This DID just happen

Corey decided we had too much milk last night.

His solution: cake mix.  Both chocolate and yellow.

Corey: "Do you think the eggs are still good?"

Me: "Probably..."

C:  "I mean, when the power went out we didn't take them out, so they should be ok, right?"

Me: "Put water in a bowl and see if they float.  If they don't then they're fine."

Corey fills bowl.  Inserts egg.  Sinker.

C:  "The egg is at the bottom."

Me:  "Then they're fine."

C:  "Are you sure??"

Me:  "Yep."

C:  "??"

Me:  "I read it in several places."

Corey adds eggs.  Stirs.

C:  "Are you going to eat this?"

Me.  "Yeah, why?"

C:  "I'm not.  It just seems funny."

Me.  "Gimme a break!  The thing sunk, the eggs are fine.  Call your mom if you don't believe me!"

C:  "Hey mom...(chatter in the other room)....ok thanks. Don't worry beetle.  The eggs are good."

Now he smells powder fresh

Last weekend Corey and his buds went out to Vegas for a few days, and since coming home Sunday night he's slowly started to unpack his bag. 

A few things here, a large laundry dump there.

But then this morning as he was reaching into his little black toiletry bag I noticed something out of place.

A little blue something.

Powder blue.

So then I says to myself, I says, "why on earth would Corey have a powder blue anything? This deserves further investigation."

And this is what I found:

"Corey, why do you have this??"

"What?  I needed deodorant for my trip."

"But why women's deodorant?"

".........I thought it smelled a little funny."

...

Boy's minds work in mysterious ways.

On careers and enchiladas

Corey and I are part of the cool-kids club.

We got ourselves a laptop.

This laptop.

A 15" Macbook Pro.

I'll tell you what, that darned talking dog Youtube sensation never looked so good.

Neither did the metal filing cabinet or the wicker patio furniture set I found on Craigslist.

Because that's why you get fancy computers; to make impulse Zappos purchases and watch online sitcoms while your husband forces you to sit through March Madness.

I kid.

Eventually, I plan to get my graphic design on, which was my whole argument for getting this exact model.  It's better at doing...something.

I need training first.  Obviously.

But then it's off to a semi part-time career in freelance work for independent artists (like me!) and non-profit organizations.  Not exactly where the money's at (excuse me, my preposition is showing), but if it covers my Mexican take-out habit I'll be satisfied.

It's all about putting food in the belly.

Food smothered in mole and enchilada sauce.

And that only took me eight years after my college graduation to figure out.  I mean the career part, I've always known tamales were a way of life.

So if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out what I'm supposed to do with my right-clicking finger if there is no right-clicker.

Three's a crowd

Corey left for Las Vegas today.  I think his nerves got the best of him last night.

2:30am
"Beetle, my stomach hurts.  I need the dog up here on the bed."

"(mumble grumble) ok..."

"Oliver.....Oliver.....Oliver....."

Our 75-pound Oliver jumps up on the bed and settles in between us.

"Beetle, move over.  You're crowding him."

"But I'm at the edge of the---"

"Shhhhh."

There is something about a man and his dog.

...and there's something about a dog's ability to gain full access to the best spot on the bed.

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.

Our Son

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Fine."

"You have rehearsal tonight?"
"Yeah."

"Did you eat your pizza yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Ok.  I'm down at Bensons (pet store).  Gotta get our son some treats."

"Our son??"

"Yeah.  Our son.  Oliver.  He's 57 years old."

"Oh Corey..."

Real men improvise

Recently Corey and I had to rearrange some of the pictures we have hanging around our apartment.

I say "had to" because Corey was itchin' for something new.

We got everything all lined up and ready to go on the walls when Corey said,

"Hang on a sec.  I'll grab my tool box."

What he brought out was a box.  Of tools.  A small cardboard box.

My husband has a literal tool box.

(turns nose up) And I bet your husband has one of those clanky metal things.  That is sooooo pretentious.

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.

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.

Extreme casual Thursday

And on a much lighter note, Corey was funny this morning.

The dear delivers my jewelry to one of the stores that sells it because it's close to his office.  This morning he was planning to make a drop but I wanted to take pictures of it all first:

"Have you taken pictures of the jewelry yet?"

"No."

"Well, I'm leaving right now."

"Corey, you're still in a towel."

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.

Don't Worry, He's Gonna Make It

"Beetle, I think I pulled my groin muscle."

Famous last words.

Or first words...I guess that would fit our situation best.

Let me preface this story with the disclaimer that Mr. Lucas did approve the following information to be leaked to all corners of the globe through the power of the Interwebs.  This will neither be my last post nor will you see any formal apology for what I am about to write.

But really, it's not that bad.  I'm just gonna talk about Corey's crotch a little bit.

Now without further ado...

Corey and I spent the wee hours of Saturday morning in the emergency room.  He.  Was.  Injured.  We're not sure how it happened, or when it happened, but it happened.  Something was horribly wrong.

...

"Corey, why do you keep grabbing yourself like that??"

"What??  I have to help pick my leg up...it hurts!!"

"But we. are. in. Public!"

This was Friday night.  We decided to meet up with friends for drinks and apps despite Corey's fragile condition and the rain.

I feel like at his age a lot of aches and pains can be now be blamed on the weather.

Anyway, we see our friends, we laugh, we eat, I eat off of everyone's plates, we laugh some more.  I noticed Corey propping his foot up on the bottom rung of those high bar chairs.

"It's the only thing that makes it feel better."

(foreshadow)

Next thing I know it's 3:30am and I'm woken up by a tap, tap, tap.

"Hey Beetle, I think I need to go to the ER."

"Wha....why?"

"This thing hurts!"

"Ok, did you try laying a different way?"

So he tosses and turns.  I doze off.

"It feels a little better when I sit up like this."

"Ok, so we'll prop you up in the chair in the living room and...."

"No.  I need to go to the ER."

(Lord give me compassion because you know how much of a bear I am without my beauty sleep)

**BOINK!**

Granted.

"Ok, Cor.  Let's go."

Now, the moral of this story....well, there really is none.  We drove to the hospital, he got shot up with some extra strength ibuprofen in the keester, and we drove back home.

But what I think us ladies, and some of our gentlemen, can derive is some amusement in the differences between our sexes. 

It's the I-feel-like-my-uterus-is-going-to-explode-better-fold-this-laundry VS. I-have-tummy-grumblies-please-hold-me.

Or just-sliced-tip-of-finger-off-chopping-onions-must-feed-family VS. I'm-sorry-this-bunion-on-my-foot-prevents-me-from-mowing-the-lawn-ever.

And my favorite I-may-feel-like-swine-flu-is-stabbing-me-in-the-chest-but-I-need-to-see-who-wins-America's-Next-Top-Model VS. I'll-be-late-to-work-because-I'm-going-to-have-this-ingrown-hair-looked-at-by-the-doctor-because-I'm-sure-it's-not-just-a-pimple.

(of course this is entirely hypothetical)

You're nodding your head, aren't you.

Out of Office Reply: Marriage is Goooood

Corey and Stacie are currently off having a wildly adventurous time in the land of retired seniors.  Please enjoy the following essay on the benefits of marriage as expressed by Stacie just one month after her wedding in 2009.

Why I love being married.

by Stacie


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

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

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

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

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

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

The End.

Weekend Wrap Up: Happy to see Monday

Sweet mother of pearl am I glad this past weekend is ov-er.

Corey probably is too, but for different reasons.

Allow me to elaborate.

As you might remember, I've done a lot of work with our local soup kitchen to plan two of their major fundraisers that fall within a month and a half of each other.  The first was the festival in the park in August, the second a huge breakfast served to thousands of attendees of a balloon festival held this past weekend.

The planning that went into the two events was exhausting enough, but the actual events themselves were both equally physically exhausting.

Starting at 3:30am my dad and I started the days prepping food and working with the 80+ volunteers; we had an hour to fill 8 chaffing dishes with scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes and sausage.  Then four tables had to be lined with OJ, coffee, hot water, milk and every kind of condiment you would ever need.

Minus mini Tabasco bottles.  But we have to have something to shoot for.

The weather was terrible and none of the balloons lifted off.  But on Sunday, at least, they were blown up.

Which means there were still plenty of people lining up at 5am for an all-you-can eat feast.

Which means there was lots of scrambling of more than just the eggs.

Which means I was exhausted.

Needless to say, several naps were in order.

By 1pm on Saturday I had already worked six hours and napped for two.

...

And on Corey's end, he was in charge of monitoring Oliver-dog 24 hours each day for bruising in his ears, eyes, or gums that would immediately send us all to the doggy ER.

"I had to google what a Golden Retriever's ears are supposed to look like just to be sure."

"And?"

"He's fine."

For some reason, Oliver develops this weird rash on his undercarriage that lasts for several weeks and then disappears.  Corey took him to the vet on Friday just to finally find out what it could be and was surprised when the vet thought he had a serious blood disorder.

Corey left the office with several hundred dollars in vet bills, a 3x per day medication and a special shampoo to be used that day.

For a guy who has never owned a dog in his life, let alone bathed one, the whole process took a lot out of him and I came home Friday night to towels strewn across the floor, dog hair in the drain and a wet dog running wild, sliding all over the wood floors in our apartment.

Corey also had instructions to monitor Oliver closely and keep him calm and confined until his blood work comes back this week.  If anything about him even slightly changed Corey was told to take him to the ER immediately.

Confined, yes.  Calm, no.

But I guess it's a good sign he still has the same amount of energy.

...

So now here we are, Monday...again.  But this week we have a weekend of leaf peeping, granny visiting and a world's largest garage sale to look forward too.

Happy Ending.

Cape Cod getaway

Happy anniversary Mr. and Mrs. Lucas!

Two years we've been married.

Two whole years last Sunday.

So to celebrate we decided to take a trip.  And if you follow any of my obnoxious tweets you know we rounded Cape Cod and settled for a long weekend near the tip, in North Truro.

Our hotel was right there on the beach, and at night at high tide you could just about spit right into the ocean.

Corey could have.  I, being a proper lady, am not proficient in spitting.

It.  Was.  Magical.

Not the spitting.  The weekend, it was lovely.

First, the entire elf shoe that is the cape is just one awesome, sandy beach chunk of land that has the feel of vacation and relaxation the second you cross the Bourne Bridge.

We stopped in Sandwich, Corey's least favorite place on the cape and I could see why: it was my favorite.  Antique stores and museums as far as the eye could see.  Then there was this gem:

Hello Captain Scott, your crabcake sandwich was absolutely deeee-vine.  And Corey says thanks for the memories....of some rockin' fried shrimp.

We stayed in North Truro through Sunday, our anniversary, where we consumed large amounts of fried seafood, cooked seafood, seafood mixed with other seafood and chocolate.

Oh the chocolate.

I ate cake at 10:30 in the morning. And ice cream. And candy.

Because I can. I'm an adult.

We walked the beach in the mornings; one morning witnessing a particularly hungry seagull shake the living daylights out of its breakfast, a good sized crab.

"It's the circle of life."

Indeed. But that circle is terribly violent, for goodness sake.

But I digress.

Corey loves, loves, loves taking pictures. I usually have no time behind the lens, unless I'm directed to snap a picture of Corey on the beach, Corey on the balcony, Corey in the vineyard, Corey doing his goofy dance in his underwear and socks, etc.

He's really good at it.

This was our view across the bay toward Provincetown.

"Ooooooo...."

We spent a few hours each day in Provincetown, an iddy biddy little village at the very end of the cape.  I would say it rivals Saratoga in cuteness, but don't tell my precious home that.  However, what we saw and who we met could alone fill its own post.

If you don't already know why a couple-a kids from small towns like Corey and me would have a hard time just knowing where it was safe to look, then your mommies and daddies probably don't want you to know.

I found myself in a few situations in the art galleries where I was face to face with things I don't see in my day to day routines.

Unless my day to day routines involved touring local strip joints.

TMI?

I had to fight the urge to giggle and run from the buildings.

Remember, adult.

Safe places: the taffy shop, the ice cream shop, and that home furnishing store that had three Golden Retrievers sitting outside.

Although most of our actual anniversary was spent laying around the hotel room watching football while Corey fought a terrible headache, Sunday was my favorite day.  Large breakfast in the hotel's cafe, antique/craft fair/bake sale in N. Truro and a jazz festival at the vineyard down the street from our room.

First, I'm a sucker for breakfast.  I like food and I like mornings, a good breakfast literally makes my day.

Second, I'm a sucker for arts and crafts, and antiques, and bake sales.  This was all wrapped up into one large event.  Yes, Corey did have to drag me away from the beautiful Polish dishware, but just having the opportunity to look was a dream come true.

Obviously it does not take much for me...

And Third:

I love vineyards.

I love jazz.

And I love this guy.  And this guy was having a good time.

We left early on Monday.  It was time.  After a full three days of being on the go we were tired.  And Corey missed his dog.

I'm not going to say the first two years of our marriage have been candies and roses. 

Unless you count actual make-up candy and roses.  In that case, I've ingested my weight in chocolate.

I'd imagine anyone thrown into a share-everything-including-life's-biggest-decisions-and-a-bathroom situation is going to struggle at the beginning.

But things are starting to shape up.

Corey and I went on a vacation together and had a really good time.  We love each other.  We enjoy being together.  And we genuinely wanted to celebrate being together.

Despite anything that happened in our first two years, I think our future looks good.




...as long as there is still some chocolate.

Chef Corey

This season of our marriage is all about food.

We cook it (and I say "we" very loosely), we eat it, and now we watch it.

Before Corey I'd never watched a single minute of the Food Network in. my. life.

I never cared how it got made, just so long as it did and went into my belly.

BFF: "Ohmigosh!  It's Bobby Flay!!!"

Me: "Who??"

Now I'll see the guy walking ten feet away and I practically have to pick myself up off the floor.

Why?

Because FN is all we watch.

Corey is especially enthralled with the cooking competitions.  It's fast paced and frenzied, something I think he can identify with clearly; Iron Chef just happens to be on every single night as he makes our dinner* and often will talk to me as if we are part of the competition, he being the contestand and I am the judge.

"What I've done here is marinated the chicken in a creamy sauce then served over a bed of crisp greens..."

Tuesday night he cooked for me a full three course meal, each presented with a Japanese accent (imitating Iron Chef Morimoto, of course).

The first course: a blend of cheeses with a dash of cayenne pepper grilled between two flour tortillas with a garnish of hot sauce on the side.  (Quesadillas)

The second course: a grilled bread topped with a tomato sauce, a blend of cheeses and pepperoni chunks, cut into four pieces.  (A frozen Celeste pizza)

And finally, the third course, which really was a masterpiece:

An ice cream Snickers bar with whipped cream and sprinkles on top of a homemade raspberry sauce with crushed walnuts.

It was pretty darn tasty.

Although a little out-of-the-box, which is what those shows are meant to be anyway.

Watch for Corey's own show in the future.  He's just the kind of food nut they love!

...

*Corey makes our meals because 1) he enjoys it and 2) I have only enough time to pop a hot pocket into the microwave.

A desperate plea

Dear Corey,

For goodness sake, please let me sleep. 

I realize it is soooo hilarious to wake me up five times in the middle of the night to listen to my awkward ramblings, I'd wake myself up if I knew I'd hear me yammering on about crackers and beluga whales (you know how sleep talking stories affect me), but this girlfriend needs her full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I need to be able to keep my eyes open when I iron my pants, drive to work, talk to constituents, eat my lunch, use the facilities, play scrabble with Jill on my phone, and drive home again.  And I'm sure you'd prefer me to be awake during our special time.

You know, when we watch taped episodes of Restaurant Impossible.

Also worth mentioning: I'm downright grumpy and throw pillows at your face.

So, if you don't mind, leave me to my sleep.  And only interrupt if the house is on fire or the dog is doing that gaaarrummph thing before he pukes.

Thank you,
Stacie

Some things I was thinkin'

A coupla things to chew on until I post next:

(which could be next week, so read slowwwwwly)

There is a colony of the scariest type of bug somewhere in our apartment.

There are very few things that scare me like the centipede does.  I can handle bugs, spiders, snakes and rodents.  But these suckers give me the heebie jeebies like no other.

"Where was that bug you saw last night?"

"Behind the tv.  He ran back and forth from the tv to the couch.  Corey, he was taunting me."

"I don't see it..."

"Well I'm sure he's moved by now!"

"Oh, wait!  I see him!  Look, there's two, three.  Three!  Oh it's a family!"

"Very funny."

Right about now I'm so glad I don't have to worry about a colony of creepy crawlers making a home in my shoes.  Sandals, I'm guessing, just aren't the habitat they look for.

Phew.

Another thing I think you should know is that I have the foggiest brain right now.  It's hilarious.

Hmmm...I don't remember finishing that one Ten on Tuesday question.

I did.

"Hey Stace, can you call so-and-so about such-and-such?"

"Yes."

(five minutes later)

"Um, hi.  Who was I supposed to call again?"

Hilarious.

Wait, did I spell that right?

My dad and I had breakfast this morning, as we do several times a week, to go over more details for the Coming Together For Hope event:

"So, we might not have a dunk tank."

"Eh."

"Or a Wii tent."

"Coo."

"And our grand finale band backed out."

"Whatev."

Hil-ar-ious.

...

Space cadet, over and out.

Weekend Wrap Up: Birthday Business

I turned nearly-old on Saturday; twenty nine.

I'm over it.

But for Corey that means he only has one more year that he can say his wife is in her twenties.

...

He's over it.

...

To celebrate we had a most fantastic weekend.

I think I said the last weekend was the best in recent memory (recent being a span of just months, I have a terrible memory) but this past one has surpassed it, despite the weekend starting with news of JLo and Marc Anthony splitting.

Seriously, if Jen and Marc can't make it, who can?

If Will and Jada ever head for their attorneys don't even expect to see my face for at least three weeks.

But I digress.

The plan was to spend the day in NYC, the night in our favorite little village, Tarrytown, and return Sunday afternoon.

But this is what actually happened:

(i spent most of Friday night, also the dog's birthday, at a going-away party, the following conversation took place Saturday morning)

"Beetle, you missed all of Bro Wolf's* birthday."

"I know, but he's a dog and I don't think he realized it was his birthday."

"I had to stay with him.  I got him a steak, and you didn't come home."

"Sorry.  But Jeff is leaving on Sunday and I wanted to say good bye."

"But it was Bro Wolf's birthday."

"..."

"And then since I didn't hear from you I figured I might as well go out too and I had two beers and now I have a headache."

He was pretty upset over the way the whole night turned out.  So we called off the weekend and spent the day in Saratoga.

Which was just fine with me.

Save six hours of driving time, a ton of money for the room, a ton of money for gas and tolls, a ton of money for expensive NYC food, etc.  It would have been nice to get away, but our hometown is pretty nice already, there isn't much anyone would want to get away from.

So we started out with a birthday tour of the farm.

Corey's friend's horse farm where we met the residents. 

Who were quite hospitable.  Oh how I love horses.

Then it was off to birthday estate sale where I picked up a lovely old window shutter for $1.  My dear, sweet, "clutter-is-my-number-one-enemy" husband doesn't yet understand my need for random "junk."

He sees junk.  I see an earring rack.

Then it was birthday lunch time.

I tell you what, anyone that gives me crab, onion rings and deviled eggs all on one plate is my new best friend.  I don't know the name of the head chef, but if he were in need of a kidney...I'm just sayin'.

Next up: birthday shopping to use all that money we saved by not going to the city.  Being the super savvy shopper that I am, I walked out of Banana Republic with $300 in merch for only $75.  Unfortunately, Corey was not agreeable to my idea of using the remainder of the money we saved at the estate sale.

But that did not stop the day!  Oh no, up next was birthday nap, directly followed by birthday Queen special on the Bio channel and birthday steak sandwich.  After the birthday sandwich came birthday ice cream topped with chocolate everything and more birthday shopping.

This was followed by birthday sidewalk chalk art,

birthday entertainment,

and birthday drinks at our favorite restaurant's back patio.

It was lovely.

But after an hour or so I was ready for the next plan, birthday movie, but Corey wasn't letting us leave.

"I'm ready to go."

"Ok, just hang on a second."

"But I'm ready."

"Just hang on.  Frank is getting me a menu."

(we had already eaten, but were planning on having breakfast there the next day)

"You mean the same menu we already looked at online??"

"...no, a different menu.  Just hold on, ok??"

After a few more minutes of agitation Frank, the bartender, walks out with my birthday surprise: a fancy dessert with fancy writing and a candle.

It was delish.

And then it was birthday bedtime.  Because after all of that I had nothing left to give.  Not to a birthday movie, not to birthday cookies, not even to birthday Matlock.  But that is the best way to end the day, completely exhausted and satisfied.

...

*Bro Wolf is what Corey calls Oliver.  It's shortened from Brother Wolf, which probably makes even less sense, but now you know.