More Of: Conversations With Kenny

While in the checkout line shopping today at Sam's Club:

Kenny: "Here, let me give you some money for all that stuff."

Me: "Nope, it's okay, I've got it."

Kenny: "Well, you don't need to buy my shoes! (referencing impulse purchase of $20 boatshoes for upcoming boat trip)

Me: "It's alright, no biggie."

Kenny: "You don't have to buy my shoes - what are you, my mother?!"

Me: "Yes, pretty much, yes. I have to do many motherly things all the time."

Kenny: "Well, then, I guess that makes me a motherfucker."

Annnd Scene.

On the 7th Day, There Was Cake

Behold, my wedding cake treat.

Kenny dropped it in the hallway. It almost made it to me intact. Almost. But I didn't judge the cupcakes by the container, oh no sirree. I got up out of bed at 1 a.m. and enjoyed both a vanilla and a chocolate.

And then I had the last two (posted above) for breakfast.

Am I surprised I've made no weight-loss progress before our big cruise in two weeks? Well, maybe a little...I don't eat cupcakes EVERY day. But still. I have no control when it comes to cake.

Did I mention that the cruise ship (The Oasis of the Seas) has a gourmet cupcake station? Rather than planning out my excursions, I've instead informed Kenny that my big plan for this vacation to be considered a success is to try a different gourmet cupcake every day. That is actually a SMART (specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and timely - or whatever that corporate acronym actually stands for) goal and therefore I am going to do my best.

Oh, and by the way, the cupcakes were fantastic.

Post-crastinating

Could we have asked for a more spectacular day here? I don't think so. My most favorite days of the year are just like today. Low humidity, blue-clear skies and moderate temps. Of course, that doesn't really come as a surprise or make me unique in my requirements for a spectacular day.

The cats and I are enjoying the afternoon out on the porch. TGFWI. (thank garth for wireless internet).

I brought some work home with me this weekend. I should be getting around to starting that. Mr. Anderson is off DJ'ing a backyard wedding today so my evening is free and I have wedding cake to look forward to around midnight. He knows the rules and adheres to them fairly well: If you're going to DJ a wedding, don't come home without wedding cake for the girl.

Grouchy neighbor Stanley just fired up his grill. Throw some cut grass into the mix and it'll even smell like a perfect day.

***************

We're still tending to Street Widda. He's still quite elusive, but now he doesn't run quite as far, or as quickly. I just called to him from my upstairs porch and he zeroed in on me and told me rather pitifully, "mew."

That mew could mean:

Come down and feed me, Fucker, you missed my breakfast (we did).

Or.

My eye really fucking hurts, I wish I could trust you to come and look at it.

Or.

Stop fucking yelling at me from your house, what the fuck do you want me to do for you? Dance?

Street really has vulgar language. I will allow it, however, because he definitely has earned his "street cred," and if you need proof, it's in the nearly-shut eye he's sporting. Probably from a fight with rival cat gangs. I wish they could just settle their turf wars with a dance-off.

That really is the concerning part about allowing Street to live next door in the vacant house all by himself. He's just left to run completely amok.

I wonder if he could get a predatory-lending loan and buy the house himself? We should help him fill out an application.

Alrightie then. I'm heeding the mew and am going downstairs to tend to him. I wonder if Stanley will throw a couple extra steaks on the grill?

It's All In The Details

Sometimes the Universe aligns to tell you not to do stuff. For instance, today I'm being thwarted in every attempt I've made to online shop. Yes, Universe, I hear you! I don't know if it's a message that's trying to protect me from spending or procrastinating. Maybe both. I have a multitude of tasks on my list for today and sitting around adding things oh-so-easily to my shopping bags certainly wouldn't be contributing to the greater good of any of them.

Here are some of the items that I've postponed:

1/ Writing a speech for Nerd Club, aka Toastmasters. I'm supposed to deliver the goods on Tuesday. My speech topic ideas so far involves advice on how to "stop being so busy/how to get organized." I haven't written that yet. Maybe I can throw in some pointers about how to stop procrastinating as long as I'm going to be all "Pot, Meet Kettle."

2/Loads and loads of laundry. Well, probably five loads. Not millions. Five loads including blankets and stuff that I'd like to get freshened up. Maybe six loads. It's not the washing/drying of the laundry that's the killer for me, it's the putting it all away. I hate hate hate it, primarily because it's such a jockey for space in our two-bedroom-too-tight closets. So often it will sit in folded piles on a table in the basement. Today (I vow, haha) to bring it all up and find a spot for it. Right after I write a speech. Toby's ready to help with filling any empty laundry baskets.

3/Put my shit away that's piling up in the living room and kitchen. Reader, while I often lay the blame at Kenny's feet for all the clutter, when I really look around I see that much of the shit is my shit. I'm to blame! Partially to blame. Equally to blame. There is some sort of blame. I'll include some pictures, you'll see for yourself my Shame. In fact, I did acknowledge to Kenny that if he piled his shoes up the way I do in the bedroom I'd be in his ass so deep I'd never get the smell of shit off my feet. But it's me, so I like to rationalize, justify and redirect the blame.

Exhibit 1: The Shoe Line-up.

We live in a small place. It's doesn't get any easier to find a home for anything when we have oversized televisions taking up much-needed space instead of, oh a DRESSER for all of our clothing. But we do have this in the 9x10 (I just made that up, it feels about right) bedroom:

HGTV WOULD NOT approve.

Notice how little room there is to the ceiling?? I have included this picture for two reasons. 1/so you can understand part of my challenges and 2/ to give you an opportunity to window-snoop a little bit. I for one love to get a glimpse behind people's curtains, and back in the olden times this Peeping Tom could get satisfied by driving down the street at night when folks had their lights on and curtains opened. You could get a little glimpse. Then I'd make up scenarios about what was going on behind closed doors.

So here go you, my curtains are opened for a brief hot second. Peep away. Notice the furry cat on the floor. Also,there's a brown thing in the background on the wooden part of the floor, that's a window draft-dodger thingie that just sort of landed there recently. It's a little sparse looking other than that. We have not created an Oasis For Love with this room. I painted it, a boring beige. There is nothing on the walls. Not that we could actually decorate over the television or anything. I'm looking for a solution to use that little corner of space between TV & Wall, something to help out our storage needs. Maybe I'll get to that one day.

But Wait, There's More!

I finished To Kill a Mockingbird!! I mailed off my passport on Monday!! My to-dos have become to-dids!

And now I shall rest.

Broken Vows

I see in my prior post that I vowed to do a lot of things. Finish To Kill a Mockingbird. Vowed to get a passport photo yesterday. Yeah, none of that occurred. I didn't take a shower until 8 p.m., when we were getting ready to go out for a night on the town. And even then I didn't wash my hair and it looked pretty bad even with it clipped back. Luckily I fit in okay with the locals. Or sadly, as the case may be.

You'd think I'd learn that when I vow it doesn't really hold any water. For Garth's sake (see, I told you I was going to incorporate that! I didn't vow to do it, probably why), I've got two divorces under my belt - obviously my vowing then didn't work out either.

I vow to stop vowing.

The Tracks of My Tears

My vision is sort of jacked up in my right eyeball. Is this yet another way it's great to be in my 40's? I've been clinging to my lie of 39 for years now, but truth-be-told, the number is forty-fucking-three, six-and-a-half years away from oh-my-fucking-Garth-fifty.

I had laser surgery on my peepers many years ago, back when I really was in my 30's, or maybe I was even in my late 20's. The memory, one of the other things to go....but regardless, it was at least a solid ten or more years ago. They held up pretty well. I think it's time for a tune-up.

The sucky part is that with my $2000 eyeball surgery, I was guaranteed a lifetime of free tune-ups had I went for regular annual checkups. Which of course I didn't. That's like people who get that "free diamond replacement should one fall out of your engagement ring" as long as you take it back annually to the store where said ring was purchased. Sounds good when you're signing up for it all, it's all, "Oh! Yes, of course I'll be diligent and do that every single year!" until year 2 or so and you're all, "Ah, fuck it, what's going to happen." Fastforward 10+ years, and I need an eyeball tuneup.

Luckily for me, the place is still in business, and it is the same place in fact where I had my head injected with needles. They seem to do it all there now, including laser teeth-whitening. That lone building can address all my cares from the neck up, it seems. I don't know if I find that comforting or disturbing.

Now, the other part of the eyeball story is this. Remember when I went to the fancy makeup application place, The Powder Room, and they sold me a pretty-pretty face? They also convinced me to purchase this: http://www.collyrebleueyedrops.com.

Blue eyedrops. This stuff is so blue and so stainy, that as it runs out of my eye and down my cheeks, I have to wipe my face tracks with an alcohol swab to remove it. Some dripped into my porcelain sink and I needed a Clorox-ed cottonball to remove the tint. Is this good for my eyes?? The reviews say No Harm, No Foul (well, that's a literary liberty there, but same idea). My eyes have certainly been sparklie, see reunion face below. See? Bright-eyed.

I just can't recall if there's a correlation between the jacked-up vision and when I began using these drops. I think it's been an ongoing thing, but I've only started to pay closer attention to my diminishing vision as it's become more apparent since I've been reading before bed more often, due to the shitty shitty television options and season 3 of Breaking Bad isn't yet available on DVD.

What have I been reading, you ask? Well, I've turned to the classic, To Kill a Mockingbird. It was never part of my Required Reading as a yute, and since I read The Help and loved it soooo (extra o's for extra love) much, and it was suggested to read To Kill a Mockingbird, of course I picked it right up the next time I was at The Wal*Mart and it's been sitting on my nightstand like homework. It took me 106 pages before I finally looked forward to reading, it just wasn't making it for me but I can't give up. Now I'm a bit more invested in it so it's a little easier going.

I have a lot of books on my nightstand, I vowed not to purchase any more until I made my way through some of them, but then they had a $1 booksale at work and I purchased three more. It's one of my spends, I like to buy and own books. My frugal friends have suggested using that little thing known as the Public Library rather than buying books, but I like to own them. That way if they are deliciously good, I can pass them along and then talk about them with someone. The Help has made the rounds. It's my 2010 favorite so far. Just so you know.

It's Saturday. I have vowed to get my passport photo re-taken yet again and get that mailed off. I've waited so long that I now have to pay for expedited processing, yet again. I keep thinking that I'll look better "tomorrow" and then I can commit to a 10-year photo. My passport needs updating as it still sports my yucky married name and I don't want to carry that around with me on my next vacation, which is in four weeks or so. I need to brush my hair, drop some blue in my eyes, sparkle and smile.

One Tough Customer

Here it is, Monday night. Ho-hum. It was an unfortunately unexciting weekend, I'm a little ashamed of myself for letting a pretty summer weekend get away from me the way it did, but that's what happened. We did very little. And by very little I mean we slept in late, got up, ate breakfast and took a nap. Then we rested. And went out with some friends for a couple of nightcaps before more bed. And not Sexy Bed, just bed.

I'm doing very little to move my life forward, and I have to craft a speech. So you'd think I'd be sitting here working on that, but instead I'm debating on whether or not I should bake muffins for a ten o'clock "brainstorm" session I'm hosting tomorrow, paint my nails or just wash up and go right to bed. It's a close toss-up. It can go either way. We'll see which way my feet take me when I get up.

One remotely more interesting tidbit regarding the cute new convertible: water leaked into the passenger side when I took it for a laser high-pressure carwash on Sunday. Kenny tried to assure me that it was only because the jets were swooshing in with great force in unnatural directions and it would really stand the test in normal wet circumstances, but I'm not convinced. If it's leaking after 2000 miles, how's it going to fair in three years, when the warranty is up? Hm. I think this is a situation I'm going to have to address. Kenny has assured me that the Volkswagen dealer will rue the day they ever talked me into buying a car. I say let 'em rue. Whatever exactly "rueing" entails.

Two Faced.

Remember that I told you I had a $185 face applied for my reunion? Well, I've been asked to show the results of that, so here we have it:

I felt like a tranny version of myself with a three-inch mask applied, but in photos I see that it looks "normal". I was rocking fake eyelashes and everything - it felt like I had heavy tarantulas glued to my lids, but I can see that it didn't look awry.

Now, for the rest of the reunion story, what I didn't go into details about except with a select few. I even went so far as to have Botox and Rejuvederm injected into my head for this event. Hence, the million-dollar price tag for a four-hour event, the likes which were completely overrated in my mind. People showed up to a milestone 25th reunion in denim shorts and tank tops. It was as if they ran their Saturday errands and then, Oh by the way, I guess I'll pop into my 25th High School Reunion. And there I was, with my Fancy Face. What a poser ~ha-rumpf and tsk in disgust~.

Would I do it again? Well, actually yes. I think I've jumped on a train ride that I'm going to find it hard-pressed to get off. I like it. Not the fancy makeup part, but the "inject my face with a bunch of needles filled with shit" part. I do, yes, I do! Vain? Yep. Do I care? Nope. To be fair, I really should post an unmake-uped photo both pre and post injections so we can accurately gauge the results. Blogging with photos has been a bit of a stress since I'm in the process of converting from my PC to the Mac, and holy fuck is it stressful at times, all my photos are THERE and I need 'em HERE and well, nevermind, it's a lot of story with little payoff. Hopefully I'll be able to get to that before the results wear off. Anyway. Back to the story.

My favorite part of the entire reunion evening? Outside of winning $210 in the 50/50 raffle? This:

My touchstones*.

*Remember the movie Terms of Endearment, where Debra Winger was dying and her best best friend from childhood, who'd gone off to live a completely different life, came back to help her dying friend and told her, "You're my touchstone."? That's what these girls are to me, only without the drama of dying/illness, thank Garth**. They are my touchstones. They feel like home.

**Remember when I went to St. Louis over the 4th of July? While there, I met the cutest cutest lady who was so cute she would say, "Oh my garsh" instead of taking the Lord's name in vain, she didn't want to be offensive. It was there and then I decided I should try and be less offensive, too! but instead of saying garsh I would substitute Garth since I really really really like Garth Brooks, so saying his name a lot would just make me happier. I hope Garth doesn't mind. Garth bless you. Oh my Garth. See? Nice.

The Taste of Summer

This is a party in my mouth:

We wait until the corn is in at Foote's greenhouse down in the Valley, they grow the sweetest corn with kernels that explode in your mouth. We picked up a couple dozen ears, enjoyed a summer supper of corn and fresh peaches (also from Foote's) and then I made summer salsa.

You don't even have to boil the corn, just cut it right off the cob. Fresh tomatoes (they were lame, from Giant Eagle), black beans, red & green peppers, green & purple onions, fresh garlic, chopped cilantro, a drizzle of olive oil and the juice of a lime. Baked Tostido scoops provide the perfect vessel to carry it to your lips. And the party begins.