Let there be light!

I love tacky Christmas lights. I love them a lot.  If I could cover my whole house and yard with Christmas lights I would. However there are several problems that prevent me from being able to accomplish this. The biggest problem is overcoming Clinton’s objections. He does not see buying Christmas lights and paying for the electricity to use them as the best use of our money. Something about paying for enough electricity to power our house for a year. Personally I just think he is being over dramatic. You only light up the displays at night. So at most that is only 12 hours a day, and that is only for one month. I think he just doesn’t want to be involved in the labor of getting the lights strung up. I am pretty sure I can hear him mumbling something about how being stuck up on a ladder for 8 hours is a surefire way for me to collect on that life insurance payout.

You see it is not enough just to throw some lights on your bushes and trees and call it a day. Oh no you have to actually come up with a design and theme to your light display.  And you need to cover every square inch of you house and  yard. Every visible inch needs to be flashing, blinking or lighting up with Christmas cheer. And don’t think you can scrape by with just doing the front of your house and ignoring the sides. The sides are some prime real estate.  There is also pressure to do it bigger and better then the year before. All this pressure can

In case you were wondering this is how we celebrate Christmas in my neck of the woods.

Your neighbors also contribute to the Christmas light debacle. Because if your neighbors do a big elaborate display, you do not want to be outdone. There is competition and no one likes to lose. And if you don’t decorate at all you look like a Grinch. And no one wants to be known as the Grinch. None of these arguments work on Clinton though. He would rather be known as a Grinch then have an electric bill with three zeros. So in the meantime I have to be content to gawk at other people’s fabulous display and going to target to caress all the many light displays I am not allowed to buy.

This makes me almost as sad as not being able to get my basset hound. I would love to cover every inch of my house and yard in tacky blinking, flashing and mutli-color lights. But sadly Clinton does not view this as the best way to show holiday cheer.

Is it tax time yet?

Generally I don’t get that excited about taxes. I know that Clinton always ends up paying the government a nice chunk of change, and I usually try to avoid getting paid in a way that will be taxed. But this year it was unavoidable. I have a job that provides me with taxable income, and taxable it is.

I am still astonished at how much already comes out of my meager paycheck. Oh yes, please let me fund social welfare programs that I will never get to use. And the reason I won’t get to use them is not because I will never qualify  for them. No it is because they will be depleted of any funding.

You see the government has never learned a basic skill that every adult with a checkbook has to learn. How to balance a budget. I would have to say that for myself, and I assume for most normal people in America, that if you make one amount then once that amount is spent, you have no other money left to spend. Some of us might have a credit card or two that would let us have a little fun, but if we didn’t pay the bills, I can guarantee you those credit cards would be cut off. So how in the world is the government able to get away without balancing a budget and with a blank check to spend as much as they want? Because in my house we have to account for every cent we spend.  So if you subscribe to the idea that the government is supposed to be a role model, then it is time to start maxing out your credit cards and let your bills become delinquent. Before if your debt gets high enough someone will bail you out.

Thank you VCU for allowing me to graduate with an undisclosed amount of student loans. 

Sorry for getting on my soapbox. This is a hot topic for me. But anyways, for the first time in a long time I will be getting money back come tax time. And I will be getting back a decent amount. For a couple of reasons. First of all, I don’t make much so I definitely will not owe. And then I have a huge amount of medical bills so I can deduct all of them. And finally I can deduct the interest from my student loans. Cue the praise the lords. Most of my payments have been all interest so that will be another deduction coming my way. Cha ching.

Now with the amount that I will be getting back, I can think of a dozen fun ways to spend it. A vacation. Shopping. Down payment on a car. The list goes on. But what will I be doing like a sensible little girl? Contributing the max amount to my Roth IRA. Talk about a fun time. I will basically get a check in an amount of money that doesn’t ordinarily touch my hands and turn around and plunk that glorious check into an account I can’t touch until I am 59 and a half. How in the world is that fair? Do you know how many pair of shoes I could buy with that? But instead I will be doing the responsible thing. Thank you Clinton for rubbing off on me.

 

You get paid to fondle me?

Wedding dress shopping is a very intimate experience. I was not adequately prepared for the amount of touching that goes on. There is no such thing as privacy once you step into the dressing room. I really don’t consider myself a prude but I also don’t go looking for opportunities to walk around naked in front of strangers.  Also there was a fair amount of fondling going on. And no one said “Oh I am sorry for fondling your right breast, or for sticking my hand down your dress.” Oh no, the bridal attendants just acted like this was a matter of fact normal part of their day.  Apparently fondling the bride to be is part of the job description.

I had been expecting the experience to be little bit more laid back. I thought that I would have a bridal attendant there to help me if I needed it, but that the whole reason I brought a girlfriend was so that I would have someone to help me zip up.  It was so much fun to pull dresses off the rack. It was one of the few times that I got to buy something that is truly impractical and I was buying it just for the sole purpose of looking pretty. So I pulled every dress that I thought looked gorgeous.  I want my dress to be fun and pretty. I want to wear something I would never normally wear.

Once I have the dresses pulled, I have to begin the infamous strip in front of strangers routine.  At this point they inquire as to whether or not I am already wearing a strapless bra. Now I don’t know about you, but I find strapless bras to be uncomfortable. Mainly because it constantly feels like something is going to slip out and I am going to have a nipplegate scandal. So no I do not walk around Richmond wearing a strapless bra under my t-shirt. The attendant brings you the strapless bra and then helps you put it on. Thanks. Never put on a bra before you know. After the bra is on they put the dress on you. It is much like dressing a doll if I had to guess. They swoosh the dress over your head and then stick their hands down in the dress to re-arrange your body parts so that the dress fits. During this process I turn a particularly gorgeous shade of burnt lobster.  I would rush to get out of the dress room as soon as I was dressed so that I could get away from that loony that I didn’t even take the time to see what I looked like.

When I finally got to escape the dress room torture, I still have the attendant by my side. They assume that I cannot step up on a pedestal that is six inches off the ground without them clutching my arm in a death grip. And heaven forbid if this dress isn’t the one for me. Every possible negative comment I might have about a dress becomes their mission to make me see why this dress is actually really the perfect one for me. Please accept the fact that I do not like this dress. There are 100s of other ones to choose from. Please let me go begin the humiliating process of getting dressed all over again.

In the end I found my perfect dress. Actually I found several perfect dresses. I thought that if I tried on more dresses it would help me narrow down my favorites but it has actually only left me with more favorite dresses. What can I say? I thoroughly enjoy putting on gorgeous dress and playing princess for a day. Although Clint might tell you that I act like a princess every day (not sure if he means that as a compliment).

It is the most wonderful time of the year!

love Christmas so much. Every year I eagerly wait for Halloween so I can start enjoying Christmas in full swing.  I view Halloween as a minor annoyance and the final barrier to my Christmas extravaganza. Now that I too old for trick or treat to be socially acceptable (although honestly I still love the idea of getting dressed up and taking candy from strangers), Halloween is pointless to me. Sure there are costume parties but getting drunk is not nearly as much fun as harassing strangers for candy in the dark while running down the street in full costume. I have already bought my Christmas music and my wrapping paper. I have also started accumulating ingredients to make yummy Holiday dishes. For the next eight weeks I enjoy everything and anything pumpkin flavored. Pumpkin cookies, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin ice cream and last but not least pumpkin coffee. Suffice to say, by the end of December I am throwing away anything pumpkin flavored. Apparently there really is too much of a good thing.  Also by the end of December I am on carb overload. I give up meat for most of the month so I can cram in more carbs. Bread, biscuits, pasta, mashed potatoes and stuffing oh my! Last Christmas I only took one bite of Turkey so I could fit in more carb friendly food. Some people might say that is extreme but in my humble opinion the holidays are not the time to focus on eating your fruits and veggies. I have plenty of time to catch up on veggie eating after the New Year. I happen to love this scarf ( perhaps a little bit more then would be normal) Wrapping paper is one of the most fun items to purchase.  I like to create a whole theme with my wrapping. This usually starts with good intentions. I buy several roles of wrapping paper, and ribbon and gift tags. I arrange a little wrapping station for myself and blast the holiday music. This works well for the first twenty or thirty gifts. But after that there is very apparent decline in the quality of wrapping that gets done. It is no longer fun or a novelty by that point. I am just staring at the mountain of gifts that still need to be wrapped. And do not even get me started on the odd shaped gifts. How in the world do you wrap a build a bear box without it looking like a five years old’s creation?  How about hand weights, nerf guns, golf clubs, and footballs. The list goes on and on. Some presents it takes me five minutes just to try and decide how in the world I am going to coat it in wrapping paper. I also dislike taking unnecessary steps so I guessstimate the amount of wrapping paper I will need for each gift without actually measuring it. Most of the time this tactic works, but there are the occasional epic fails. Usually this experience ends with me throwing down my scissors and tape in disgust and pouting until I can convince Clinton to take over gift wrapping duty. Now what causes this mountain of gifts waiting to be wrapped in the first place?? Somebody who has to buy the perfect gift for everybody on her list.  I will hound people for their lists starting in mid-September. I will then start obsessively searching stores and internet deals for just the right item.  I actually really enjoy this part. I am competitive so I like to make sure that I am getting the best deal possible.  I don’t like knowing that I overpaid for something. Even if I just overpaid by few dollars. It is still the principle of the thing. It is a rush when I get a gift at an awesome price. I have fine-tuned my system over the years and now have it down to an art. But the best part of the holiday season is getting to play Christmas music 24/7 and inundate everyone around me with my beautiful renditions of classic Christmas carols. Well actually the best part might be attempting to unwrap the gifts Clint has for me so that I can figure out what he got me. The problem is he is getting wise to my maneuvers and is hiding my gifts in undisclosed locations. I told him he could trust me to be good, but he wasn’t buying it. I am really hoping for Bassett hound with a big red bow tied around its neck sitting under my tree, on Christmas morning….ahem….ahem….

This might be the most epic idea ever.

So I am trying to decide if I am crazy for wanting to drive to Minnesota or a genius. My parents drove to Minnesota and Florida with four kids several times when I was a child. And all I remember is that by the end of that drive it was a miracle there was no blood. Anytime you are forced to be in a car for more than eight hours it is impossible to look on the bright side. And Minnesota is no eight hour drive in case you were wondering. 

So why in the world would I want to drive my three sisters and myself to Minnesota. There is one very simple reason: money. I refuse to give the airlines that much of my money when flying is a miserable experience.  To fly five people to Minnesota is over three thousand dollars before taxes, baggage fees,  parking fees and airport food.  That is no small investment. And for what? So you can be harassed at security, be delayed during boarding and be delayed while waiting for takeoff. Oh and be forced to sit in the middle seat between two people competing for the last spot on Jerry Springer.

So I thought I would a genius and avoid paying the airlines for the privilege of a miserable, delayed filled travel experience and put myself in charge of a miserable, mile-filled car ride.  If you look at it solely from a monetary perspective it makes sense.

Cost to rent a car for 10 days  - $250.00. I do have a car that I could drive but considering that my car is very temperamental, it is probably not a good idea to allow it to possibly strand us on some random highway in Tennessee.  I would also like to point out that even if we flew to Minnesota, we would still have to rent a car once we were there.

Cost to stay in a hotel on the way there -$150.00. This is a necessary cost because I refuse to do all the driving in one day.

Cost to stay in a hotel on the way home - $150.00 Again necessary because only someone with suicidal tendencies would think it was a good idea to drive home in one shot, after having looked at these same people for ten days straight.

Cost to put gas in the car - $550.00. Got to get the car to move. I could have them push it, but a snail probably moves faster. We would have to spend some money on gas even if we just flew because we would still at some point acquire a rental car to fill up.

Cost to feed the animals at the zoo - $250. If their mouths are filled with food, they will hopefully be less inclined to use their wonderful backseat driving directions.

Grand total -$1350.00. So I feel like a genius for keeping two thousand dollars to spend on a Bassett hound and my exotic animal collection. However, there is a part of me that is questioning just how much my sanity is worth. I might save two grand but lose my mental stability in the process.

Don’t get me wrong. Flying with my sisters and Clinton would be stressful I am sure. Trying to get everyone through security and make sure they don’t over pack and arranging seating so everyone can look out the window. But not sure anything compares to sitting a car with three other people for two consecutive days.  I may or may not hate myself and my travel companions; but I am not sure that I want to find out the hard way.

Sure, driving through scenic roads and cute little towns is a great way to spend an hour or two. But after about five hours all you want to do is just get out of the stinking car.  Plus there is the huge possibility that somewhere, on some highway we will get stuck in some ridiculous traffic jam.  And that is a recipe for disaster. I don’t mind being stuffed in car, but that damn car better be moving.

So I think we are going to go for it. If for no other reason than driving as opposed to flying allows me to cram more clothing into my luggage. I also already have extra rope so I can tie someone to the roof if they get on my last nerve. I already have someone in mind for this actually….oh and I can’t forget that I need to make a detour to Coburn, VA and pick up a goat. Don’t ask me where I am going to put the goat at the hotel or while we are in restaurants because I haven’t gotten that far. But at least I know where to go to get the goat.

 

Oh and Clinton is chickening out of the car ride and flying directly to Minnesota. He is doesn’t think he would be allowed to live through the car ride otherwise.  And maybe Clint and I should go ahead and get married before this trip because afterwards he might want to try and get as far away as possible, so I out to trap him before he knows any better.

This is a sneak peak of my glorious driving skills. 

 

I want a Basset Hound for Christmas. That is all I truly want.

I have been steadily trying to convince Clinton the merits of owning a Basset Hound, particularly an overweight, slobbery one. He really isn’t warming up the idea yet, but I still have time. I think he usually just gives in because he is tired of listening to me. I tend to have that effect on people. I also tend to bother other people to amuse myself when I am bored.

For example, we went for a walk the other day and I spent the entire hour long walk poking him with my hair clip when he wasn’t looking. Now the reason this was so amusing was because I would poke him and he would attempt to swat me away, but since I had already retracted my hand he just ended up smacking himself. At one point I was laughing so hard I honestly thought I would just have to sit down on the side of road and make Clint go get the car. He informed me however that he would just leave me there and go home and enjoy the peaceful calm of the house without me. This got my butt in gear because I didn’t want to be left on the side of the road without someone to torture for my amusement.

Another favorite pastime of mine is pulling down Clint’s pants. When he wears something like gym shorts, I like to randomly try to pull his pants down. Now don’t worry, he is wearing underwear so he wouldn’t be completely exposed. And I don’t even pull them down far. Just four or five inches.  Enough to annoy him and make him have to stop what he is doing to pull them back up.  Thankfully for Clint, he doesn’t wear gym shorts very often, but when he does I get my fun in.

I also love bothering Clinton to force him to do his animals imitations. He does an excellent platypus, owl and brontosaurus impersonation .Now he normally only does these impersonations to shut me up or to prevent me from making him endure any other plans I may come up with to amuse myself. A couple of animal imitations usually leaves me satisfied for about fifteen minutes. And those fifteen minutes are very important because they give Clinton a chance to regroup his sanity. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t spend every minute of every day annoying Clinton. But it is great entertainment when I am bored. This is probably why he does not enjoy long trips in the car with me.

But I didn’t come up with these ingenious ideas all by myself. No, you see I learned the art of being annoying when bored from a very dear friend. This friend has done quite a lot of ridiculous things to me over the years.

There was the time we drove to the beach and she spent over an hour stuffing grapes in my ears. In case you were wondering – cold squishy grapes feel very gross when shoved in your ear canal.

There was also the time she was bored and decided to coat my entire face in cheap makeup and give me cornrows.

I can’t leave out the time she decided to stuff our clothes with pillows so that we looked the 300 pound sumo wrestlers.

She also had the brilliant idea to cover me with  tattoos drawn on by gel pens.  My mother scrubbed me with rubbing alcohol so hard I was red for a week.

Whenever we were somewhere that is exceptionally boring like Mass or standing in line at the grocery store, I will find my nose being honked. This causes me to make a noise like a horse which provides her with endless delight. She has continued to honk for nose for like past 12 years. And it continues to provide her with amusement.

So you can see that I came to the idea of harassing Clinton quite naturally. It was what I was always used to.

 

Not my puppy but proof that I love cuddly, furry things. 

 

Those poptarts came in handy.

Well it is a good thing that Clint stocked up on Poptarts and Granola Bars because low and behold we did actually lose power.

All day during the hurricane I was insisting that the weather wasn’t that bad and everyone needed to stop being so babyish. Sure the rain was annoying and the wind made the trees sway ominously. But that didn’t mean the world was ending.  Well we went out for an essential trip to Target around 430 and after a gust of wind literately pushed me backwards I decided maybe this was a little more than just your typical wind and rainstorm. We packed it up and headed home.

At home I tuned on all the TVS so I could thoroughly enjoy the dramatic weather reporting being done by our local newscasters and Clint and I broke out Monopoly. Now our version of Monopoly is a little bit different.  Most people stop playing when they run out of money, but we just go into debt to each other and the bank. This can make for a very long marathon game. We also compete with each other to buy the most property and load it with houses and hotels so that whoever lands on that property is bound to be indebted to the owner. This constant cycle of buying also leaves us with no cash to pay the rent if we land on a taken property so we just start a sentence of servitude to the owner.  We had just started to buy up the property in earnest when our lights went out.

Clint and I spent a good five minutes lighting every candle that we owned and then we enjoyed the novelty of lighting the house by candlelight for a good sixty seconds. We then realized that even though the candlelight kept us from walking into the walls, it did not provide us with enough light to do anything but sit and talk. It was too dark to read or continue playing so we sat on the couch and stared at each other.  This was no longer amusing after five minutes. After an hour I was desperate for any source of amusement.  The TV is a lifesaver. It provides a great distraction when I don’t have anything else to do.  It was too dark for me to even read. So out of sheer boredom Clint and I went to bed at 8 pm.  Because there was only so much we could talk about after an hour or two. Had there been enough light I probably would have been bored enough to actually go through my clothing and organize my kitchen. Or maybe not……

When we woke up the next morning life seemed great. The sun was shining. It wasn’t hot. And then I went to get water from my refrigerator and it took me a minute before I realized that nothing was going to come out. And the reason that nothing was coming out was because we had no electricity. I was doomed to drinking room temperature water from the tap.  The morning only got worse as I came to the realization that I would have to throw all the food away that was in my fridge and freezer. I was upset about losing the food, but I was most upset about losing the ice cream in my freezer. I had so much ice cream and I had to throw it all away. I was devastated.  All that magnificent ice cream gone to waste.

I was also annoyed at the lack of hot water. So I did what any reasonable person with three gym memberships would do. I went to each gym until I found one that had power and hot water and promptly made myself right at home. Can’t beat borrowed internet and hot water.

However when I arrived back home and started make my routine visits to the fridge to find something to eat. I was greeted by a depressingly empty fridge each time. This was starting to depress me. I was also getting annoyed by the lack of air conditioning. I thought about posting a sign in my yard stating that I was looking for a fan boy who looks good shirtless. But I didn’t want to risk making Clint suspicious…..he would definitely believe that I was desperate for some relief from the muggy, humidity that is Richmond, but he might question my insistence on a shirtless barely legal boy.

Needless to say after our power came on I went around turning lights on just for the novelty on of it. I was tempted to turn my air conditioning to artic settings but I didn’t want Clint to have a stroke when he got the power bill.  I learned a lot from my lack of electricity experience, mainly that I can live without a lot of things but I cannot live without hot water, a way to keep food cold and cook it, and a fan or air conditioning.

This picture is from a year ago before I so lovingly totaled Clint's car. Amazing what happens in a year. 

 

Priorities

So yesterday for the first time in my adult life I got to experience an actual earthquake. I had previously experienced little tremors that felt more like a garbage truck rolling by. But this was my first experience with an earthquake that actually caused me to evacuate the building. I would just like to take this opportunity to state that even though I have endured countless pretend evacuations during all my years of schooling, I still had no idea what to do. I was more concerned with finishing my food then hightailing it out the door. I also had to find my cell phone because I had no idea how long I was going to be stuck outside and I had to have entertainment.

However the earthquake lasted just long enough to interrupt my snack time and didn’t result in any real missed work time. So not only did I have to go back into the office but now I had to entertain ridiculous theories about the earthquake offered up but anyone who deemed themselves an authority. For example anyone who thinks that just because they own a computer they are an expert on any given topic. The current topic at hand : the cause of the earthquake.

 

Here are a few of my personal favorite explanations. (Most of these are explanations that people posted on facebook.)

1. God  is good. Thank you for showing us your power.

I don’t know about you but I would rather see God show us his power in a way that is a little less threatening. Maybe a little bit more compassionate. He does not literately have to shake the earth to remind us he is in charge.  Just a thought.

2. The earthquake was caused by an unknown fault line : Obama’s fault.

Pretty self explanatory.  Though I don’t think you can blame the earthquake on just one person in government. In my very humble opinion though, the earthquake’s fault line is a result of every single person who works in the government. Bunch of idiots running around trying to make the other person look bad, and stockpile money and benefits for themselves. Now if I participated in that kind of behavior at my job, I would be fired, but up there in Washington it is just par for the course. So naturally good old easy going mother earth got fed up and was so angry she shook. Makes perfect sense to me.

3. The wasn’t an earthquake. That was the effect of a 14 trillion dollar check bouncing when Washington tried to cash it.

I don’t even know what to say here.  I guess I shouldn’t get grumpy when my bank puts a hold on my measly paycheck for a day.  At least the checks I am cashing are so little that if they bounce the tellers actually laugh.

4. The earthquake is a sign of the rapture.

Now I don’t know about you. But it I were Jesus I would want to announce my arrival a little more dramatically. Like maybe literately splitting the earth in two. And have people fall in the crack screaming for mercy. If you want people to follow you, you have to give them a good show.

 

I also like how just like the threat of a good old snow storm (anything about an inch), people flock to the store to stock up on supplies. Because you know you could totally be stuck in the house for weeks. And it is not like you don’t have a couple of pound of fat to live on. So last night Clint goes to Target to stock up on supplies and comes home with Quaker chocolate chip granola bars and pop tarts. So at least if the world is going to end, he is going to end it on a sugar high. All I know is that I do not want to be stuck anywhere with him for any amount of time if that is what he plans to base his survival diet on. A 31 year old man running around like sugar is the new crack is only cute when you can watch it from behind a plexi-glass secured area.

Proof that Clinton enjoys his sweets. 

If I show you a picture of an exotic baby animal that I think looks like you - it means I love you.

Clint and I have been together for five years. That might not be long time for some people, but it almost a quarter of my life. At any rate it is long enough for me to plot ten different ways of revenge for Clint “accidentally” shrinking my favorite pieces of clothing. Not only were these pieces my favorite, but they were also pieces that couldn’t just go grab off the shelf at Target. They were usually items that I found on the sale rack in the last size that could possibly fit me. This makes it impossible for Clint to go out and buy me an exact replacement.  Now I say he shrank them accidently, because I am sure he did not do the laundry with the intent of starting World War III but since the well being on my clothing is not nearly as important to him as it is to me, he didn’t pay as much attention to the various articles of clothing as was necessary. Had he glanced at each piece as it came out of the washer, he would have seen that is belonged on the rack to air dry. But in his logical mind, it was much easier to just cram everything in the dryer and hope for no ill consequences.  Probably nine out of ten times he can get away with it, but it is that one time when he shrinks not just a T-shirt, but one of my prized shirts, that I lose it.  I have a feeling that he thinks if this happens enough times, I will not ask him to do my laundry.  But unfortunately for him that is not the case. I am very persistent and I view this as opportunity for him to get as much practice as possible so he can prevent other episodes of clothing ruining.

Now I still love Clint even though he murders my favorite clothing items, and lord knows I probably give him some grief as well. One of my favorite pastimes is sending him pictures of baby animals that I remind me of him, or that I want to adopt. I am currently filling his AOL account with pictures of baby sloths. I am trying to show Clinton that they bear some resemblance to him, and for that reason we should adopt one. It would be a great outlet for my mother hen skills. For some reason he is not buying this. Something about the illegal ownership of a wild marsupial.  I say it isn’t illegal if they don’t know about it. I think if Clint just turned a blind eye to some of my escapades, my life would be a whole lot easier and his life would be a whole lot more peaceful. 

For instance, I see nothing wrong with biking without a helmet. The helmet makes my head hot and itchy and ruins my hair. It is possibly the most unattractive thing I could possibly wear. It makes me look awkward and clumsy. Clint’s argument is that it would protect my brain if I fell off my bike. But I have two counter-arguments to that point. First of all, I am so clumsy that I am just as likely to hit my head when I stand up from bending over underneath something, and I don’t wear a helmet for that. And second of all, a knock on the head could be argued as something that might actually help me. But he refuses to listen to reason and insists on me wearing that flashing beacon of plastic that signifies the opposite of grace and poise.

Clint also does not agree with the way I handle confrontation. I hate being bothered in the morning when I am trying to get ready for work, and  chances are I am already running late because I have mysteriously lost a piece of outfit in my black hole (aka my closet). So I am probably frazzled and annoyed because as usual my hair is taking forever to straighten. Clint usually decides to bother me during this time frame and this elicits a very territorial response from me. My solution is to chase him with my hair straightener until he leaves me alone.  I feel like if I burn his butt once or twice he will most definitely leave me alone and the order in my universe will be restored. But for some reason, Clint thinks that me chasing him with a very hot hair straightener is an example of boyfriend abuse.  I have tried to explain to him countless times that I would not even be chasing him with a very hot object if he had not been attempting to hijack my personal space while I was in the middle of a very strenuous battle with my hair. So in my point of view, he needs to be burnt a time or two to help him remember to keep his hands to himself while I make my morning preparations.  This would make me a whole lot calmer in the morning which would benefit our relationship.  But I am pretty sure part of the reason he keeps this whole ritual up is that he enjoys seeing my squawking chicken impersonation when I get mad.

 I think this is a perfect representation of our love. 

I am an addict!

“Hello my name is Samantha Severson and I am a facebook addict.” I cannot be the only person who should be attending facebook addiction support. Every time I kill one of my phones I go through withdrawal. I get twitchy, irritable, and my skin itches all over.  A minute seems to take an hour. I managed to occupy myself for a whole three minutes before I began climbing the walls in an effort to calm myself.  I start to worry that I will never be able to access facebook whenever I please.  I can handle the first five minutes without access to facebook, but after then, everything starts to get blurry.

I mean what in the world do I do for amusement if I have to sit through more than one traffic light? Or if the person I am having a conversation with is boring me? Or while I am waiting for a movie to start? Or while I waiting for the waiter to bring my food? Or while I am hold with the customer service representative who sounds like they definitely do not reside in America. So many opportunities for boredom. I need to fill those time sucks with constant updates of my “friends” mundane life events and the hilarious but poor choices of life partners/jobs and their general poor education and economic decisions.

I compulsively check facebook whenever I can. So the first step of addiction is admitting you have a problem. Clearly even Stevie Wonder can see my phones spends so much time on facebook that when my data bill is analyzed, I found out I spend 98.9% of my data package on facebook.  I have a problem. Now someone please help me. I could wean myself off of facebook using twitter, but isn’t  that is just replacing one social network with another? I can’t possibly be the only person who has to know what all 500 of their closest “friends” are doing at all times.

Thank God for facebook mobile.

Real Life Nanny Diaries

I nannied and watched children all through my high school and college years. And I learned more from watching other people’s children then I ever did sitting in class room.  Over the years I have cared children of close to fifty different families. Now with some of these families I only cared for their children a handful of times, but for a lot of the families, I was a repeat caregiver for at least a period of months.

I think there is nothing wrong with hiring a nanny. In fact, if you research and find a nanny you can trust, it is probably a better option than traditional daycare. But it amazes me how slack some families are at choosing the person who is solely responsible for the welfare of their children while they are away.

These are some of my favorite things parents overlook:

1. References. I could tell you I was freaking Mary Poppins, and every child I ever watched had the best time, and you would never know if I was telling the truth or not unless you spoke with my references. You have to call a potential nanny’s references so that you can find out why they left, if there were any red flags, and what their general childcare philosophy and tactics are.  A strict nanny does not mix well with more laid back parents.
2. Background check. Again, I could tell you I was Mary Poppins and you would have no way of proving I wasn’t unless you ran a background check on me. Sure I am lovely and charming and play great with the kids. But you find out I have 2 DUIS, identity fraud and burglary. Still want me watching you kids? Fifteen dollars helps filter who watches your kids and helps prevent headaches and heartbreaks.
3. Experience. You can’t hire someone to be a nanny for your four kids when they have never worked around kids and are only doing this because they think it is easy money. Caring for infants and young children is especially taxing and requires skill and patience. Leaving your baby with someone who has never changed a diaper, much less gotten CPR certified is asking for an accident.
4. Bad habits. You overlook smoke on a nanny’s clothes because she is a bargain, or because she always shows up on time and never calls out sick. But, is it worth the fact that she might be smoking around your kids? 

 

I also have some favorites about the things the parents do. Most of the time the kids are cute and sweet and actually are fun to be around. It is the parents that are a nightmare.

 

1. Leave memorabilia  around or proudly showcase your weird sexual exploits. I don’t want to know how many or how often you have visitors in your bedroom. Last time I checked this isn’t a completion. And if you are over 40 and can’t count the number of sexual partners you have had in the past year on two hands, you might need help. Sex is addiction too.
2. Try to discretely hide their drinking. Oh no Mr. Smith, I totally put Vodka in my coffee too. But I only do it on Mondays and it is just a splash, so I can’t be intoxicated. And the parents how obviously arrive home drunk and you realize they drove that way. There is nothing cute about asking your college age babysitter to put you to bed because you drank too much.
3. Call in sick to work because your life is just so stressful. And then ask me to keep the kids quiet and confined to one room because you just need to rest. You then wonder why your boss is questioning you commitment to your job, and you bemoan how you never have enough money because you shop like the malls might close tomorrow forever.
4. Involve me in your “I have my ex” tirade. I am sorry you married an asshole/bitch the first time around. But I don’t have much sympathy for you if you make every person in a 100 mile radius aware of you ex’s shortcomings. I actually probably end pitying your ex and thinking you are a moron. Facebook is not the place to point out the flaws in someone’s character. And since you are the one who married them, it kind of makes you look like a jackass too.
5. Take 3 hour lunch breaks so you can go shopping with your friends, and then call me and tell me you are working till 8. News flash, your kids are sick of me putting them to bed.
6. Feed your kids nothing but junk food and then wonder why they are overweight and can’t concentrate in school.  No it is completely normal to give your kids poptarts and fruit roll ups every morning for breakfast.
7. When you child breaks his third IPod in six months, it is probably time to stop buying him toys on demand.
8. Allowing your young daughter to dress like a whore. A ten year old does not need to wear pants with the word “sexy” written on the ass. She should not be wearing a bathing suit top that is padded to make her look more grown up. And she should not be wearing a skirt that shows her rear end every time she bends over.
9. Hiring me to watch your child while you “work” from home. Sorry moms and dads, but having a nanny while you work from home is extremely difficult. First of all, unless your house is huge, the nanny and child will have to be confined to a small section of the house to keep from disturbing you, or you will have to kick the nanny and child out of the house while you are on important conference calls etc. This is hardly fair to the child. Also, most children want to be with their parents if their parents are at home, so you are asking for some tears and temper tantrums. If you are going to work from home, send your child to daycare. Or work in the garage.

 

Most of the time I really enjoyed caring for the children I watched. And of course I had a few favorites.  I can honestly say that nannying is my favorite job. I love the variety in my day to day routine and I love interacting with children. It is probably the least cynical job I will ever have. If only there was a way to avoid dealing with the problem parents.

 

 

Hey Baby They are Playing Our Song

Music is such a big part of my life that I have a soundtrack I associate with every major event that happens in my life. I also have music for every possible mood. So I want to list the songs that are on my Ipod in the summer of 2011, so that I will forever associate these songs with my engagement.

1. Racks – Young Chris
2. You and I – Lady Gaga
3. Just a kiss- Lady Antebellum
4. Don’t want to Go Home – Jason Derulo
5. Homeboy – Eric Church
6. How to Love – Lil Wayne
7. Novacane – Frank Ocean
8. Booty Work – Tpain
9. Bad Meets Evil – Bruno Mars
10. Stereo Love- Gym Class Heroes
11. Love Done Gone – Billy Currington
12. Super Bass – Nicki Minaj
13. If Heaven wasn’t so far away – Justin Moore
14. Dirt Road Anthem – Jason Aldean
15. Country Boy’s World – Jason Aldean
16. Bring it Back – Travis Porter
17. Are you going to Kiss Me or Not – Thompson Square
18. When I am Gone – Wiz Kahlifa

 

I am in such a daze planning for my wedding that I don’t want to look back and not remember what songs were important to me the summer I got engaged.  And by important to me, I mean songs that I sang with every time they came on the radio much to the annoyance of my  companions.

Torture by Visine

Clint went to the eye doctor a couple of weeks ago, and they gave him some much needed eye drops. He had been complaining that his eyes itched and he would rub them so much he looked like he was more baked then a twice baked potato.  But since it took six months to get around to going to the doctor, it will take him another six months to get around to getting the prescription filled. In the we go to Target and get some regular eye drops to help in the meantime.

Now eye drops are not really interesting or exciting or humorous. But trying to put them in a grown man’s eyes when he is emphatic about you not putting them in his eyes is hilarious. During the struggle that occurs, I have to keep stopping to clench my legs together to keep from literately peeing with laughter.

I get Clint to sit down at the table, and tilt his head back. As I approach his eye with the dropper, he starts freaking out. He is blinking his eyes like an owl on acid and is squirming away from my touch. Every time I put my hand on his forehead he moves.  I successfully manage to get one drop in his left eye but as soon as the drop touches his eye, he is howling with pain. He immediately rubs his eye to get drop out. This of course negates the whole purpose.  Clint retreats to the kitchen where he rubs his eye while he sulks at me for “hurting” him.  Nothing says mature like a full grown 31 year old man rubbing his eyes and cowering in a corner of the kitchen.

I have to pull him out of the corner and I decide that this whole process would be much easier if I could just sit on him. So I convince Clint to lay down on the floor in the living room and I sit on top of him, straddling his shoulders. Now, this position is awkward and uncomfortable but it probably super entertaining for anyone looking in our living room right now.  I have to keep Clint still by squeezing his shoulders with my knees and I have to hold his face still by squeezing it between my elbows. While doing all of this, I also have to somehow manage to get the eye drops into his eyes.  I proceed to attempt to place the eye drops in his eyes all the while laughing hysterically at his frantic attempts to remove me from imprisoning him.

I am finally successful and by this point both of us have tears rolling down our cheeks. Me from laughing, and Clint from me “torturing” him.  I took this time to compose myself. But the sight of a grown man cowering from an eye dropper will be with me for a long time.

 This is a picture of what Clint should truly be afraid of - me when I am bored.

Where is the volume control?

 Clint is a good man. I know I am lucky. But sometimes I want to shake him and ask the higher powers what I did to deserve this. Clint is a very intelligent man. So when he does something that seems stupid for lack of a better word, it infuriates me to no end. Clint is very rational and meticulous but when he gets frustrated or upset he loses his cool. I then of course lose my cool. And we look like a couple of bickering five year olds. You know the classic “Stop touching me. Mom – he’s touching me!” This is obviously not our finest moment, but what can you do? Both of us are too proud to back down and saying “I’m sorry” is like being forced o swallow the worst medicine ever.

So one warm and toasty Sunday, Clint and I go shopping with my girl friend and her kids. Now, before you think I have lost my mind to voluntarily go shopping with two kids, there is a method to my madness.  I want Clint to see how having children changes your life. We are very spoiled right now, because we are able to do whatever we want, whenever we want. And honestly I enjoy that. I know Clint wants a family and a chance to be a father, but I want him to realize the logistics of day to day life that become necessary after having children.

Here I am holding a six month old infant in Brooks Brothers while Clint it looking at ties to add to his collection. I have been holding this baby for the past thirty minutes and my arms are tired. I take Clint’s tie shopping opportunity as a chance to position the baby in the stroller so my arms can recover. However as I am placing the baby in the stroller, he starts wailing. I can’t blame him. Why would he want to leave the warm security of my arms for an uncomfortable, cold stroller. While I am trying to strap a squirming, screaming baby, Clint bolts out of the store. Thirty seconds after I get the stroller moving, the crying stops. But Clint is already standing outside.

During the chaos of rearranging the baby, Clint decided that the best course of action would be for him to vacate the store. The crying baby hurt his ears. I took this opportunity to inform him that if he wants his own children, his ears are going to be doing a lot of hurting because babies cry and there is nothing you can do about it. I was also curious as to how Clint walking out of the store solved the crying problem. He carried himself, not the baby out of the store. So all the other patrons still had to listen to the baby. And he did not offer to help me soothe the baby. Instead he just vacated the premises. Leaving me to soothe and position a screaming infant. And all I can say is I am not a fool, so I will be having no babies of my own until Clint can accept a baby’s cries as natural.

I was pissed at the time, but looking back it was hilarious. My fiancé who calms and soothes his clients all the time, loses his cool around a six month old infant. Now, personally I would be more scared of a 45 year old man, but I guess that adult men are just babies trapped in a man’s body.

Our story.

Our Story.

I think a couple of sales guys in SAKS summed it up best. “We always see you together. You two belong together. I can’t imagine seeing one of you without the other.” They made this remark because every time we walk through SAKS, we are together. We never go in there by ourselves. It is not intentional. But we go to that mall to window shop and stroll, and it more fun to do that together.

But the take home point from that, is that in my opinion, you have to realize that you are in this thing together as partners, as a pair, to have a successful marriage. So when Clint asked me to marry him, of course I said yes. Do we bicker? Only five times a day. Do we get on each other’s nerves? See the first answer.  Do we say hurtful things sometimes? Of course, we are human. Are we always there for each other? Yes, no matter what. We don’t keep tally of a tit for a tat. Since you didn’t pick up the phone earlier, I am not going to pick it up now. We just simply always do what we can to provide support for the other person.

So after five long years Clint finally stops eluding commitment.  About damn time.   But you know what they say, you can lead a horse to water but sure can’t make them drink. However age finally caught up with Clint and he realized that if he didn’t come to his senses and make a proper woman of me, he might be left all alone. And when you hair line is decreasing and your pants size is increasing, you can’t exactly jump back out of the dating scene. So Clint decided to propose.

So when we decided to buy an engagement ring. I wanted to pick it out. I figured I knew what I wanted, so I would be happy. Of course I would only buy a ring that I could look at for the next fifty years. But then reality set in. Diamond shopping is exhausting. There are so many variables it will make your head spin. This is probably why I never advanced much beyond Algebra II. Give me more than two variables and you have lost me.

So I finally decide to buy this ring. And I get it. And I hate it. The more I look at it, the more I start finding things I don’t like. I try to convince myself that I just have to get used to the ring. It will grow on me. I don’t want to admit defeat. I don’t want to have to tell Clint that I don’t know jack about picking out diamonds. But I get so upset that I tell him I want to send it back. Even though I am not looking at him, I can feel him rolling his eyes.  I know he is thinking most people who make sure that this absolutely the diamond they want before they would commit to buying it. But not me. I got caught up in something only to realize I hate it.

After I tearfully explained to Clint that I absolutely hate this ring and can’t fathom looking at it for the next fifty years.  We knew we had to come up with a new solution. We found a woman who was wonderful at making us a custom ring. She understand exactly how I wanted my ring to look and she stayed within our budget. That was really the big seller. Start talking about dollars and Clint’s eyes light up. He is always saying how he wants me to get whatever will make me happy, but in reality he means whatever will make me happy without  breaking the bank.  He would agree that a five carat rock would look nice on my finger, but he doesn’t want to work for the next 80 years to pay for it.

Clint handled the final details of my ring, and kept everything a secret from me. He wouldn’t tell me when he was going to pick it up, or where he was going to hide it. I “re-arranged” (read this as tore apart) our bedroom several times in a frenzied attempt to find his superb hiding spot, but I was unsuccessful. I still don’t know where he hid it. All I know is that when I do figure it out, I will  be hitting the jackpot, because that is where he hides all my presents.

I honestly expected Clint to propose on a weekend and do it sometime in the evening. I kept waiting, and waiting and waiting. I dropped subtle hints. And not so subtle hints. And I flat out threatened him.  However none of these tactics worked. Clint still moved at his own infuriating slow pace. He has his own time line, and he does things when he wants, how he wants.  So, imagine my surprise when on a Wednesday at the end of June he asks me to marry him.

He called me at work to tell me that he was going o have to work into dinner so he was just going to leave work around 6 and head home instead of working out and then going back to the office. I honestly thought nothing of this. Clint does this all the time. If he has to call a client right at five, he will just come home after he gets done and stay home to spend time with me. So  I head home and make a boring hum drum dinner. Clint comes home and I rattle on about my day at work. During this whole time, I have forgotten that today is our five year anniversary. I am honestly worse than a guy when it comes to the “little” holidays. I plan for Christmas all year round. I start buying and stashing gifts in March. But when it comes to birthdays, anniversaries etc., I just put them on the back burner and end up forgetting about them. Not Clint. He is a meticulous planner. So he of course had a plan for our engagement.

After dinner we were going to walk around U of R. Again, nothing out of the ordinary here. We usually walk after dinner a few times a week, and sometimes we go to places like U of R to spice it up. Now where I should have gotten tipped off, was when he decided not to wear actual work out clothes. When Clint and I walk together he usually sweats like a pig, so workout clothes are a must. But I was so tired, I figured this was just going to be a leisurely stroll and I was grateful for the reprieve.

We get to U of R and we begin our usual stroll through the campus. It is quiet since most of the students are back at home, and I was more focused on the gangly teenage ducks then on the surroundings. I was intent on trying to catch one and hold it, until I realized that the ducks reaction to fear is a violent explosion on poop. Uh yeah. There went my love of ducks. I love animals – but only when they are excrement free.

So we stroll into the Gazebo and this is where you go to steal a kiss or ask a girl to marry you. Now this should have been a major red flag because usually I have to drag Clinton into this Gazebo and this time he went willingly. He gave me a couple of kisses and then I watched the ducks paddle in the water. When I turned back around he was down on one knee, telling me that he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I started crying. But of course I said yes.

The proposal suited me perfectly. It was low key, no crowds and loving. Clint and I have had a wild five years .A lot of good times, a lot of bad times .And times where you laugh and cry at the same time. But through it all, he has walked right beside me and I know he will continue to stand by my side during our marriage.

I am an addict.

I am hopelessly addicted to caffeine. I acknowledge this fact, and actually go out of my way to feed my caffeine addiction. I have decided that the world looks better when I am full of caffeine. Or at least I am less likely to bite off somebody’s head because they have just asked me the same question three times in a row.  Most people get hyper and jittery after a couple of cups of coffee and have even less patience then before. But as for me, if I can get a cup of coffee, I have all the patience in the world. I do not feel rushed and on edge. I feel calm and refreshed. I am sure some of this is just psychological. My body is not actually refreshed from receiving caffeine, but I have fooled my mind into thinking that.  Let’s hope I never get hooked on anything harsher then caffeine, lord knows I would be a mean addict. I will do anything to get a caffeine fix, who knows how far I would go if it was a real drug.

I resemble a ravenous wolf during my morning hunts for caffeine. Get in my way at the risk of your own life. I take no prisoners. There are only four things I want out of my mornings : a workout, a shower, breakfast and coffee. If you prevent me from those four simple objectives you will have a very miserable day.

Rumor has it that back in the day, I used to be able to just get up and roll out of bed. No fuss. I would go with the flow. I didn’t have to drink a pot of coffee before I could pry my eyeballs open. I could eat breakfast on the run, and if I didn’t make it to the gym, I would just go later. There was no set routine and it was virtually impossible to ruffle my feathers. But then age caught up with me, and suddenly it was interrupt my routine and I will become a demon. My routine coddles me and allows me to wallow in pity for the first few hours of my morning.  I don’t have to embrace the day before I am ready to. People who genuinely enjoy rising while it is still dark scare me. The days I am the happiest are the days I am allowed to sleep in til 6 or so. Just so that it is not pitch black outside when I open my eyeballs.

It takes a lot to be me.

Clint always teases me because I am a hopeless over packer. I feel like there is always a chance I might need this one item, so I have to have it. Otherwise my whole day might be ruined. Obviously a logical person would realize that your whole day will not ruined if you are unable to wear a certain shirt. But in my mind that is not the case. If I think I need a certain article of clothing to complete an outfit, nothing can change my mind.

I have a few items that I need to survive daily. These items include:

Hair straigtener, or hair scrunchi (I don’t want to scare small children with my unruly hair)

Sneakers (I have to be able to run off some of my manic energy to me more pleasant to anyone around me)

Gum (If I am chewing gum I am not stuffing my face with food)

Coffee (My long standing love affair with caffeine)

Cell Phone (Heaven forbid I have to go without entertainment while waiting at a stoplight for people to figure out that a green light means accelerate)

Car keys ( I would love to be able to walk everywhere but Bon Air is not pedestrian friendly)

Make-up (Again, don’t want to traumatize small children)

 

 

I run like a girl, and damn proud of it too.

 love running. I hate preparing my runs. I hate getting started. And I hate struggling to finish the last mile – ok the last two miles. I hate alternating between being so thirsty I could drink enough water to hydrate a small family and feeling so queasy that you have thought I had just eaten at a Mexican restaurant of questionable reputation.

However, after a run I feel magnificent. I feel accomplished. I look back at all the miles I ran, and think wow, I did that. I ran those miles. I struggled up every hill and coasted down the other side. Every time I push myself to do just one more mile, my body rebels. I keep glancing at the time, thinking omg how has it only been 30 seconds?

The best part of running though is all you have to do is put one foot in front of another. Sometimes that is the only way I get through a mile. But that is all you need to know to even run one mile. If you can put one foot in front of the other, you can run a mile.

I look at my body, and I know that even though I am not overweight and am slender. I will never be stick thin. My body needs to have substance to push itself through thirteen miles.  I am proud of my body for what it can accomplish and I don’t worry about weighing a certain amount or squeezing into a certain size.

I think women get so caught up in being a certain size, or looking a certain way that they forget about what is healthy. It is not healthy to starve yourself to make your body unnaturally thin. If you eat well and exercise, your body will find it’s happy weight. But that might not be a size 2. And I think we as a society need to learn how to live with that.

When I go shopping and try on a pair of jeans that are a size 4, they have an inseam that would only fit a woman 5’8 or taller. So what they are insinuating is that if you need a size four, you better be tall. Otherwise you are just a shorty who is overweight. It amazes me that I wear a large in underwear from Victoria’s Secret. I honestly don’t have any body fat, but the way my hips and ass sit, they require a large. If I were more sensitive to this kind of thing, I might get my feelings hurt. Luckily I know that Clint loves me the way I am, and I like me the way I am.

If I had to pick between being a size 0 and being able to run, I would pick being able to run. I feel my best after a run, but if I were a size 0, I would only feel good when I was trying on clothes.

 

I hate everything!

 hate how it takes forever for the ice cubes to come out of the stupid shoot in my freezer.

I biting into a grape and finding out it is sour.

I hate realizing that I accidently put my favorite shirt in the dryer and shrank it.

I hate getting to the pool, putting on sunscreen only to realize the sun has disappeared.

I hate getting rained on when I am dressed up and have somewhere to be.

I hate that coffee doesn’t taste good cold, but if it is too hot it will burn my taste buds off.

I hate there is never a light switch right next to my bed, so I have to climb out of bed just to turn off the lights.

I hate that checking Facebook on my phone uses up so much batter power.

I hate that eating to many potato chips is bad for you, but you can never eat just one.

I hate that you can’t open the windows in the spring without the pollen getting inside your house.

I hate the smell of bug spray, but I hate mosquitoes more.

I hate how fish smells fishy.

I hate ordering steak medium-well, only to find out that means there is more pink then I thought.

I hate having to send my food back to the kitchen.

I hate ordering something and being disappointed.

I hate when they don’t have what I ordered.

I hate when the waiter doesn’t refill my drink.

I hate when people mispronounce my name.

I hate when people don’t look at me while talking.

I hate when people mumble.

I hate when people have food stuck n their teeth.

I hate when people think brushing their teeth is an option.

I hate when people don’t let me finish my sentences.

I hate when I can’t pronounce a word correctly.

I hate when my ice cream melts faster than I can eat it.

I hate when I get a stain on a brand new outfit.

I hate that the only time I have to go shopping is when the mall is the most crowded.

I hate that the piece of clothing I like the best is never on sale.

I hate that I can only buy clothes that are on sale.

I hate my bills always seem to be more then what I make.

I hate that anything work having is worth working for.

I hate that directions to an electronic item are never short and concise.

I hate that I can’t speak a foreign language.

I hate that math feels like a foreign language.

I hate that I would rather watch reality TV then an educational show.

I hate that I secretly like the stupid shows on Disney.

I hate that I know all the words to the songs from Disney movies.

I hate that as soon as I paint my nails, I chip them.

I hate that I am too much of a chicken to get a tattoo.

I hate that animals are so much work.

I hate that I prefer junk food to healthy food.

I hate that I have to work out stay fit.

I hate that I wake up to an alarm clock.

Welcome to La Casa de Severson. I advise leaving while you have the chance.

I am putting my family up for adoption. I am sure everyone has had moments where they truly wish they didn’t have to claim their family members. Whether you are sick of being embarrassed or you are just tired of the drama or you honestly wonder how in the world you share the same gene pool with these people.

At large family gatherings it is tempting to step away from the chaos and look at my family as a stranger would. It is then I realize that a stranger would be fighting a battle in their mind about whether my family belongs on Jerry Springer or Maury Povich. It is a very delicate decision so the choices need to be carefully weighed.  Springer grantees physical harm but Povich comes with shocking realizations.

Even if my family manages to gather without any one getting injured or without losing someone at a rest stop, my family is still a very loud group of people. You can hear us long before you can see us.  We all talk at once and it we through in obscure body gestures to emphasize our points.  It is not just enough to call someone an idiot. You have to roll your eyes, through up your hands and walk around in a circle while muttering obscenities under your breath to emphasize how stupid that person was being.

If you wanted to survive in my family, you had to become good at two things. Talking and eating. You had to learn how to talk loud and talk fast if you wanted to be heard, and you had to learn to eat quickly and stash any extra food, or you would go hungry. I learned real quick that setting a tub of ice cream in really cold water in the bathtub was not enough to keep the ice cream from melting.

I know at the end of the day they are my family members and I stuck with them but sheesh. One of my sisters is known for attempting to eat a pistachio – shell and all. This wouldn’t seem like such a big deal, but she is eighteen years old. Does the hard shell around the green nut look edible? If you bite down on it and hear you teeth crack, it might be sign the shell is not meant to be ate.  Another sister used to eat play dough like candy. I realize play dough is non toxic but surely it is not meant to be eaten as part of daily diet.  And my other sister has so many foods that she refuse to eat. Crackers and water are actually her idea of an ideal meal. However god forbid those crackers have fiber. You can’t eat any fiber because you might go to the bathroom. Never mind that is what the human body was designed to do, she has decided it is unnatural.

And let’s not forget the condiments.  The one that has a fiber paranoia also must coat whatever food you can actually get her to eat in ketchup. This might not sound so bad until you start thinking about all the different things you can coat in ketchup.  Anything fried can be dunked in ketchup. But pretzel sticks? Cinnamon toast crunch? The possibilities are endless and not appealing.  The only thing I can truly understand coating in ketchup is fish sticks. They are so revolting that you have to cover them in something to force them down. Now whenever I am in Ukrops and see a Gordons Frozen Fish Sticks box, I gag reflexively. Some things should just not be eaten.

My family members also have an unusual dependence on cell phone technology. I am pretty sure if you took away their cell phones they would wither up and die like you had cut of their supply of oxygen.  They have become adept at integrating texting into every part of their routine. Eat and text. No problem. Drive and text. No problem. At least until they rear end someone or run off the road. But so far they have someone managed to remain accident free while texting and driving. Not that I am recommending that activity.  But I digress. My sisters text while conversing with another individual, at work, at school. Even at the pool. The only activity that makes texting tricky is taking a shower. It is difficult to successful y text and wash your hair without either jeopardizing the phone or your hair.  But there is nothing more annoying when you are trying to have a conversation without someone and you are actually speaking to them in person, and they are intent on texting another person while speaking to you. This accounts for long breaks in the conversation and confusion between the topics being discussed via text and the topics being discussed in person.  I of course have to be the center of attention so when someone attempts to converse with me, while texting with another person, I have to resist the urge to smash the cell phone into little tiny pieces. The problem with that solution is that most phones are made so crappily that I wouldn’t get any real satisfaction is breaking one. After one toss the phone would probably crack. Not nearly as satisfying as getting to hurl a phone into a wall multiple times before it finally comes apart.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy using my phone as much as the next person. I would even say that I suffer from a mild addiction to the social integration it provides.  Anytime I wake up in the middle of the night, I slide my hand under my pillow and pull out my phone to see which of my friends is drunk posting on facebook.  And anytime I am unfortunately stuck waiting in a line, I whip out my phone and peruse facebook and FML.  3.5 hours at a football game. No problem. I have a 98% charged phone battery and a whole plethora of hilarious unfortunate events that happened to other people thanks to FML. But I am not glued to my phone when having an actual conversation with someone in front of me, or when I am doing a dangerous task like washing my hair or cooking dinner.

Speaking on dangerous tasks, if you ride with a certain member of my family – you might as well say your final prayers. Riding wither her is always an adventure. If by adventure you mean holding on to the sides of the car for dear life and praying you don’t throw up on your cute new dress.  On this ride all beverages should be left at the gate and you should watch for loose contents. Anything not tied down will be flung around during sudden stops and sharp turns. This experience would be fun if I wasn’t 75% sure that continuing to ride in this death trap would result in my early demise.

I am pretty you can describe my family in a few short sentences. We are horrible drivers, fast talkers, voracious eaters and a tendency to embellish. Out of all  those characteristics, the tendency to embellish is probably the one that creates the most problems for us.