Happy Halloween!

"Why is she walking into that house?"

"Doesn't she know he's in there?!"

"Turn a light on!  You don't have to walk around in the dark!!!"

I hate scary movies.  Hate 'em.  I hate the suspense.  I hate the gore.  I hate sending my poor dog into the bathroom at night to flush out serial killers.  But I still torture myself every Halloween and watch something I know will haunt me for months if not years.

A list of too-scary movies, in no particular order:

• The Ring: Scared my pants off.  The premise: this creepy video kills you seven days after you watch it.  I watched only part of the video, but seven days later I seriously wondered if I was going to die.
• Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Super gory.  I did not expect to actually see a guy hanging from a meat hook, but I did notice the effectiveness.  That guy was in pain.  Mission accomplished.
• Saw: Scariest.  Movie.  Ever.  I don't want to talk about it.
• Child's Play: Saw the preview when I was six, couldn't look at my dolls the same way.
• The Shining: Ghosts, check.  Possessed weirdo, check.  Creepy kid, triple check.
• Thriller: Yeah, it's just a music video, but don't pretend you don't check for zombies after it's over.

This year:  The Amityville Horror.  I figure it will take me 8 months before I stop worrying my apartment is trying to kill me.

I. Am. Tired.

The kind of tired like in college when you intend to stay up all night finishing a 30 page paper due in the morning that you haven't even started but instead you stay up all night to see how many of those cheesy peanut butter crackers you can eat before you vomit.
Yeah, tired like that.

You might also say it's the kind of tired like I did a shot of NyQuil before bed...because that's what actually happened.

You see, Corey needs to sleep as much as I do, but with this cough it just ain't gonna happen for one or both of us.  So what do I do?  NyQuil shooters before bed.  The result: restless coma for me, sweet uninterrupted sleep for Corey.

"I thought NyQuil helps you sleep...?!"

Good question.  Love that you're paying attention, by the way.  Ever stay up late binge drinking.....orange soda?  Well, you get....full....from the....soda...and you pass out.  But usually you don't wake up refreshed 7-8 hours later.  Without going into the chemistry of the...um, soda...throwing off the biorhythmic patterns, I'll just leave you with this: cough syrup and...soda...have the same restless effect on sleep.

They both also leave me laughing like a lunatic and speaking in tongues, but that is for another time.

Back in action...

...kinda.  My head is spinning, my chest is full of ooze, I have been spelling words the way they sound (shu = shoe, soop = soup, etc.), and I am temporarily dyslexic, but that has not stopped me from getting in my car and infecting my entire office.  But I exaggerate.

Until I get my brain back, however, I'm afraid I will have to limit my blogging to simple paint pictures (which take little to no talent/effort/brain waves) and scary craigslist finds (which, thankfully, speak for themselves).  Once I am back to normal...I will be back to normal, and I can give you the embarrassing, pathetic details of my worst day spent watching 12 hours of America's Next Top Model. 

Depending on how I feel, I might actually try to illustrate me practicing my "signature walk" in between coughing fits.

Warning Amazon Shoppers

Hey.  It's me, auto-pilot.  Trying to make Stacie look busy at work, found this:

Pretty scary.  Word of advice: don't buy used tic tacs.  They may have germs.

Thank you.

AUTO RESPONSE

Hello.  This is Stacie's auto-pilot.  She has fallen under the deep and nasty spell of the cold bug and is unable to perform normal daily duties.  I have been activated and will now take over the daily blog.

Unfortunately, I am not as humorous and witty.  For example, Stacie would have written "doodies" instead of "duties" because it just looks funnier.  Auto-pilot is not programmed to make the distinction.  My sole purpose is to make sure she does not run her car off the road as she sings to Bon Jovi on the radio or that she follows her full morning routine and doesn't miss the critical deodorant step.

Stacie will be back to her normal "doodies" in approximately 7-10 days, depending on how much Vitamin C and chicken soup I can cram down her throat while she's not paying attention.

Thank you.

Yankees: Champions of the World.

....well they will be.  Maybe.

But I'm not here to argue the awesomeness that is the Derek Jeter machine.  I just thought I'd share a few highlights:

• Brand-spankin'-new stadium, awesome.

There is actually a screen that shows every single word that is said/sung in that stadium.  However, when Mr. Posada comes on the screen for a little announcement in his native tongue what you see is "(Speaking Spanish)".  I wonder, why put the video message on the screen and not the words?  Is it impossible for there to be deaf Latinos?  Shame, shame.

• 5 hour and 10 minute, 13 inning game in rain, sleet, and cold.  Opposite of awesome, but still worth mentioning.
• Home run in the 11th inning to tie the game by the steroid-free Alex Rodriquez, or as we Yankee fans like to call him, A-Rod.  See what we did there?

• Numerous random-stranger high fives with this super fan:

• 5 foul balls.  Almost had 'em.
• A Kate Hudson sighting. 

She left early.  How do I know?  Corey kept watch.  Close watch.

Two Yankee playoff tickets:  $250

One cheesesteak and Godiva hot chocolate: $35

Waking up on the ride home to Corey singing and dancing to keep himself awake: priceless

Happy (one month) Anniversary!!

And this is my gift to you, Corey:

Why I like being married

by Stacie

When you're married you don't have to be afraid of things.  Like the dark.  Except for when your dear sweet husband hides behind a door when you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and then jumps out at you and scares out that little bit of pee you knew was in there but just didn't want to come out yet.

When you're married you always have someone to listen to you complain about your job, your friends, your hair, that little bit of fat accumulating under your arms.  You can also share your hopes, dreams, and aspirations that he not leave the windows open anymore.  It's cold out.

When you're married you can look forward to those nice surprises that brighten your day.  A piece of your favorite dessert.  Maybe a love note in your lunch bag.  Or the ever romantic fart in your face while being pinned to the ground.

When you're married you are introduced to new food.  Like gravy and cheese over fries, baked beans with hot dogs over cottage cheese, or my favorite, fries with baked beans, meat sauce, macaroni salad and a corn muffin all mixed together.  Sometimes your husband will serve you while you're relaxing on the couch reading a National Geographic on California's redwood forests, that's another nice surprise.

There are many more reasons why being married is rewarding, fulfilling and special, but I'll leave you with my favorite:

When you're married there is someone else who can take the dog out when it's 30 degrees outside.

The End.

To love is to sacrifice

"When you're a Yankee fan you make sacrifices."  Corey, 7:35pm, Tuesday.

My sacrifice?  Sitting on a cold plastic chair for hours.

Risking frostbite.

Risking foul ball to the head.

Risking near death and spontaneous vomit at the hands of Corey's driving.

Missing a Halloween party and the debut of Hannah Montana zombie.

All of this for..... Yankeesvs.Angelsgame2canIgetaWoopWoop?!!

I guess I'm ok with sacrifices.  But you know what they say...

"When your wife is a huge fan of craft festivals and you just happened to make a mistake in which you did not give her a choice to go with you to the game or go to her much anticipated Halloween party, you make sacrifices."

Thanks, Lynn, for the wafflemaker.

You have unknowingly given the world (in other words, my 4 loyal followers who have yet to officially "follow" this blog) a small dose of entertainment through Corey and my first experience making waffles...together.

This is how we began:

"What is this??  Where's the Bisquick?!"

Apparently, I hit the one store that does NOT carry our trusted baking mix brand.

"No worries, I found Krusteaz!"

Actually, it didn't quite go like that because both he and I were a little nauseous about using a brand named after the goopy balls of gross we pull out of Oliver's eyes.  It went more like this:

"Um...it was either this or Aunt Jemima."

So then began the process of pulling the waffle maker out and mixing up the batter.

"Do we need to grease the thing?"

"No."

"Are you sure??"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

"It's teflon, Corey."

My favorite part:

"I'm going to turn it on."

"Wait, I'm not ready yet."

(mix, mix, mix)

"Ok, go ahead."

(wait, wait, wait)

What was the purpose of waiting?  I'm still not quite sure.

The rest was pretty uneventful.  Read directions, re-read directions, read directions again, poured batter, the thing dinged, we ate waffles.

Why are you leaning forward in your chair like that?  Were you expecting more?  Perhaps some major mishap you are wishing upon us just so you can laugh and point your finger as if to say, "Look at those clowns!!  Can't make a stinkin' waffle without setting a dishtowel on fire...HAHAHA!!"?

Shame on you.

Waffles were good, by the way.

All sports, all the time.

This is my life now.

"It was a pop fly, second out."

"Yeah, Matt Tebow has a concussion, but I hear he'll be able to play in next week's game."

"Now why would Girardi take Rivera out NOW??"

"What's the line for the Purdue, Notre Dame game?"

That's me talking.

Don't worry if you have no idea what any of that means.  You are still in GirlLand, like I used to be.

Now I can spot Johnny Damon's at bat dance in an instant and tell you the over for a Miami game is probably a safe bet.

Conversations on Jessica Simpson's love life are a thing of the past.  Instead, I hear all about the filly running in the third race at Belmont on Saturday.  Of course, this is a one-sided conversation as I 1) tune out all things horse racing after Labor Day and 2) hate Belmont.

I will miss talking about books, nail polish and recipes.  I now ask random strangers what they thought of last night's game fully prepared to break down and discuss each moment, play by play.

But I exaggerate.  I do manage to shanghai the remote every now and then to enjoy a sitcom or two.

The deep down transformation, however, from pink dresses with bows to skipping shopping trips for Giants games is well underway.

This is an important message for Corey:

Do you really want to be married to a Scotty O'Dwyer with mascara?  Wake up to a Tom O'Donnell with long hair? 

No?  Maybe we should spend less time on sports and more time on whether or not I should get highlights.

New routines are like dirty socks

I don't want the stinky smelly things.

Old routines, on the other hand, are like warm flannel footie pajamas.  They feel so right.

But right now, my footie pjs are still on the rack at Target, while my dirty socks are in every crack and crevice I come in contact with.

I'm in a new environment with an extra person.

This environment was not ready for me.  My craft stuff is not here.  And my clothes have nowhere to go but in tubs and laundry baskets.

And this extra person prefers to watch different TV shows during "relax time."  He takes up half of my sleeping space and mistakenly uses my towel, everyday.

The refrigerator does not automatically stock itself like it did at my parents' house.  There are no tortillas or moldy leftovers.  The only reason I now have pickles is because I bought them yesterday.

Folks, this is hard.  You can't possibly know what it's like.  I mean, what I'm going through is so completely unique to the entire married/cohabitating population you wouldn't understand what it means to get in near fist fights over the bathroom mirror (but I exaggerate).

...sigh.

I know eventually I'll have comfy pajamas made out of dirty socks....wait, that didn't come out right.  Yeah, new routines become old routines, but I don't think this metaphor is working for me anymore.

Garage Sale Review

On Saturday, I spent five hours looking at all the junk my heart desired, and that wasn't even all the junk that was there.

I woke up at 6am.  This is what also gets me up at/before 6am:

• fire alarm
• dog throwing up
• Disneyland
• black Friday

Had perfectly shaped pancakes (thanks to dad's OCD) with my parents and sister, drove to Warrensburg, parked the vehicle, began the junk treasure hunt.

My favorite junk? 

Definitely these guys, and there were a ton.  You put cream or milk in their backs, pick 'em up by their tails and they spit it out!  One of them was $125.00.  Yes, I did check the placement of the period.  It was after the 5.

Although I didn't end up with a cream-spitting cow (I had clear instructions from you-know-who to leave the junk there) I did end up with some goodies:

• 
  
  a pashmina, with the "Pashmina" tag taped on
  
• Christmas present for my cousin...it's a sssssecret
  
• huge bunch of dried hydrangeas
  
• a large jar of buttons
  
• roasted almonds
  
• sausage and peppers
  

The old keys and pocket watches were hard to resist, but I couldn't think of what I would do with them and that would be a direct violation of the "no junk" policy I unknowingly agreed to upon entering the marital residence.

In the end, it was a successful day.  After five semi-dry hours of meandering through endless vendor stalls I left with half of the items on my list and money still in my pocket.

Only 360 days until the next one.

The Baker Wife

See what I did there?  Instead of The Baker's Wife I put The Baker....never mind.

Over the weekend my sister and I went raspberry picking.  For the first time.  Ever.

Itwassostinkingawesome.

After fighting bees, spiders and extremely possessive ants, we ended up with over five pounds of berries, and at $3.50/pound we were super psyched.

I took my half and headed straight for the grocery store.  After confirming corn starch is not the same as corn syrup, I went home and began my raspberry turnover adventure.

I made the crust from scratch using my mom's recipe. 

Word of advice: flour has a mind of its own.  And you will not feel it clinging to your hair, cheeks or eyebrows.

Now, the raspberry filling, the most important part of the turnover, the whole reason for it to exist, was a disaster.  How easy is it to add sugar and corn starch?  It's Not.

"Add sugar....wow, that's a lot of sugar."

"Add cornstarch."

"That looks really soupy.  Should I put more cornstarch in?"

"Maybe I need more sugar?"

"Wait, now it's too runny."

 Next, I rolled out the dough (hindsight: too thick), added my soupy berries, and sealed 'em up.

"Crap.  I forgot the butter."

Opened the suckers back up, added butter, resealed.

And this is the mess that went into the oven.

The judges say:

Stacie: "The crust is dense, yet flaky on the outside.  The berries are a perfect combination of sweet and tart.  Exquisite, despite its flea market presentation."

Corey:  "Too doughy."

Identity Crisis

Hello.  My name is Stacie.

"Hi Stacie."

I am...in between identities.

In 10-13 days the federal government will officially know me as Stacie Lucas, and poor Stacie Dina will get a courteous "don't let the door hit ya....."

Days after that, New York State DMV will make me wait. 

And wait. 

And then they'll know me as Stacie Lucas.

My credit cards.....I think I'll keep them the way they are.

Here's my problem, identity crisis support group, I like my old name!  I've had it for 27 years and I guess I'm attached to it.  I like the way it sounds! (to be fair, though, Lucas is a lot better than a Hershberger, Yoder, or something ending in -oski.)

Stacie Dina was a competitive 4-H frog jumper.  She was a moderately talented trombone player who graduated from high school almost with honors and attended Purdue University.

So far, all Stacie Lucas has done is organize a set of drawers and make some exploding raspberry turnovers (more on that later!).  Not quite as impressive as running across a football field in granny shoes while trying not to knock out your two front teeth with your mouthpiece (more on that upon request).

I guess Stacie Lucas is just going to have to top the feats of her past life, which will mean working hard, setting goals, and eating a balanced breakfast each morning.  Building a successful Stacie Lucas is not going to happen overnight, but it is worth the effort because that is who I am now.

Thanks for listening.



"Hi.  My name is Mark and I like to wear pantyhose."

I think I'm in the wrong group.

Nightime antics

I talk in my sleep.  I also mumble, laugh, drool and elbow Corey in the face....while I'm sleeping, of course.

"...the training wheels.....and the pillows have pockets in them!!"

Apparently, I was supposed to outgrow this at some point in my development (thanks for letting me know I'm underdeveloped, Wikipedia, like i don't notice that every single day...but i digress).  Now, I'm part of only 4% of adults who also still talk in their sleep.

"....(giggle)...crackers!"

My parents must also be a part of this group, because I've heard many stories of their nighttime adventures (...I already regret typing that...ew).  Mom wakes up in the middle of the night checking the walls for bugs, and dad wakes up screaming.  The only thing (besides watching videos of dogs trying to walk with shoes on) that makes me laugh so hard I lose all control of both my snot and my spit is hearing sleep talking stories. 

Try me.  Just make sure you have a mop and parka.

Word of the day: Somniloquy - sleep talking.

WANTED:

One wooden or antique brass daybed with trundle. Must look never used. If you still have the receipt from when you bought it that would be very much appreciated. Or if you could wrap it in plastic and deliver it to my apartment wearing blue jumpsuits and driving a Pottery Barn truck that would really help with my, "I don't buy used stuff anymore," argument.

Please call 867-5309 and ask for Stacie. If a man answers the phone, you have the wrong number (wink wink).

Thank you.

Honeymoon: A Summary...of the rest

Thursday, September 24 - Sunday, September 27, 2009

Laid out in the sun, had breakfast, looked at art, watched football games, tried to get onto a pier but found out you have to pay a dollar, I am afraid of sharks and jellyfish, ate more food, shopped, flew home in a thunderstorm, we almost died, walked around in the rain looking for car, drove home.

(there was a big spider in the bathroom with me a second ago. all brain power formerly used to create complete sentences is now devoted to the image of that big hairy sucker crawling up behind me.)

I will leave you with this video:

That's me and Lucretia McEvil, if you couldn't tell.

Honeymoon: A Summary of Day Three

Wednesday, September 23, 2009



Zoo and cheesecake day. Two of the best things in the world. What made the world even better: bear feeding time.



Dog food in my swimming hole makes me do water dances too.

What took away best-thing-ever points: thunderstorm. Getting soaked. Skipping otters. Wearing a white shirt.



Extra credit: three cheesecakes.

Honeymoon: A Summary of Day Two

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Wake up to catch sunrise on the beach. Sun takes forever to get up, Stacie gets antsy.


Stacie then runs 1.5 miles, but it feels like 17. She gets honked at.


Corey makes scrambled eggs with cheese and salami as Stacie discovers she's been attacked by an invisible pest that leaves little red itchy bumps. She will soon have over 40 covering her body and will whine endlessly about it.

They lay by the pool. At 9 in the morning.

Corey lathers on sun tan oil, hoping to turn raspberry pink, "I've got to build a base," while Stacie wards off wrinkles under cover of SPF 30, palm trees and umbrellas.

The have a lovely lunch followed by a smooth Italian dessert, followed by 14 scoops of ice cream, followed by a stomach ache and a nap.

The evening was filled with shopping, a single half-price margarita, and crappy take out.