I'm going to post this... I don't know where it's going, but it will end up on my page.
Good Grief! I missed my blogs first birthday. Pardon the absence... life got crazy and I couldn't write a coherent sentence, let alone a post. There are a shit-ton of new drafts saved though. I got to work today and decided, I'm going to write for 30 minutes and I'm going to post; no matter what.
I spent last night at Pretty Boy's football banquet. WooHoo!
I'm soooo not a "soccer mom". I go to work at 6am, come home, cook dinner, drink a glass of wine, fold laundry, bathe a monkey, feed my horses, and try to make sure the kids did their homework before they got on Facebook, MySpace, and XBox.
I apparently was the only "team mom" who fit this description. They all sat together at one table, wearing black and orange, with the same damn haircut; a couple of dad's, who didn't get to stay home and watch the Steelers game, sat another; and the team, of course, sat together. (wow. that was alot of commas and semi-colons. If I were a little less lazy I would check a reference book. But seriously, I'm not kidding anyone.) The Cowboy and I sat together at the back table, clapped for each kid, and faded into the scenery.
You see, we moved the night before school started so Pretty Boy joined the team about a month late...
I know I never wrote about the wedding and moving and how both of those incredible life altering events took place within 2 weeks of each other.
I may eventually get around to that, perhaps when I no longer wake up at 2am in a cold sweat, frantic, shaking, curled up in the fetal position and wondering why in the hell I left my apartment 2 years ago in search of a "more dignified, simpler, life".
Cowboys do weird things to women. Something about the Wranglers and scuffed up boots; the crinkle in the corner of their eye when they smile. The smell of horses, fresh air, and lush acreage. It's a spell I tell you, a damned spell. They enchant you and get you to lose all your sences then POOF! Next thing you know you're married, with kids and horses and dogs and cats and acreage; and the Cowboy doesnt want to get off the couch except to come to dinner and grab another beer ... ...
(deep breath.)
(smile. blush. smile again.)
Where was I? Ah yes... football
Pretty Boy joined the team the 2nd week of school. You might know that football practice starts in August, sometimes late July, so we weren't there for all of the getting to know you, fundraising, team building bru-ha-ha. He only got to play in 2 games and, being the awesome hard working mom that I am, I'm only going to leave work early to embark on a 45 minute hell ride, to watch a game that he is going to get to play in.
I mean really, if I want to watch him stand around and act like an idiot, I can do that from the comfort of my kitchen and be making dinner and laughing with the children who actually like me.
So basically, the "banquet" was long, and boring, and most of the moms gave me "the look" when we walked in 5 minutes late because we didn't know where the damn media room was. We probably shouldnt have even bothered going, but then we'd be "those" parents. We're new in town; I was kind of hoping to meet the parents of some of the kids, that will be getting arrested with Pretty Boy in the next couple of years, before the inevitable 2am encounter at the Police Station.
Maybe I should try to get more involved with wrestling from the beginning...
... ... ...
(snicker.)
(snort.)
Cause that'll happen.
~cheers!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Prost: To Concerts in the Rain
You were kind of broke. Definitely didn't have the funds to go out drinking for a night, so in anticipation you downed 3 drinks before you left and stopped at BK for a chicken sandwich on your way. Remember: You hadn't eaten anything else that day...
It was raining, lightly. But you didn't care. Steve Miller was playing, you got tickets months ago, and by gosh... you guys were going to enjoy the show.
Yes, you were!
You called your sister when you got to the parking lot, passing Mom and Dad and their buddies on the way, and told her to buy the first round and meet you inside the gate. MUAHAHAHA -- HAHAHAHAHA
It wass dumping buckets by the time you got to your spot on the grass.
Festival Seating = Love!
You found Dad, his best friend, and your uncle, in the "bar" just before the show. He was so excited that you were all there. He handed you his beer so he could go to the "bucket", and you proceed to drink it until he returned. He handed you a wad of $1's.
Your uncle says, "What's that for?"
Dad replied, "I'm buying my beer back!"
He paid $8 for a half glass of beer. SCORE! :o)
Pass the Ruby Ale...
Oh, the show started. Find your soaking wet lawn chairs on the grass!
Insert one big blur: awkward conversation with The Cowboy about past partners, wisely postponed for another time and location... general ornery banter between sister and self, as expected... random encounter with distant aunt whom you see, never... oh, time to go? you think there is going to be an encore but The Cowboy doesn't want to sit in hours of parking lot traffic... you carry the lawn chairs... you stumble, multiple times, giggling all the way to the car because you realise you are way more intoxicated than you thought or intended to be... sitting in the car your head grows heavy... um, cowboy, please pull over.
FWD>> Wake up. It's Monday, you're hung over. Refer to the text messages, that you don't actually remember sending, from the night before. Get to work (on time!). Mom calls to ask if you had fun last night, and relates the story about Dad wanting to knock out a "security" guard for not letting you and sister into the seating area. An event you and "misplaced" in your memory. Giggling. Sister calls, she couldn't drink her coffee this morning either.
Everyone concurs... Good Times Were Had!
Thank you Steve Miller, for rocking my socks!
~cheers!
It was raining, lightly. But you didn't care. Steve Miller was playing, you got tickets months ago, and by gosh... you guys were going to enjoy the show.
Yes, you were!
You called your sister when you got to the parking lot, passing Mom and Dad and their buddies on the way, and told her to buy the first round and meet you inside the gate. MUAHAHAHA -- HAHAHAHAHA
It wass dumping buckets by the time you got to your spot on the grass.
Festival Seating = Love!
You found Dad, his best friend, and your uncle, in the "bar" just before the show. He was so excited that you were all there. He handed you his beer so he could go to the "bucket", and you proceed to drink it until he returned. He handed you a wad of $1's.
Your uncle says, "What's that for?"
Dad replied, "I'm buying my beer back!"
He paid $8 for a half glass of beer. SCORE! :o)
Pass the Ruby Ale...
Oh, the show started. Find your soaking wet lawn chairs on the grass!
Insert one big blur: awkward conversation with The Cowboy about past partners, wisely postponed for another time and location... general ornery banter between sister and self, as expected... random encounter with distant aunt whom you see, never... oh, time to go? you think there is going to be an encore but The Cowboy doesn't want to sit in hours of parking lot traffic... you carry the lawn chairs... you stumble, multiple times, giggling all the way to the car because you realise you are way more intoxicated than you thought or intended to be... sitting in the car your head grows heavy... um, cowboy, please pull over.
FWD>> Wake up. It's Monday, you're hung over. Refer to the text messages, that you don't actually remember sending, from the night before. Get to work (on time!). Mom calls to ask if you had fun last night, and relates the story about Dad wanting to knock out a "security" guard for not letting you and sister into the seating area. An event you and "misplaced" in your memory. Giggling. Sister calls, she couldn't drink her coffee this morning either.
Everyone concurs... Good Times Were Had!
Thank you Steve Miller, for rocking my socks!
~cheers!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
HEY! Are you still reading this?!
Um, Hi!
I, apparently, have not posted in over a month. Sorry 'bout that, if you've actually noticed that I haven't posted.
I didn't.
Updates:
We got a house. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, with a barn on 5 acres!! It's wonderful and magnificent and incredible. Truly. I cant not believe that I will get to call it home. More on this when all is signed and the keys are in my hand :o)
The wedding is a month from yesterday! I have less than a handful of little things left, but nothing major. The bridal shower was cheesy but fun, the bachette should be great times, and for some reason I totally can not wait to sit up til late in the night tying raffia, adorned with little silver cowboy boot charms, onto mason jars.
Ah... joy!
Seriously, I cant wait!
So I've been reading tons of incredible blogs, almost daily, and frankly... I'm envious. I have all these everyday life occurrences that would make for excellent blogging, but I don't walk around all day and night taking notes so I forget the details of these little stories.
(SHAME!)
Note to self: All the pot you smoked between 19-25 just caught up with you.
Anywho, check out the ladies (ahem!)(snicker) over at Aiming Low, for those of us who, for the sake of our own sanity, strive for good enough instead of perfect. Bouts of laughter and nodding of your head in affirmation, guaranteed!
I hope summer is treating you well. I hope your skin is golden brown and not blistered, your kids arebound and gagged in the closet enjoying the time off and staying out of your hair, and that you have plenty of ice cold beer to quench your thirst.
More to come, I'm sure.
~cheers!
I, apparently, have not posted in over a month. Sorry 'bout that, if you've actually noticed that I haven't posted.
I didn't.
Updates:
We got a house. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, with a barn on 5 acres!! It's wonderful and magnificent and incredible. Truly. I cant not believe that I will get to call it home. More on this when all is signed and the keys are in my hand :o)
The wedding is a month from yesterday! I have less than a handful of little things left, but nothing major. The bridal shower was cheesy but fun, the bachette should be great times, and for some reason I totally can not wait to sit up til late in the night tying raffia, adorned with little silver cowboy boot charms, onto mason jars.
Ah... joy!
Seriously, I cant wait!
So I've been reading tons of incredible blogs, almost daily, and frankly... I'm envious. I have all these everyday life occurrences that would make for excellent blogging, but I don't walk around all day and night taking notes so I forget the details of these little stories.
(SHAME!)
Note to self: All the pot you smoked between 19-25 just caught up with you.
Anywho, check out the ladies (ahem!)(snicker) over at Aiming Low, for those of us who, for the sake of our own sanity, strive for good enough instead of perfect. Bouts of laughter and nodding of your head in affirmation, guaranteed!
I hope summer is treating you well. I hope your skin is golden brown and not blistered, your kids are
More to come, I'm sure.
~cheers!
Friday, June 19, 2009
I can justify, just about, anything
I have a confession... I have not been blogging because I don't know how to post from Google Reader and I'm too lazy to log into blogger after I've read through my blog roll. It seems your adventure stories are far more entertaining to read than mine are to write. What can I say, I'm selfish and I don't like sharing.
Ok, that's not entirely true...what? it's not, I swear. I like sharing... I bought 4 bags in the past month (more on this. keep reading.) and my mom likes one so much that I've decided to give it to her for her birthday. See... I share.
I've just been spending far too many work hours shopping on eBay! I have developed a new fixation on Coach purses, and I'm trying to get better deals on wedding extras. It appears that once you say "wedding" or "bridal" the price, on simple accessories and favors, increases a million times over. Hair pins, for example, at the bridal shop run $75+ for a set of 6. If you log into eBay and search "Australian Crystal Hair Pins", one can acquire a set (or two, should you have trouble choosing) for $20.00 including international shipping.
(SCORE!)
Needless to say, my mother is a big fan of my ebaying! The Cowboy, on the other hand, is not as enthusiastic about it. His wallet was grateful that I got our wedding party gifts for a quarter of the price we would have paid at any typical engraving store. His wallet was even grateful that I got my first Coach bag for significantly less than he would have paid at even the outlet in Woodburn or Lincoln City... he was a little less grateful that I purchased an additional 3 Coach bags because I got such a killer deal on the first.
Does your brain justify things that way? If I get a really incredible deal on something I buy multiples. For instance, I can not possibly justify spending $300+ on a bag. I've never spent more than $100 on a bag, and I only went that far once. BUT! If I can get FOUR bags that would each normally cost upwards of $200, for right around $200, then by gosh I'm going to spend that $200 and not think twice. Am I crazy or is that as logical as I think it is?
Speaking of logical... I just consumed a rather large, highly caloric, authentic (read: straight from the Mexicans on the grubbinest roach coach around) breakfast burrito. I am stuffed. Like gluttonously stuffed. I knew I would feel this way when I ordered the burrito. I knew, when I grabbed five bucks and only my coffee on my way out the door this morning, that I was going to be this stuffed. I did it anyway. Why? You might ask. Because I know that this burrito will keep me full until well past dinner time. So this getting very sleepy, full like I just ate Thanksgiving Dinner feeling... so worth it. I have satisfied my hunger for the day. I will take my brisk, lunchtime walk; with no remorse about eating when I get back. When I get home I will pour a strong cocktail and serve leftovers for The Cowboy and Monkey. I will spend my evening relaxing with The Cowboy, pretending not to hear The Crazy Horse Lady ranting about the government, instead of cooking dinner and doing dishes.
Tomorrow morning, I meet with the florist to make final flower choices. Tomorrow afternoon, The Bridal Shower! We opted for rum punch over martini's only because, as mom put it, "It will be easier to keep the glasses full."
My Mom Rocks!
I'll try not to be so damn lazy, and post more. It's countdown time. 2 months and 2 days!
~cheers!
Ok, that's not entirely true...what? it's not, I swear. I like sharing... I bought 4 bags in the past month (more on this. keep reading.) and my mom likes one so much that I've decided to give it to her for her birthday. See... I share.
I've just been spending far too many work hours shopping on eBay! I have developed a new fixation on Coach purses, and I'm trying to get better deals on wedding extras. It appears that once you say "wedding" or "bridal" the price, on simple accessories and favors, increases a million times over. Hair pins, for example, at the bridal shop run $75+ for a set of 6. If you log into eBay and search "Australian Crystal Hair Pins", one can acquire a set (or two, should you have trouble choosing) for $20.00 including international shipping.
(SCORE!)
Needless to say, my mother is a big fan of my ebaying! The Cowboy, on the other hand, is not as enthusiastic about it. His wallet was grateful that I got our wedding party gifts for a quarter of the price we would have paid at any typical engraving store. His wallet was even grateful that I got my first Coach bag for significantly less than he would have paid at even the outlet in Woodburn or Lincoln City... he was a little less grateful that I purchased an additional 3 Coach bags because I got such a killer deal on the first.
Does your brain justify things that way? If I get a really incredible deal on something I buy multiples. For instance, I can not possibly justify spending $300+ on a bag. I've never spent more than $100 on a bag, and I only went that far once. BUT! If I can get FOUR bags that would each normally cost upwards of $200, for right around $200, then by gosh I'm going to spend that $200 and not think twice. Am I crazy or is that as logical as I think it is?
Speaking of logical... I just consumed a rather large, highly caloric, authentic (read: straight from the Mexicans on the grubbinest roach coach around) breakfast burrito. I am stuffed. Like gluttonously stuffed. I knew I would feel this way when I ordered the burrito. I knew, when I grabbed five bucks and only my coffee on my way out the door this morning, that I was going to be this stuffed. I did it anyway. Why? You might ask. Because I know that this burrito will keep me full until well past dinner time. So this getting very sleepy, full like I just ate Thanksgiving Dinner feeling... so worth it. I have satisfied my hunger for the day. I will take my brisk, lunchtime walk; with no remorse about eating when I get back. When I get home I will pour a strong cocktail and serve leftovers for The Cowboy and Monkey. I will spend my evening relaxing with The Cowboy, pretending not to hear The Crazy Horse Lady ranting about the government, instead of cooking dinner and doing dishes.
Tomorrow morning, I meet with the florist to make final flower choices. Tomorrow afternoon, The Bridal Shower! We opted for rum punch over martini's only because, as mom put it, "It will be easier to keep the glasses full."
My Mom Rocks!
I'll try not to be so damn lazy, and post more. It's countdown time. 2 months and 2 days!
~cheers!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Enlighten Me... Please!
The Cowboy: Where do eggs come from?
Me: Um.. chickens...
The Cowboy: But the chickens come from eggs, so where do eggs come from?
Me: Chickens. The chickens came first.
The Cowboy: Then where did the chickens come from?
Me: God. God spoke and created everything... remember?!
The Cowboy: Oh yeah.
(pause.)
The Cowboy: So, why did the chicken cross the road?
Me: To get to the other side... obviously.
The Cowboy: Well, what was on the other side that was so important?
Me: The rooster.
(giggle.)
The Cowboy: You're naughty.
(more giggling.)
~cheers!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Little Purple Monster
I mentioned, a little over a month ago, that my beloved truck died. The first truck my father bought brand new (in 1993.) and swore he would never part with. The truck that took me on innumerable adventures and excursions, that my father gave to me when I was car less and single trying to get Monkey to daycare and my rear to school and to work. I felt like I won a battle when he signed the title over to me. The Cowboy just replaced the engine a year ago. That truck was my trophy. It wasn't great, but that didn't matter. It was my Toyo, my little-red-girl-truck. Now it rests under a tree in the yard, next to two other broken down trucks awaiting The Cowboys surgical genius.
(Sooo Redneck! We have three... errr four broken down vehicles lining the driveway. "Welcome to The Swamp Ranch - Horses, Bugs, "farm" mud, and now offering Used Trucks".)
When the truck died we started scouring Craigslist for a cheap car, since we can't alter our credit until we get a house. We looked at a mexi-gangsta-fied Turcel ("All my friends know tha low-rider...") A white Mazda at a bonafied chop-shop (call this number on the door... it's a digital voice asking me to leave a message.) And ultimately found a Purple Mazda 626 in Colton for $1000.
We test drove the Little Purple Monster, and it appeared to be in fine working condition. Something that would get me to work and around town until we move and can finance a new, more suitable vehicle.
(read. Ford Expedition. Diesel.)
We lay down the cash, sign the bill of sale, take the keys and head home. Not twenty miles up the highway, the "check engine" light comes on.
(Lovely.)
We concluded that lots of cars "check engine" lights are on, and well, what's done is done. So the next day I drive the Little Purple Monster to work, the brakes start screaming at me on my way home. OK, brakes. Sure, no problem, I can do brakes.
Day four with the little purple shit, the "Hold" light starts winking at me on the way to deposit Monkey at school. I look up what that might mean (I love google.) and learn that the transmission needs to be serviced.
(Sigh.)
I register the Little Purple Bastard, get the oil changed and have the transmission serviced. The Cowboy changes the breaks AND routers, which have a lovely 1/8 inch lip on them.
Week two:
Squealing. High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way down the 6 mile stretch of highway to Monkey's bus stop. Good thing I was early enough for the bus that day.
High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way back home. Took the day off work. My boss is a very understanding man, in case I haven't mentioned this before.
No car = No work
No Work and No Kids = Sleep
Sleep = Peace
The Cowboy came home, bought a water pump and the next weekend spent an ENTIRE day putting it in. A Water pump. A DAMN water pump, required dismantling the better half of the engine and removing most of what was under the hood. And the passenger wheel.
(This is ultimately what is required to fix my Toyo. Pull out the engine and send it back to be repaired or replaced.)
Water Pump in, car happy.
Yeah? Um-No.
Week four:
Engine light has not come back on. Shifting is still quirky, but I'm letting off the gas and not forcing it through. I'm learning if I baby The Monster, it will take me where I need to go. It's not making funny or horrendous noises, it's not smoking or screeching, the blue smoke is mostly gone in the morning... we're learning to like each other.
Then for no apparent reason, the bastard died when I was half way to work on Friday. No sputtering, No stall out, No knocking or sign of protest. It just died while I was at a stop light waiting to turn right, and refused defibulation. I tried, I begged, I didnt pound on the steering wheel, I talked really nicely to it, to no avail.
Fortunately The Cowboy works four 10's, so Friday is his day to sleep in and sit in front of the computer. So I called him. He wasn't surprised. He didn't even seem upset this time. He just rolled out of bed and came to my rescue.
We chained the LPM to The Beast, his borderline obnoxiously huge truck (Which is the only material reason that I fell in love with him.) (He knows this. it's all good.) and towed it home.
(When I say the only material reason I mean; when we started dating I told him I didn't really like him I just loved his truck. It's become a running joke with us. He knows I really love him for the way his butt looks in Wranglers.)
Fortunately the car died on a Friday, so I didn't have to miss another day of work. Unfortunately that Friday landed on Memorial Day weekend. So our plans to go riding at the beach were nixed for the exciting world of car parts.
We decided not to fix the PM when it became apparent that the car itself doesn't know what is wrong. One minute it thinks its the oxygen sensor, the next it's the fuel pump (or something stupid like that.) So, just as I was preparing to call my sister and ask to borrow their nightmare spare car, The Cowboy got a text from his friend. It seems this friend acquired another horse and has decided that he needs to go buy another truck, so he is selling the Saturn he just picked up. We were welcome to buy it for the $1500 he had put into it, if we wanted. He said he wouldn't sell it to us if he didn't have absolute faith in it, since he knows the luck we've had with cars over the past 2 years.
So we went out to Greshlahem, and test drove the ... I haven't thought of a nickname for it yet. It's clean, it doesn't stutter or smoke or scream. The engine light didn't come on when I drove it home, and it seems to like me.
I tell ya, for as bummed as I was that The Cowboy was working 60 hour weeks in February and March, I am sooooo grateful now. We set that overtime aside so we'd have money for escrow when the time came, and we have since spent over half of it on 2 cars and car parts in the past month.
As I thanked the friend I told him if the car dies on me in the next month I will have to kick him out of the wedding.
I was kidding of course.
Maybe.
~cheers!
(Sooo Redneck! We have three... errr four broken down vehicles lining the driveway. "Welcome to The Swamp Ranch - Horses, Bugs, "farm" mud, and now offering Used Trucks".)
When the truck died we started scouring Craigslist for a cheap car, since we can't alter our credit until we get a house. We looked at a mexi-gangsta-fied Turcel ("All my friends know tha low-rider...") A white Mazda at a bonafied chop-shop (call this number on the door... it's a digital voice asking me to leave a message.) And ultimately found a Purple Mazda 626 in Colton for $1000.
We test drove the Little Purple Monster, and it appeared to be in fine working condition. Something that would get me to work and around town until we move and can finance a new, more suitable vehicle.
(read. Ford Expedition. Diesel.)
We lay down the cash, sign the bill of sale, take the keys and head home. Not twenty miles up the highway, the "check engine" light comes on.
(Lovely.)
We concluded that lots of cars "check engine" lights are on, and well, what's done is done. So the next day I drive the Little Purple Monster to work, the brakes start screaming at me on my way home. OK, brakes. Sure, no problem, I can do brakes.
Day four with the little purple shit, the "Hold" light starts winking at me on the way to deposit Monkey at school. I look up what that might mean (I love google.) and learn that the transmission needs to be serviced.
(Sigh.)
I register the Little Purple Bastard, get the oil changed and have the transmission serviced. The Cowboy changes the breaks AND routers, which have a lovely 1/8 inch lip on them.
Week two:
Squealing. High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way down the 6 mile stretch of highway to Monkey's bus stop. Good thing I was early enough for the bus that day.
High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way back home. Took the day off work. My boss is a very understanding man, in case I haven't mentioned this before.
No car = No work
No Work and No Kids = Sleep
Sleep = Peace
The Cowboy came home, bought a water pump and the next weekend spent an ENTIRE day putting it in. A Water pump. A DAMN water pump, required dismantling the better half of the engine and removing most of what was under the hood. And the passenger wheel.
(This is ultimately what is required to fix my Toyo. Pull out the engine and send it back to be repaired or replaced.)
Water Pump in, car happy.
Yeah? Um-No.
Week four:
Engine light has not come back on. Shifting is still quirky, but I'm letting off the gas and not forcing it through. I'm learning if I baby The Monster, it will take me where I need to go. It's not making funny or horrendous noises, it's not smoking or screeching, the blue smoke is mostly gone in the morning... we're learning to like each other.
Then for no apparent reason, the bastard died when I was half way to work on Friday. No sputtering, No stall out, No knocking or sign of protest. It just died while I was at a stop light waiting to turn right, and refused defibulation. I tried, I begged, I didnt pound on the steering wheel, I talked really nicely to it, to no avail.
Fortunately The Cowboy works four 10's, so Friday is his day to sleep in and sit in front of the computer. So I called him. He wasn't surprised. He didn't even seem upset this time. He just rolled out of bed and came to my rescue.
We chained the LPM to The Beast, his borderline obnoxiously huge truck (Which is the only material reason that I fell in love with him.) (He knows this. it's all good.) and towed it home.
(When I say the only material reason I mean; when we started dating I told him I didn't really like him I just loved his truck. It's become a running joke with us. He knows I really love him for the way his butt looks in Wranglers.)
Fortunately the car died on a Friday, so I didn't have to miss another day of work. Unfortunately that Friday landed on Memorial Day weekend. So our plans to go riding at the beach were nixed for the exciting world of car parts.
We decided not to fix the PM when it became apparent that the car itself doesn't know what is wrong. One minute it thinks its the oxygen sensor, the next it's the fuel pump (or something stupid like that.) So, just as I was preparing to call my sister and ask to borrow their nightmare spare car, The Cowboy got a text from his friend. It seems this friend acquired another horse and has decided that he needs to go buy another truck, so he is selling the Saturn he just picked up. We were welcome to buy it for the $1500 he had put into it, if we wanted. He said he wouldn't sell it to us if he didn't have absolute faith in it, since he knows the luck we've had with cars over the past 2 years.
So we went out to Greshlahem, and test drove the ... I haven't thought of a nickname for it yet. It's clean, it doesn't stutter or smoke or scream. The engine light didn't come on when I drove it home, and it seems to like me.
I tell ya, for as bummed as I was that The Cowboy was working 60 hour weeks in February and March, I am sooooo grateful now. We set that overtime aside so we'd have money for escrow when the time came, and we have since spent over half of it on 2 cars and car parts in the past month.
As I thanked the friend I told him if the car dies on me in the next month I will have to kick him out of the wedding.
I was kidding of course.
Maybe.
~cheers!
Friday, May 15, 2009
pssst! I have some things to tell you
I love dill pickles. Sometimes sliced into quarter size rounds, placed on top of an equally sized square of Tillimook cheddar cheese. Other times, straight out of the jar. I used to drink pickle juice until my sister told me it was vinegar.
I cant stand sweet pickles.
When I was 18 my hair was purple for a couple months, then blonde... bad bad blonde. When I was 16 it was black, and red... most of the time.
I have very plain, annoyingly fine, uncurlable brown hair. With highlights, of course.
Why does spell check want to take the "e" off the end of "blonde"?
I got my first tattoo when I was 16. My mother discovered it just hours after arriving at our hotel in Disney World, the beginning of a 2 week adventure. All she said was, "That better not be real."
It was never mentioned again. You already know this because I am alive to tell you about it.
I love egg salad, but only when it's made with Miracle Whip. I think part of the reason I love it so much is that my sister hates the smell. When we were growing up we went skiing alot; I would always take egg salad sandwiches, which would stink up the entire cab of the truck, annoying the crap out of my sister, often resulting in her sitting outside in the snow to eat her lunch. With her outside, I could stretch out and take over the entire backseat. Thus my love for, and her loathing of, egg salad was born.
Yesterday I ran two miles in 19.9 minutes. But if I'd have tried to run a third I would have collapsed. If I slow down I will be walking, so perhaps I need to just keep running like I did yesterday and someday I will get to three, or thirty minutes... then six and an hour... then...
Tuesday night I drank an entire fifth of Citrus Skyy and didn't realize it until I went to make another drink and the bottle was empty.
I was not hungover on Wednesday.
This is a little concerning to me, but not enough to do anything about it at this juncture.
If someone had told me, ten years ago, that my life would be the way it is I would have told them they were full of it; then, armed with that information, I probably would have gone on the adventure that everyone thought I went on after High School. I stayed in town for a boy whom I allowed to crush all of my aspirations. Then I left him and started on another adventure, in the same city.
I am really glad no one told me.
I hated beer and wine until I was 24. Now to go beer or wine tasting, is one of my favorite things. I have learned to appreciate the color, aroma, taste, texture, and various complexities of beers and wines. While I am far from a connoisseur, I am definitely an aficionado.
My favorite beer is Drop Top. If you've never experienced it's milky amber goodness, I strongly suggest you add it to your list of things to try before you die.
I loved writing, most of my life. That is until I took my college English class. I never put much thought into being grammatically correct, I just wrote and things always seemed to turn out alright. Then my college English professor got all anal about grammar and proper punctuation and now I can not seem to write a proper sentence.
It's a random road trip weekend! First, pick North-South or East-West. Second, flip a coin; Heads = North (or east), Tails = South (or west). Third, grab a camera, toothbrush, and a jacket with a hood (just in case). Fuel up the truck and drive in the direction the coin stated. There is no specified mile marker to the next coin toss. There is no destination or expectation. Just adventure. See what's down that road you never turned down before.
Happy Friday!
~cheers
I cant stand sweet pickles.
When I was 18 my hair was purple for a couple months, then blonde... bad bad blonde. When I was 16 it was black, and red... most of the time.
I have very plain, annoyingly fine, uncurlable brown hair. With highlights, of course.
Why does spell check want to take the "e" off the end of "blonde"?
I got my first tattoo when I was 16. My mother discovered it just hours after arriving at our hotel in Disney World, the beginning of a 2 week adventure. All she said was, "That better not be real."
It was never mentioned again. You already know this because I am alive to tell you about it.
I love egg salad, but only when it's made with Miracle Whip. I think part of the reason I love it so much is that my sister hates the smell. When we were growing up we went skiing alot; I would always take egg salad sandwiches, which would stink up the entire cab of the truck, annoying the crap out of my sister, often resulting in her sitting outside in the snow to eat her lunch. With her outside, I could stretch out and take over the entire backseat. Thus my love for, and her loathing of, egg salad was born.
Yesterday I ran two miles in 19.9 minutes. But if I'd have tried to run a third I would have collapsed. If I slow down I will be walking, so perhaps I need to just keep running like I did yesterday and someday I will get to three, or thirty minutes... then six and an hour... then...
Tuesday night I drank an entire fifth of Citrus Skyy and didn't realize it until I went to make another drink and the bottle was empty.
I was not hungover on Wednesday.
This is a little concerning to me, but not enough to do anything about it at this juncture.
If someone had told me, ten years ago, that my life would be the way it is I would have told them they were full of it; then, armed with that information, I probably would have gone on the adventure that everyone thought I went on after High School. I stayed in town for a boy whom I allowed to crush all of my aspirations. Then I left him and started on another adventure, in the same city.
I am really glad no one told me.
I hated beer and wine until I was 24. Now to go beer or wine tasting, is one of my favorite things. I have learned to appreciate the color, aroma, taste, texture, and various complexities of beers and wines. While I am far from a connoisseur, I am definitely an aficionado.
My favorite beer is Drop Top. If you've never experienced it's milky amber goodness, I strongly suggest you add it to your list of things to try before you die.
I loved writing, most of my life. That is until I took my college English class. I never put much thought into being grammatically correct, I just wrote and things always seemed to turn out alright. Then my college English professor got all anal about grammar and proper punctuation and now I can not seem to write a proper sentence.
It's a random road trip weekend! First, pick North-South or East-West. Second, flip a coin; Heads = North (or east), Tails = South (or west). Third, grab a camera, toothbrush, and a jacket with a hood (just in case). Fuel up the truck and drive in the direction the coin stated. There is no specified mile marker to the next coin toss. There is no destination or expectation. Just adventure. See what's down that road you never turned down before.
Happy Friday!
~cheers
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
