married and satisfied with everything that Hubs provides me(without me begging)and I no longer require a glance into the past every four minutes.

But last week I was driving by one of my old workplaces, singing along to Rihanna on the radio and trying to make a list of things that last longer than Kim Kardashian's marriage (bananas, a sun tan, my nail polish, days between eye brow waxes) when all of a sudden-

BAM

- there it was. A memory I had long since forgotten brought to the forefront of my brain by simply seeing a building at which I was once employed. I sat back in my seat and thought over the memory, and though I remember being incredibly sad when this happened, I couldn't help but now think-

THIS IS A BLOG WORTHY STORY.

So here we go.

It's 2005. I'm 24 years old working at a job I love with people I respect and adore. I've become good friends with several gals in my department, and we tell each other stories.

(Actually they're all married and settled, and my life is a hot mess, so really I just tell them my stories.  And they're fine with that - I think.)

Anyways, they're all more than familiar with the five years of drama that is Me and Ex. Sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he wants to hold my hand, sometime he wants to date other people to see what else is out there but asks me to please stick around and not date anyone else because he knows he'll be back after he gets it out of his system and he's really sorry but he has to do this and I understand, right?

It's an all too familiar tale.

But on this particular day, I'm excited. For one thing, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have just announced they're divorcing, which means I can get Season 1, 2 and 3 of "Newlyweds" at a seriously discounted rated.

Yes, I liked that show. Shut up.

But more importantly, the weekend is near. And just last night I had a very interesting phone conversation with Ex.  It went something like this:

Me: (winding up our long conversation about how awesome it is to fish in the summer. It was a mostly one-sided conversation.) Well, I gotta get to bed, Ex.

Ex: Okay, yeah. Cuz you have to work in the morning and all. Are you excited about this weekend?

Me: (shrugs shoulders) I mean, yeah I am.

Ex: (voice hardening) Why don't you sound excited?

Me: (takes a deep breath) Well Ex, it just seems like I'm always driving the 60 miles out to your Dad's house to see you. I live in an apartment alone here. It just seems so weird driving that far to stay with you at your Dad's. We'd have a perfectly great weekend here...alone.

Ex: (sighs audibly) We've talked about this. Gas is expensive and you have a way better job than me and you get great great gas mileage. Besides, we have the fishing pond here.

Me: Right. I forgot.

Ex: And - I have something for you that I think you're really going to love.

Me: (putting down my ice cream to listen carefully) You have something for ME?

Ex: (smiling through the phone) Yep. Just got it this week. You're going to be pretty excited.

Me: Now wait, this is something you bought? Like, with money? Or did you steal it like the Dr. Pepper and the cactus flower on Valentine's Day?

Ex: (snorts in disapproval) Ha ha. No. It's something you've been waiting for a long time...let's just say that.

***

So after the conversation, I'm feeling more than excited. Ex is not a gift buyer. At all. This has to be something that has him pumped.

The next day I rush to work to discuss it with my girls. We go over every detail of the conversation.

Friend 1: Did he sound uncomfortable, like he spent way too much on whatever it is?

Friend 2: He never buys you anything. Did he actually refer to the gift as "it"? Because that sounds like jewelry to me.

Friend 3: I think you're setting yourself up for disappointment.

We go at least 18 rounds deciding that if he bought it with his own money, it can't possibly be anything over $40. BUT, if he used a credit card, then it could be a big gift. Like, one that requires some deep thought and preparation. I'd take a bracelet. Or earrings. Or something that doesn't come in a Victoria's Secret box that he got with his mom's discount. And that she picked out.

Friday arrives. All day long I'm a basket case. I have not only convinced myself that tonight is going to be a great night, but it's going to be a night I'll never forget. My boyfriend is going to give me a gift without me asking, begging or hinting. He's finally growing up.

At 4:45, I've already shut down my computer, packed up my purse and am sitting in my task chair, my legs bouncing up and down at the anticipation of 5:00.

Friend 3: (rolling her eyes) Seriously, I can't believe you're this excited. I've never seen someone so worked up over a gift.

Me: I know, but you don't understand. I have this weird...feeling.

Friend 1: It's indigestion, we had Mexican for lunch.

Me: No, it's something else. I feel like this gift is going to be a strong indication of the coming year for me and Ex. Like a pace setter, ya know?

Friend 2: Well, we're all so excited to find out what it is!

Me: (leaping out of my seat) It's 5:02!! I could have left two minutes ago. Bye guys! See you Monday!!!

****

MONDAY MORNING:

Friend 1: (bouncing over to my desk) SOOOOO????

Me: (faced away from my friend, staring out the window) Hmpgh.

Friend 2: Uh, what does that mean? Did you have a good weekend?

Me: Hmpgh. (flops head down onto my desk, burying my face in my arms.)

Friend 3:  Oh no. What happened?

Me: (muffled) Hrmph drff refaph mrff wrrp chrr.

All three friends: Huh?

Me: (sitting up and spinning around to face them.) He bought me a LAWN CHAIR.

Three Friends: (blank stares)

Me: That's right. I went to his house on Friday, so excited at the possibilities. He led me into the garage and said he apologized that it wasn't wrapped, but it was too big, right?

Three Friends: (nodding eagerly)

Me: We get to the garage and I see two boxes leaning up against his Dad's wood shop bench. And they're lawn chairs. LAWN CHAIRS.

Friend 1: (optimistically) Wellll, did you ask for a lawn chair recently?

Me: (nodding, fighting back tears) Apparently so. A few months ago my Mom got one of those new types of lawn chairs that you can lean back and recline, ya know? So I said it was pretty cool. And apparently THAT means I want one.

Friend 2: So, wait, why were there two?

Me: (throws head back laughing) Because HE needs one, too! This way we can both benefit and be comfortable when we fish.

Friend 3: (puzzled) You like to fish?

Me: (eyes narrowed) I. Hate. To. Fish.

Friend 2: (sighs) Well, look on the bright side. He did finally buy something for you. And without you asking!

Me: His dad bought them for us.

Friend 2: Oh.

***

And so it was, in fact, a pace setter for that year with Ex. It turned out to be the year of the forced ring shopping and the proposal that never happened (which is a story I've yet to tell).

If I had been smarter, I might have ended things after the lawn chair debacle. But I'm a stubborn gal, and decided to let it ride. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment. Maybe I was just insecure. Either way, I know the gals I worked for got a kick of that story, and I bet they never looked at lawn chairs the same again.

eat mor chikin, just don't be a jackass

Confrontation isn't my strong suit. Generally I enjoy getting along with people and avoiding conversations that make me feel awkward.

(I mean, unless some hoochie tries to take the last adorable leather jacket I've been eyeing for WEEKS at Nordstrom Rack. Then I'll cut a bitch.)

But on the average day, I'd prefer smiles and joy rather than yelling and angry eyes.

Yesterday was not an average day. Here's what happened.

****

It's 11:30 am on a gorgeous fall day. I have a lunch presentation at noon with a very large client that I want to make a great impression on. My hair looks nice (aka it's clean and combed), my outfit makes my legs look long and I feel prepared.  I just need to pick up the catering for the presentation.

I pull into the Chick-Fil-A parking lot feeling calm and ready. I open the glass door and step inside. It is mass chaos. At least four children are crying, the line is a mile long and the cashiers look like they're going to commit suicide at any second.

Remaining calm, I step into the food line and wait for the six people in front of me to order. My watch reads 11:34. Eep.

A frazzled kid of about 17 stands behind me and audibly sighs at the line. I turn and shrug my shoulder as if to say, "Whaddya gonna do?"  And really, it's not so bad. The cashiers are moving quickly; people are in high spirits. I relax.

Suddenly a groan booms from a few feet away. A man in his late 50's stands behind Frazzle Kid. The man is bald with intense brown eyes and a permanent scowl, which is doing nothing for the wrinkles on his face that have clearly formed from years of grumpiness.

"Which damn line you in?" he grumbles to Frazzle.

"Uh, not sure," Frazzle squeaks. "I think it's just the one line and you disperse as you get up to the front, ya know?"

Grumpy scoffs and runs a hand over his greasy head. "This is so ridiculous. I'm in a hurry."

"Next," calls a young cashier. I've been so preoccupied with Grumpy and Frazzle's conversation, I've failed to realize it's my turn.

"That's me!" Grumpy calls out and jumps in front of me and Frazzle, waving his credit card.

Remember, I don't love confrontation. But this guy is trying to jump in front of at least two people. Not cool. Do I say something? I glance at my watch. 11:39. Time to get confrontational.

I act quickly and beat Grumpy to the counter.


"I'm actually next," I say with a smile. "I'm just here to pick up my catering order. My name's Kim."

"Oh sure," the adorable cashier with a bouncy ponytail smiles. She can't be a day over 16. "Just step over to the side and we'll get you all taken care of. I can help the next person!"

Frazzle doesn't have a chance. Grumpy flies up to the register, elbowing me further to the end of the counter. He puts his credit card in the young cashiers face and yells, "I want a chicken sandwich, no pickles and a fry. Put it on this card, right here."

That extra helping of Chick-Fil-A happiness training kicks in and Ponytail Girl smiles even wider. "Of course, sir," she says through clenched teeth. "And your drink?"

Grumpy shifts his weight and puffs out his chest. "I don't WANT a drink. I already told you that! Chicken sandwich, no pickles. Fries. That's it! On the credit card right here."

I can feel the entire restaurant holding their breath. Children have stopped crying and watch the scene playing out. Ponytail Girl has her smile screwed on so tight I'm afriad her cheeks are going to break. This can't go on.

I open my mouth to say something, but the manager has just emerged with my food. I can just walk away, pay my tab and be done with it. There's no need to get involved. Grumpy will get his food and karma will handle him later. But that isn't right. I know Ponytail Girl can't say anything because the customer is always right.

Well I'm a customer, too, and I decide to show Grumpy what is right.

I move back down the counter, take a deep breath and speak.

"Sir, you really shouldn't speak that way to her. She's doing the best she can to get your food and you're being incredibly rude."

Grumpy turns in slow motion and looks me up and down, his eyes blazing.

"You can eff off," he spits, obviously not using the politically correct term. "Leave me the eff alone, bitch."

Ow. That stung. It also makes me mad.

"Wow." I shake my head in disappointment and turn to Ponytail Girl. "I apologize for this man. He is very rude and you don't deserve that."

"And you should mind your own effing business," Grumpy yells, his voice growing louder with every word. "Be a lady in your stupid black suit and shut your effing mouth before I teach you a lesson."

My eyes narrow into slits and I see red. "You know, I AM a lady. I would never speak to someone like you are. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Eff off, bitch. Get a life!" Grumpy screams and I can tell this isn't getting me anywhere. I've said my piece and I can't do anything else. 

I resist the urge to use my knee (which is covered in my stupid suit) to discombobulate a sensitive area of his anatomy. An employee hands me my catering bags and walks out with me to my car.


As I climb into the driver's seat, I'm kicking myself for not coming up with something more clever to say. I look down and realize my hands are shaking. I'm so angry I don't even know what to do with myself.

I need a drink of my Dr. Pepper. (We'll address the fact that I'm an addict later, okay?) Except I left my drink on the counter. I have to go back in.

Mother of pearl.

Assuming that Grumpy Grumperson is probably long gone by now, I gather myself and head back toward the restaurant. No such luck. Grumpy is on his way out. We are going to collide right outside the restaurant...where there are less witnesses.

Still in a hurry, Grumpy doesn't notice me until he's out the door. Suddenly his eyes register recognition. Armed with his sack of chicken sandwich and no pickles, he charges by me in a cloud of anger and snarls, "Eat sh*t and die, you nasty bitch."

Classy.

He skulks to his Mercedes which is naturally taking up two spots and drives away like a very un-talented Andretti.

"Thank you for saying something to that horrible man," a small voice says from the patio. A young woman is sitting with her daughter enjoying their lunch.

"I just can't believe someone else didn't say something," she continues, taking a bite of her french fry. "You know there was a table full of cops right behind you, don't you? They didn't say a word."

I shrug my shoulders. "It was loud enough in there, maybe they didn't hear what was going on," I reply. "Either way, I don't think I really helped. I just don't like to see people treated that way."

The woman smiles at me as she cuts a piece of chicken for her daughter. "Well, you did the right thing."

As I head back into the restaurant to grab my totally deserved Dr. Pepper for the day, I think to myself, "as that the right thing to do? Maybe the man was sick in the head, or drunk, or having a really, really bad day?

Then I decide that there is never an excuse to speak to someone that way. Plus, I would have felt crummy all day if I hadn't spoken up. I've worked in restaurants and retail many times in my life and have been treated terribly. I wanted someone to come to my defense then, and I'd still want them to now. I would want someone to do the right thing, even if it didn't really get them anywhere. At the very least I know Grumpy had to have felt at least a tiny bit humiliated by a girl half his age telling him he was a bozo. Right?

What would you have done?

talking trash

It is no secret that I am somewhat...scatterbrained. It's the way I'm built; I can't help it. It doesn't take much for me to get side tracked and - wait, that Russell dude from the Real Housewives of Orange County killed himself?

Hold on. Must research.

**** (muzak playing in your head)  ****

I'm back. Where was I? Oh right, scatterbrained.

My mind tends to wander and prevent me from focusing on whatever task is currently at hand. Over the years this has cost me in dearly in many ways. Examples?

• Lost babysitting money that I JUST HAD IN MY HAND three seconds ago.
• Purchasing at least 5 pairs of gloves every year, because I always lose them even know I KNOW FOR A FACT that I left them in the car seat, Hubs, I really did. Some homeless person probably broke in and took them. What would they need a GPS for?
• Missed appointments with clients because my keys have decided to grow legs and scurry underneath the sofa, even though it is WITHOUT DOUBT that I haven't gone in that living room for the last three days. Really.

Anyways.

For the most part, I can keep these little mishaps under wraps. Yes Mom, I know I got paid babysitting money last night. No, I didn't LOSE it...I used it to, uh, buy tampons. So can I have some money for the movies?

Yes, Hubs, I know you asked me to go buy a new watch battery. And yes, I took the old battery with me in my wallet. In THIS EXACT POCKET. But when I got to the store, it was gone! What's that? Oh, you found it on the floor board of the car? How odd. My wallet must have a hole in it. Guess I'll have to get a new wallet.

I thought this problem would just magically go away someday, but frankly, the older I get, the more frequently these episodes occur.  And unfortunately, they're getting harder to hide.

Like this:

It's Wednesday. I've finished my second appointment for the day and have another one in an hour and a half. Not enough time to go home and not NEARLY enough time to go search the shoe rack at Nordstrom's. Damn.

Instead, I trek to the nearest coffee shop. The shop is fairly empty, save a few people furiously typing on their laptops or organizing their wedding planner book. I purchase a fruit smoothy, take up residence in a comfy booth and check Facebook schedule appointments for next week.

An hour later, I glance up from my computer and notice that quite a large number of people have arrived in the restaurant. A quick glance at my watch shows that I have 15 minutes to get to my next appointment with time to spare. Well, didn't I time this well?

Congratulating myself for getting so much done in such a small amount of time, I stand to gather all my stuff. And by stuff, I mean:

• Laptop bag
• iPad
• Phone
• Purse
• Planner
• Magazine
• Notebook
• Smoothie cup.

Needless to say my hands are full. In my right hand, I carefully balance my notebook and iPad. Hanging on my right arm are my laptop bag and purse (which, incidentally, weigh a minimum of four pounds. Each).

With my free left hand, I pick up the smoothie cup and my phone. I just need to toss the cup in the trash, and I'm good to go.

This is where my scatterbrain syndrome takes over. As I walk to the trash, this happens.

Okay, so, trash can first. Throw away smoothie cup, get keys out of the left pocket of my purse and- HOLY COW that girl's dress is cute. Is that mustard yellow or more of a canary? Her boobs are smaller than mine; I don't think I can pull that low cut look off. Plus my arms would look jiggly. When I get home tonight I'm going to start doing push-ups. For real. Then I'm going to cut out sweets. I read that article the other day that said-

"Excuse me, Miss," a voice interrupts my list of resolutions. I'm now standing in front of the trash can totally blocking a guy from getting to his booth.

Embarrassed, I smile and shrug, "Oh, so sorry about that. Just need to throw this away," I hold the smoothie cup up for him to see and gracefully aim it over the trash can.

And then I drop my phone in the trash instead of the cup.

Jay. Zus.

What am I supposed to do? This is not a normal trash can. This is a trash can with a GIGANTIC wood enclosure around it that's covered in ranch dressing, cream cheese and balsamic vinaigrette.

I know I have to act fast before someone comes over and dumps their un-eaten tomato basil soul in the bin. A minimum of ten pairs of eyes eagerly watch me as I flag down an employee. My audience is hoping I have a total melt down. They might just get to see one.

"Can I help you ma'am?" a young girl with a brown ponytail and high cheekbones asks.

"Yes, please," I say in my most unconvincing "Nothing is Wrong, I Can Totally Handle This" voice. "See, I dropped my phone in the trash instead of this cup. Haha! I'm sure that happens all the time."

Silence.

"So anyway, it's too far down in the trash for me to grab it. Can we take the trash out of the bin thingy and I'll get it that way?"

Ponytail Girl is trying not to laugh, I know it. She's also hoping her bagel friend is recording this whole thing for You Tube so she can label it #CoffeeeShopFail and it'll get 31,000 hits by the time the dinner crowd comes in.

"Sure," she says sweetly, reaching for trash bin. "You just open this here, and pull out the can. There it is, right on top."

Quickly I grab the Blackberry from its perch on a Styrofoam sandwich container and brush off the bagel crumbs.

"Guess this'll teach me not to try and multi-task, huh?" I joke.

"Well, at least you dropped it in a trash can and not a toilet, right?" she offers.

I decide not to tell her I did that a few years ago. Twice.

don't ask me wifi

The last few weeks have sucked. Between living in a hotel and rotating four outfits because we don't have a washer and dryer in the new house, I'm about to dump gasoline on my head and smoke a cigarette.

But I won't.

The light at the end of the tunnel is poking through. We at least have a functional television.

Then again, we have no cable. Which means no True Blood, Real Housewives of ANYTHING, So You Think You Can Dance, or Flipping Out. I may as well not have a TV.

One great part of the move that's complete is all three pets are back from Grandma's house and living with us again. As I posted the other day, we just rescued our new dog Tootsie, and she's fantastic. I'm excited to someday cuddle up with her on the couch and get some work done.

Notice I said someday.

Because we don't have Internet.

For the last three days we did have "free" wifi from an unsuspecting neighbor who didn't have his service password protected.  It only took 72 hours for him to figure out why his internet was so slow.

So there went that.

Today I had several things that I needed to get done that could not be accomplished via my Blackberry.

(Mainly because my Blackberry is as efficient as one of those Speak 'N Spells I played with when I was 4.)

That being said, I needed Internet.

Panera only allows 1/2 an hour of Internet at a time, and I needed at least 2. I don't drink coffee, so Starbucks was out. Then Hubs came up with a solution that fixed one problem but created a whole new set of others.

McDonald's.

Apparently they have WiFi.  Really?  Do a lot of business people frequent McDonald's? I usually only see mu mu's. Maybe that's just me.

I was desperate though, and I went to the McDonald's. I located a booth,s at down, and began to work. 
While sitting there, I discovered:

1) It is impossible to concentrate on work when a 2 year old child is screaming, "I HATE FRENCH FRIES! I WANT MACARONI! Mommy always takes me to get macaroni.  You're a DOODY HEAD, Daddy!

2) McDonald's does not offer outlets, despite their Wifi. Charge your battery prior to leaving the house.

3) McDonald's Diet Dr. Pepper tastes like a mix of prune juice, Hi-C and a shot of Keystone Light. As a (self-proclaimed) Dr. Pepper expert, I'm tempted to call corporate about this travesty.

4) If you find yourself forced to use your laptop in a McDonald's, no less than three people will ask you, "McDonald's has WiFi now?" or "Working hard or hardly workin', eh?" or "What kinda 'puter is that? I just got me one of them iPad's from my daughter for Christmas. So, wheredo you live?"

5) I am not a nice person when I get interrupted.

In other news, I have found the PERFECT DOG to go adopt so Tootsie can have a brother.

(YES, I was working while at McDonald's using the Wifi. I can't help it if I had to take a slight detour to the Wayside Waif's website while I waited for a file to download.)

(Also, Sam Moon has fantastic jewelry at super cheap prices.)

(And J-Lo might have been cheating on Marc Anthony while they were married.)

All right, back to work...oooh wait, there's a Red Box at this McDonald's. Wonder if any good movies are in there this week?

the (hot) dog days are over

Here I lay, on my new couch
I'm not quite sure that I deserve this
I'm comfy and my tummy's full
And there's cool air on my tookus

My mom and dad at my house before
Bought me so I'd make babies
But a baby of their own came soon
And I guess they didn't want me

They put me out in the hot, hot heat
And tied me to a chain
Sometimes I didn't have water to drink
And I'd hope for it to rain

I'm full of life and energy
So I'd try to jump and wrestle
But my chain would get all tangled up
So under a tree I'd nestle

I wanted to go back inside
What had I done so wrong?
I wouldn't hurt their baby girl
I'd lick her all day long

But no one came to bring me in
In the grass I'd have to lie
I tried to smile as people passed
But I was just too hot to try 

Then one day, something changed
A lady stopped to pet me
My mom didn't put up a fuss at all
She seemed relieved and happy

The lady scooped me up so tight
She kissed my bony body
Then whispered, "I know the home for you"
I was so happy I almost pottied

Hubs and Kim took me right in
They snuggle and they coo
I get treated like I'm special here
And there's always lots of food!

I know how lucky that I am
That this family took me in
Will you do the same for another like me?
Believe me, everyone wins

Love,
Tootsie Roll

Special thank you to Hubs' mom, Janette, the "nice lady" who was smart enough to remove Tootsie from her previous home. The family only wanted Tootsie to breed her. But once they had their own baby, they simply didn't want her or have a need for her. Apparently in that household, pets have to earn their stay. At our house, the only form of payment accepted is love. And Tootsie's bank account will always be full.

To rescue an animal of your own, contact your local animal shelter. In Kansas City, check out Wayside Waifs and Animal Haven.

http://www.waysidewaifs.org/site/PageServer

the house that paint built

WHERE have you been, you ask?

Did you fall off the earth?

No.

Did you hit your head on something and forget who you are?

No. (I don't think so, anyway.)

No, it's none of the above. We've been moving to a new house. Or rather, we've been trying to move into a new house. First we rented out our townhouse, only to discover we couldn't close on the new house soon enough. Therefore we moved to a weekly hotel for two week...THEN we moved into the new house.

In 120 heat.

It's been rad.

Between brown recluse spiders, delayed closing, a completely useless air conditioner and 3' tall grass, it's been enough to make Hubs and I question exactly what is was that we were thinking.

But then, early this week, we were finally able to begin the move into the house.  So we rented a Uhaul, borrowed my parents for help, and started the move.

The night we moved the big stuff, the heat index was hovering around a pleasant 116 degrees. Totally optimal moving conditions. The four of us soaked our shirts, shorts and every other body part with sweat, going in and out of the Uhaul like ants. It wasn't fun.

After the first load, we all stood there contemplating whether anyone would mind if we just stripped naked.

Just then, I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. I turned to see two women walking up our driveway.

J: (waving) Hi there! We're your neighbors from across the cul-de-sac. This is A and I'm J.

Me: (thinking about the pool of sweat that's in my boobs that I would totally dig out with a Kleenex if total strangers weren't in front of me) Oh hi! Nice to meet you. Please excuse us, we're prett gross right now.

J: (waving her hand non-chalantly) Don't worry about it, we totally understand. So...how's it going?

Me: Pretty good, I guess. We've got the first big load done. So, now onto the next.

A: We've seen your cars over here once or twice, and wondered if you were going to be our new neighbors. Both of our husbands are police officers.

M: (kicking myself for coming over several times in one week to look in the windows and *maybe* try and sneak in through the garage) Yeah, we've been back and forth from here pretty often. We're pretty excited to move in.

A: Well, everyone around here is really nice. Like I said, our husbands are both on the KCMO PD, so you can feel safe.

Me: (internal monologue) So no getting drunk and running around the house naked on a dare. And no knock down, drag out fights with Hubs on the front lawn screaming "YOU THOUGHT OUR WEDDING WAS BORING!  ADMIT IT!")

Me: (out loud) That's great!

A: So...(pausing and cocking her eyebrow), you guys really liked the house then, huh? We've been waiting for someone to move in. (pausing again)

Me: (carefully) Yyyyeah, we like it a lot. I mean...there's some work to be done.

Hubs: We're both designers, so we bought it as a fixer upper.

A: (raising eyebrows and looking at J) So, you're going to do stuff to the house, then?

J: (salivating like a dog after a t-bone.)

Me: Well, as soon as we can we want to paint itm, so-

J: (throwing her arms around me) Oh thank GOD! I'm so glad to hear you say that. The day the woman that lived here started painting this house, I was watching through the blinds, and I immediately called A and was like, "WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING OVER THERE?"

Me: (laughing) It's definitely on our list to get done. As soon as we can!

J: (putting her hand over her heart) That makes me feel so much better. I'm so glad you guys don't like it as much as we don't. Although it does make our house easier to find when people come over. 'We're across from the crazy bright house!'

***

So, we have nice neighbors who really couldn't care less whether we're axe murderers or pedophiles, as long as we paint the house. Which I get.  Cuz right now?  It looks like this.

And it doesn't stop there. Ms. Previous Owner was not afraid to get in touch with her inner Crayola.

Our Master Bath?  Looks like this.

(Blogger is being stubborn and won't turn the picture.)

But she didn't stop at green, oh no. Check out the upstairs bedroom. Ahoy matey! Thar I see land up ahead!

And the dining room. Don't forget the dining room.

I've always wondered what it'd be like to crawl inside an eggplant to eat my breakfast. Now I know.

But fear not, if we grow weary of eggplant casserole, we can easily move on to butternut squash in the 3rd bedroom. Tasty.

Yes, the previous owner of this house clearly had a Rainbow Brite complex, and brought it into her home. But one day at a time, we will overcome.  One paint stroke out a time, we will slowly turn this into the house of our dreams.

(Just don't tell the neighbors we plan to do the outside before the inside. Shhhhh.)

I scream, you scream, but mostly I just scream

  

Scene: Two nights ago. I am jonesin' for ice cream.

Me: (sitting in a ridiculously long line at Sheridan's Frozen Custard talking to myself) Holy crap...How long can it take to give someone their ice cream!

(line creeps forward three inches)

Me: (smacking the stirring wheel over and over) HURRY UP!

Lady five cars in front of me at the drive- up speaker: Um, I want three large cookie dough concretes...no wait, just two cookie dough concretes. And...hold on. WHAT ABBY? WHAT DO YOU WANT? (pause) Okay, and one small vanilla custard with chocolate sprinkles, but not too many chocolate sprinkles. (pause) Okay, and, change the two cookie dough concretes to one cookie dough and one Oreo, but I don't want a ton of Oreo's in it. And then...yes, Abby I know...a large chocolate shake with two straws. Do you take checks?

(Rapidly dialing Hubs' number)

Hubs: Hi babe.

Me: Hubs! This is crazy. The line to Sheridan's is like, 8 cars long! I want ICE CREAM!

Hubs: (sighs) They have the walk-up counter. Is it busy?

Me: (shrugs) No.

Hubs: So go up there and order your ice cream.

Me: (softly) I can't.

Hubs: Why not?

Me: It's too far. I don't want to.

Hubs: Oh for heavens sake. If you don't want to wait than you're going to have to.

Me: (picking at my jeans) Yeah, but I can't even if I wanted to.

Hubs: Why?

Me: Just cuz.

Hubs:  WHY?

Me: Because I'm not wearing a bra. I left the house quickly and didn't think I'd need to be out of the car.

Hubs: So? We live in Wyandotte...you'll fit right in.

Me: (pondering) That's true. 

Hubs: So....what are you going to do?

Me: I'll just wait, I guess.  It gives me a reason to bitch.

Hubs: Shocking.