Locked out.

Unfortunately I am notorious for locking my keys in the car. Sometimes I am lucky enough to lock my keys in the car with the engine still running, so not only do I have to beg, borrow and plead for someone to get me my spare, I also get to waste precious gas on a locked, parked car.

 

The other week I got to work, and was flustered and running late as per usual. As I rush to get out of my car, I drop my keys in the driver’s seat, hit the lock button on the door and slam the door. Mid-slam I realize my keys are going to  be locked safely inside the car. This would not be so annoying or embarressing if I only did it once or twice. But I espcially prone to this type of forgetfullness. And after a while, Clinton becomes annoyed.

 

To make matters worse this time, Clinton and I had a disagreement the evening before. So now in order to get into my car, I had to apoligize for my role in the disagreement. No sooner did I finish my apoligizing, then one of my coworkers offered to let me use their AAA card. I had apoligized all for nothing. I try to never admit fault in an argument with Clinton because what you say, can and will be used against you. “Samantha you admitted I was right and you were wrong. So that means I am right about everything.” This seems to be Clinton’s train of thought. He thinks that just because he is right once, he will be right all the time.

 

What he doesn’t realize is the few times he is actually right about something, it is because I let him be right so I don’t have to listen to him pout. The male ego is a funny thing. They spend hours propping it up, but a ten second conversation will instantely deflate the precious ego. And nothing is more pitiful then a man stroking his wounded ego. Someone once made a comment about him looking slightly pregnant, and even though he is now in fantastic shape, he will still stand in front of a mirror and critique his appearance. The sad thing is that he does this several times a day for extened periods of time.

While this is cute at first, over time it become annoying. I will call his name over and over again, only to realize he has zoned out in front of the mirror again. When did boys get so vain? 

My vain little boy. 

Shenanigans on Maplested Lane

Today is the birthday of one of my sisters. And so in honor of that I am taking a very lovely journey down memory lane.

Now I grew up in a household with four kids, limited space and the concept of sharing and hand-me-downs. Although fortunately being the oldest I was exempt from having to wear hand-me-downs. Instead I was the one who got to cast off my outdated clothing to someone beneath me. It was really the only privilege I could see that came with being the oldest.

But for the most part we lived in harmony and peace. Or at least we did when everyone was sleeping. During the day we could either be found playing together while carrying on at top volume or screaming at someone for violating a rule. Typically as the day wore on and we got bored playing nicely with each other, we would start to antagonize one another so that we could excite things with a physical altercation of some sorts. Usually it was for invading the sacred ground of someone else’s room or for not sharing the Barbie clothing. Or maybe just for not playing the game the right way.

And honestly you would think that growing up with that chaos would make me want to avoid having a large number of children. But the idea of a large family seems cozy to me. Don’t worry, I said seems. I understand that in order to have large family, you have to create the children through adoption or biologically and you also have to feed, clothe and house them. I think I would prefer to stick with my hypothetical family.

But at any rate, we had quite a few shenanigans growing up. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to mention that Ali was involved in quite a few of them. One of the activities that entertained us the most frequently was tossing Hillary out of our room. She would stuff her finger or toe onto the carpet just inside our doorway, and Ann and I would take this an invitation to drag her down the stairs or toss her down the stairs depending on our mood. This would go on for a while until either we got bored and simply locked the door to our room or until she found a pastime that didn’t involve carpet burn or falling down a flight of stairs.

A lovely example of our adult shenanigans 

There was the time that Ali and I spent hours tossing my Hillary’s stuffed toy into a tree to see if we could get it caught in the branches. And then throwing a ball into the branches to knock the toy out.  Only to repeat the whole cycle again. Now this might make some people question our IQ but it actually was a game of skill. Until my father came out and demanded to know just what in the world we were doing and to immediately knock it off before the neighbors start questioning their  child rearing practices.

Ali and I also came up with an elaborate story involving wolves and an abandoned field to scare Annelise to death. We got some sick sort of satisfaction out of tormenting her. Although why in the world she never questioned our oddly lacking in real world details story, I will never know.

At some point Ali and I also decided it would be a brilliant idea to mix all of nail polishes together. This resulted in one toxic mess. That also got on our brand new carpet. Needless to say it is impossible to remove bright pink nail polish from baby blue carpet. Annelise and I used this nail polish concoction to paint our barbies and make them more beautiful. However when our beautification did not turn out like we had hoped, we would try and coerce Hillary into trading one of her pretty barbies for our barbies with the bad make overs. So then we would have new barbies to ruin.

Not that I got away without torment. My sisters had me convinced that I had a tail for a good portion of time. Sadly that is not the case. I just have a deformed tailbone

 

Smurftastic

The dirty little secret that no one tells you about painting is that it is not as easy as it looks. Sure it is only so difficult to paint a small ceramic figurine at those little paint and fire clay shops, keepsake box or some other trinket. But when you attempt to actually paint something that is life size and not easy to maneuver. The tables are turned.

I thought it would be brilliant to buy some unfinished furniture and finish it myself. After reading several blogs on painting, I ought to be an expert. Everything looks so glossy and blemish free, that what could be easier? Spray a couple of coats of paint, followed by a clear glaze, and voila, you have a gorgeous finished product.  Well clearly these step by step videos and blogs do not show how long it took the demonstrators to become adapt at the art of painting.

First there is the whole act of getting the  furniture to a location where the paint will not get on anything worth damaging, and a place where the fumes will not kill your brain cells. Moving furniture from one location to another is not that complicated when there are at least two people doing the moving. Or if you are not easily beaten by five year olds in arm wrestling. My upper body strength or lack thereof, is embarrassing. This complicates moving furniture from one place to another. I am constantly having to place the piece of furniture down, to give my arms a rest. Or risk dropping it on my feet and crushing my toes. So after about 15 minutes I  finally get the furniture to a safe location : my back deck.  My rationale for risking getting spray paint all over the deck is that the wood needs to be re-sealed anyways….this will just prompt me to speed up the process. All though after this painting debacle, I am not sure I ever want to touch anything that requires brushing, spraying or sealing a wooden surface again.

I am finally at the stage where I can shake my paint cans and start spraying. Now I have diligently read the direction that are in size .10 font on the back of the spray can. And I have come to the conclusion that it is probably really not necessary to “vigorously” shake the canister for two minutes.  So I shake the spray paint for a good thirty seconds or until I get bored. Whichever came first. Big mistake. I start to coat the furniture with the paint only to be greeted by a beautiful watery black color. Perhaps I should have followed the suggested time for mixing the paint a bit more closely.

What I thought would take an afternoon has now turned into a two weekend project. And during this time I have gotten to look like a splotchy smurf. I even managed to coat my hair a gorgeous shade of blue. All of this has taught me that when something is expensive to have done by a professional, it is probably because it involves a good bit of attention to detail, and skill. And honestly I don’t have the attention span to become a skilled painter. One coat of paint is about all the interest I have in painting something. When that item requires four to five coats, I start getting pissed off.  Why didn’t anyone prepare me for this?

Also, anytime I see someone use painter’s tape on a commercial. It looks ridiculously easy. How hard can it be to stick some blue tape on a flat surface? The answer is incredibly hard – to get the tape to stick in a straight line anyways.

I am really not all that handy around the house.  Don’t get me wrong, I can clean, cook and fold laundry like the best of them, but when it comes to actual home repairs or improvements, I usually run for the internet and it’s wise recommendations of service providers.

But I do realize that paying someone to do basic tasks gets expensive and makes me feel helpless. However if you looked at my track record with household duties, you could see why hiring a professional might be worth it in more than one way.  I have recently become addicted to blogging (I was trying to replace my trashy reality TV addiction). And while perusing all the sordid details of suburbia on various blogs, I came across many blogs dedicated to DIY home improvement. Considering I only owned a hammer and didn’t even own a screwdriver, DIY home improvement seems incredibly daunting. But I succumbed to the old thought: “If they can do it, so can I.” So I advise staying tuned this year to see if I burn down the house, destroy any walls, or fall through the roof. Any of these are sadly probably pretty realistic possibilities when I am left to my own DIY devices.

There are several scenarios that cause Clinton to shudder at the thought of me picking up a hammer or a paintbrush. Or god forbid a power drill.  There was time I put a plastic cutting board inside the oven and couldn’t figure out why I smelled plastic burning.  I also learned that if you wash an ink pen with a load of white dress shirts, those white dress shirts will come out of the wash sporting gorgeous new black patches.  Our walls also sport several scars for misguided attempts at the art of hanging pictures.  I can never seem to get a picture to hang with the first attempt of putting a nail through the wall.

This was the chaos of moving (never again)

Unfortunately for Clinton’s sanity I hate measuring or doing prep work. For example, if you are going to hang curtains, you should probably measure where each end of the curtain rod needs to be and mark that spot with pencil. I preferred the less meticulous and less time consuming method of simply guestimating where each end should be. The problem with this method is that sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn’t, and when it didn’t, the process became more time consuming then if I had just measured out the right distance.  But I prefer to think of my guestimating as an art, and if there is chance that it will cut down on the amount of time required to complete a task then even better.

Clinton is afraid that I will carry over my disdain for being meticulous into the painting arena and our walls will give off the impression that we turned a five year old loose in our house with a bucket of paint.  Apparently before you can paint, you have to take everything off the walls and then tape all the edges. Well at first this didn’t sound so bad. Taking everything off the walls is certainly easy enough. And how hard can it be to stuff some tape on the walls. Clearly I had no idea. You have to get the tape right up on the edge, and make sure it is in a straight line, and that is securely stuck to the wall.  This sounds exhausting. You literately have to tape every edge in the room. Talk about time consuming and tedious. It is really necessary??  According to anybody who has ever painted, yes it is. So I can see why Clinton might be a little apprehensive about my painting techniques.?

And I picked hanging blinds as a relatively easy project. However upon closer examination, blinds are deceptively tricky to manipulate. First of all the directions are written in a way only an engineer would understand. Which is the first problem. They are assuming that I can read and hang at the same time. That is a pretty big assumption. Why can’t they just draw me a picture of the steps? It doesn’t have to be a fancy picture. It can be stick people. Just draw me a stinking picture. And while you are at it, explain to me how in the world you get them into the correct position and get them to stay there.

Do they offer master’s degrees in home improvement because I might need one?

 

Say Yes to the Dress!

So I think I am finally able to say “yes to the dress.” This comes after I probably tried on over 100 gowns in almost ten different bridal shops. And let me tell you, there is nothing fun or magical when you are trying on your 95^th gown.

During this whole process I learned that I listened to others way to much. Everyone felt entitled to give me their opinion and then they expected to follow their expert advice. Of course the members of my bridal entourage had an opinion. But so did the sales clerk, and the random other dress shoppers, and casual acquaintances in my life.  Everybody had an opinion and advice. And I actually welcome their opinions and certainly their advice, because sometimes it helps me re-evaluate a decision. But what I can’t stand is that most people think that their expert opinions are ironclad and I am a damn fool not to follow them.  I am sorry that is horribly offensive to you that I am not getting married in a church. And I know you think I am going to look back and curse this decision, but if we want to get married outside under some trees like a bunch of heathens then so be it. It isn’t your soul that is going to be sent to damnation. 

And people like to scare you into following their opinions by promising that you will regret not heeding their advice.  But at the end of the day, I am getting married to my bestfriend. And there is no way I can control every little detail, so I ought to just enjoy the day and bigger meaning behind it.  Everyone says you don’t remember your wedding day because it passes in such a blur. So why would I obsess over which white wine to offer. 

I am too nice to tell people to politely back the **** off. So I just smile and nod and act extremely grateful for them forcing their opinions down my throat.  But in the back of my mind I am getting more and more nervous and anxious about my wedding. There is no way I can please everyone, and frankly I am not that interested in catering to every single whim some of my more eccentric guests might have. So I ask Clint, can’t we just run away and get married with just us and immediate family?!!

                                           My gorgeous ring! 

I can see he is trying to be ok with that, because he wants to make me happy. But I know he would like to have a semi-traditional wedding. So I decide to grow a backbone. I am going to get married and have a modest ceremony. And I will probably have to invite a few guests I don’t know. But I will be the one making the decisions and if anyone has any problems with that, I will show them where they can sign on the bill, because Clinton and I are paying for this ourselves. So if you don’t like how we are spending our hard earned money, feel free to contribute your money to whatever detail doesn’t meet your standards.

I realize I might sound a bit pyscho. Like put that lady in a padded room and that her throw a fit. But I finally had enough and I am going to put a stop to the foolishness.  And I promptly started this new attitude by going and trying on dresses by myself (this was mainly because where I was going was not convenient to anyone else on that day). But I found a dress that I truly loved and at a price I loved even more. And I got a chance to enjoy it before I shared it with a few people. And even if they had some critiques it didn’t matter because this is my dress. I realized that if I listened to every single person’s critique I would never find a dress I like. So I just have to hope that the dress I pick is able to appeal to the majority.

I will have to say, the members of my bridal party (and Kip) did keep me from purchasing some dresses that could only qualify as a hot messes. Because in addition to being unable to say no to opinionated acquaintances, I am also unable to say no to pushy sales people who stuff me in whatever dress they think they can sucker me into buying.  “Oh no that dress is top of the line. I know it looks like a nine year old went crazy with a bedazzler and some glitter glue, but it is just so hot.” You know if I wanted my dress to look like a creation by an elementary school student, I would probably just go pick out a dress at the local thrift store and drop it off at the elementary school down the street from my house.  But I still had a hard time turning the sales woman down. What is wrong with me?? I need to learn the word no.

But all that aside, I have found the dress that I can see myself getting married in. It doesn’t break the bank. And it is traditional enough to keep Clinton happy.  Even though he told me I could spend as much as I need on the dress, I can tell he is pleased that I kept it to a reasonable amount. Maybe we can use the extra money to purchase my basset hound………

Basset Hounds, Tongs, and bluntcard oh my!

Christmas still makes me so excited that I have trouble sleeping on Christmas eve. I also tend to wake up at some ridiculous hour on Christmas day so that I can be sure to encourage Clinton to participate in the enjoyment of Christmas with me.

This year was no exception as I was wide awake at 445 am and bouncing on the bed. I used my eager energy to run a brisk eight miles before arriving back to finally waken the sleeping beast. Clinton of course realizes that he is no match for me on Christmas and rolls out of bed without much fight. He shows what he considers an acceptable level of excitement in that he acknowledges the fact that it is Christmas morning and the fact that it is early.  He wants a shower and breakfast and then we can get the show on the road.

It nearly kills me though waiting for him to get ready. This man has never heard of a five minute shower. He could easily spend thirty minutes in the shower actively cleaning himself because he is so meticulous. He is very through and uses half a bottle of soap each time. We buy our soap in bulk at Costco and on the bottle it says “use quarter sized amount, should last for 75 uses.” However after three weeks we are out of soap again. So I am going to start monitoring his soap usage and become a soap Nazi. If he can’t make do with one quarter sized allotment of soap at a time then tough. I am tired of being in the middle of a shower and realizing we don’t have any soap, even though we just bought some two weeks ago. Clint likes to be clean. In fact if he could dip himself in a vat of sanitizing liquid he would. And I would have no objection to installing a giant sanitary vat in our bathroom if it meant I got more hot water and longer showers myself.

After Clinton finally exits the shower he decides he has to shave in order to be presentable. Here comes painstakingly slow routine number two of the morning. Clinton insists that if he shaves to fast he will cut himself and die. I insist he is being dramatic and shave slowly because he has a meticulous pattern he follows and wants to make sure that he does not miss any stubble.

Finally his bathroom routine is done and it is present time. I would prefer to tear through my gifts like a ravenous wolf but Clinton thinks It is more civilized to take turns. So we painstaking take turns. And as I work my way through my gifts. I got a lot of lovely presents. And although Clinton refused to buy me “Humphrey” my basset hound. My sister did buy me a basset hound charm. And that charm is proudly displayed on my charm bracelet. I show it off to anyone that happens to be near me. Most people give me a puzzled look as to why in the world I would be so excited over a charm shaped like a basset hound. But it’s ok. They just don’t realize the beauty that is a basset.  But my favorite present of all was a set of tongs to use in the kitchen. I will not be just reserving these tongs for the kitchen though. They will become my personal number one Clinton annoyer. I will be amused for hours on end thinking of ways to annoy Clinton with these.

I also got this marvelous collection of postcards for Christmas that are known as bluntcards. Now if you have never had a chance to check these suckers out.  You need to go Google them right now. I have spent copious amounts of time clicking through all the different bluntcards that are out there on the internet. And let me tell you, each one is funnier than the last.

There is one particular bluntcard that I received that I will be photocopying so I can use it over and over. It says: “I am sorry you are feeling like such a pussy.”  I will be reserving that card for every hypochondriac I know. And for every person that whines to me. I hate whiners. I am sorry you stubbed your toe and it hurts. But I am pretty sure it is not going to fall off. Though if it does be sure to call me because it would be cool to see that. I am sorry you are nauseous and feel the need to discuss everything that you just regurgitated but let me remind you, you are the one who wanted to get pregnant so don’t expect sympathy over here. If you managed to get pregnant without realizing all the wonderful things that are going to happen to your body then you deserve a major kudos because this is the 21st century and the internet is everywhere and it is full of facts. I also would like to know how the people on “I didn’t know I was pregnant” managed to carry a fetus for nine months without every the slightest idea they were knocked up.  And for my last sick rant, if you get a head cold, it does not mean you are dying of tuberculosis.  I don’t want to listen to your cough. It sounds no different than anyone else’s cough with a cold.

So I would say all in all I got some pretty useful presents this Christmas. And Clinton even got me an electric mixer so my days of mixing everything with a spoon by hand are over. Looks like I am finally moving on up in the world. Good-bye pioneer days with nothing but a wooden spoon and bowl. Hello 21st century with electric mixer and cooking appliances.

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.