Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Loose tooth fairy.....or tooth fairy on the loose?

Hubby is really good at Wheel of Fortune. Tonight was Best Friends night on the wheel, but hubby was handing out candy to the trick or treaters, so I was watching it pretty much alone, whilst I kept the dogs from eating a small child. Hubby wondered why I was laughing when he came back in the room, till he saw the puzzle on the TV. It was one of those Before and After puzzles, and the answer was "Loose Tooth Fairy." Gave me quite a giggle, to think of the tooth fairy as a loose woman/fairy.

The tooth fairy is a bit warped at our house. First of all, my children must want keep their teeth till Jesus comes, and usually end up having the last ones pulled, lest they drink their first legal beer with baby teeth still in their heads. I lost my last tooth when I was 16, so the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Anyway, the tooth fairy took a detour once, on the way to our house. Actually, she wasn't invited, because there was no tooth. No tooth, no proof. We told dd (about 9 at the time) that, if she didn't have the tooth, she'd have to write a letter to the tooth fairy. Little did I know what she would write. Holy moly.

When I went to get the note from under the pillow, it was a full blown letter. Here's an excerpt:

"Dear Tooth Fairy,
I am sorry that I don't have the tooth I lost. I lost it when I bit Vince's shirt, and it was lost in the grass. If he didn't run away when I was biting him, I would still have it. I am sorry. Are you a boy or a girl? Do you have a boss? What do you do with the teeth? Do you have a name? How do you get to the houses? What do you wear? Why can't I see you?"

And on and on and on...............it was two pages of nothing but questions. Two pages that I found at 3am, when I had gotten off work, and was more than ready to go to bed. When I was too tired to write out a two page response. So, being the creative, computer nerd mom that I am, I convinced the tooth fairy that the proper response was to email her.

DD received a two page response, from indianatoothfairy@aol.com. After that, we told her, no tooth, no proof, no money.

So, in honor of the loose tooth fairy, here's a fairy costume from Purse Diva Vintage. Hubby probably saw more than one tooth fairy on the loose, whilst giving out candy tonight. Me? I'm just wearing my "Don't Make Me Get My Flying Monkeys" shirt. Happy Halloween!

Friday, October 27, 2006

It's a dog's life

One of our dogs is sitting next to me, with his paw in my lap. He snores. He's really cute, especially when he's half asleep, but he's one wild man when he's awake. Boundless energy.

As opposed to our other dog. About 60 pounds, his name is Timmy, of all things. DD named all of her dolls Timmy, Brian and Peter, when she was very young, so of course, she named the bubba dawg Timmy. Timmy is about 8, and is a big ole sweetheart. MIL calls him a gentle giant. But he's a butthead, too.

Had to take him to the vet today. He's getting his disgusting teeth cleaned next week, and because he's getting old, had to have labs done before anesthesia. He was none too happy -- he hates going to the vet. Drug him in, got it done, drug him out. In the rain, I might add.

I stopped by the thrift store on the way home to drop some stuff off, and decided to take a peek inside, too. When I came out, Tim was looking really guilty. I couldn't figure out why, till he got up and moved, and under his big butt was the remainder of a bag from Taco Bell. Big dummy got in the car's trash, ate it up, and decided to sit on the evidence. ::sigh::

Pouted the rest of the day that I actually figured it out. So now he's asleep, and his buddy is lying here next to me, snoring.

All in all, it's a dawg's life.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Getting Married, Commando Style

I've mentioned here before that the road to our wedding day was fraught with potholes. Among other things, I virtually totalled our car the day before. On the way to find my lost wedding dress (another story entirely), I got lost in the ghetto.

I remember that the theme song from Beverly Hills Cop 2 was on the radio. I was laughing at my friend, a bridesmaid, who was not willing to stop for directions. Started to pull through the intersection, but couldn't see, because a car was parked illegally on the corner. BAM! Got T boned in my brand new car.

I buried my head in the steering wheel and cried. Friend says "get out of the car." "NO." "Get OUT OF THE CAR. People are watching and they think there's something wrong with you." "It's the worst day of my life, I can cry if I want to, and I'm NOT getting out of the car."

I finally did.

Turns out the guy who hit us was driving his girlfriend's (uninsured) car, was speeding, and was pretty well lit. At 2 in the afternoon. Maybe I should've been too, as I sat on the curb and looked at the remains of my car -- not knowing where my wedding dress was. Drunk guy came over to console me, saying "it's ok, honey, I'm sure he'll still marry you." Then looked at his car and said "S**t." Several times. Then pats me on the shoulder. "It's ok, I'm sure he'll marry you."

The next day, dad pulled me aside and asked "are you sure that you should do this? Maybe all of this is a sign." Sure Dad, I'm sure, I said. Went in to get dressed, and realized that my brand new, wedding underwear was way too small. Of course, I didn't realize this till after I was already dressed, and I was NOT going to undress again to get them off, but you can't wear a $600 dress with underwear that's too small. So, we pulled my hose part of the way down, and chopped them off. Eleven dollar underwear, in shreds.

My mom walked in in the midst of this. Imagine: your baby child's wedding day, and your first view of her in her wedding dress is of her getting her underwear cut off.
I'm sure it's a memory she'll never forget.

Our wedding night was equally eventful, with the best man calling our room, looking for his car keys. ::sigh:: But that's another story.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Give it to Danny -- he'll eat anything

My husband is an eater. He will eat anything. He eats all day long, and most of the night. My mother remarked, when last we saw her, about how he never seems to stop eating -- but is quite thin. One night, I kept a running log of what he ate, then emailed it to her. It included everything from pork chops to cheese and crackers, ice cream, olives, chips, and chocolate. Guess he thought he was at some kind of Roman feast -- but this is an every night occurrence.

One time, we went over to the in-laws house. Of course, walking into his mommy's house, he acted like a teenager and headed right for the kitchen, where he proceeded to spoon up a big taste of what was in the crockpot. He promptly spewed it into the sink, saying "what IS that sh*t?"

"Potpourri," says his mother.

Yep, he ate outta the potpourri pot. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised when he walked into the living room last night with a Tupperware container in his hand. "What in the world is this?" he asked me -- with a very weird look on his face. I asked, did he try it? "Yep," he said, "and whatever it is, it's awful."

He was none too happy to find out that he had just sampled the horse treats dd had made for her horse. ::sigh::

Yep, give it to Danny. He'll eat anything.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Let them eat burgers..........

We went to Paris on our honeymoon. We decided that after the wedding, we would take the trip of a lifetime. One that we would never be able to do once we had kids. We spent three wonderful weeks in Paris and the south of France. It truly was the trip of a lifetime.

When we decided to go to France, I had a whole list of places that I wanted to visit. The Notre Damecathedral, the Louvre, wine country, and of course, the Eiffel Tower. Also high on my list was the palace at Versailles. We saved that one for the end of the trip, and I was really excited.

We were so tired from all of the sightseeing that we had done that we ended up sleeping in. We took our time getting ready, then realized it was getting rather late. Grabbed a train to Versailles, but I knew we'd be cutting it close -- the tours don't go on 24/7. I was sweating it a little bit, because I really wanted to see the palace. Then, on the train, my new hubby realized that he hadn't eaten breakfast.

Nothing is allowed to get in between my hubby and his food. Nothing. He decided that we had to eat something before the tour of the palace. I protested that we were going to miss the tour, and he could eat when we were done, but he insisted that we had to eat before the tour. We ended up sitting in a little restaurant in town.

I speak no French. By the end of our trip, I could understand a lot of it, but I definitely can't speak it, so I relied on hubby to order for me. He ordered burgers and fries, whilst I sat there, ready to rock and roll. When the food arrived, I was totally confused.

What hubby had thought was going to be a burger and fries ending up being a burger with a fried egg on top of it. To this day, I still don't know if he ordered wrong, or if it was the special du jour.

In either event, when we got to the palace, the last tour had just left. Yep -- I missed the palace at Versailles, for a hamburger with an egg on top of it. Needless to say, Versailles is at the top of the list of places I want to see when we go back for our 25th anniversary.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Old Yeller and the Dead Dog Warning

My daughter is an animal person. An almost-PETA animal person. She's been this way since birth. I used to tell hubby that she looked like ET in her crib, surrounded by so many stuffed animals that you could see her amongst all the critters. It should be no surprise that our house consists of two dogs, two cats, two guinea pigs, a horse, and now she's trying to get us to agree to an iguana -- which simply ain't gonna happen.

Growing up, she watched basically any show/movie/tape that had a dog in it. If we wanted to surprise her, we'd go to the video store and pick out any movie with a dog on the case. Sometimes it worked, but sometimes it didn't, because, as we found, the mortality rate of animals, especially dogs, in movies is pretty high. If you were a dog, you wouldn't want them to make a movie about you, because odds are, you'd end up dead. This was very disturbing to dd, depending upon the situation. "My Dog Skip" was ok, as she said, cause Skip was old when he died, and had lived a nice long life. "Where the Red Fern Grows" was a disaster -- how in the world was I supposed to know that the dogs died? DS watched about half of it, then left the room to go play chess online. When I went in to say hi to him later, he asked how the movie ended. When I told him, he said, without looking up, "oh dear, I'll bet that didn't go over very well." I thought that the girl was gonna have to have therapy.

One time, I got a movie for her, and watched part first part of it, then had to go to work. Later, I asked ds how it ended he said "can't you please just check for the dead dog warning before you bring these movies home? Cause you know, if there's a dog on the cover, it's gonna be dead, if there's not a dead dog warning on the case, there should be."

Then there was the night that hubby brought home "Old Yeller." Now, I haven't seen it, but I know it's an emotional trainwreck for anyone who watches it. I didn't even let the poor man in the house with it -- made him turn around and take it right back to the video store before he even put his keys down. I don't think she's seen it, to this day.

It's not just dog movies though. "The Yearling" -- she didn't speak to me for a day or two after that debacle. And "Bambi?" Oh dear Lord. When Bambi's mom died, she turned to me, terror stricken, and said "what happened to Bambi's mom?" Before I could reply, her three year old brother said, in his most booming voice, "She's DEAD. DEAD DEAD DEAD." This said, repeatedly, whilst marching around the room. "DEAD DEAD DEAD." Lord have mercy, she cried for an hour and a half AFTER the movie was over. I almost needed therapy after that one.

She's gotten a bit better nowadays, but I'm still thinking that her brother may be onto something -- perhaps the Dead Dog Warning could be his widget. Make him millions of dollars, and he can take care of mom and dad in his old age. And pay for his sister's therapy.

Friday, October 20, 2006

I am a lady of the night

Being a nurse, I work a lot of weird hours. I've worked days, nights, and everything in between. I've done 4 hour shifts, 12 hour shifts, and my share of 16 hour shifts. I did a double the night before our oldest son was born. It comes with the job.

I think I average about 3 hours of sleep a night, when things get really nuts. This week, I'm working 11pm-3am whilst our night nurse is on vacation. She is living it up in NYC, whilst I take calls. Every night, hubby looks at me and says "what are you doing?" "Working," I reply. "When are you ever gonna live a normal life," he mutters. I'm thinking probably never. It's been this way for 23+ years as an RN, and even before, so maybe this is normal for me, I don't know.

There are some bad things about working nights. Back in the days before direct deposit, I got a speeding ticket after working nights, because I had forgotten to put my check into the bank, and tried to do it with no sleep--that cost me about $100 bucks. When we first moved into our house, our cat got angry with me for closing the basement door where her box was -- so she peed on me. Talk about the ultimate disrespect: that cat climbed right up on me, kneaded around a little like they do, then peed right on my hip. TWICE. And then there was the drunk who used to call me and sing "Strangers in the Night" on a pretty regular basis.

Hubby cut a hole in the basement door that's there to this day.

One of the worst experiences I had when working nights was when I had a serial obscene phone caller. He must've figured out that it was fun to talk to someone who is nearly in a coma, because he would call me every Sunday morning. I had no idea, till I work up actually talking to him. Happened several times before I learned to leave the phone off the hook when I sleep.

So here I am, till 3am, killing time, but hopefully not killing any callers.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

I've seen dead people

As a nurse, I have seen a lot of dead people. When I decided at the age of seven that I wanted to be a nurse, I don't think I ever considered the death element. I mean, Consuela, Marcus Welby's nurse, never had a dead patient. Nurses wore white, took orders and fluffed pillows. No one ever died whilst getting their pillows fluffed.

The first night shift I worked in the hospital as a student, three people died. It's the only time in my career that three people died in one of my shifts. Mind you, I wasn't even caring for them, but good heavens, they were dropping like flies. The first time it happened, the staff wouldn't let me in the room -- tender sweet thing that I was. Heck, I was proud that I actually walked by the room of a dead person. Second one died and I actually set foot in the room, in awe of death. By the time the third one dropped, I was helping bag 'n tag, as hubby calls it. I was a pro.

The hospital I worked at had a really creepy morgue. The freezer there would only hold four bodies, and man, I hated opening that freezer door. You just never knew what you'd find in there, cause the ER would just bring 'em in there in all kinds of conditions. I found one in there one night actually sitting up in the wheelchair. Never did figure that one out.

When you walked in the door of the morgue, it was so creepy, because you walked in through the autopsy room. It was literally like Frankenstein's lab, with clear jars of various body parts lining shelves in a cabinet that went to the ceiling. I hated that place.

We were never really anxious to go down to that morgue, but one night we had to go twice. I went down to the morgue with both patients. A co-worker went with me, cause you just can't put a body in there without some help--there's a reason it's called dead weight. First time, she decided to check things out. Across the room from the freezer, there was a Frigidaire refrigerator, just like you and I put milk and eggs in. She started reading the sign on it. "If you put a leg in here...." it read. That note had a whole list of things to do if you needed to drop off a leg. Ewwwww. Well, Cindy decided to look and see if there was, indeed a leg in there, and was sadly disappointed that there wasn't.

Next time down, we were talking about how creepy the place was, being in the belly of the basement, gallbladders lined up, legs in the fridge and all. We were trying to get the door unlocked when a palmetto bug the size of my hand came crawling out from under the door. We both screamed at the top of our lungs, when suddenly a booming voice from behind us quietly said "can I help you?"

I almost passed out. I'm pretty sure I left a puddle where I was standing. That was the point at which we found out that maintenance was just across the hall from the morgue, and the maintenance man, on a break, had just popped over to see if he could help.

Yeah, help me get my heart outta my throat. That would be helpful.

And so, in honor of the creepiest morgue I ever experienced (and I've seen several), here's a great corpse bride costume offered earlier this month by by Vertical Vision Vintage, at Main Street Vintage Mall.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Wake me up when the baby's done drying

When the kids were little, hubby and I worked opposite shifts a lot. He was in nursing school, as well as working part time at the hospital. I worked 12 hour weekend shifts so I could be home during the week. Hubby was pulling a lot of all nighters, studying and writing care plans for school. We were both exhausted all the time.

Having two toddlers who were only a year apart will suck out your brain cells on a good day, but add nursing school to it, and we were both nuts. The youngest didn't understand the concept of sleep at all. The oldest was a good sleeper -- but then again, there was the night that we found him in the living room, shouting out responses to Dick Clark on $100,000 Pyramid at 2am. We worshipped at the altar of sleep, and would grab it whenever we could.

I was working in the Special Care Nursery at the hospital, and would get off work at 7pm on Saturdays and Sundays. I walked into our apartment one night after work and immediately tried to assess the wreckage: hubby was fully reclined in the La-Z-Boy, snoring. Looking at him, I tried to figure out what in the world he'd been doing, because he had these weird black lines on his face and all over the sleeves of his new IU School of Nursing sweatshirt. Kinda like a sleeping Braveheart.

Off I went to find the kids, and immediately see the oldest, two years old, walking down the hall toward me. "Hi Mommy," says he, in that little baby voice that makes a mommy melt. "Where's your sister?" No response, but I hear this weird noise next to me, in the little utility closet where the washer and dryer were. Over he walks, opens the dryer door, and out pops his baby sister. "Hi Mommy!" she says.

Yep. He had put her in the dryer.

I walked in and whacked hubby on the leg. He promptly woke up saying "I wasn't asleep, I wasn't asleep." Right.

So, I asked him what his racing stripes are all about, and he had no idea--didn't even know that they were there. We went upstairs to change clothes, and found that the kids had emptied the laundry basket, flipped it upside down, then used it as a stepstool, and climbed up on the counter. They then apparently proceeded to ransack my makeup bag, dumping out a container of foundation all over the counter, then took my mascara wand downstairs and painted Daddy with it.

Yep, honey, you weren't asleep.

Monday, October 16, 2006

My Jaws of Life rule

I do have a few rules to live by. I'm pretty laid back, most days, but some of my rules are: no camping in the rain with my hubby, the true test of a marriage is putting up wallpaper together, and the Jaws of Life rule.

Many people are probably unaware of the JOL rule, because they are lingerie challenged. Word is, most girls nowadays don't know what a slip is. Let me tell you, I hated wearing slips when I was a kid. Truly hated it. I loved feeling the silky touch of my mom's slip, but didn't like mine at all. They tended to ride up on my rubenesque frame, and I always go zapped with static when I wore them. Guess I just wasn't a lingerie girl.

I did love the 7 days of the week underwear that I generally found under the tree every Christmas, but was confused. Is it really ok to wear Tuesday on Friday? Would lightening come down and strike me if I did? To me, it kind of was the equivalent of the "make sure your underwear doesn't have holes in it" argument that most moms would give their children, back in the day. "Just in case you get into an accident," they say. Riiiiiight.

Hubby used to have an interesting theory about lingerie. He didn't know what a pap smear involved, when we first met. (He wasn't a nurse yet.) He asked me one day, after I mentioned that I had my appointment the next day, what a pap smear involved. I told him, well basically, they put you up in stirrups, ram a long metal spear up to your tonsils, rummage around down there for a while, then tell you you're fine. "Oh, he says." Couple of days later, he comes up to me, out of the blue, and asks, "what are you wearing when this pap smear thing takes place?" Says I, "a little paper dress that goes down to my belly button, if I'm lucky."

Thought he was gonna pass out. When he got his head out from between his legs, I asked what the heck he thought I would wear. "I don't know," he said, "I thought maybe some special underwear." Well honey, sure, that's where crotchless undies came from.

Yeah right. So, let me share my Jaws of Life rule with you. It's one rule that nurses, paramedics, and other medical staff live by.

When the Jaws of Life are out, no one cares what color your underwear is. Doesn't even matter if you even have them on, as a matter of fact. Perhaps the staff might vaguely notice if you are wearing bikinis, if you're Eddie Murphy, or Marv Albert. Heck, they might even noticed if my hubby wore his Viagra/Mark Martin Viagra boxers -- given to him by a drug rep several years ago.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Wild horse, or wild cow?

We have a new addition to our family. He's an appaloosa named Speck, and he's my dd's new favorite animal. She babysat all summer -- three girls, so she is now a saint, awaiting canonization -- in order to get the money to buy him.

I remember one time, when she was about seven. We were driving to my sister's house in Missouri, and were about 1/2 an hour outside of St Louis, when she suddenly looks at me, wide-eyed, and says "Mommy! You are not gonna believe it, but I think I just saw either a wild horse, OR a wild cow." Cracked me up.

A few years back, we took a vacation to Chincoteague Island, in Virginia. Of Marguerite Henry horse book fame. They have a herd of wild horses on the island, and dd was enraptured. LOVED those horses and, I'm sure, spent most of her time figuring out if a) one would fit in the back of our van and b) if not, how she could get rid of her brothers to make more room for it.

This big fatty fat pants horse is eleven, and his name is Speck. He's a real cutie, and dd's in love.

And at least we know he's not a wild cow.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Steven Seagal's Asian Experience

If you have teenaged sons, you know that they are a different breed of animal from anything or anyone else on the planet.

DS had his birthday two weeks ago. 17. Unbelievable to me--seems like just last week that he was a cherubic little towhead, and now he shaves more often than his dad does. So, what do you get the 17yo who buys himself anything he wants? We got him new speakers for his (old) car. He was pretty happy, but the highlight was this: Lightning Bolt: Steven Seagal's Asian Experience. It's this energy drink he's been desperately wanting for quite a long time. If you ask him why, he'd say "Mom, wouldn't YOU want to try something called Steven Seagal's Asian Experience?"


Anyway, it's supposed to be sold at 7/11, which are few and far between here - -and they don't have it. So, when we were in Vegas, we stopped at like 20 7/11's, cause they are on every corner there. No Asian Experience -- at least, not the drinkable kind. Come to think of it, it kinda sounds like a condom, but I digress.

So, I went online and ordered him some. Totally didn't expect it, so when he opened it up, he lit up like a Christmas tree. He was soooo happy.

So I IM'd him later (he was upstairs and I was surrounded by patterns) and asked him how it was. He told me "it's really good. Strangely, it tastes like cranberry juice and beer, without the aftertaste."


So, the mother asks, "how do you know what beer tastes like, dear?" Long pause, then "ummmmm............awkward moment"

To which my response is, "don't ask, don't tell, cause I don't want to know. Don't drive drunk, don't get in trouble, and don't let me catch you, or you will be in big trouble." My thing has always been: call me at 3am and ask me to pick you up from anywhere, but if you tell me you're calling from jail, you'd better be telling me you're getting comfortable for the night.

He in response to my motherly suggestion, he responded, "OK Mom, that's cool."

Later, I tasted the stuff -- and he is right on -- it DOES taste like cranberry juice and beer, without the aftertaste. Blech. So now, his buddy is driving me nuts to get HIM some, cause he wants to take it to school. He attends a $15,000 a year prep school, and resells stuff like that for profit. He's an entrepreneur.

Teenaged boys. They are nuts, but ya gotta love 'em.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Where did all the demure women go?

OK, I'll admit it. I'm a mouthy broad.

No one would ever call me quiet, shy, or retiring. I'm not coy, and I'm surely not demure. I am temperamental, I talk too much, and I laugh too loudly. I'm very opinionated, and not afraid to show it. But I think I'm ok. One does ponder the idea though: where did all the demure women go?

I mean, really. Looking at ads from the 50s, it looks like these girls sat demurely with their hands in their lap, waiting for the tea to be served. They didn't even cross their legs. No jeans -- beautiful party dresses, afternoon dresses, day dresses, and even house dresses -- there was a dress for every occasion.

And lingerie. Girls wore slips. Most high school girls -- and, I daresay, twentysomethings even -- don't even know what a slip is. I remember that I hated wearing them, but loving the feel of my mom's silky slip. My youngest took a shining to a silky nightshirt I used to have, and would carry it around everywhere, sucking his thumb contentedly.

Back in the day, women sewed. They cooked -- there is nothing like a meal cooked by one of the church ladies, who grew up cooking like they did back then. ::sigh:: Makes me hungry, thinking of it. They wore aprons that functioned as washcloths, purses, and baskets to carry things in from the garden. And they blotted their lipstick -- our trash was always full of small pieces of tissue, permanently marked with my mother's favorite shade. I thought, and still do, that my mother was one of the most beautiful women on earth.

The women in these ads look so content. Ads today just look like the women just vo-dee-oh-doh-doh-ed, as Laverne and Shirley would've said. What happened?

That's why I love vintage. It brings back the days where people were content with small pleasures - 50 cent matinees, playing kickball in the street, and lemonade stands. The smell of burning leaves, and roasting marshmallows. My idea of romance was thinking about holding hands with a boy during a hayride -- mind you, neither of us having the nerve to actually hold hands, but the thought of it made me happy.

So this fall, indulge yourself in something demure. A sweater like Lana would wear, a pillbox hat, whatever makes you feel like a girl. And have a caramel apple, while holding your honey's hand during the hayride. It's good for the soul.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Just stay alive!

We are watching Last of the Mohicans. For the 4,000th time. At the very least. It's one of the hubby's favorite movies of all time.

I'm not one to watch movies with weapons. As a matter of fact, I avoid them like the plague. When the yucky parts come, I go make popcorn. I make a lot of popcorn in this movie. They scalp people in this movie. They cut their hearts out. The slice 'em ear to ear. But, if you ask hubby why it is, in his opinion, one of the best movies of all time, he will tell you "it's about history, and love, and honor."

He can recite some parts verbatim. As I started to type, the infamous waterfall scene was on......"just stay alive, no matter what occurs, I WILL FIND YOU." He recited it along with the movie. He loves this show.

Last of the Mohicans has some pretty powerful music. I love the soundtrack, and bought a tape of it for the hubby at the goodwill a couple of years ago. But you know, Daniel Day Lewis looks pretty good in it too. A fine actor he is, and great with a muzzle loader - and just in time for hunting season.

Monday, October 09, 2006


It's quite loud at my house tonight. In case you don't have a nut in your house, I'll let you know: the Broncos are on TV. My house is decorated for what is considered in our house to be a Holy Day.

It's not often that Denver is televised in Indianapolis. The Colts dominate our football telecasts, despite the fact that they just can't make it to the big dance. So, when the hub's "people" are on, it's nothing short of Mardi Gras.

Here's what it looks like here:
  • Denver scrapbook is sitting upright on a box in the corner of the living room.
  • Denver beach towel is on the rocker in the other corner.
  • #1 Broncos fan license plate is under the TV, on the entertainment center.
  • Three Broncos hats on top of the TV.
  • Broncos tie dye shirt is hanging from the living room drapes.
  • Denver flag is hanging from the front porch eave.
  • Hubby has on his Broncos shirt AND lucky Broncos socks.
  • I am sitting on a Broncos blanket.

    The flowers hubby brought home from church are on the mantle -- I thought he was just being nice, till I realized that they are orange.

    No one can say that the man is not loyal. I can't even go to bed, because he has a box of Broncos stuff on the bed, and his tennis shoes -- spray painted orange, with Elways, and Davis' numbers on them, are at the edge of the bed.

    I, of course, bought into it and bought the man orange and blue M&Ms. He responds by bellowing "IN-COM-PLETE!" every time the other team fails to complete a pass, and by yelling disparaging remarks to both teams at every turn. The neighbors probably wonder what's going on, because the dogs start barking every time he starts carrying on.

    He's a little nuts, but ya gotta love a fan.

  • Sunday, October 08, 2006

    Our version of an Amish Barn Raising

    You know, I always say that you don't REALLY own your house, till you've seen it without a roof.

    We've been in our house for 13 years. It's the first house we bought, and I'll probably only leave it when they carry out my cold dead body. I love it that much. It's an older (70 years old) house, in a historical neighborhood. Gorgeous place, 'tis -- but surrounded by ghetto.

    Few years ago, we had to replace the roof. Replace, meaning, strip off the old layers down to the rafters, and then put it back up. There is a custom at our church: whenever someone in the group needs a new roof, or some big project, the guys would get together and do the work. The homeowner just supplies the materials, and lunch. I call it an Amish Barn Raising.

    So, the first of the guys arrived at 7:30am promptly, and within an hour or so, they were all hard at work. I made lunch whilst shingles flew. When we sat down to break bread, I asked, very nonchalantly, who would be the best bet for an injury. (These guys all biked together, and had a trophy that went around, involving bike wrecks. But that's another story.)

    Dave raised his hand, admitting that HE was the best bet.

    Next day at lunch, I remarked how wonderful it was that we hadn't had any injuries or accidents. Come to find out, Dave had slid off the roof earlier in the day. Didn't get hurt, but definitely slid from the top. ::sigh:: THEN, hubby shares his now broken, very crooked finger. A finger which is still crooked, to this day, because MEN DON'T GO TO THE ER. Even when bones are almost sticking out. ::sigh::

    Saturday, October 07, 2006

    My name is Snow White

    Sorry all, I've been gone, playing nursey to my mom, who had surgery. She's better, and I handed over the reins to my older sister (aka Nurse Ratchet), and now I'm back for more fun.

    Halloween is fast approaching, and my thoughts turn to costumes. You know my feelings about it -- Halloween is the holiday created to punish un-creative parents. But I came across this Snow White Costume, from Red Pony Enterprises. Reminds me of a story.

    When I was 22, I moved to Florida with my (not yet) hubby. Just went down on a lark, for a change, and to see if the relationship would work. (Not yet) hubby moved in with me, and we had a fine time in the Sunshine State. I was a young nurse, working in Intensive Care, with a bunch of nurses who had migrated to Florida from all over. We had one husband and wife team who worked there.

    I use that term loosely, because though they were married, the hubby was a bit generous with his affections, and was sleeping with a co-worker. Never was quite sure what the wifey-poo thought of it, but it was pretty common knowledge around the unit.

    Anyway, said male nurse found out that I was living with (not yet) hubby, and expressed his dismay, saying that I looked too young and pure as the driven snow to be indulging myself. Ironic, huh? Anyway, he tagged me with the nickname Snow White, and proceeded to call me that at every turn.

    Including the day I was assisting a dermatologist -- who did not know me from Adam, cause you don't see many dermatologists in ICU -- with a skin biopsy. In full isolation gear: gown, mask, gloves, hat, the works. Anyway, Don Juan pops his head in in the middle of the procedure and says "Hey, Snow White, when are you going to go to lunch?"

    Imagine the doc's confusion here.

    Whenever I saw him in the hall after that, he always greeted me with a "hi, Snow White," which was very strange if we were in the elevator with visitors.