To Baby, Or Not To Baby

Thankfully, I am rarely asked about Corey and my baby-makin' time table. 

Whoa.  Great way to start a post, Stace.  Just jump right in there.

It's not that I don't like answering questions, the honest answer just delves deeper into our lives than most people really care to go:

"Why yes, Corey and I plan on having children, but not until we can learn how to not kill each other over which bread we buy.  There is a big difference between white and wheat, you know."

Well, it's wasteful to buy both, and wheat is soooo much better for you.

But that's beside the point.

If we can't agree on bread, how are we going to name the kid or decide which peanut butter to feed him?

I also don't think people want to know of my child related phobias:

"I would love to have a wee little one right now but what if I hold it too long and he or she is then unable to make friends in 10 years??"

That happens, right?

It doesn't help that everyone I know is having babies and sharing all kinds of less-than-glamorous stories of pregnancy and motherhood.

And by everyone I mean two of my real life friends and two bloggers I follow.  I tend to exaggerate.

Here I was thinking parenthood was like those Rice Krispies commercials and then these people come along with stories about boogers and projectile vomit and cutting areas that are not meant to be cut (please don't ask me to elaborate).

And pregnancy is, apparently, not just like carrying a basketball around under your skin.  Unless basketballs these days weigh 30 pounds, sit on your bladder and kick your ribs.

Don't even get me started on nipple confusion.  Those conversations brought on a whole new paranoia:

"So I can actually shoot milk in my kid's eye if I'm not paying attention?!?"

Yikes.

And I don't need anyone to feel sorry the unfortunate curse that has, no doubt, befallen on my mate:

"Mr. Lucas and I are waiting until we are mentally prepared for the wrath of Corey, Jr. as punishment for Corey Sr.'s maniacal behavior as a small child."

This time I do not exaggerate.

But still, the ultimate answer is yes, Lord willing, the babies will come.

I may barf for nine straight months and keep my darling child strapped to me until he or she is 18, but, so help me, I'm gonna do it.

In a few years.

Ten on Tuesday

Yes, I was noticeably absent since a very brief Friday Confessions last week.  I'm sorry to have left all three of you hanging until now.  It will never happen again.  Although, it probably will happen again...

1. What was/is your favorite live action (meaning not animated) kids movie?
Enchanted with Amy Adams and McDreamy.  It's super cheesy and princessy, but in a good way.  I wanted the "How do you know" song to be in my wedding, but I couldn't figure out how to add in the dance moves.

2. What is a bad habit you have? Are you working on breaking it?
I pick at my lip when I'm nervous, or anxious, or bored, or when I feel like it.  No plans on quitting as my lips are still very much there.  Plus, I was informed over the weekend that my lips are bigger than my sister's, and her lips are stinkin' huge so I'm hoping by picking away layer by layer I'm keeping mine from growing out of control.

Yes, I can justify every one of my bad habits.

3. Describe your father in 3 words.

• Best
• Dad
• EVER

4. Which character in the Breakfast Club were you most like in the ’80s?
I was totally Molly Ringwald's character.  Dang, I was a slutty 6-year-old.

5. Name 5 songs you know ALL the lyrics to.

1. Butterfly by Crazy Town, because the words were so fast and I had nothing better to do my freshman year of college.  Monica can attest to that.
2. Walking in Memphis by Marc Cohn, because Corey plays it about a dozen times each and every time we are in the car.
3. Oscar Meyer song, because it's cute and it helps me remember how to spell Meyer.
4. Many, many Queen songs because they are my favorite band ever.
5. Yellow Submarine by The Beatles, because you can't hold the lyrics in your hand while singing at the top of your lungs and jumping up and down on the couch.  Duh.

6. Do you make pancakes from scratch or a box mix?
I prefer from scratch.  I'm one of those nuts who likes to eat things from nature.  But a certain someone I am married to prefers the easy, old faithful Bisquick.

7. What was your worst job ever? Why?
I sold advertising for a newspaper in Saratoga, The Saratogian, for five of the longest months of my life.  Not only was the paper garbage, the support staff was clueless.  I actually kept a file in my desk labeled, "Are You Kidding Me??"

8. What was your favorite class in high school?
I loved school.  I had lots of favorites and it's mainly because there were so many good teachers.  Mr. Culp did magic every Friday in Economics, Mr. Larimer let us call him Ebola Stan in AP Biology and took us to the classroom next door to sing "happy birthday" to another science teacher with our mostly dissected fetal pigs,  Mrs. Greene was the nicest woman ever.  And then there was band, which was awesome just because it was band.  (weekly band reference: check)

9. Favorite summer guilty pleasure?
Fruity cocktails on the patio.  Not my patio, I don't have one.  I don't feel guilty about it, though.  A little stupid maybe.  After three sips I get a little loopy.

10. Please share your best money saving tip!
Make yourself too busy to have time or energy to shop.  I swear by this method.  If you take one look at my wardrobe you will swear by this method too.

Friday Confessions

1.  I mentally plotted harm against a co-worker.  But in my defense, he was driving me crazy.

2.  I wake up at 6:30am on most weekend.  Not always on purpose.  This does not bother me.

3.  Yesterday I found a bag buried in a closet containing a few of our wedding response cards.  I "misplaced" them last year before I had a chance to record them.  I may or may not have used the words irresponsible and inconsiderate and "if they don't have the decency to respond they are not welcome at my wedding."  Oops.

4.  Also in the bag, my Ped Egg.  I may or may not have screamed.

5.  My collection of colored Sharpie markers were in there too.  It felt like Christmas.

6.  I am pale.  Thank you Sharon for pointing that out.

7.  I have been eating ice cream directly from the container.  Heaping spoonful here, heaping spoonful there.  Germs, everywhere.

8.  And that's all I have time for.

9.  Sorry.

10.  See you later.

Don't Mess, Or I'll Do Nothing

Happy Thursday.  Happy last day to get my junk together before I am tied up for two whole days.

Happy, indeed.

Today might be the day I lay the smack down on a certain someone who pushes me to the very edge of my tolerance threshold every single day.

First, do people still use that phrase?  Lay the smack down?

Second, no it is not Corey.

Third, yes I am just blowing smoke.  Of course I won't actually say anything because that would mean confronting this certain someone and Lord knows that is not something at which I excel.

Dang my inhibitions.

Dang 'em all.

So here I will sit.  All day.  Listening to political ranting.

Wish me luck.

Silly Randomness

I am a representative of a New York State Senator.

A real classy lady.

I do things and meet people on her behalf.

And today I am wearing a silly band.

In the shape of an elephant.

Given to me by a four-year-old.

Nothing says sophistication and maturity like a blue rubberband in the shape of an elephant.

Today is Wednesday

That means yesterday was Tuesday.  Although I was reminded several times, I still thought yesterday was today, which would make today tomorrow, which would mean today was my Friday as I have Friday off from work.

Do you follow?

Eh, it's not important.

What is important is that today is still Wednesday, and I have two days to do a whole lotta stuff before I am immersed in wedding activities.  Not mine.

I am busy, and I am stressed.  So please excuse:

1. Randomness of posts
2. Lack of restraint in posts
3. Lack of posts until my hair grows back

Thank you.

See you later.

Maybe.

Ten on Tuesday

1. If you could trade lives with another blogger for a day, who would it be and why?
Cathe Holden from Just Something I Made.  She is the best do-it-yourselfer.  I'd rummage through her craft stuff, "borrow" her ideas, then come back to my own life and make cool things out of twine, used leather, and vintage books too.

2. Do you prefer receiving handmade or store bought gifts? Be honest!
Yes, please.

3. Would you rather camp or stay in a hotel?
Both.  I love being in the woods and I don't mind peeing on nature.  But camping has to be planned.  If Corey and I were traveling down to NYC and stopped in Tarrytown for the night I would expect to pull into our favorite Marriott.  If he instead popped out a tent I would probably throw myself off the Tappan Zee Bridge.

4. What’s your favorite comfort food?
Currently, razzleberry pie.  Is it Mrs. Smith's?  Marie Calendar's?  Who cares.  It's full of my favorite berries and the buttery crust just melts in my mouth.  Corey and I easily finish off the whole thing in two nights.  That's a lotta comfort, folks.

5. You’re having a really bad day at work. How do you unwind when you come home?
Pajamas come on immediately, and socks are pulled up over pant legs.  Then I curl up on the couch with a fuzzy green blanket pulled up to my chin, turn on a crime solving show (nothing says comfort like Richard Ramirez) and wait for the above mentioned pie to come out of the oven.

6. What’s your favorite chore? (Or, the chore you hate the least)
Ooooh!  I love to vacuum.  It's fun watching the canister fill up with dirt and hair. 

Fun?  Is that really the right word?

7. What got you interested in blogging?
Reading the Cake Wrecks blog.  That Jen is hilarious and I thought, "I wanna talk about random stuff, too."  So here I am.  Talking about random stuff.  Every day.

You're welcome.

8. Are you currently reading a book? What is it?
Yes. 

Oh, you want to know what it is too?  This is more like Eleven on Tuesday... An Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor.  I like it.  It's about an Irish country doctor.  Clever, eh?

9. Do you have a favorite artist?
Michelangelo.  He was the most talented, versatile, dedicated artist of all time.  Ever.  He was a painter, sculptor, architect, he even designed fortresses for Florence.  He probably made a mean eggs florentine, too, but all the biographies seem to focus more on his art.  Ppsssh.

10. Have you ever met someone famous?
I met Bobby Flay two years ago.  He was nice, and super cute.  I had to ask him if he would take a picture with my friend, Jill.  "Oh yeah, sure!" he said.  It probably helped that she was a tall blond.  Men.

I also know someone who looks exactly like Rod Stewart.  Does that count?

A Walk in the Woods

"I'd really like to go on a hike tomorrow since our BBQ plans fell through."

"We'll figure something out for tomorrow."

...

"Hey, why don't we go on a hike tomorrow?"

"We'll think of something to do."

...

"I'm going on a hike tomorrow."

"But I don't want to hike."

...

"I. Am. Hiking. Tomorrow."

"Ok, ok.  Let's hike."

It took a little friendly persuasion to finally convince Corey that he wanted to hike up a mountain Saturday.

There was actually a little more shouting and a little less give-in-edness in these conversations, but I thought I should keep it clean for the masses.

See, I love to hike.  I love being outside.  I love physical activity.

Corey loves sitting down to a cinnamon roll, watching horse racing, and a light walk each afternoon around the neighborhood.

Bless the dear for giving all of that up for one day.

But the dear almost got himself shoved down the side of the mountain.

"You don't understand, my legs are tired."

...

"You don't understand, my knee hurts."

No, you don't understand, Corey.  We are climbing this danged thing.

"You have no sympathy for me.  My knee hurts from hockey."

Before I start to sound like an insensitive jerk, I will mention here that his knee was able to carry him down the mountain at the pace of a slight jog.

Oliver was as happy as a pig in a blanket.

"Right after that set of rocks up there I'm turning around."

20 minutes later...

"Right after that hill I'm turning around."

15 minutes later...

"After we get to the top of that rock I'm turning around."

15 minutes from the summit...

"I can't do any more.  I'm going back down now."

At the top...

"This was a pretty good hike.  We should do it again sometime."

View of Lake George and random hikers who

probably didn't complain the entire time.

We will most likely not do this again sometime.

But there were a few pockets of fun.  Like watching Corey pull out my Vera Bradley lunch bag he was using to store his water and an ice pack.  A real man knows his Vera.

And drinks ice water on a mountain.

We also spent a good amount of time trying to figure out how energy is consumed.

(i was desperate to find topics to keep his mind off his "swollen" knee.)

This is a snake.

I am happy to report we both made it down the mountain without incedent.  And I had the nap of my life on the way home.

Weekend Wrap-Up: Party Time

Oh dear.  Here we go again.

Monday's keep happening.  They just creep up every seven days or so. 

Someone should really do something about this.  I can't keep showing up to work, half asleep, expected to talk to people using complete sentences.  Maybe this day after the weekend should be a hibernation day...

People, I exerted myself this weekend.  Overly.

There was hiking, swimming, 1st birthday partying, bachelorette partying, dessert eating, more eating, more eating, Walmart shopping, more Walmart shopping, and hair cutting.

The hiking was fun, when Corey wasn't complaining.

The swimming was cold, pool was only 70 degrees.

The birthday party was a-dor-a-ble.  Twin girls turning one, shoving fistfuls of pink cake in their mouths is the most precious thing ever.

The bachelorette party was not what you think: three girls barely finishing their daiquiris, scarfing down food, and giggling like idiots.  No tiaras, body shots or hoochie dancing involved at any time.

The dessert eating was doubled.  First ice cream, then brownie.  Followed directly by stomach ache and unconsciousness.

The Walmart shopping is always for those last minute, "oops I forgot to pack pjs and I need something cheap," moments.  And again for, "oops, I forgot to get daddy a Father's Day card."

And finally, I got my hair chopped off.  My summer cut, as my dad calls it.  Which is what we call my dog's haircut.  Of course this was said after he saw his generic "I farted in this card" Walmart card.  Just kidding, his card had an old lady holding up a huge pair of tighty whiteys.  Nothing says I love you like giant underwear.

But I digest.

(hopefully.  i packed a lotta food in there...)

So now it's time to jump right into Monday.  Because a nap is not an option.

An open letter to all of you who do not flush your dookies in public bathrooms

(Corey, I know this is uncomfortable and inappropriate, but the truth must be told.)

First let me say, kudos to you who have the courage to make a number two in a public bathroom with others standing, or sitting, around listening to your business.  Those of us who can barely make a number one without intense coaxing are impressed and even jealous of your complete control over your innards.

However, just because you are among the respected few, that does not give you the authority to literally shove your accomplishments in our faces.  Specifically, our noses.  It's just mean.  But also very gross.  You see, after enough time passes, the doodie chunks break down; there is just something about fuzzy turds that makes me want to throw up.  And I think poop jokes are hilarious, so you can imagine what is going on in the gag sector of more proper individuals.

So please consider me and the others who use the facilities after you.  Flush those kids you just dropped off at the pool.  Because they belong with the other stinky poo-kids.

Thank you.

I need a life.

You'll see what I mean tomorrow.
Lord help us all if there are anymore posts like it in the future.

Yeesh.

Friday Confessions

1.  I dance like an idiot to Wrecks-N-Effect's "Rump Shaker."  I may or may not shimmy my shimmy shakers.

2.  My nose runs when I cook.  Always.

3.  Yes, that was me standing outside with the dog Wednesday night in my Santa socks and Hannah Montana pajamas.

4.  When I step on my Wii Fit scale, the little person in my TV says, "Oh..."

5.  I can't believe it is Friday again. 

6.  But I can believe it's not butter.

7.  I am on a sub-committee where I am to recruit sponsors for a party.  I suck at it.  What I really wanted to do was plan the party, but so did everyone else.  I felt bad.

8.  If it rains one single drop this weekend, you don't want to know me.

9.  I have two moles of the big brown variety.  When I was young and stupid I would fake bake with little round bandaids over them.  Great thinking, Stace.  You've got two white circles around two brown circles, but hey, your moles won't catch cancer.

10.  I think about a different food I want to stuff myself with all day, every day.  Today it is blueberry muffins.  I may or may not have a problem.

Now you can carry on with your day.

Ciao.

But He Is A Dear

Yes, he wakes me up in the middle of the night and throws a big 'ol wrench in my beauty sleep.

And he talks way too loud at 6am.

But he also bakes my favorite pie when I've had a super long, stressful day.

And takes me to the doctor.

And to breakfast on Saturdays.

He says things like:

"We (meaning me) should make cupcakes for Macy's birthday...make sure you use those colorful little  sprinkles!"

It melts my heart, because every 8-year-old girl loves sprinkles on their cupcakes.

So, keep on truckin' baby.

Just stop waking me up.

38 going on 7

Corey.  Is.  A.  Brat.

That boy pushes my buttons and loves it.

"Hey.  Hey, we've got a 504."

"Hhhrrmmppphh."

This is what I sound like when I've been woken up in the middle of the night (10:30pm).

"Let's go!  (pulling down covers) We've got a 504!"

First, a "504" is Corey's way of saying there are sirens going off somewhere and he needs to find out what's going on.  The numbers are completely arbitrary.  He has no idea what they mean.

Second, I am a bear when woken up.  You do not want to be the one who breaks my REM cycle because I will literally bite a finger off.  My darling husband knows this, but takes the risk anyway.  Apparently, I am hilarious when I yell in sleep-talk mode.

"Come on!"

"Hmmm??"

"Come on!  It's a 504!!"

"I'm not chasing dang police cars with you!!!"

(snicker snicker)

"Good niiiiight."

Brat.

Ten on Tuesday

1. What would the title of your autobiography be?
I am terrible at this stuff.  If someone said, "here is a million gazillion dollars to summarize this hundred page book into four-to-ten words that are clever and catchy," I would have to respond, "I am sorry sir or ma'am, but my brain does not have a 'summarize function.'  Good day."

But I do know what my autobiography would be about...


2. What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard a child say or seen him/her do?
My co-worker's two-year-old went from the backyard where she was playing to the driveway to poop.  She pooped right on the driveway.

3. What is your favorite kids game to play?
Tag.  In all variations.  However, when I play as an adult thoughts of "I could fall and scrape all the skin off my knees if I run fast enough in these shoes with such little traction," or "what if someone tags me and accidently pushes me into a tree and I hit my head causing a massive brain hemorrhage?" creep into my head and kinda ruin the game.  Which is why I require cleats and full body armor when playing.

Just kidding.  But I am seriously considering it.

4. If you got invited to a potluck BBQ tomorrow, what would you bring?
A fruity jello mold.  Your barbeque is naked without one.

5. If your ears are pierced, how old were you when you got your ears pierced?
I was four or five.  My mom took me to the mall and I remember screaming very loudly.  There may or may not have been ice cream afterward.  Months later I got mad at my grandma because she wanted to put teeny tiny earrings in and I was afraid my earlobes would swallow them up.

6. If you were celebrating your 30th anniversary, where would you want to go?
If I was celebrating my 30th wedding anniversary: Italy.  If I was celebrating my 30th life anniversary: Italy.  One of these occasions is coming up....ahem.

7. What one blogger would you love to meet and why? And what would you want to plan to do with them?
The PW.  We would mosey around the ranch and bake cupcakes all. day. long.  Remind me to tell you about the dream I had about Pioneer Woman.  Weird.  But not in a stalker way, I swear. 

Or that Roots and Rings lady.  She cracks my stuff up.  (However, we could never be friends because I am only 5'7'' and 3/4.  Insert winky emoticon here, por favor.) 

8. On a scale from 1-10, how good at you at home decor? (Pictures welcome.)

If I had an unlimited budget: 10.  My current budget: 3.  With Corey's strong preference for a brown color palette: 1.

Living room and dining room, although they aren't reall "rooms."

My studio.  My haven.  My safe place.

9. Do you have good fingernails?
I L-O-V-E my fingernails.  They are rock hard and a pretty good shape.  One of my more relaxing rituals is to trim and file and buff and polish them. 

Aren't you glad you asked?

10. Pickles: Dill or sweet? Baby, spears, or chips? Plain or on a burger?
Dill pickles, please.  Sweet pickles are stupid and do not belong on this earth or in macaroni salad.

A Soggy Update

There is nothing funnier than two old men shootin' the breeze in the grocery store aisle between adult diapers and hair dye.

Tied for "nothing funnier," Corey sporting matching goggles and a backwards upside-down visor to help me chop onions.  (The visor does not actually make chopping onions less painful.  He just wanted to out-do me in the weirdest-onion-chopper category.  I had glasses on over my goggles.)

That's my weekend report.

Aside from browsing a craft fair and stealing ideas, nothing happened.

There was no hike.

There was no frolicking in the long grass.

It was a rainy, soggy weekend.

There was, however, pole vaulting with PVC pipe.  There may, or may not, be more on that later.  It was a kind of "what do we do with this pole and that puddle" situation.  You have probably been there before.

Peace out.

My Morning Spent With Sweaty Stinkpot Book People

Two of my favorite things:

1. Reading
2. Shopping for deals

I also enjoy chocolate and old Seinfeld episodes.

And playing in the snow.

But today, we talk about reading and shopping.

I promise there is a point to this.

Did you know women use 10,000 more words in a day than men?  That could be why it takes so long for me to get to my point.

"Could you get to the actual story, please?!"

I heard this yesterday.  But do the men in our lives ever realize that the set up to the story is actually just as important as the story itself?  Obviously not.

So, yesterday was the City's big book sale.  Big.  There were nutcases lined up all the way down the block.  For the first, and last, time my co-worker, Sharon, and I were among them, chatting with the ladies around us about the Jodi Picoult book that needed to be found by one, and the pervert who escorted and propositioned another at the last sale.  We shared stories with the rookies on what they could expect to encounter in the rooms lined with books, and where particular books would most likely be found.  We shared and recommended our favorites and discussed the classics.  I was truly saddened when the door opened and I had to trample all of them for James Pattersons.

I have never felt like a bigger nerd.

Except when my cheeks touched my glasses when I smiled.

"I just can't seem to find my Jodi Picoult book."

"Too bad lady.  I'm here for myself and my historical fictions.  Now get outta my way before I climb over you."

No, I wasn't actually mean.  Out loud.  But she was intruding on my precious shelf space.  And since space was extremely limited I became anxious and aggrivated.  Yes, we shared a laugh outside in the line.  But friends are not friends in the aisles of the Book Sale.

She finally moved on and then I became trapped.  Physically.  They closed in on me, those Science Fiction hoodlums.  Shoving books by the armful into their suitcases, blocking me from the way I had come.  Ahead of me was a sweaty man looking at books to his right and a stinky man looking at books to the left.  They were practically back to stinky, sweaty back.  I thought about screaming.  I stuck my head in the space between the tops of the books and the shelf above.  I could see the next aisle, jam free.  Full of fresh air.  I thought about how difficult it would be to climb through.

See, beyond stinky and sweaty, there were more people.  Lots more.  So the only way I could get out was let one of them into my clean and perfumed personal space while I snuck around the other.

But I was lucky.  In more ways than finding the same book I lent Katie and my mom years ago and have never seen since.  There was a small space into which I could force stinky to allow myself to maneuver past (passed?) sweaty.

It worked, but I think some stank rubbed off.  I carried it with me for the rest of the day.

But for three days a year (sale runs again February and October) I can put up with a little lasting B.O.  Because I found treasures.  Cheap treasures.

Like my favorite book of all time: Wuthering Heights.  I just find the setting so romantic.

I already have a copy.  But this one seemed so new and fresh.  And if I read it again, I would like a pretty copy.

And then there's the book I gave away.  Also high on my list of favorites.

"Jones has woven a footnote of history into an epic that takes an unflinching look at slavery in all of its moral complexities."  Couldn't have said it better myself.

Then there were these:

She had autism.

And she went crazy.

The brain's functions facinate me.

This just looked funny...

...and I really do want to know if anything eats wasps.  Because I hate them.

I waited in line near the classics, so in addition to Wuthering Heights I picked up this beauty:

I hear that whole story tellin' thing ran in the family.

Again, going for funny:

I read her columns in our local paper every week.  I feel we are on the same page.

This is a good author.  If you like knowing what goes on in China.  They don't let her sell her stuff there, so I'm sure she's pretty accurate.

I didn't know what this one was about when I picked it up.

If it says "Pulitzer Prize," I am going to buy it.

So that's 9 books.  How much do you think I spent?

Got any guesses?

Any?

Four dollars and fifty cents.

I wrote it all out like that for dramatic effect.  I hope you read it with emphasis on each word because that's how I said it when I typed it.

I killed two-of-my-favorite-things birds with one stone yesterday.  Four if you count going home and eating razzleberry pie while watching The Office.

Good day.  Good, stinky day.

Friday Confessions

Again, I am late.  But, again, I have a good excuse:  Book Sale.  More on that later.  Because there is more.  Much more.

Moving on...

1.  I don't know when to use "passed" and "past."  It's embarrassing, especially since I feel the need to correct everyone's misuse of the words "there", "their", and "they're."

2.  Corey called me "Stacie" on Tuesday, but I've been "Beetle" for four years now.  It was weird.

3.  I am so tired I could spit. 

4.  You can ask almost anything of me, just don't ask me to make two trips.

5.  My milk now comes to me.  In a glass bottle.  Straight from the farm.  And it is the best milk I've ever tasted.

6. I heart Mariah Carey.

7.  I generally don't turn down free meals.  Even when it means using an hour of personal time because my lunch break was all used up at 9:00 in the morning shopping for 50 cent books.

8.  I ate a slice of pie with ice cream moments before falling asleep at 11pm last night.  I will probably do the same tonight.  Because I'm a grown up.

9.  My dad and I are going to do a triathlon this weekend.  Next year.  That should be enough time to prepare, right?

10. I had a mini freak-out session in New Jersey last week, but no toilet paper, no hot water, no soap and no paper towels all in one bathroom would make you freak out too.  This is why David Paterson and I hate New Jersey.

Would you like to know what 7am book sale shoppers are like?  Come back tomorrow for Part I of a one part series on: My Morning Spent With Sweaty Stinkpot Book People.

Dang.  I just gave it away.

For Your Information

I have two very important things to share with you today:

1.  My outfit would, most definitely, qualify me for What Not To Wear.  In my show-watching experience I have seen worse examples of what not to wear.  Hey, is that how they got the name??

Anyway, today you will find me in beach sandals (just because Vera Bradley put her stamp on them, doesn't make them office appropriate...wish I had told myself that this morning), tan capris that end at my belly button, a green sleeveless collared shirt I probably got in the '90s, a too short bright pink sweater, and a poofy ponytail.

I'm trying to be as invisible as possible.  Which is why Katie and I are not going out for lunch.  We're eating at our parents' house.

2.  Corey said something funny.

Well, I thought it was funny.

Here's the set up: I had just pulled into the parking lot at home with a few bags of groceries in the car.  Corey had the dog out and was talking to our neighbor, Ashley.  I took the bags upstairs, let myself in with my keys and then ran back down to grab my purse.  The following conversation took place behind my car:

"Hey, what do you want to do for dinner?"

"I don't know yet.  Did you lock your (car) door?"

"No.  Do I really need to??"

"(sigh).  Yes.  Do you have your keys?"

"No.  They're upstairs."

"Can you lock it from up there?"  (meaning with the clicker thing)

"I dunno."

"(sigh) I'll go get them."

"Why??"

"So I can lock the door."

"Down here??"

"Yeah."

"Hey, you know they put lock buttons inside cars these days."

A year ago last month...

Well, I am just a doofy-dumb-dumb.  I missed my very first blogiversary by an entire month.  And two days.

I should have had something prepared.  Like a party, or a cake for myself, or a giveaway of that danged paper mache flamingo I bought in Mexico 40 years ago.

Just kidding.  I would never give Carlos away.

And I am not even close to 40.

But I digress.

This is a big deal, people.  A whole year is a long time for anything, like living in a country where no one speaks English, or working for a sewage plant, or eating nothing but grapefruit.  And Lord knows there are very few things I have stuck with for longer than a week and a half, let alone 52 of 'em. 

Except for Corey.  I've been with him for five years.

And my job, four and a half.

Oh, and I've had plain brown hair for two.

But other than that I'm as flighty as a blue jay.  Although I know very little about blue jays.

So in honor of my non-flightiness in blogging, please everyone raise your cupcakes...

"To Stacie, may your ever-working fingertips remain callus free as you continue sharing many more years of stories with no real point.  May Corey never stop saying dumb things that make us all go, 'Did he really say that?'  And may Oliver, until the end of his days, remain the best looking dog in all of the world."

"Here, here."

And we all clink our cupcakes then shove them into our mouth area.

Oliver Lucas

The following pictures are of the best dog in the world.

Just look at that face.

Yes, he still jumps up and kisses me right in my mouth when I come home.

I consistently lift a pound of blond hairs from my floors every week.

And he has developed a habit of sleeping and drooling on our bed when we are not home.

But he is the best.

How can I be so sure, you ask?

Just look at that form.

That physique.

You can almost see his thoughts.

"Who is the most dry person here..."

"LOVE.  RUN.  FAST."

"When do I get to snatch your hot dog?"

It is so obvious we belong together.

Ten on Tuesday

I have a lot to share from the past two weeks.  Like pictures of my dog rolling off the dock into the water.  And my garage sale finds.  Steals, really.  But, as I said before, today is Tuesday.  And we do certain things on Tuesdays.  See below.

1. What does your car say about you? If you don’t have a car, what kind of car would be your daily driver?
I drive a very plain, no frills Hyundai Tucson.  (I lie, one frill: butt warmers.)  So does that mean I am plain and no frills? 

Hecks no!  I may appear dull and lifeless, but I assure you underneath these black slacks and green cardigan there is a girl just bursting to try out a new crocheted doily pattern with some craaaaazy color yarn!

2. To this point, what has been your purpose on this planet?
To make me happy.  Shocker, I know.  But I have only just recently, within the past few years, realized **gasp** it's not all about me!

3. If you could trade places with any person for any amount of time, who would it be?
Anyone rich and famous.  For a week.  To get it out of my system so I can happily come back to real life and plans of living on a farm with Corey and our retired racehorses, chickens, and alpacas.

4. What is your favorite kind of cake? If you don’t like cake, what is it about it that you don’t like?
Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.  But it has to be the stuff from the grocery store, in the box.  No cake compares.  If you don't like cake, you're weird.  That's a fact.  So I will eat your piece for you.

5. Would you have wanted to live in your parents’, grandparents’ or great-grandparents’ generation or only your own?
I want to live in the generation where women wore dresses and those cute black and white shoes, men held doors open and didn't curse like sailors, and kids would get a swat on the butt for talking back.

6. Do you have any home remedies for illnesses, cleaning or otherwise?
If you're feeling grody, put down the double bacon cheeseburger and pick up a carrot.  Your body is trying to tell you something.

7. What is your ideal weather situation?

Sunny and 72 degrees.  Slight breeze.  You can do anything in sunny 72.  Except ski.  But I can live without skiing.

8. What is your best attribute (physical or personal)?

Well, my nickname growing up was "bugle lips" and I heard a "tree trunk" remark from a nasty little boy who became my boyfriend for 3 days in sixth grade, so I believe my best attribute might be something on the inside, like my ability to drive without paying attention.

9. Do you text or surf while driving?

No.  (yes)  I never text while driving. (yes i do)  Because it is dangerous.  (i do it anyway)  And against the law. (still do it)  Plus, my mom yells at me whenever I even touch my phone in the car.  (i wait until she gets out)

10. How long have you known your best friend?
There is a three-way tie for best friend.  In no particular order:

• Jill - 14 years.  Since marching band (band reference for the week: check).  She brought me out of the cozy box my parents kept me in and introduced me to boys as boyfriends and not cootie machines.
• Katie - since birth.  Hers, not mine, 23 years.  Sisters are automatic best friends.  They know you better than you know yourself and are the only people you can trust to give it to you straight with the best intentions.  I can definitely count on Katie to tell me how she really feels.
• Kimberlie - also since birth, 22 years.  She goes along with most of my dumb ideas.  Lord help her.

Coming up, more ramblings about stuff.  Stay tuned.

Looking forward to some R&R

Hi blog friends (read: mom).  I'm back.

Well, I've been back.

I came home from Philly Friday night.  Late Friday night.  Like two hours past my bedtime (11:30pm).

It was an exhausting two days of  shopping, movie watching, junk food eating, and baby tending.

I swore Saturday was going to be a relaxing day.

Then I got up at 6:20am for a full day of garage sale-ing.  Followed by pool cleaning, wedding prep with Liz and another 11:30pm night.

I swore Sunday was going to be a relaxing day.

Then I vacuumed every square inch of my apartment, including the dusty space behind the washer and dryer, completely reorganized my studio and polished my silver garage sale treasures.

Tonight, though, I swear is going to be relaxing.

That is, after I finish polishing my silver treasures, make cupcakes for Macy and cookies for the VBS meeting, fold three loads of laundry, and unpack from my trip.

I may or may not be coherent in the morning.  Just warning you.

I bid you all adieu

Farewell my friends.  I am leaving for a place far, far away from my home, my snacks, my routines, and my boys.

(sigh)

...

Ok, so Philadelphia isn't that far, and I'm coming back Friday night.

So until then, goodbye....

Say nice things about me....

Out loud....

To all of your friends....

And strangers....

Feels like something's missing...

Oh, Tuesday.

Feels like Monday.

But it's not.

On Monday Corey and I were eating waffles, and loading a car, and driving through smoke, and doing laundry, and eating chicken, and passing out at 9:30.

So that means today is Tuesday.  Like I said.

And what do we usually do on Tuesdays?  Hmmm?  A little thing called Ten on Tuesday.  I answer ten random questions and you laugh hysterically as I manage to interject band references and expose my inherent geekiness.  Hey, ever heard of trombone push-ups?

So maybe 'hysterically' is a slight exaggeration.

A chuckle?  I can settle for a chuckle with the occasional belly laugh.

Can you tell I'm stalling?

There is no Ten on Tuesday.  The originator of the questions (ahem) was preoccupied.  Something about being pregnant and having other stuff to do.

But it's for the best.  I have very little brain power to answer ten questions and perform the doodies for which I am paid.

So I will leave you with this little tidbit of information:

My great-grandfather, the father of my dad's mom, punched a bull in the head because he was chasing her.

He punched a bull in the head, folks.

Who does that?

Tough guys.  That's who.  So keep that in mind.  I have 'tough guy' genes.  Don't mess.