Wii for dogs.

I hope you all appreciate this post, possibly my last, because the second Corey finds out I purposely let Oliver on the new rug (which is a big no-no) he will slaughter me.  Maybe even through the phone.


But it is a story that must be told.  And I am hoping one of the four followers of this blog is the random stranger that happened to see me and the following antics through the window.  He or she desperately needs an explanation if only to know that I am not completely crazy.


Here's the story:

I got a Wii and the Wii Fit Plus for Christmas.  I screamed.  Really, ask my mom.

And finally, I was able to set it up Tuesday night.  I put the sensor bar on the TV, plugged in the cords, re-plugged the cords and synched the Wii Fit board...

(this thing)

...and powered up the game.  It weighed me, calculated my body mass index, and figured out my center of balance.  Then it started talking to my dog.

"Excuse me, you want to do what to my dog?"

"Have Guest F (me) help you (Oliver) onto the board.  His/Her weight will be subtracted from your total."

"Hold up.  You want to weigh my dog?OK."

This is what I was trying to do.

But I am not a man, nor am I strong.  And Oliver is not a willing participant.

So, this is what we looked like.

First, I try to get him to sit on the board, but he wanted to lay across it.

Then I try to get him to stand on the board:

"First foot on, second foot on, now the back ones, oh crap, the first two are off..."

"I cannot find you.  Please step off the board and press A."

"Dangit."

Next I wrap my arms around his belly and hoist him up on his two back feet.  He is as tall as I am.  And 70 pounds.  Did I forget to mention that?

We walk onto the board.

"One foot off.  Dangit.  Lemme grab that back foo...."

"I cannot find you. Please step off the board and press A."



I press A, board resets, I regain my grip and drag Oliver back on.

"All feet on, looks goo..."

"I cannot find you. Please step off the board and press A."

"Dangit."


Press A.  All feet on...

"I cannot find you. Please step off the board and press A."



"SERIOUSLY?!  We are both here, on this board, ready to be WEIGHED."

"I cannot find you. Please step off the board and press A."


"Can't I just tell you how much he weighs?!  Because I already know!!  And what are you going to do with his measurements?!  Track his weight loss?"

"I cannot find you. Please step off the board and press A."



(sigh)


I end up standing on the board by myself to get the thing to shut up about the dang A button.  Oliver is then told he weighs negative pounds.  Score for me.  Unfortunately, he won't be able to set and follow his own fitness goals.

He's over it.

And I'm sure Corey's over the whole rug thing...hehe...right Cor?

How many brunettes does it take...

Funny things happen when you put three girls in a room with a deflated air mattress.

(You may think you know where this is going, but you really have nooooo idea.)

For as long as I can remember, me and my sisters would climb into the same bed on Christmas Eve and giggle about Santa, about the presents we hoped were under the tree, about how we couldn't fall asleep, and about Kimberlie, who couldn't stop farting, until we finally passed out.

Eventually, we outgrew twin sized beds, but never outgrew the tradition.

Until I had to go and get married.

See, Corey had this strange idea that as a married couple we should start our own traditions.  "Pppsssshhh,"  I said.....or spit, actually.  But he was right, and Katie, Kimberlie and I, again, modified our tradition.  We would hold our annual Christmas Eve sleepover on Christmas Eve Eve.

This is actually where the air mattress story begins.  I just felt the need to give you way more background material than you probably wanted.  That's just what I do.

So here we are.  The three of us.  Ready to sleep, a deflated air mattress in front of us.  I should mention this air mattress requires many, many batteries to inflate (which we did not have).  Oh, or a car charger. 

Where does ass-uming get you, L.L. Bean?

Anyway, as I am ready to give up on the mattress and claim a couch, one of the two sisters (can't remember which one, they both kinda run together) has the bright idea to inflate the dang thing using a car charger.  As in a car charger in a car.  Outside.

So, we suit up and go.

...plug the thing in there.

And then that thing plugs in there.

Oops.  Wrong thing.

My feet.

Ahhh, yes.  The mattress.  Focus.

Now, to get it inside.  Snow free.

...and up the stairs.

Ahhhhhhh, success.

In short (see what I did there?  This story was in no way short...that's what makes it funny), we survived.  So did the tradition.  And the air mattress.

'Tis the season...

...for stomach aches.

You know you did exactly what I did the past three days: stuffed every goodie within reach down your cram-hole until your innie turned outie.

So don't tell me you're not still full from Christmas ham, beef, or turducken because I won't believe you.

...for unpacking toys.

The toys you got for Christmas.

Because you're at that age where you don't care what your friends, family, neighbors, co-workers think of your obsession with remote controlled cars and video games.

...for zero workplace motivation.

No one is working anywhere this week, so there is really no reason you or I should be.

...for seasonal depression.

No more Christmas carols, no more Christmas lights, no more family gatherings, no more presents. 

What does that leave us?  Snow.  And cold.  Bitter cold.  Then more snow.  Then slush and mud.  Followed by rain.

...for counting down to Saratoga track season.

Oh to see those stately thoroughbreds crossing Union Avenue, holding up traffic, and leaving golden surprises in their wake.

By "golden surprises" I really mean poop.  They poop in the street.

...for New Year's Resolutions.

You know, the goals you set for yourself that you can't seem to keep past noon on the second day of the year.

...for swearing to shop earlier for Christmas presents next year, to not wait until Christmas eve to wrap said presents, and to save ambitious baking projects for, let's say, a Tuesday afternoon.

Enjoy this post-Christmas season and have a Happy New Year!!

The time is near

Um, I wish someone had told me Christmas is Friday.

As in three days from now.

I mean, I knew, but I didn't know. 

You know?

I think I just needed someone to say, "You know all that stuff you got wadded up in all those bags upstairs?   Yeah, it needs to be under the tree next week."

And then I wish that same someone had said, "Oh, and you have to wrap it.  Nicely."

Because now I'm stuck between a rock and a booger.

Do I put all my purchases in grocery sacks to save time for the production of hundreds of sprinkly cookies?  Or do I make enemies out of neighbors and coworkers expecting holiday treats so I can spend hours wrapping gifts in fancy paper that will be in the garbage by Friday morning?

Problem solved.



To my family and friends: If I give you a bag that says Hannaford Supermarket on it, that doesn't necessarily mean there are groceries in it.  Just so you know.

Something you should know

Here's my dad:

People say we look alike.  And that's cool, he's pretty handsome. 

I say "pretty" because he's my dad, and anything more than moderate is gross.

But then there's these days:

When I do not claim his as mine.

That was Halloween.  Pret-ty convincing.

Don't worry Ma, you'll have your day on the blog very soon.

I won something.

Out of 30,000 people I won something.  Me.  The unluckiest person in the world.

The person who manages to do thousands of dollars of damage to her car while it is sitting in the driveway.

The person who always steps in gum and sits in chocolate.

The person who has never won a single dollar in any gambling venture.  Ever.

But this time I won.

Did I mention I won something?

My prize:

Kitchenaid 90th Anniversary Limited-Edition 5-Quart Stand Mixer

Isn't she beautiful?  I'm not quite sure what these things are for, but how can you not love a sturdy piece of kitchenware?  And it's red to boot.

Now if we could just get some salt and pepper shakers...

Devestation

Corey has come down with a serious ailment.

One that has left him practically incapacitated.

He is unable to concentrate on his work.

And barely able to eat.

His world has now come to an end.

Corey has red itchy bumps on his face.

Today, I lumber.

I lumber because...

I am tired.

I am cold.

I did not get home until 9:30 last night.

I will not get home until 9:30 tonight.

I will not get home until 9:30 tomorrow night.

I have 45 items to mail by tomorrow.

I ate a McGreasy with a small McFatty and two McSugar pies for dinner yesterday.

But mostly, I lumber because I'm still wearing my snow boots with the laces untied.

Safety Hazzard

Folks, when putting up exterior illumination of any kind please take into consideration sightlines to and from any major highways.

A single glowing snowman will pose no major threat to motorists.

A single glowing snowman that bends, twists, or moves will leave motorists driving 70mph watching and wondering...

"What could he possibly do next?!"

"Is he going to bend?"

"Is he going to twist?"

"Is he going to do a roundoff backhandspring, back tuck combo?!"

The next thing you know their knees are pushed up to their eyeballs, along with the front bumper.

Another example:

A single strand of lights will pose no major threat.

A single strand of lights connected to another strand, connected to another strand, connected to another strand, wrapped around every protruding object in your yard, AND twinkling most definitely will send a car or two into a snowy ditch. 

See, you may or may not be aware that most people, like moths and other stupid bugs, are drawn to bright, shiny objects.  We must look at every single tree, shrub, child, and grazing deer covered in lights.  Call it an instinctual flaw.

And at 65mph (because we all really do drive the speed limit, Officer Jason Winters) during rush hour traffic you can see how  7 seconds of perusing might have some serious consequences.

Do you really want that on your conscience?

You know who you are, gloriously bright house off of exit 15 on I-87.  Yeah, you, right off the curve where that big blue lodging sign is...

Wanna see sumthin' funny?

I'm a garage sale freak (obviously), so when I plan one of my own I like to really plan.

Like this:

And then I re-plan. 

Like so:

And I take into consideration such things as traffic patterns, and possible obstacles to the flow.

Weird, right?

Mensa membership down by three

I surround myself with intelligent people.  Why?  Because us smarties gotsta stick together. 

I have a sister who constantly surprises me with her insight:

"I'm left-handed in the mirror, too!"

"I didn't know you could put wet clothes in the washer..."

and

"Pigeons can fly here (NYC)! I thought they all adapted to be like humans and walked around on the ground."

Brilliant.  But wrong.

Then there's my dad.  The same dad who says "arrears" and prays for naked people....not in that way.  He also provides me with gems like:

"Does that sign say Krispy Kreme?!....Oh, no. Western Wear."

And finally, Corey.  The man I did not marry for his mechanical abilities or knowledge of human anatomy.

Me: "Boy did I have to pee!"

Corey: "So you emptied your uterus?"

See?  Smart.

The Man, The Myth, The Legend: Santa Claus

He is the obese, probably diabetic, man who wears red velvet pajamas as he breaks into your house to eat your holiday goodies and leave gifts he knew you wanted because he watches you constantly.

Ahhhh, to be young and innocent again.

I don't remember when I stopped believing in Santa and his magical shenanigans.  It must have been a gradual process that began with me silently wondering why my parents were helping Santa do his job.  Most of my presents were from them, not Santa.  The big guy only brought me the boring stuff I needed like sweaters and underwear. 

I now realize they just wanted to take credit for the good stuff like the Nintendo and the bike and the British Knights with pink and white laces.

Corey's story is a little more tragic. 

At six years old he thought to leave Santa the last of his parents' Heinekens with the cookies.  (The intuitive child figured he probably needed to take a load off.)  When he saw the beer back in the fridge the next morning he knew his parents had pulled a fast one.

Awwwwwww....

I wouldn't feel too bad for the kid.  If a six year old could rationalize giving Santa a beer instead of the traditional glass of milk, I'm sure he was smart enough to understand his parents' logic in leading him on for so many years.

My strategy: keep the story going.  My kids will one day appreciate the harsh lesson in vulnerability.  Tough love, folks.  Tough love.

When did you stop believing?

One big hot mess

And I am not referring to an open faced turkey sandwich.

Although, that does sound good....with the stuffing and the cranberry...

Focus.

No, I'm talking about the snow.  The beautiful, white, piled high gift we received on my poorly planned day off.

There would be no stroll through the park.  Falling snow has a tendency to find that one sliver of exposed neck skin and use it relentlessly as a target.

There would be no completed Christmas projects.  The weight of the lovely fluff took out a power line feeding our entire neighborhood.  And unfortunately, computers and sewing machines still run on electricity.

There would be no thrift shop excursion for future craft materials because by then I was just grumpy.

Luckily, however, I was able to shovel thousands of pounds of this glorious miracle of the sky from my parents' driveway, ending the day sore and fatigued.

In short, I am never planning a day off before first consulting Doppler radar....

Or I'll just not wait until the last minute to get everything done.  Whatever.

Holiday Time - By Corey

Holiday time signifies various things, and things to do; cocktails and punches you only get once a year, roaring fires, trips to Mirror Lake Inn, homemade candy, cookies, gingerbread men, college bowl games, holiday parties, snow storms, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and on and on....if you aren't participating in at least 2 of the below items, you're missing out!

As for the punches; my favorite....Southern Comfort Punch, (I can't give this recipe out, it's top secret; there is a full bottle of booze in it, but you'd never know..just ask Stacie, it kicks her butt every year!)

Eggnog, (see below) a holiday favorite.....and this I will give you, so get your pen and paper out....

Here is Corey's Eggnog recipe:

12 egg yolks, 5 cloves, whole4 cups milk, 4 cups cream, 4 cups light rum, 1+ ¾ cups sugar,2+ ½ teaspoons vanilla essence, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, ground ¾ teaspoon nutmeg, ground. As far as what to do with all these ingredients...well that's up to you!

Mirror Lake Inn - A must if you've never been (Stacie loves it here) Wonderful during the holidays, great brunch, restaurants, and any "winter activity" you can think of...

College Bowl Games - These are very exciting(the 4-5 blog followers might not agree however!) If you're interested in the "Bowl Pool" let me know!

Trans-Siberian Orchestra - You must see this! Stacie and I go each year....we love it and recommend it to all of you(all 4-5 followers!)

* Photos provided by Corey

Johnny Mathis would be sad

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Ev'rywhere you go;

(except for my house)

Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again

With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

(unlike my house)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Toys in ev'ry store

(and not in my house)

But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

On your own front door.

(but not on the front door at my house)

Do you get the picture here, Corey?

Giants vs. Dallas vs. Stacie

This is Corey and me.  Hour 5 of a full day of Giants festivities.  And when I say a full day, I mean 14 hours.  That does include driving time because football was discussed the entire time.

What I learned from the day's events:

• 35 degrees, not including wind chill factor, is cold.
• Layers (tank top, turtle neck, fleece, fleece, jacket, hat mittens, spandex) eventually fail.
• Sausage and peppers, beef tips, and potato salad: tailgate food.
• Delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies: not tailgate food (still don't understand this).
• Can't throw a football with knitted mittens.
• Can't catch a football with knitted mittens.
• What goes in must come out...and you must stand in a 30 minute line to let it out.
• The Giants are terrible.

I'm still trying to decide my favorite part of the day:

• Vendor chased through parking lot by security.
• Corey taunting 9 year old Cowboy fan...and her dad.
• Discovering a man in the women's bathroom.

Hmmm....

Overall, it was an excellent morning/afternoon/evening/night, and I discovered a newly formed appreciation for 70 degrees.

The First Man in my Life

My daddy.  And that's what I call him, daddy. 

We had our favorite songs, breakfast dates, and inside jokes.  He fixed owies and boo-boos and held me in his arms while I cried.  We had the kind of bond only a father and daughter can enjoy.

And yet he managed to just give me away like a sack of moldy potatoes.

Not one single tear.

In-credible.

In fact, I think I noticed a dreamy, far away gaze as we walked down the aisle.  Picking out the new wall color for my old room, daddy?  Mentally planning your man cave?

Really...so soon?

Ok, so I was kind of a drain on your resources for the past 27 years, but you know what, hot shot?  You ain't so perfect either:

You are bald.  You have no hair on your head.

And your car is old.

You say things like "the rears" instead of "arrears," and "disingenuous" when I really don't think you know what it means.  Let's not forget your prayer to "feed the naked."

When you played Barbies with us you used your regular voice and not your Ken voice.

You made math homework harder than it already was.

You let us think you liked getting ties and socks three times a year.  Every year.

Maggie.  Need I say more?  (Yes, I do.  Maggie is the loud, conniving, crabby bassett hound my dad convinced us would be perfect for our family)

Give me a day to load a certain video onto Youtube and the world (aka my four loyal followers) can witness your singing abilities.

You think you gave me away?  I was already gone...the Ken voice was the deal breaker.

PS. Are we still on for racquetball next Wednesday?

A Husband's Effort

He meant well.  I know he did.  Which is why I could only laugh when I pulled out the lunch Corey packed for me yesterday.

A slice of pumpkin bread, an apple, and cheesy crackers.

"hmmmm....."

Although delicious and almost nutritious, it wasn't quite enough to last me through the day, let alone through my after work cardio kickboxing torture.

"...is this it??"

In his defense, there were fantasy football stats that needed to be addressed and a dog to harass.  And this had to be done early, because the later part of the morning would be dedicated to looking out the window and watching for our furniture to be delivered.

"uh, hi, I'd like my usual turkey wrap to go, please...."

He also only had two nights of leftovers to work with. 

"...and potato salad on the side."

To be honest, I never actually said I needed a "main course."  I guess I just assumed he was familiar with lunch protocol.  You know what assuming does...

"Can you throw in a chocolate chip cookie?"

So, thank you, Corey, for the sincere effort, and I will try not to be so ambiguous about my lunch expectations in the future.

A Critical Error

A warning to all of you who own and operate the Blackberry Pearl:

Double check your outgoing text and email messages.  They may not contain what you intended.

Each button is used for two letters.  When you try to type "boy" you could end up with "not" (b and n are on the same button, so are y and t).  Or when you try to type "has" you could end up with "gas." (em-barrassing)

I think you get my message.  It had to be said.  Because confusing baked with naked completely changes the innocent conversation about what kind of beans you are eating for dinner into something entirely inappropriate.