A penny saved is a penny for my wardrobe

I ended a relationship last Wednesday.

...

A four year relationship.

With my smartphone.

It was like giving up an appendage.

Or cable TV.

Or chocolate.

But I exaggerate, really.  It wasn't hard and I rarely notice a difference.  Sure I can't immediately post my thoughts on the economy or the importance of grapefruit to Facebook.  And I can't catch up on celebrity gossip while I wait for my coffee at Coffee Planet.  But I wouldn't consider any of that enriching, anyway.

What is, you ask?

Saving $30 a month...it's en-riching!

See what I did there?

No data plan on my phone bill also frees up several minutes in which I can spend actually communicating with those around me.

Like the girls at Coffee Planet:

"Um, are the bagels good here?"

And Corey:

"Soooooo....."

And even the dog:

"Stop licking that."

The only downside is that I have this ridiculous looking phone.

The Pantech Jest 2; it's the size of the palm of my hand and takes excellent pictures if I do not intend for them to be seen.

I've also butt-dialed myself and many others several times.  It's a sacrifice we all have to make for the sake of my wardrobe...because that's what money saved is for: Frye boots and coral skinny jeans like Kate Middleton's.

That's how I would prefer to be enriched, anyway.  Who needs hand-held access to junk mail when you can have coral skinny jeans?

A question we should all be asking ourselves...

It's the sound of love...and angry beavers

It's almost hilarious how loud and chaotic our house is.

Almost.

As in "I would find this hilarious if I wasn't crying from sheer frustration-slash-exhaustion from needing a friggin' minute of silence already".

Equally knee-slapping funny: my house consists of myself, one grown man and a dog.

And possibly a nest of centipedes yet to come out of hibernation.

So between Corey and Oliver I find myself in a never-ending cacophony of ultra-loud talking, licking of one's privates, blaring music, random gibberish and the shaking to death of Christmas Bear.  At some point you would think one or both of them would tire and curl up in a ball at the foot of the bed.

No.

That never happens.

There is always a  panting head hovering withing five inches of my face at all times, and I am never unaware of Corey's location in our apartment:

"What time is your meeting?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the bedroom.

Or:

"Who was on the phone?.....WHAT?!" shouted from the kitchen.

These days I come home around 10pm and I find all of the questions and gibberish and licking and panting are bottled up and saved just for me in that magical hour of 11 o'clock which I normally devote to, you know, sleeping.

Hi-larious.

But deep down, like way down in there, past my secret love of Hootie and the Blowfish and sleeve tattoos I know this is just how the boys show me I'm missed.

And loved.

And special.

...

...but I really would like my sleep back.

Elements of a drug deal

Lesson learned: some details need a liiiiitle more elaboration when telling a story through bullet points.

Like when one mentions possibly busting up a drug deal in a recent excursion to a certain state capital.

Were the cops involved?

Was your life in danger?

Did someone bust a cap?

It's a natural tendency to think of the worst possible scenario when given limited information.

(guilty, oh so guilty)

(i blame it on my vivid imagination)

(we're getting off topic here)

(by we i mean me)

(sorry to drag you in there)

So to set the record straight, I may have exaggerated my bullet point.

But I may not have either!

You tell me: there I was driving all around the dark streets of Albany trying to find parking space on a Saturday night of all nights.  I stop at a light and see what I think are several spots along a side street.  But as I'm waiting I see two suspicious characters walk across the street to one of the parked cars and get in.  They just sit there.  I pull in in front of the car and see a person get out of the car behind me and go into the car in front of me and just sit there.

Weird.

And then a really nice SUV pulls up next to me and stares at me.

Was he trying to see if I was one of his regulars?

Was he trying to see if I was a cop??

That's when I grabbed everything of any value, ran toward the restaurant, and prayed my car would still be there with all four of its tires when I came back.

So, what would you call that?

Being not so familiar with drug deals I just assumed that's what that was.

I guess it could have been a meeting with a hit man, or maybe just two parents getting together under the cover of darkness to discuss the terms of their custody arrangement.

We'll never know.

And that is where my story ends.  I came back out later and my car was there, my tires were there and no one was hiding in the back seat waiting to ambush me for bein' a snitch.

So, thoughts?

Concerns?

Questions?

Recommendations to get my brain examined?

I welcome your comments. 

The nice ones.

On Oliver and life's little adventures

My darling little Oliver-dog.

Mama's little tootie pie.

I believe I've had my last "kiss" from this mutt for a very, very long time.

You know what you did, Oliver.

You know how sometimes you find yourself in that "perfect storm" kind of scenario where your mouth is open mid-sentence just as your dog is jumping up to lick your chin where he found a dallop of ice cream the day before and you end up with a tongue all up in there?

Mmmhmmmm.

And then you get all grossed out but still semi-ok with it because "dogs have the cleanest mouths in town, for realz"?

Right, right.

But then there is a brief moment when you remember that time you caught him sampling cat doody and your insides curdle ever so slightly?

Yeah.  Me too.

See, our little munchkin has been having some digestive issues lately; in that he walks away from the pooping grounds with a dingleberry clinger, a poo-nugget, if you will.

The first time he brought his little friend inside and deposited it in the form of a poo smear on the carpet.

The second time Corey managed to dislodge it while still outside. 

Thank goodness.

And this last time, just last week, Oliver-dog took on the big boy responsibility of removing that little dangly crap nugget himself. 

What a big helper!

Only Oliver does not have hands.  Or fingers.  Or a plastic baggy to place over and protect anything that must go near that region.  He has his tongue.  That multipurpose tool he uses clean, eat, and collect pee scents from neighborhood shrubs.

Grrrreat.

So there I witnessed my nighttime cuddle-bug, hunched over, going to work on that turd like his life depended on it.

And maybe his life did depend on it.  Because how comfortable can it be to lay around all day with this thing just hanging out down there?

Anyway, to end a long story that could have been made very short about seven paragraphs ago, I ended up grabbing a piece of ice and stepping in to assist.  Successfully. 

However, I would say none of us walked away from that situation as winners.

But life-lessons were learned that day.

Food, football and fighting in New Jersey

Corey and Stacie sittin' in a tree....

...watching the Giants vs. Dallas game last weekend screamin' like a couple'a buffoons.

This is one of our favorite traditions.  Corey has a wonderful friend who is a season ticket holder and lets us buy his tickets for this game every year.  This year ended up being a super important game and that made it a little extra exciting.

Add some persistent rain and a whole bunch of crazy Dallas fans and you get one good story.

Going into this game, we're usually a lot more prepared than we were this time.  We know who we're going with (we get four tickets), we have a set game time and most importantly we have a tailgate game plan.  This year, however, we had a bunch of people not quite interested in the tickets, the game time changed to 8pm (hellooooo late night three hour drive!), and we did zero tailgating.

Eh.

Although I do enjoy the collective cheering and stuffing of faces with meat, and 8pm did technically put me in a different state waaaaaay past my bedtime, at the end of the day (literally) I was still going to be planting my buns in a seat on the 10 yard line screaming like a 7th grade cheerleader.  And that was pret-ty okay by me.

So there we were, walking into the stadium in a steady drizzle.

And then there we were, watching warm ups in a steady drizzle.

It was raining, is what I'm trying to say.  We got rained on off and on for the entire game, which would have been that side of terrible if it wasn't an unseasonable 50 degrees.  But rain is still rain.  And when you get those towels you're s'posed to wave when good things happen wet you end up launching a lot of water into unsuspecting eyeballs.

Whoopsie daisies.

So far, I haven't mentioned a thing about the game.  Maybe you've noticed.  But that's only because all of the action happened in the stands.  We were surrounded by Dallas fans.

Dallas fans from New Jersey.

Here's something I was unaware of before moving to New York: New Jersey is terrible.

There.

I just became offensive.

Or insulting.

Whichever applies.

My apologies, New Jersey.  But your roads make me turn four times to go straight, and your people are mean and abrasive and scary.

Corey and I were lucky enough to sit in front of father-of-the-year, and I say that with every ounce of sarcasm I can muster from deep within my bones.  Mr. Stereotypical New Jersey himself brought his entire family, children and all, to the game to cheer on their team, the Cowboys.

The following is an excerpt from an overheard conversation within two minutes of the first quarter:

"(playful ribbing from two Giants fans in front of us)"

"I'm here with my f(udging) family!  You want to f(udging) come back here??  I'll kick your f(udging) a(pple).   Yeah, that's right you couple'a qu(esos).  Turn the f(udge) around.  I'm here with my f(udging) family."

Apparently, he was there with his family.

And he doesn't want his 10-year-old to know what it means to be innocently teased.

Did I not mention his 10-year-old was standing to his right?

I wasn't surprised when the drunk two rows ahead of us started throwing around fudge-bombs in Mr. New Jersey's general direction his kid came back with:

"Kiss my a(pple)!"

If only I'd packed a bar of Irish Spring...

Maybe I'm just old fashioned.

In between all the fun there was actually a football game.

A pretty good game!  It's always good when you can walk out of a stadium and say your team is going to the playoffs.

That's what I always say.

It's also good when you can go to bed at 9:30pm, but sometimes you just have to make sacrifices.

Survey Says: Run and hide

Thank you all for your responses to my bat quandary.  I especially appreciate the sincerity in which most of you advised whoever might find themselves in this situation to run and hide in the bedroom/bathroom.

But I should be honest with you.  The situation I described wasn't entirely hypothetical.

It was actually 100%....actual.

I was the one who woke up to find the danged thing, I was the one wrestling an 80lb dog to the ground so he wouldn't go and catch himself some rabies, and I was the one who had to find some kind of solution so that we didn't end up fostering a colony of bat babies.

You're not surprised?

I guess I was able to provide a lot of details for a hypothetical situation.

But anyfranticmoment, here's the end of my bat fiasco:

In between rounds of fireworks and moments of panic I decided I should give this bat more opportunities to make an exit.  I had already opened two windows but thought maybe the door would be a bigger target.

One problem: the door is across the room.  As in, in direct line of the swooping.

So I wait.

The sucker starts his route.  Office, living room, office, living room, dining roomTIMETOMAKEARUNFORIT!!!  I shove Oliver in the direction of the front door, I follow and fling it open.  I set out a basket to keep it open and sprint toward my bedroom.

From there I could see the bat swooop around the office.  Every few minutes I'd walk toward the main area of our apartment hoping because I hadn't seen it the poor guy found his way out the window.

But then he'd swoop within inches of my head and I would scream and flail my way back to the bedroom.

This went on for 20 minutes.

Finally there was no more swooping.  I went through the entire apartment, turning lights on and off and making a real ruckus to scare him out of his hiding place, if in fact he was still inside somewhere.  When I didn't find anything I put a check in the win column, shut the windows and door and went to bed.

(Corey was out with his buds for this whole mess...)

This is where I hoped and prayed and hoped and hoped and prayed the story ended.  But....sigh....Corey found the bat later on in the day as he was packing up goodies to take to the Giants game.

It was hiding under a bag in our kitchen.

If you don't like hearing about the demise of any creature (raises hand) you might want to, oh I don't know, browse my etsy shop (shameless plug) at this time.  But I'm not even able to give too many details simply because I spent the entire time the poor bat was being disposed of in our bedroom with my head buried under a mountain of pillows.

But he was, um, eliminated.  And I now live in a crime scene.

So here I just get done saying how I'm glad to leave 2011 behind and then 2012 comes barreling in with terror and the cruel reality of death.  I'd be lying if I said I'm looking forward to what "surprises" this year holds.

But since there still is no way to tell what's a'comin', happy new year and here's to hoping everything goes exactly as planned!!

Survey: What would you do?

I'm going to give you a purely hypothetical scenario and I would like to know what you would do, hypothetically.

It's 11:50 New Year's Eve and you wake up on the couch (after falling asleep to the Big Bang Theory marathon, hypothetically) to your dog staring intently at something.  A something that appears to be swooping through your house.

You follow your dog's gaze to what could be a bat.

Then you confirm it is a bat as it flies at your head.

Now, let's say you live less than a block away from a park in a house that gives you a perfectly unobstructed front row view of the fireworks that are set off for two different occasions: July 4th and New Year's Eve.  A feature of your living arrangement you brag about to your friends endlessly, hypothetically.

But in this scenario you find that because you're less than a block away from a park, when those rockets explode and you're already terrified of contracting rabies you find yourself unable to control the urge to scream, pee or sweat profusely.  Hypothetically.

Now, let's say you have a rather large dog who is terrified of fireworks.  A dog who uses the tactic, "If I bark loud enough they will go away," further scaring the bat and causing it to swoop even more erratically in the region near your head.

So as you lay there, in between your couch and ottoman, on top of your shaking Golden Retriever (hypothetically) you ask yourself what in the H-E-double hockey sticks you should do.

Well friends, what would you do?

It's all fun and games until someone gets weird

You may not know this about Corey, but he's an 8-year-old on the inside.

Way down deep inside.

Like past the aches and pains and never-ending stream of gas of a nearly 40-year-old.

He chases fire trucks and watches airplanes take off from a parking lot near his office.  And at all times we have several of those horrible 79 cent pizzas sitting in our freezer.
It's fun.  And most of the time I get a kick out of his little quirks.

Then we had some crazy person hiding in the bushes next to our apartment building.

Corey Lucas went on the case.

The night we found the guy Oliver was actually the one who rooted him out of the bushes.  He barked his big boy bark and the guy slowly walked back through the parking lot toward the street.

I watched the whole thing unfold from the safety of our bedroom, so I could see him slinking by, and then sprinting around the front of our building.

To say this dude was a creepster would have been flattering.

Corey ran upstairs.

"Did you see that?!"

We tried to spy on him through the windows as he seemed to be casing the small high school behind our building but it was too bright inside.  So I turned off all the lights.

Still too bright.  I put out the candles.

Nope, not good enough.  I unplugged the tree.

And then we were standing in pitch black.

Corey called the police.
"I'd like to report a suspicious subject."

They put him on hold.

Meanwhile, creepster was walking up and down the school's steps.  He twirled a little bit.  Then he jumped the fence and headed back toward our building.

Still on hold....

He came back to the school.  Found a rock.  Oh no!  Is he going to use that rock to bust in the school's windows?!?

No.  He just wanted to stand on it and spin in circles.

Finally we get through to the cops.  Corey tells them what happened, but in running to find my phone and tape the whole strange scene I lost track of Dr. Creepy so we couldn't say which direction he went.

Dang.

After hanging up Corey decides to take the law in his own hands.  He suits up Oliver in his walk attire and the two of them head back downstairs.  For 20 freezing (literally) minutes they walk up and down the sidewalk looking for the perp.  A few cops drive by, but no one is able to locate the guy.

Corey finally came back upstairs.  He realized how cold he was.  All the excitement must have turned off some senses in order to heighten others.

Grown up cops and robbers will do that to a person.

....

What happened to Mr. McCreepin, you ask?

Not to worry.  We found out the next week our strange friend is actually a student at the school.

Yay.

My Thoughts, Exactly: hair care

Is it just me or is everyone talking about new methods for green hair care and face wash?

Or maybe I just have bunches of blog friends who think just. like. me. in that they want to remove unnecessary and harmful chemicals from their daily lives.

...but not just like me in taste of music.

Jump Around?

House of Pain?

Anyone?

Anyone?

...

As I usually do, I jumped blindly onto the green beauty bandwagon.

Rub baking soda all over my head?

Dunk my hair in vinegar?!

You Know It!!

No, these are actually pretty popular methods of green cleaning.  And for most people they probably work just fine.

Maybe even better than your usual shampoo and conditioners.

But not for me.

Sigh.

I had high hopes thanks to Ashley and Kathryn, but it wasn't meant to be.

Or maybe I was just doing it wrong.

The first day I tried my new hair washing routine was last Wednesday.  Also known as the day before Thanksgiving.  I started out with a little over a tablespoon of baking soda, I made a little paste with water and rubbed it all over my head.  I missed the sloshiness of shampoo, but I wasn't sending weirdo chemicals down the drain and into my skin so I carried on.

I don't have overly greasy hair and I don't have dry hair, and this was the day after the day after I last washed my hair.  Normal for me.

My hair felt a little greasy.  I didn't exactly know what to expect so I went to the next step: apple cider vinegar conditioner.  I'd been conditioning this way for a week, ever since I ran out of my store bought conditioner.  I didn't notice a difference.

Yes I did.  The stuff stinks.  Real bad.  It's vinegar.  Luckily the smell goes away once my hair dries, but sometimes I let the day do the dryin' so I carry a pretty nasty smell with me to work.

By Thanksgiving morning I assessed the grease situation and thought I'd better do another "shampoo" because it was, after all, Thanksgiving and if I was going to be seeing a ton of relatives I needed to look my best.

I wasn't overly greasy, but there was more than I'm used to on day 2 of my normal hair washing schedule.

You see me as one big grease-ball now, don't you.

It gets better.

I get ready for my shower.  I "lather up" my baking soda and smear it all over my head.  I work it into my problem areas.  I rinse and "condition".  Then I go about my morning.

I spent the next few minutes bragging about my new "green" efforts to my friend and how cool it is to care about the environment.

Then I blow dried my hair.  You know, to be pretty.

When I run my hands through the back of my head I find enough grease to fry an egg.

Grrrooooooosssss.

Ohmigosh, ohmigosh what do I do??

...

First I felt stupid...and dirty.  Then I closed the door so my friend wouldn't find me and laugh.  My ultimate solution was to put a generous amount of water onto my hair and sweep it up into a tight bun.

"What happened?  I thought you dried your hair??"

"It didn't work out weshouldprobablygorightnow."

Of all days.  Sheesh! 

So now we have lovely pictures of all the cousins (and cousins-in-law, ahem) in our holiday best and me with my hair slicked back with nature's hair goo.

In conclusion...don't let my experience detract you from doing your duty to save our planet, just know all fantastic results are not typical.

...

Or maybe you should make sure you're doing it right in the first place.

I honestly still don't know if I was.  Whoopsie!

Gobble Gobble

Where do I begin?

I mean, Thursday was technically the gateway into the holiday season, and that's kind of a big deal so of course I'm going to have a story or five to tell.

But where do I begin?!

...

My BFF came into town Wednesday night with her toddler, Lucy.  It was unplanned, but not unwelcomed.

Just....unplanned.

Have I mentioned Corey and I do not have children?

Or that our "baby proofing" previously consisted of moving items that would be attractive to a Golden Retriever mouth?

A few mistakes:

• left Oliver-dog's food bowls on the floor
• left wool for felting on ottoman

If you put two and two together you get a few necklaces and bracelets smelling like salmon and beef jerky.

We did our usual two meals on Thanksgiving.  First with my family where I swore I would not stuff my face, but stuffed my face anyway, and then with Corey's family where I had no more room to stuff.

So I stuffed my pockets.

Just kidding.  But, seriously, I wish I had.

On Friday I replaced my dad's and my traditional 3am Black Friday outing for an 11am shove match at the outlet mall where I found a pair of red corduroy stretchy pants at Banana Republic for $10.  I'm so glad I like the clothes no one else wants.  I lean toward stretchy now that my Summer of Carbs has turned into a Fall of Cookies and I'm getting all squishy.

By then our house was baby free and in the afternoon while Corey let loose with the vacuum I was able to felt my way to arthritis.  The process I now use involves stabbing small balls of wool with special needles, so I guess it was appropriate that I stabbed away to the 48 Hours Mystery marathon on TLC.

The rest of our holiday weekend was slow and uneventful.

I declared Saturday to be a day of inside projects and that is where I stayed.  Inside.  Washing sheets, felting, eating and not showering.  And on Sunday I accidentally got a spatula stuck in my stand mixer and flung cookie dough across the kitchen.

Corey was mad.  I think he's glad I'm back to work and away from his kitchen where I tend to make messes.

I made quite a few messes.

First with the two pumpkin pies.

Did you know I have this thing about making my pies from scratch?  It takes me three hours and I do actually get flour on everything, including the dog.

Then I made a green bean casserole.

Did you know I have this thing about making my cooking projects more difficult than they need to be?  I may or may not have sent Corey on a mission for bacon Thanksgiving morning.

Then I made dog treats for each of the ten dogs we encounter in our whirlwind, cross county Thanksgiving tour.

Did you know I have this thing about turning myself into Martha Stewart?  Fancy packaging, dog bone labels, wood basket and all?

Lord help me if I were to ever be a full time housewife.

And Lord help my waistline.

But now, finally, I'm back to work.  The daily grind.

...counting down the days until the next round of holiday madness.

Communication Nightmare

In the middle of an argument on how I'm so mad that Corey never listens to me he interrupts me to say:

"Why don't you just tell me what you're mad at??"

I have. no. words.

Morning

God bless Corey.

Seriously.  Bless the stuff out of him.

I had myself a morning this morning.  Oh yes sir, I was on the border of a mental breakdown and poor Corey was on the other end of it:

"(blubber blubber blubber) my clothes don't fit!! (blubber blubber blubber) what am I supposed to do with my life?! (blubber blubber) we never eat vegetables! (blubber blubber blubber blubber) my hair is so plain and ugly!! (blubber blubber blubber) and then there's my face! (blubber blubber)..."

Pause.

".....Beetle, we can start eating veggies."

Goodness gracious, through the phone I could almost hear him trying to think of the right response.

Boy did he hit that nail on the head.

Weekend Wrap Up: Rednecks and Ghost Stories

Happy belated Halloween everybody!!

I hope it was spooktacular to whatever degree in which you are most comfortable!  My Halloween was a tad less than thrilling this year.  There was some felting, I cleaned out a closet, saw a few trick-or-treaters walk by, ventured out into a downtown establishment where I played the mental game of "is that wart real or fake?", and then snuggled into bed with Oliver and Matlock.

Edge-of-your-seat kind of stuff.

But that's what most people expect when Halloween falls on a stinkin' Monday.

Now, my Halloween weekend?  That was fun.

Thirty minutes of it, to be exact.

My sister Kimberlie and I have a standing date at the Double M Haunted Hayride every October.  There's a field, a tractor, some hay and mayhem.  I wouldn't call it knock-yer-socks-off (or as my friends to the south say: I wouldn't want to slap my mama) but a good time, nonetheless.

Our ritual: we meet at my apartment, laugh about how many layers we're wearing (3 pairs of pants this year, a record), make scream faces for the camera, and giggle all the way to the farm.  We had an extra this year, Kimberlie's friend Logan who proved to be a good fit in our night of shenanigans.

Shenanigans that started the second we sat down on that flat-bed.

"'OMG I'm at the Haunted Hayride!!' Now as soon as you're done texting your BFF put your cell phone in a zippered pocket!"

Jolly security guards, priceless.

"I just soaked through ALL layers of my pants."

It was snowing, by the way, and the hay was wet.  We did not pee our pants prior to the hayride.

Or during, actually.  To clarify further.

So we ride around.  Dead bodies jumped out at us, zombie school children followed us around, we even saw the headless horseman:

"Awwww, can I pet the horse?"

Fail.

Being oh-so-slightly wound, I jumped at the slightest movement.  I also screamed loudly.  My whole body is still sore from the tension that came from knowing something was going to jump out at me and force me to scream right in my neighbor's ear.

It's one of those reflexes I just cannot control.

But all of that is plain fun!  I love being scared, one night a year.

In the last part of our hayride we encountered a redneck village full of dilapidated trailers and cannibal toothless wonders.  Men in overalls and flannel ran out of their homes screaming at us, and some even followed our tractor!

One of these bufoons startled Logan and she screamed.

Logan: "I'm sorry!"

Kimberlie: "Did you just apologize for screaming?"

Redneck:  "It's because she farted."

Everyone within earshot: "Hahaha!"

Redneck: "Hey...(to the person leading our group) be careful, this one right here FARTED."

After we de-tractored I heard a few people whispering:

"That's the girl who farted."

Poor Logan.

But all fart jokes aside, this year's adventure was my favorite.

The rest of the night include a haunted house, ice cream and enough of The Shining to reach and exceed my creep tolerance, about an hour and a half.

And now I'm set until next year.

Working Conditions

I've lost my focus for the day.

 There's just something about a heavy piece of machinery that makes me want to hop in and take it for a spin.

Seriously, how hard could it be?

Weekend Wrap Up: Sales and Travels

What happened here?  All of a sudden we switch our calendars to October and the temperature drops 20 degrees?!  Is this fair??

Wow, what a lovely, warm fall September day this is.
...

Helloooo October.  I cannot feel my fingers.

My mom, my sisters and I woke up on Saturday, bright and early on the day of the World's Largest Garage Sale, to 50 degrees.  And rain.

Of all days.

But, being loyal bargain shoppers, we went anyway.  Ponchos, rain boots, umbrellas, and all.

For half of our party, the weather got the best of us.  Only two hours in, my sisters retreated to the car to sit with the heat turned up to 90.  Two hours, several purchases, and one soup-in-a-bread-bowl later my mom and I joined them. 

My fingers were so cold and red I could not use them anymore.

I listen to my body's signals.

More on my super finds later, like after I finally show Corey.

One purchase may or may not be well received.

But that's a story for a different day.

After the sale, Corey and I packed up our overnight gear for a trip to his parents' house.  It was a rare free weekend he wanted to use to see one of his grandmothers.  I oblige.  Gramma time is good time.

We sat by the fire, kept Oliver from eating the cats, shopped, ate Italian, ate cake, ate breakfast, ate meatloaf, talked about how lousy the weather has been...your usual family togetherness stuff.

I also stabbed myself with a felting needle.  A through-and-through as I think they call it in crime scene investigating.

"If it was bad you'd be bleeding."

"I AM bleeding!!"

"Oh."

Now we're back to the grindstone.  Busy week ahead of us.  Lots of plans.  Packing for our cross-country adventure.  Worrying over flying.

Yay....can't wait.

Dog Fights and Downpours

Oliver has had a rough week.

His life is one big routine of walk, eat, drink, watch me get ready for work, eat, sit, lie, walk, lie, eat, sleep.

Starting last Friday we've thrown in medication two times a day, constant digging through his ears, checking is gums, staring at his eyeballs.  We roll him over every other minute to check his rash; is it spreading?  is it getting better?  why is he wet?  ohmigosh is that pee?

Then last night the poor guy was attacked.

By a Boston Terrier.

Corey let Oliver out to do his business while I waited inside. 

No big deal.  They do this every night.

But this night I hear a blood curddling scream come from outside.  It was definitely a dog.  But what dog??

Oh Christmas candy, that dog has finally killed something.

I seriously thought my dog, who has aggression issues toward most dogs, had finally done damage to some poor, innocent creature.

The shame...the anguish.....the vet bills!!

I ran out the door, so did my neighbor.

"Was that your dog??"

The rest of our building was already outside.  Including one of the neighbors holding his little -4 lb Boston Terrier.  He was upset.  Corey was upset.

Oliver was confused.

I was confused.

It wasn't until we were back upstairs and Corey had texted our vet before I found out what happened: the teeny little dog was also outside doing her business when O-dog came down.  Being super excited to see who he thought was his friend, her brother, he rain toward her.  She, being not entirely pleased, lunged at him, grabbed ahold of his neck and did not let go.

Enter dog screaming.

Corey and another neighbor were able to seperate them.

I checked for damages and judging by the seriously awful sound of his screaming I was looking for missing chunks of skin, maybe a tooth.

Nothing.  Just some redness, a little bruising, and one littttle tooth hole that produced half a drop of blood.

Fine.  Everyone was just fine.

Except Corey.  And the neighbor who owned the dog.

But boys will be worriers.

...

This morning was the icing on the cake.  Out for our morning walk I noticed dark clouds rolling in.

After everything that's happened, wouldn't it be just great if it rained on us?!

Famous last thoughts.  It did rain.  And it was not great.

Oliver and I were stuck in a downpour a little less than a mile from our apartment.

Do I wait it out under a tree?

(rains harder)

Do I run all the way home?

(rains even harder)

I ran with my glasses in my hand, Oliver shaking off every 10 feet, water in my eyes, cars driving by most likely commenting on how dedicated an athlete I am.

Corey was waiting for us on the porch with a few towels.

...

Great way to start the day!  Possibly a hint of what's to come for the weekend?  Let's hope not.

Happy Belated Travers' Day!

What in the name of monkey feet is she talking about??

Sometimes I forget I don't carry you all around in my pocket to see and experience everything I do.

I also forget there is a world beyond Saratoga...

...despite the fact that for 22 of my 29 years I was actually in that world.

My friends, this place in which I reside is not your typical small town.  Sure, we have restaurants you can barely fit your entire body into and boutiques that sell art and tattoo permanent makeup onto your face all in the same place.

We got ourselves a racetrack; the most historic racetrack in the world.

And this track is home to the longest running sporting event in the country: the Travers Grade I stakes race worth $1 million and the rights to be in the running for horse of the year.

(scroll down to comments for Corey's correction of my statement above, rest assured, there will be one.)

We get something like 45,000 people for the day, including a few celebrities.  Corey and I have run into Bobby Flay, one of the guys from the Sopranos, Bill Parcells, John Walsh, Rod Stewart*, etc.

Every year to celebrate Corey and I throw a pre-Travers party where we invite everyone and their mothers (literally, we had moms there) to hang out in our driveway to eat pastries, drink mimosas and try to avoid being pestered by the dog.

I try to spruce up the asphalt with a few flowery table clothes and flower arrangements.  Last year I managed to swipe some beautiful purple loosestrife from the side of the highway in the cover of darkness.  This year I went legit and swiped flowers from my own yard.

We eat and chat and then head down for the races.

We usually have a story to tell afterward.  For several years it was, "Can you believe how hard it rained?!"

Then there was, "Can you believe all the dang bees?!"

Last year, "Can you believe Betsy fell and had to spend the day in the hospital?!"

This year, "Can you believe we let Jennifer eat the crackers out of the dog's bowl?!"

I really get a kick out of this one.

See, after the party was over and we started to clean up I put a handful of leftover crackers in the dog's bowl because the trash was still downstairs and I didn't think five crackers would drastically affect O-dog's waistline.  Corey took them out.  Apparently our dog does not eat crackers.  He set them on the counter and we both walked out of the room.

Enter Jennifer.

Five minutes pass.

Enter Stacie.

"Ohmigoshthosecrackerswereinthedog'sbowl!!"

She had eaten all but two of them.

Poor thing was horrified.

And disgusted.

I told everyone I know.

And then we headed down to the races.  Another eventful year.

...

*It was actually one of the Vice Presidents at Corey's office who just happens to look exactly like Rod Stewart. 

Weekend Wrap Up: Kids and Dresses and Ice Cream

Advice to newlyweds: before you agree to bring four 10 year olds into your home for a sleepover make sure your husband is already 100% on board with having children in the near future.

I'm pretty sure Corey and I have now put ourselves on the five year plan.

Saturday afternoon I packed up a trunk load of pillows, sleeping bags, more pillows, make up, clothes, dress up clothes, and more pillows.  Then four giggly girls piled into my car and we were off.  To my house.  To spend the day, night, and morning together.

Before we were even five minutes into the 25 minute trip to my house we were on the subject of public assistance.  I had to think back to my days as a pre-teen....I'm pretty sure I was more concerned with what outfit Ken was going to wear on his date with working girl Barbie than the state our welfare system.  Luckily the conversation quickly shifted to their mutual dislike of Justin Bieber.

Here is a brief synopsis of the day/night/morning:

We pet horses, had a picnic in the park, and loaded up on ice cream on more than one occasion.  I learned my stomach is actually not in the shape it was when I was 10.

At one point in the day we aggravated the workers at a Lily Pulitzer store.  Apparently it is not acceptable to shove sweaty girls into $200 dresses.  Then we aggravated an entire toy store and soon after we aggravated a family of four while arguing which Red Box movie we all wanted to see.

We all did not want to see any of them.  So two of us sucked it up and we ended up watching Soul Surfer.

Which, by the way, the two of us who didn't want to watch it were the only ones actually watching to the end.  But that's beside the point in this totally pointless post.

Before we finally settled down for dinner and dessert there was this small matter of a fashion show to attend to.  The girls put on all their outfits, did each other's hair and make up (read: lip gloss) and paraded through my apartment.  I was put on music duty.  Karaoke, to be more specific; Amy Winehouse, Taylor Swift and Jackson Five in a sparkly blue hat.

Eventually Corey came home.  It was later that night after I had given them the rules: no running, no jumping, no stinky feet on the couch, and absolutely no waking of Stacie unless something was broken (skin, Kate Spade vase, bones) and I had gone to bed.

"Um, I think you should go check on the girls."

"Why?  I don't hear any screaming."

"They are hanging off the stairs..."

"But I don't hear anything."

"No, really.  You should go check on them."

At least those girls were quiet about being defiant.  And lucky for me (thanks to my forcing them to walk all over Saratoga) they were asleep pretty quick.  Like 1am. 

I tried to get up early enough on Sunday to be completely ready when they woke up to be a buffer between Corey and the girls.  But they stirred.  And then the dang dog just had to snuggle every single one of them.  Before we knew it, they were up.  Twirling these little twirly-gigs that landed in our plants, bounced off the walls, and sent each one of them into a fit of laughter.  At 8am.

I caught a glimpse of  "ain't gonna happen" from Corey, which I concurred in that moment.

But then we ushered them out the door for pastries, a little horse warm up watching at the track and then to church.  Afterward, each one of them was dropped off and I'm pretty sure there are five more girls' nights in the works.  I cried a little inside.

I came home, laid on the bed and swore I would not get up for anything.  But then Monday came.

Now a note to the parents:  I tried my best to be diplomatic about the whole welfare thing because, you know, they're 10, so I basically shoved the whole "love everybody!" down their throats in a totally sappy way.  I also told them how important  Sunday afternoon naps are so hopefully they'll give you a break once a week.    And I really did have a good time; they are great girls with great personalities, but I am seriously considering being the fun aunt that has lots of dogs.

Weekend Update: Food and Fun

Thank goodness for sweet tasting glue strips on envelopes.  That's all I have to say.

But it's actually not.

You know me better than that.

It's Monday.  The day I tell you all the little details of Corey's and my weekend.

Like how we bought two tomato plants at the farmer's market.

But first, I start at the beginning.

Our hike.

It wasn't meant to be.

I said weeks ago that on Saturday Corey should choose for us to do one of two things: hike or golf.  He chose hike, picked the destination and scheduled us for a 7:45am departure time.  At 7:30am, as we were just waking up he suggested we get some breakfast instead.

Although I don't normally like to pass on an outdoor adventure, I had a hankerin' for home fries.  So we ditched our plans and went to Country Corner Cafe, just off the main street in Saratoga.

People, Cracker Barrel this place is not. Same country food, better country taste.  It's the kind of place out-of-towners flock to, which is why we were waiting along with parties of 9 and 12 to eat in a room the size of my bathroom.

Eventually we ate, we talked, we watched dogs walk by outside.  But before I move on to more interesting parts of the day I need to leave you with a mental picture of my breakfast, the Sunrise Benedict; two poached eggs over potato pancakes and roasted red peppers covered in hollandaise sauce.

Mmmmmm.....

After rolling ourselves down the stairs, across the street and into the car, Corey and I headed out to the farmer's market.

Where we bought two tomato plants.

For two people who don't eat tomatoes.

??

Yeah, we'll figure that part out later.  But right now we have two cute little green stalks with a couple 'a leaves sticking out and the promise of "jet star" sweet, less acidic tomatoes in 60-72 days.

We may or may not have spent several minutes, several times Saturday and Sunday just watching our little plant grow.  And I cannot guarantee we will not pick several teeny green pre-tomatoes out of excitement for having actually grown something edible.

We're city kids.

The rest of our afternoon (because it was afternoon by the time we were done running all around doing things you are not interested in) was less than exciting.  Corey browsed the latest in horse racing news.  I took a nap.

And then it was Father's Day...Yay!

Now, my sisters and I love our daddy, and we would have loved to take him to our favorite special occasion breakfast spot, but no amount of love was gettin' us in in under an hour and a half.  Everyone was there...eating our omelettes and apple cider donuts with their brothers, mothers, neighbors, aunties, friends, dogs, rabbits, owls, and office furniture.

So then we tried option two: our favorite every-other-day eatin' spot.  Packed to the gills. 

By the third try, your gramma's favorite diner because it's open when she wants it at 4am, we found a table in under 15 minutes.

I had the corned beef hash with eggs and potatoes...

Mmmmmm.....

We had ourselves a good little time, loved on our daddy, then it was on to the rest of the day.

In other words: laundry and a dog walk.

I also had to file my very first New York State sales tax form which was exciting and terrifying, but that's another story for another day...a day  in which I can find a way to make taxes less than the most boring subject ev-er.

And that's all the news that's fit to print.

Bye now.

Weekend Wrap Up: craft festivals and torential downpour

Hello friends.  I'm back.

Back from the brink of exhaustion.

Not really the brink.  I was fully there.  This stress/anxiousness/sleep deprivation induced cold sore on my lip is proof.

But I'm back.  Because my first major craft show is over.  All that's left now is wrap up: figure out money and inventory stuff.  Load leftovers on Etsy.  Get every piece of jewelry out of my sight before I scream bloody murder.  I don't want to look at another piece of wool for at least a week.

That is, after I finish the three custom orders for four pieces.

But I digress.

The weekend was fun.  Rainy and dismal.  But fun.

The public still managed to come around.  They brought their jackets and umbrellas.

But to be honest, I was disappointed.  I wanted so badly for my very first show to be successful, and by my own wildly unrealistic standards it wasn't.

Some of the factors were out of my control.  Like the rain.  As hard as I tried to use my mental muscle to push the clouds out to sea I just couldn't make it happen.

And then there's the economy.  I'm not going to pretend to know what the heck this means, I just hear everyone else use it when things go wrong so I can assume I have a 50% chance of being correct when blaming lack-luster sales on "the economy."

But then there were things that I could have controlled.  Like the layout of my booth and its lack of whistles and bells.

Dangit Stacie!  Why did you forget the whistles and BELLS?!

But alas, I know what to do next time.

And now that I've had a day to recover, assess the damages and let my brain fog clear I can say there will be a next time.

I pretty much had that figured out, though, at the end of the show Sunday when I met a fellow jewelry maker who clued me into the world of trading.

"Wait, so I can buy your earrings by giving you a pair of mine??"

If only I had known about this when ordering my second crab cake sandwich, the one that cost me my entire profit for the weekend...

I'm only slightly exaggerating.

It was worth it.

Now, on to the goods:

I used a lot of things I had on hand and/or freebies for my props.  Like the driftwood I smuggled in my suitcase from my trip out to Washington.  Oh, and the little silver trays I collected at various garage sales.

These hair accessories went like hot cakes.  Like chocolate chip, Mickey Mouse shaped hot cakes.

This display is courtesy of Corey Lucas.  

I am most proud of this "bracelet stand."  Also previously known as two pieces of driftwood I found laying on the beach among others I also wanted and ended up kicking part of the way back to the house we were staying in because I just couldn't hang on to it all.

I painted my silver trays with chalkboard paint, swiped flowers from my mom's yard, and grabbed the milk glass from Mrs. Buck's house.  My parents' bought a lot of things, too, to help me out.  Like this pie shelf.  Which I hope to keep stocked with pies.  As was intended.

And these little bathing-lady figures you may see standing around.  They are the most darling little things...

Sometimes I call them my fat-bottomed girls.

They make my rockin' world go 'round.

Get on your bikes and riiiide!

But I digress.



I was happy to hear so many positive comments. 

"So pretty!"

"Very unique."

"I like this a lot."

"They look like moth balls."

And then, of course, there were a few who I would not consider fans.

But I'm pleased with the overall response.  Pleased enough to see what happens next year.

...

**Update: find more ideas from my 2012 show on my new craft blog here!