Are you there God? It's me, Heather.

I suppose the goat never really had a chance.

2009-10-12T22:22:00.001-07:00

It seems that every time I visit my grandparents he has a new and interesting story to share. This last visit, he told me that once upon a time he had a pet billy goat that he lovingly referred to as "Billy."

My Grandpa told us that he loved that goat but if my memory has not failed me, the goat developed a bit of a humping problem and my Grandpa's father, my great-grandfather, said the Billy's life had to come to an end. Grandpa was not about to kill his cloven hoofed friend so his father was going to do the deed. As my Grandpa put it, the goat first had to be hit in the head with a sledge hammer "because that is the only way to kill a goat."

Um, I'm sorry. What?

But, after the first big blow to the head, the goat didn't seem to bat an eye and continued to run around the pen, I don't know, making the fence his woman or something. It was clear Billy was not going down without a fight so I'm pretty sure it ended with a shotgun. However, I have to hand it to the goat for fighting the good fight. And gettin' a little while he was at it.

Note to self: Run toward help, not away from it.

2009-06-30T19:33:00.001-07:00

I am not really the best in emergency situations. Read on.

We moved into a new house when I was going into the 4th grade. My grandparents we over and were helping with the move as well. The moving truck was backed up to the garage and my Dad and Grandpa were taking some of the heavier furniture off the back of the truck. While they were trying to get a huge cabinet off the truck, my Grandpa lost his footing and just as I was coming into the garage from the house, I saw my grandpa fall backward off the truck onto his butt and then watched his head slam against the concrete garage floor. He then let out the most horrifying moan that I imagine is the same as the sound of a Yeti dying. I completely freaked out and screamed and then ran the opposite direction from my grandpa into the back yard (away from any people that could actually help) and yell, "CALL 911! CALL 911!!!"

I suppose looking back, I did better than my grandma who supposedly was running around on the front lawn in circles and screaming as though she was being chased. And I suppose I did better than my dad who, after my grandpa had regained consciousness and the paramedics had arrived, told our neighbors that he hadn't fallen but rather my dad pushed him. Lovely.

My mom did the best job of all of us and right after my grandpa fell, he ran across the street into our neighbor's open door, right into their house and said, "Hi, I'm Allison. I live across the street now and I need to call 911."

Welcome to the neighborhood!!!

My grandpa was fine and made a full recovery. And I suppose I was able to redeem myself a few months ago. I came home to my complex to find my neighbor standing on the curb holding her baby and yelling for help. Her giant, scary, lion dog had attacked her. That's right people, HER DOG. THE HAND THAT FEEDS IT. Her jeans were torn. Although completely unharmed her baby clothes were covered in blood and chunks of skin were hanging from my neighbors jeans. Although I did not call 911 this time, at her insistence, I had her come into my house and sit down. I called her husband and waited with her for her sister in law to show up and drive her to the ER. She was really thankful for my help.

A lot of people have asked me why I let her in my house or apologized to me for having to deal with a hysterical woman. To that I just say, she was just a person that needed my help. So I helped her. Does that make me a hero or a human? Maybe a little of both?

If I could time travel, I'd go to 1955

2009-05-27T21:24:00.001-07:00

We recently started watching Mad Men on DVD. Based on what I have seen, I don't really know why I would want to revisit this era as a woman. What traveling to this time means is that one, I will be a chain smoker. Additionally, I will either be a secretary who is sleeping with a married man (aka: my boss) or I am covering his tracks of infidelity from his wife. Or, the best of all I am married to an unfaithful husband while I stay home and take care of the kids. Did I mention I probably have a drinking problem too. Also the food looks terrible. What is up with suspending everything in jello and putting canned pineapple on canned ham, anyway? Blech.

So why do I want to go back to the 50's? 4 words: Awesome hair. Awesome clothes.

I'll deal with the sexism and a little lung cancer.

Conversations with Jessie

2009-05-25T10:15:00.000-07:00

(Regarding the Tamarin Monkey we were looking at, at the Oakland Zoo)

Heather: And there are people out there that seriously don't think that we evolved from primates.
Jessie: I know, right?
Heather: I mean, look at that face. It is like a mini human face.
Jessie: And that is pretty much what I look like most Saturday mornings.

'Tis better to be a wuss and not decide.

2009-05-18T14:54:00.001-07:00

"And this, boys and girls, is why Heather drinks wine."

Better to have loved and lost? Well this seems like the obvious "right" answer. The problem with me is that I hate the "lost" part. In fact, I wish the sentance read, "Tis better to have loved." The End. No lost. Nothing gets taken away. How about that?

The thing is I know me, and although I don't like to speak in absolutes, I feel like I really can't recover when this mean old "lost" thing happens. So maybe ignorance really is bliss. Because maybe the pain, sadness, and anger you feel about the loss is not worth the few moments of love you felt in the first place? For me it wasn't. So that begs, the question: What do I do now? Give up? Risk feeling like the shittiest if the shit again. Or worse? Spend the rest of my life wondering, "what if" all because I did give up and didn't take another risk just to protect my sanity?

You see, to me it is a vicious cycle that I feel like I am stuck on and frankly I am about ready to get off this ride.

I like to relax with acupuncture

2009-05-15T13:02:00.001-07:00

Acupuncture Barbie

There are many things I do to relax really. Probably because so much of my life feels like I am constantly struggling to achieve a state of relaxation and less worry.

Cooking is a good technique. The prep work involved is very soothing to me.

I don't clean to relax. This really is a double edged sword though, because a lot of times the stress is amplified by the fact that my house is a mess. So instead of picking up a broom, I watch ridiculous reality TV which makes me realize that my life is not nearly as bad as any of those people. So what if I haven't folded the laundry! Heidi just married an abuser! And don't even get me started on Jon and Kate Plus 8!

Lately however, I have been using acupuncture as a means to relax. I should start by saying the lady I go to is crazy. She is very difficult to understand do the language barrier. (That is not what makes her crazy, by the way). What does make her crazy is that she talks CONSTANTLY. She leaves me be once all the needles are placed but before and after that it is one strange story after another. For example, she has told me EVERY TIME I HAVE GONE TO SEE HER that her husband "played around with other women." So they are divorced. She has repeatedly tried to get me to go to her church, specifically so I can talk to this one lady, "Monica" who is "white like me, the same culture, so she will understand what I am going through."

And the list goes on. So why do I keep going to her? Well I am trying to keep an open mind. Supposedly, she works wonders. (So she says). And quite honestly, when I am in the room alone, albeit covered in needles, I can really clear my head and just be. Also she gives an awesome acupressure massage which is an added bonus.

When I was telling a friend of mine about my adventures at acupuncture she did call me out though. She said, "Admit it Heather. Now you are just going to for more stories for your book."

She's probably right.

The lesson to be learned? Always take the cookie.

2009-04-26T17:48:00.001-07:00

I was a good kid. Seriously. I never had a detention, got suspended or a Saturday school or even a paper pick-up. (Paper pick-ups were a demeaning punishment in Junior High where you had to spend your lunch break picking up trash in a designated area of the school. I don't know what was worse, knowing that everyone knew you were bad, or touching the trash). So I made sure to never do anything that would warrant that kind of punishment. Teachers freaking loved me.

But in the second grade, no amount of explaining was going to get me out of this one.

Let me first preface this story with the following:

I DID NOT THROW THE COOKIE!

I swear on my family's life, I did not throw the cookie. The following is the God's honest truth.

My friend tried to give me her cookie in a plastic baggie (the baggie is a key part of the story later.) I did not want the cookie. Why? I have no idea. In retrospect I should have just taken the damn thing. I gave the baggie back to her and said, "I don't want it." She gave it back to me, "yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

You see where this is going? So now it had turned into a game, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, I snapped the baggie back at her and said, "I don't want it!!" It was not a hard snap. I don't think I would even say I "threw" the cookie from my lunch box to hers. Now, I don't know if it was the fling of my wrist or the force of the cookie hitting the side of her lunch box that sent the cookie flying 3 tables behind me to then land in someone's mashed potatoes.

I was completely dumbfounded. I was now holding an empty plastic bag. It was then that the evil lunch lady came barreling down the isle and told me to get my things because I was going to the office. I tried to explain, "But I didn't throw the cookie! I don't know what happened."

"Oh yes you did! I saw you!!"

Liar!!! What could she have seen?? I didn't do it! I was crying and trying to explain myself but she would not hear any of it. I remember saying that I was really sorry but I did not throw it! The office was shocked to see me in there. She told me that I would need to eat my lunch in the office for one week. This was a new thing the principal (who was also a terror) was trying to cut down on food fights during lunch. I asked to see my mom, who was a yard duty a couple times a week at my school.

"I'm can't get your mom!" she yelled at me.

When I told her that my mom was the yard duty she said, "Your mom is Allison Andersen? I am so ashamed of you."

Bitch.

My mom came and I told her what happened. She was not happy at all about what lunch lady said to me. My mom believed me that I did not throw the cookie and said that the reality was that some people, this lady included, are just mean and like to exert there power over the weak. But, the reality was, I was probably just going to have to eat lunch in the office.

But my mom got her revenge. Every single kid that she saw through anything thing from an entire roast chicken to a cheeto was sent to the office. I think she took about 25 kids into the office the next day for the food throwing offense.

My mom rocks.

Put down the Laffy Taffy, man!!!

2009-04-06T19:44:00.000-07:00

My teeth suck.

But I don't get it. I think I take pretty good care of them; I brush twice a day and floss, I think more than the average person. Despite all my love and care, it seems that my teeth are still made of chalk or something. My most recent adventure (which is not over yet) is that I am getting a crown. Yay! So basically what the dentist does is grinds your tooth down to nothing but a stump, glues a temporary crown in and then you have to wait about two weeks for the permanent tooth to come in.

What was great about my procedure was that the Novocaine was not really working. Even after four shots of the juice there were still parts of the tooth that, when she buzzed over it with one of her torture tools, felt like she was shooting electricity into my jaw. Since most of my face was numb at this point I just wanted it to be over and so I took a death grip on the chair and said "Finish. Just finish NOW!" But, what I wanted to say was "Jesus Christ, just punch me in the face! Please for the love of God. PUNCH ME IN THE FACE!!!!" A punch would have done one of two things: Knocked me out completely or caused permanent brain damage that would make me forget this hellish day ever happened.

When she was done trying to kill me, I needed a moment. I went into the bathroom and looked at the tooth that once was. Thankfully it is all the way in the back. But as I looked at this disgusting little nub, all I could think was, "Well, I guess that is done." That's it. Done deal. It is never coming back. And with my track record, I have a feeling I will end up with a mouth full of nubs someday.

The first temporary crown she tried to make didn't come out right so she scraped the idea of trying to make one and I gots myself a little bling baby! She capped the nub with a metal tooth. Hot. But whatever, it is only for two weeks. I waited well over an hour for the tooth to set and around 8:30 pm, at least two hours after the tooth was placed on me, I ate some dinner. I thought leftover pasta was a safe bet. About four bites in to my meal, that little thing popped right off. So now I have a mouth full of hot food and a live tooth without the protection of m newly acquired "grill." How does it feel? Go chew on some foil for a while or stick your tongue on a 9V battery. Kinda like that.

I go back in the next day and she fits me with a better temporary made from a mold of my actual tooth so "this one will be better." I see the irony in it now but it was 3 days later, while eating a bowl of "Cracklin' Oat Bran" cereal for breakfast, my "better fitting" tooth was now floating around in my mouth, AGAIN. This time, the dentist said to me, "You know, I have never had a patient come back more than once to fix a temporary crown."

Well, lucky freaking me.

So the moral of this story, take good care of your teeth. After the second reattachment, the tooth is still holding. But, I have no doubt in my mind that I will be back in the chair before my permanent tooth comes in. But if my teeth continue down this path of destruction, I am just going to have to find someone who does sedation dentistry. Either that or self medicate before appointments with a healthy combination of Valium and vodka.

I couldn't agree more.

2009-03-24T14:11:00.001-07:00

I strongly believe that one of the only reasons I can handle the demands of my job is because of post-it notes. If I don't have a pack sitting on my desk within reach at all times I get the shakes and start talking in tongues. I remember the day they came out with Super Sticky Notes like it was yesterday. And the day I got my pop-up notes with a dispenser? I could hear the angels singing.

So you can only imagine how I felt when saw this video. Glorious.

Let's git er done!

2009-03-23T22:29:00.001-07:00

Plinky asked me to create a bucket list. I don't think I am asking to much, do you?

Become a Mom
One might think this is too obvious of a "bucket list" item. However, this is proving to be much more of a difficult challenge for me. I know I will get there. It is just taking a bit longer than planned and I think if I set it as a goal to accomplish before I die, I am sure to achieve it.

Oh, and word to the wise: It is rude to ask a woman when and if she is planning on having children because you don't know a thing about her. That being said, if you ask me, I might cut you. Also, don't ever tell me to relax. Because if you do, I just might ask you how easy it is to relax while I am hurling my fist at your jaw bone.

Go to Africa
Cliche? Sure. But I don't care and I think it is something that everyone should do at least once in their life. My dear friend Annie just got back from a trip to Africa where she volunteered at a orphanage. She told me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I had gone I would have left Africa with a baby. (Hmmmm....interesting....see #1)

Live in a house with character
I want built-ins, original hardwood floors, leaded glass windows and maybe a wrap around porch. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the newness of a track home that requires little to no work other than moving in. I appreciate the fact that the plumbing or heating doesn't need to be replaced every year. But there is still something that draws me to a house that needs a little TLC. A house that my hands were a part of. This kind of stuff would help me look past the fact that my toilet OVERFLOWS EVERY DAY.

See a ghost
I am strangely obsessed with ghosts. I have no solid evidence of their existence but if they are real I sure would like to meet one. Preferably a friendly one.

Publish something
The interweb has made it fairly easy to pretty much say whatever you want and make it available for the world to read. I do this less than often on my blogs where little to no one reads or cares what I have to say. I would like to think that if given the opportunity others might enjoy what I have to say and by others I mean not my mom.

Seat me next to the quiet starer, please

2009-03-15T22:45:00.001-07:00

I think my best friend, Brittaney, asked the right question: first and foremost, why would I ever be on a day long bus trip. That being said, I choose the starer.

You have make your choice based on who you can most easily get away from. Now, "Chatty Cathy" to your left may be annoying but is quite possibly very nice lady who just wants to share her story with anyone who will listen at the doctors office, in line at the grocery store or on a bus as the case may be. I don't want there to be any hurt feelings or have to tell her that I am going to be moving seats because if I don't I am going to shove spoons in my ears.

Poor Cathy.

Now, the starer is clearly a freak. So I say after one request for him or her to "Please stop staring at me" you are with your full authority to give them one serious stink eye and move several rows back.

'I Will Survive' will help you through a break-up

2009-03-13T13:08:00.001-07:00

I have had very few relationships in my life considering I have known my husband since I was 12 years old. But there was a brief time period in our life as a couple where we found it best to go our separate ways. (We had a lot of growing to do between 10th and 11th grade). It is what I refer to as the "dark year." For that reason, I only have one song that really means anything to me in regards to a break up.

I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor

At the school talent show, Grant sang this song. I remember sitting in the audience thinking, "What the hell is he trying to do to me? So it was that hard being with me that you describe life after me as 'survival'?" To this day he swears that he covered it because Cake covered it and he liked Cake. Yeah, whatever. Glad it helped one of us.

The food saver is a winner!

2009-03-10T12:31:00.001-07:00

New Food Saver by webg33k

One of my favorite places on the planet is the county fair. It has the whole package; fried food, animals, rides and carnies. One part of the fair that can't be skipped are the warehouses full of arts and crafts, chiropractors ready to give you an adjustment the famous "As Seen on TV" items for sale. I think of this place as a safe haven from the heat of the summer. What I do not think of this place is a place to go shopping. In fact, talking to any of the sales people in there terrifies me a bit. I have gotten good at avoiding an unwanted conversation.

1. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT.
2. When they ask you if you would like to "Try this fabulous new (fill in the blank) pretend you don't hear them.
3. Eat a funnel cake. The thing is covered in powdered sugar and there is no way they are going to want your sticky hands anywhere near their product.

So, I would like to say I have never been duped by any infomercial item but that would be a lie. Although I did not buy it at the fair, my mom and sister and I went in on a Food Saver for my Dad. My father is IMPOSSIBLE to buy for mainly because he wants nothing for his birthday and when you ask him what he wants he says sternly, "I don't want anything for my birthday. And I am serious. Dead serious."

You see how helpful he is. We have to go practical when it comes to Dad's gifts. Since he is known for his smoked salmon and it stores best in a vacuumed sealed bag, this was the perfect option. He loves it and uses it all the time. To this day he will still say "That as a really good gift."

Woot!

My handy dad.

2009-03-03T12:42:00.001-08:00

Handiness does runs in my family. Both my Grandfathers are quite the craftsmen. My dad is very handy and even my mom for that that matter. But it seems the handy gene stopped with me.

The best examples I can use are my "school project" examples. The two that quickly come to mind are the replica of the Mission in the 4th grade and the rubber band powered car in 7th. The instrcutions for both projects was to "build" something. Well, they might as well have been in French once building was involved. My father, however? He was like a kid in a candy store. He was so excited about building the Mission (Mission Soledad, to be exact) that we failed to read the size limitations. The Mission was supposed to be no bigger than 12 inches by 12 inches. Mine had to be carried by several people and was large enough for several cats to sleep comfortably. He even helped me to stucco the outside walls of the church to make it really look like adobe. There was also talk of hooking up lights to make it "really cool" but I think the idea was squashed considering the fact that I am pretty sure the monks didn't have access to Chirstmas lights.

In 7th grade we had to make a car that was powered by rubber bands or string or angels or something. It had to be able to get up a ramp. The competition part of it was that there would be 2 cars coming up either side of the ramp (making a peak in the middle) and whose ever car could push the other back down their side would win and move on to the next round and so on. One car would remain in the end and be named champion.

My father had to win.

There were very specific items you could and could not use. My dad's idea was to build a car shaped like a right tri-angle, the angled side facing forward. As the car would move forward a huge, heavy dowel would roll down the front of the car and out ahead of it, crushing anything in it's path. He was convinced we were a sure win. The night before the competion, he drew flames and wrote "No Fear" all over the car. Although slightly embarrassed, I thought he just might be right. In order to set up the car, there was twisting and winding of string and rubber bands involved. This had to be "DONE IN A VERY SPECIFIC WAY OR THE CAR WOULD NOT WORK. HEATHER!!!!"

Well, guess what?? I didn't wind it right. And I am pretty sure we were out in the first round. And my mom caught it all on video. To this day my father still talks about that car and how, "if only I had....."

And despite everything I just told you my father swears that all he did was help me and by no means did he make either of those thing "for me." But to that I say, "Ok Dad. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Thank God he is a handyman.

Well, you are not my mom's butt.

2009-02-22T19:15:00.001-08:00

I was three years old and it was the first time I actually remember the feeling of embarrassment. My mom had dragged me out on a shopping trip for something lame like, well, anything that was not toys for me. While my mom was looking at some items against the wall of the store, I was doing what every child does in a boring women's clothing store; hiding inside of the free standing racks of clothes. On the floor under one of the racks I found something really cool. (Ok, it was like a button or something). And I had to go over to my mom and show her my treasure.

I ran up to my mom, whose back was to me, and she was slightly bent over to look at something on one of the lower racks. I was so enthralled by the item in my hand I was not looking at my mom when I started to smack her butt and say, "Mom, Mom, Mom, look what I found! Mom! Mom! Mom!" It was after about the 5th or 6th "Mom" and about the 100th spank on the rear that I heard my ACTUAL Mom say from the other side of the store, "Um, Heather?"

Horror came over me as I looked up at the face of a woman who was not my mom, and then at the hand of mine that had been smacking her ass.

My advice: Be careful on the highways.

2009-02-11T21:37:00.001-08:00

Modarres Highway / Tehran by Hamed Saber (Hamed Saber)

My late Great-Grandmother was full of great one liners. Some of these included:

"That girl was thinner than a bar of soap with a weeks worth of wash on it!"

OR

"That child was slower than molasses in winter!"

Besides these, she was known making some inappropriate comments that only a 95 year old women can get away with saying. One, for example, was the time she unknowing thought that "lesbians" were "Lebanese people." Awesome.

She also gave me some of the best advice. Every time she would write me a letter or talk to me on the phone she would say, "Be careful on the highways." What better advice is that? And what better place to be extra careful? Since she lived in West Virginia, it was her way of making sure we were mindful drivers. Well, mindful drivers that hopefully will not be influenced by those crazy San Francisco "Lebanese."

My fear of Santa Claus

2009-02-05T08:28:00.001-08:00

Let me paint you a little picture:

It is Christmas Eve and it is time for bed. You need to make sure you get in bed early and fall asleep in plenty of time so Santa doesn't skip over your house. Why, who is this "Santa" person you speak of, Mother? Well, he is a giant, overweight man, dressed in all red velour that is going to come down your chimney into tonight while you are sleeping and leave you gifts under your Christmas Tree.

So, basically what you are telling, Mom, is that this "Santa" character will be breaking and entering into my house and you, dad and the rest of the world apparently, are ok with all of this??

Christmas Eve nights were always pretty restless ones for me as a child. I remember very clearly, the Eve where the unthinkable happened. I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. Here is the bargaining that went on in my head:

1. Fall back asleep and hold it until morning. (Unlikely to happen, the more you think about not peeing, the more you actually have to pee.)

2. Call for mom and dad. (But then Santa might hear me!)

3. Pee the bed. (Looking like my best choice at this point.)

Well, I didn't pee the bed. I risked it all and fearfully walking back and forth from the bathroom to my room, convinced I was going to come face to face with Kris Kringle himself.

Don't get me wrong, I was always excited in the morning. The gifts were always worth the night of sheer terror. Still, I would have preferred if the story went something like this:

"...and all year long, Santa Claus makes toys with the elves in his workshop in the North Pole until finally on Christmas Eve, he has his elves arrange that all the gifts for the good little boys and girls of the world be delivered via FedEx and dropped of on your doorstep in a completely non-scary and non threatening way."

That is my kind of Christmas miracle.

America needs Jessie Spano

2009-02-03T17:06:00.001-08:00

Jessie Spano
She's a hard worker, smart as a whip and will do what she needs to do to get the job done. Just make sure you keep the caffeine pills away from her.

Ina Garten
Someone needs to keep the President and all his peeps full and happy with dishes like her famous beef bourguignon, pumpkin mousse and antipasto platers.

John Stewart
Because I think he is the only one that really gets what is going on.

Larger Than Life

2009-02-02T11:53:00.001-08:00

P1010035 by Cyron

The gift came from my Mom's second cousin, making him my third cousin? Or my second cousin, once removed? You see how this is already bizarre that we were getting a gift from this person at all.

Now, I should preface by saying that I was very young when I got this gift, probably 7 or 8. So, my memory of how large it was may be slightly skewed. I remember the box being the size of a refrigerator and inside was a giant stuffed koala bear that was at least 5 feet tall. If my memory hasn't failed me, I think my distant cousin entered a contest where he had to guess how many jelly beans were in a jar and he guessed correctly. The Grand Prize? This strange eye-sore of a toy whom we named "Rudy"

My sister and I were stoked. My parents were less than thrilled. At the time we were living with my Grandparents so we had very limited living space. My sister and I shared a room and there was no way this giant bear was fitting in our tiny room. The only place we had room for it in fact was in the back bonus room of my Grandparents house that my family used as a living room.

Rudy sat there, watching TV with us for quite a long time. I am sure it drove my mother crazy, being the decorator that she is, that this disgusting koala was messing up the feel of the room. She finally convinced my sister and I to donate Rudy to a better home. In this case "donate" may have been code for "dumpster."

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

2009-01-29T12:55:00.001-08:00

As a super hero, of course I would wear tights. But only when appropriate of course. I mean, never with a flip-flop or an open toed sandal. And this is why I would be Heather "The Croc Killer." My basic duties would be to rid the world of all offensive shoe choices, mainly Crocs. The worst of all the shoes, in my opinion. I mean, they have holes in them and are made of foam for God's sake!!! I would, for the most part, be a helpful superhero. For minor shoe offenses my friends and foes would get a second chance to maybe replace the worn out loafer with a sassy wedge or pointy-toed kitten heal. They would be given the option to simply remove their socks if they insisted on wearing their Tevas. And of course, octogenarians would be given a free pass if wearing navy or beige Sas brand shoes. However, there would be no exceptions for Croc-wearers. Anyone found breaking this fashion rule who is not and never has been Mario Batali: instant obliteration.

Better than a pony.

2009-01-25T20:58:00.001-08:00

(This is a post from my wonderful husband's company that just launched last thursday. I realize that the title I gave it makes it seem a little random but I wanted to try posting it to my blog from plinky.com. The question was "What wild animal would you like to have as a pet." Leave it to me to think of something random.)

Just to preface, these are not my "My Little Ponies." Mine prefer not to have their picture taken.

Tea Party! by Mary Bliss (dreamcicle19772006 (Checking Periodcally))

When I was a kid, my sister, cousins and I would play "invisible animals" (I have no idea why I am admitting this openly by the way). We had every animal in the book and they would help us with a variety of things such as saving the world and general crime fighting. My favorite of those animals was a unicorn I called Orange Twilight.

I realize a unicorn is not a "real" animal. But think about all the amazing abilities you would acquire by having a unicorn in your life? Not only do you have the free mode of transportation you have free access to magic as well! Not to mention Twilight's skills in fighting crime.

Conversations with Jessie

2008-12-18T20:07:00.000-08:00

Jessie: Oh God. Man peeing. There's a man peeing.
Heather: Oh God, where? Where?
Jessie: Over by the tree. By the tree!
Heather: OH GOD!
Jessie: I can see his weener! I can see his weener!

Question: Why did I ask, "where?" Why?

Merry Shelloween?

2008-11-02T20:16:00.000-08:00

The 4th annual Shelloween has come and gone. If I do say so myself, it was the best one yet, and here is why:

10. All three Shellen bros were in attendance (with their respective wives) for the first time ever!
9. Joel and Annie wearing costumes that were made for infants.
8. A Stormtrooper in a Burger King mask.
7. The Michael Bolton version of "Jingle Bell Rock."
6. Best robot costume EVER!
5. Three sexy flappers.
4. "Mary-Kate Olsen" drinking a beer from her "Venti" Starbucks cup.
3. The Spanish version of Jingle Bell Rock (Navidad, Navidad, Navidad Rock)
2. Red, green and white candy corn. (You could paint that crap with gold and it would still be disgusting.)
1. The look on everyone's faces when they were greeted at the door with a plate of Christmas cookies and a house all decked out for the holidays.

Merry Christmas, everyone!!

Ask and ye shall receive....

2008-10-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

The name of this blog is "Are you there God? It's me, Heather." Just a silly play on the Judy Blume book? Perhaps. But sometimes there are important questions in life that need answers. So my beautiful babies, I have found a place where the questions go directly to the source. I, for one, can sleep a whole lot easier knowing that my prayers have been answered.

I'll try not to beg.

2008-10-16T22:32:00.000-07:00

Recently I've been thinking about the conversations I will have with my children someday that are synonymous to the ones our parents had with us. I'm talking about the "walked to school barefoot, uphill, both ways" and "it was just a mere 5 cents to go to the picture show" kind of stories.

My stories will probably be something like "I remember the day when you could actually go and watch the plane take off. AND you didn't even need to take off all of your clothes before going through security!" I also think about the things that my kids will ask me that will go something like this, "Wait, when you were a kid people couldn't...?" I remember when I came to the realization that, wait, within my parents lifetime, interracial marriage was illegal.

Isn't that a beautiful thing? The fact that it was ever illegal seeming unthinkable to a child? A child who never knew interracial marriage was anything but perfectly normal?

Let me have that same conversation with my kids someday. If you live in California, please vote No on 8.

Wii would like to play.

2008-07-12T11:13:00.000-07:00

I consider myself to be a fairly easy-going wife. My husband is in a rock band and I knew what I was getting into when I married him. The guitars. The amps. The pedals. The literally hundreds of CDs and all the other various noise-making thingies. I have never told him he couldn't purchase another piece of musical equipment. I consider it an expense and I am okay with that.

So then he tells me he wants to drop several hundred dollars on a Wii?? No way, I said. There are so many other things that he could buy with that money that goes to the band; a video game system is a waste. Hence began my plan to buy him the Christmas gift of the century.

It still took some convincing for sure. I never grew up with video games. My mother did not allow them in the house, not so much because of my sister and me but because I think she was afraid she would never see my father again. But more than that, I DIDN'T CARE. Video games were fun at other people's houses but I had way better things to do with my time like My Little Ponies, playing house and terrorizing my sister. In fact, I was never a big fan of arcades or cartoons even. Grant thinks I am abnormal and I say, excuse me if I preferred things that were REAL and you could actually TOUCH!

Also, I had no idea what getting a Wii around Christmas entailed. When I finally decided to get one, I walked into the game shop around the corner and said, "I'll take one Wii console, please!" The guy at the counter looked at me as though I had just asked him to ovulate and said, "Yeah, we don't have any of those but here's my card, call every day at noon when we get our shipments in. If we still have one when you call we'll hold it, but only for 15 minutes and then you are at the mercy of the crowds."

Okay? There was a lot more to this than I thought. I also tried Craigslist but this is what the posts would say:

"Wii console and games available. Bring no one and cash only to the location that will be delivered to you via carrier pigeon. You will meet a man wearing gray chinos and a "Members Only" jacket. He will be standing in front of the Chipotle. Upon arriving, he will take to you a secret elevator which you will ride to the center of the earth. There you will find a unicorn. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE UNICORN. It is only after the unicorn has left that you will receive you Wii console. Two nunchucks included."

Riiiiight. I am not about to get all "ninja style" up in here. I just want a freaking Wii. Long story short, I got one. It was an awesome Christmas. And guess what else? I LOVE IT!!! And I am now making up for all the years without one. Although, it has created one slight issue in the Shellen house: competition. At least I think this is an issue but Grant doesn't care. Why should he care? He beats me all the time! The reason, I think, is two-fold:

1. He plays more than I do.
2. He is a boy and was born with the "very-good-at-video-games" gene. It is the gene that is right next to the "inability-to-hear-your-wife-when-there-is-a-guitar-in-your-hand" gene and the "awesome-at-sound-effects" gene that girls simply were not born with.

The ONLY thing I can beat Grant at on the Wii is the boxing game in Wii Sports. I pulverize him every time. And his response to my consistent winning? "Okay, there is something wrong with my controller because I am doing EXACTLY what you are doing and my guy is NOT punching." Sure babe, that is the reason I am kicking your ass, not because I have mad skills.

Recently we acquired the coveted Wii Fit. It is intended to be an exercise program that comes with what looks like a small step aerobics step – a Wiimote for your feet, if you will. It has a variety of games that are aerobic, strength training, balance exercises and yoga. And you can play any of these games in the privacy of your own home after completing a simple "Body Test." Sure, not scary right? Well...

First, you enter your height, year of your birth and approximate weight of your clothes, a couple of randomly selected balance exercises are presented. After completing those, the Wii evaluates your posture and sense of balance and tells you what it thinks. Do you know what it asked me? "Heather, do you often find yourself tripping when you walk?" Nice.

Then, just like in every woman's worst nightmare, it calculates your BMI and your weight. But it doesn't just pop up on the screen with its answer. Nooooooo! In a cute little voice, it announces to the room that "You're overweight!" As if that were not punishment enough, your Mii character then GETS FATTER!!! After your Mii looks at the newly formed love handles, it then tells you your "Wii Fit age." Mine? 10 years older than my real age. "Wow Heather, your body is a lot weaker than it should be!" It was about this time that Grant had to ask me politely not to throw the new toy at the television.

And just like when we first acquired our Wii, Grant is killing at all the games and the body fit tests. You know what? So what if your weight is "normal" and and people like you are "less likely to develop heart conditions." And so what if your Wii Fit age is six years younger than your actual age? I brought this Wii into this world and so help me God, I can take it out of it.

Seriously cannot stop hitting repeat

2008-07-07T22:48:00.000-07:00

This is currently my favorite song. I should also mention that I am, like, two degrees of separation away from being Jason Mraz's BFF as he knows my friend Joel by name. Well, at least he did six years ago when we saw him at the Fillmore. By name I tell you. If I had just a few more seconds with the guy I'm convinced that he would have been coming to Christmas dinner that year. But I digress.

Below is an excellent rendition of the song "I'm Yours." I can't decide what my favorite part of the video is. It is either the fact that there is a garden gnome sitting on a stool next to Toca or how ridiculously sexy is it that Jason sings only out of the right side of his mouth.

The video is a bit long so you might not be able to hang through the breakdown at the end. But seriously, did you already forget what I said? RIDICULOUSLY SEXY!

Conversations With Jessie

2008-04-22T23:49:00.000-07:00

Jessie: So I know I am really not up to date on all of this stuff but PowerPoint is so cool!
Heather: Sure.
Jessie: I mean I know there is probably something out there that is way better considering most people were doing PowerPoint presentations my freshman year of High School, but I am seriously amazed.
Heather: Well, I am glad you have a new hobby.
Jessie: And then I used a scanner for the first time! Oh my God that thing is so cool. I mean it is like you put the picture there and it just...comes up on the screen.
Heather: That is kinda the idea.
Jessie: And you can change the fonts too!
Heather: Riiiight.
Jessie: Yeah, I am a little behind the times.

Conversations with Jessie

2008-04-03T10:34:00.000-07:00

Jessie: What are you doing?
Heather: Staring at the fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner.
Jessie: What do you have?
Heather: Some chicken tenders. Any ideas?
Jessie: Um...Oh! You should make that thing you made the one time with the chicken. I have no idea what it was but it was really good!
Heather: Yeah, thanks, I'll try that.

The new theme song for my life.

2008-03-30T18:55:00.001-07:00

I am so inviting the girl on the right to my next birthday party.

For more hilarious singing, I recommend you check out the Bulgarian version of "William Hung" and first watch this and then this.

You know it is time to stop drinking when...

2008-03-24T12:41:00.000-07:00

...you go to order your fourth drink of the night and you ask the bartender for an "Absolut Mandarin and Vodka."

Yes, can I have a little vodka with my vodka.

Conversations with Jessie

2008-03-12T23:29:00.000-07:00

Voicemail message:

Um hey, it's me. I think I need to go to counseling or something because I can't seem to stop myself from lying to strangers. I don't know what my problem is, I guess I panic or something. I don't know, call me back.

Heather: Hey. I got your message. What are you talking about?
Jessie: I can't not lie to strangers.
Heather: Like that time you told the Mormon missionaries that came to the door you were not interested because we were moving to Montana?
Jessie: Yeah. And the time that that guy asked me about my "fighting Irish" temporary tattoo and I said it was because Dad went to Notre Dame.
Heather: So, what did you do this time?
Jessie: I was at Starbucks this morning and I was wearing running pants and running shoes and the barista asked me, 'Going for a run?' And I said 'Yeah.' Then he asked me how much I run and I said, 'I like to do about 2 miles a day. I am trying to work my way up.'
Heather: Jessie! You know all you have to say is, "No actually, I don't run. Thank you for my latte."
Jessie: I know.
Heather: Where do you get this from. It's not like Mom and Dad lie!
Jessie: I think I panic. Or maybe it is thrilling for me to see how far I can take the story....I have issues.

SLO

2008-02-18T22:15:00.000-08:00

It's really convenient being born near a three-day weekend. Not only does it mean I have a day off, it also means it's mini-vacation time! This past weekend, Grant and I went down to San Luis Obispo for a very nostalgic mini-vacation. We are very fond of San Luis Obispo. Grant went to school there, and I did not. I went to Sac State. The distance was about as fun as an unmedicated root canal and one of the only things that made it bearable was our frequent trips to visit one another.

We still try to do these trips as frequently as we can, and we often find ourselves in the comfort of San Luis Obispo. A lot has changed about the city since Grant went to college there. Specifically, a lot has changed about the way we "roll" when we spend the weekend there, but some things have stayed the same.

First similarity: we stay in a hotel. That's right, back in college and now, we sleep in hotels. Why? Because in college Grant lived in a hotel for the first year. This means that he had a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom and maid service. I, on the other hand, lived in a dorm. I had a twin bed, shared a public restroom with 30 other girls, and had to wear shower shoes to avoid staph infections. But I'm not bitter at all. Living in a cinder-block-walled room the size of a pantry is all part of the college experience. Grant was the one who missed out.

What also has not changed is a trip to Bali's Self Serve Frozen Yogurt. Self-serve yogurt and toppings?!?! Ingenious. It is a place where I see all my childhood dreams coming true. As a kid, I hated the fact that you never got enough toppings. If I'd had it my way, I would have preferred to have a little yogurt with my toppings. In fact, I remember wanting to invent a place called a "topping store." I guess no one was willing to burst my bubble and tell me that such a thing already existed in what is commonly known as a "candy store."

However, a lot of our activities have changed since college, but I think I can say with quite a bit of confidence that Grant and I still know how to party.

In college, our days were often spent sleeping in until the early afternoon and then spending the day lounging and gearing up for the evening festivities. This past weekend, however, we did what any young, twenty-something, childless couple would do on a weekend away. We went and saw the elephant seals in San Simeon...twice. And let me tell you, do elephant seals know how to party! The males are all, "Hello ladies!" and the ladies are all, "Nuh-uh. Oh no you di-unt. You ain't gonna be my baby daddy!" But unfortunately, in the elephant seal world, no does not mean no.

But those aren't the only Bulls Grant and I are familiar with down there. In college, we spent many a Saturday night at Bull's Tavern. To give you an idea of the quality that is Bull's Tavern, just read the first few reviews that I linked to; the place is glorious. These days, we no longer make the time for this delightful dive. Because honestly, how much fun is it really going to be for Grant and me to hang out with girls in jean mini-skirts, thongs and Ugg boots who routinely jump up on the bar when "Welcome to the Jungle" comes on the jukebox? I have moved on from Purple Hooter shots and Rolling Rocks. When I go out for a drink, I want to wear my pearls and I want it to be a dirty martini with Grey Goose. And I want this drink after dinner, so around 9:30-ish. Because I want the lights to be out at 10:30; I don't want to be going out at 10:30.

So yes, I'm getting older. A year older just a few days ago to be exact. Sometimes it's hard to swallow. College was fun and partying was exciting and I miss it sometimes. And yes, I am ready to call it a night when all the young 'uns are heading out for a night of debauchery. I like to think these changes are just preparing us for what lies ahead in the (hopefully) near future. Or, maybe we are just two mini-vacations away from smelling like moth balls in our gold Lincoln Continental. But so long as I am with this guy, I'll take it.

Call your Grandmother!

2008-02-11T20:42:00.000-08:00

Me: Hi Grandma. How are you?
Grandma: I'm fine, how about you?
Heather: Fine. I am calling you for no reason at all.
Grandma: Well that's the best reason for calling!

I would have to agree. Today you should call your [insert someone important in your life here] for no reason at all.

Laid out

2008-01-20T19:16:00.000-08:00

I hurt my back a few days ago and I literally, despite the out-dated cliché, had fallen and I couldn't get up. Grant actually had to come home from work and pick my malfunctioning body up off the floor. What this has made me realize is how often you actually need the use of your back. To name just a few things, walking, standing, sitting, driving, coughing, using the ladies room and really just general moving, all pretty much require a functioning spine.

One other thing that is nearly impossible when you have back muscles that are on strike is laughing. This did not bode well for me when I had to have my sister drive me to my doctor appointment. The worst was when she made me laugh when only about half of my contorted body was flopped into the car. Despite the excruciating pain from the laughing, I couldn't stop myself when she starting singing "Inchworm, Inchworm" a la Danny Kaye from the Hans Christian Andersen Musical as I tried to finagle my uncooperative legs into the car. You probably had to be there, but the inflection in her voice was classic.

I could tell that Jessie felt bad, since I started screaming, and people were starting to stare and she said, "Okay, we're done now. How about I just turn on the radio and I won't speak anymore?" But then I had what I like to call "the church giggles." All it took was for me to make the slightest snort of a laugh and we both lost it again. Jessie yelled, "I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING!!!"

And my response, amidst laughs and cries, went something like this: "I know...AHHH!!! But, OW!!! I am still thinking, OW!! About, AHHH! That damn, SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!!! Inchworm song, OW! And damn you, AHHH!!! For being so funny!!!"

It was agony, hilarious agony.

Grant brought out the secret weapon...

2008-01-11T23:57:00.000-08:00

And that weapon was? The shoes that are guaranteed to make to run faster, jump higher and rock harder.

P.F. Flyers.

I don't really know if it was the shoes, his incredible ability to perform under pressure as seen in this video, or that his newly acquired, perfectly coiffed facial hair was the source of all his powers, but whatever it was, it rocked the house down.

www.farewelltypewriter.com
www.myspace.com/farewelltypewriter

Conversations with Jessie

2008-01-09T23:12:00.000-08:00

Heather: What are you doing?
Jessie: Well, I just finished drinking a glass of unsweetened-not-from-concentrate-all-natural cranberry juice.
Heather: And?
Jessie: My bladder has never felt more fabulous.
Heather: Are you being serious, or are you just saying that?
Jessie: I am just saying it. But I am saying it because I have faith in my heart that because of this glass of juice, it will be so.

Little Sweet Pea

2008-01-06T22:47:00.001-08:00

I love being an Auntie.

Happy Holidays

2008-01-02T23:29:00.001-08:00

Hope y'all had a Merry Christmas

Love,

The Clashing Plaids.

Sick Joke

2007-12-19T18:33:00.000-08:00

Why does the dentist offer lollipops at the front desk? To add insult to injury? To insure good business? Well, I am not buying it. Furthermore, if I am getting cavities it is going to be from something good. Not some lime-flavored, high fructose corn syrupy things on a stick.

A little father/daughter bonding.

2007-12-15T13:51:00.000-08:00

This is a conversation I never thought I would have with my father:

"Hello?"

"Hi honey."

"Hi Dad, what's up?"

"What was that video that is on the internet you were talking about yesterday? You said it was really funny. What is it called?"

"Well....um, I am in public so....um, 'something' in a box."

"Right. So should I just type in www.di..."

"NO! No, don't do that."

"Should I do a Yahoo search?"

"No, just go to youtube.com and search for it."

"Okay, hang on."

(typing)

"Okay, this one with Justin Timberlake?"

"That would be the one."

"Okay, thanks honey."

"Anytime, Dad."

We were on a break.

2007-12-14T11:29:00.000-08:00

I have a lot of reasons why my posts have not been very up to date. The first reason is crappy and personal which I will not be getting into on the inter-web. The second is that I have been using all my creative juices on ridiculously long email threads composed on Tuesdays that revolve around a show that myself and a few other wonderful women in my life are just slightly obsessed with. It's The Hills and you know what? Don't be a hater. You know you watch it and you know you love it. Go team Lauren!

Anyway, I am back. Not just because I enjoy writing but because I am freaking hilarious. Just saying.

Things that make the south different from California

2007-10-17T21:09:00.000-07:00

1. People are nice: Ok, this is not to say that all Californians are mean because that would be entirely untrue. What I mean to say is, everyone is nice. Not once did we have an encounter with another human being that did not say, "How y'all doing" or something else southerny. Not to mention the eye contact. Take elevators for example. Californians don't typically speak in elevators. Elevators are moving machines that get us from point A to point B so we can get on with our very busy and important very day. It is not a place for chit chat. But in the Tennessee, quite the opposite.

2. People talk a lot: And s-l-o-w-l-y. About pretty much...whatever. I went into a boutique for example and in the course of 10 minutes I learned about how the owner of the business actually acquired the business. See, her daughter, now she went to school out in California and she lived real close to San Francisco. She went to school for art, you know, paintings and things. But when she was finished with that she decided to move home and open a shop. So she did. Now it had its ups and downs here and there, but she enjoyed it. But you see, she had been seeing this boy, her boyfriend I guess you could say for, well, oh about 3 years so they decided to go on a get married. So what does she do? Goes on and moves to Colorado! So she sold her business to her mom and well, the rest is history.

Blink...Blink.... "That's nice....."

I tell you, it is a nice change of pace, but it sure is enough to make a California girl a little uncomfortable.

3. Bathroom Attendants: I have no idea what to do with these. And P.S., what an awful job. Listening to bodily functions all day? Gross. But my biggest question is what the hell is the point? I really think I can figure out how to work the hand soap and get my own hand towel. Also, you are crazy if you think I am going to use any of the hairspray, lotion or lipstick you have laid out for me. I did not come to Tennessee to get a staff infection, thank you.

Our first night there, we ate at BB King's in Nashville. When we were done I had to use the facilities. I walked to the restroom and when I saw the bathroom attendant she was very polite and said "Hello" and I said "Hello" back. But really I was thinking, "Hi there, it is your job to sit here and listen to me pee!" After peeing, I went to wash my hands. This is when I was wildly power-squirted with hand soap from a spray bottle. The lady got me in a sneak attack from behind and I had no idea where the hell it was coming from, not to mention most of the soap got in the sink and on my arms. The woman is paid to perform one simple task. Unbelievable.

I finish washing my hands, (and arms apparently) and it is time to choose a towel. I have 2 choices, paper or cloth. My instinct goes for the paper. Wrong choice. I know this because the lady proceeds to SLAP ME ON THE ASS and tell me that she laid the cloth ones out special just for me. Needless to say, she did not get a tip, although she did ask for one. Classy.

4. Muggy as Hell: The humidity was shocking every time we walked out side. It was only in the 80's but you could feel the air surrounding your body it was so thick; it was like you were wearing an atmosphsere sweater that you couldn't take off. At one point Grant said, "I am hot inside my clothes." It was wrong.

We really did have a great time though, but I have to say, I am happy to be back in California where we don't talk to strangers, we keep our hands to our selevs and where 82 degrees doesn't feel like the seventh circle of hell.

p.s. Read about our food experiences here

Beale Street, Memphis TN.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-10-13T13:04:00.000-07:00

I am a little jealous that I was not present for this conversation but still worth a mention.

(Scene: Jessie's response to seeing a little kid in public with a harness on)

Jessie: You know, I think if you can't keep your kids under control in public then you shouldn't take them in public.
Mom: Yeah....I put you on a leash.
Jessie: WHAT!?!?
Mom: Well, you just started walking and Heather was walking of course and you didn't want to be in the stroller anymore. You wanted to walk with her so I thought I would try it...it didn't last long I swear!
Jessie: Well did Heather have to be on a leash?
Mom: Yeah....no.

It is like a tiny little victory I never knew I wanted to win.

Two years...and change.

2007-10-01T16:57:00.000-07:00

Today is our second wedding anniversary. I say wedding in that way because with Grant and me, the type of anniversary needs to be clarified.

See, first there is June 15, 1995. It was on this day that Grant asked me to be his girlfriend, in front of the band room. So romantic. He had a ring and everything. Granted, it was plastic and in the shape of a squirrel, but it was in a box at least!

This was a super secret anniversary for a while. We were not ready for our parents to know about our love! However, it was a little hard to keep it a secret considering that neither of us drove and a boy who is "just friends" with a girl does not often agree, with little to no complaining, to going to see a romantic comedy unless there is some sort of guarantee that the girl he is with will be making out with him for some portion of the flick. So I think they were onto us. One thing I have actually learned since then: parents are smart. Anyway, this past June, if you were counting from the first time, we have been together for 12 years.

After the great breakup of 1996, due to a flood of raging hormones and melodramatic emotional outbursts, we got back together on January 1, 1998. That time, although he kissed me first, I did the asking out, making this past January mark 10 years.

I don't know what I would have said in 1995 if someone told me what would happen to me on October 1, 2005. I probably would have turned red in the face, giggled and said I didn't believe it. However, part of me wants to believe that all I would have said was "I know." So today makes 2 years, but really I look at it as nearly half my life. We literally watched each other grow up.

It started here...

then here...

and again here...

until finally we made it here:

We have been though a lot together; life and loss. More things in fact, than I thought I would ever have to experience. But I am glad all the things I have been through over the past 12, 10 and 2 years, good and bad, have been with Grant. And despite all of the imperfections and flaws that we have discovered about each other, and many times overcame together, we have always loved each other unconditionally through it all.

Well...almost all of it.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-09-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

(In an effort to not give too much of my Halloween costume away, this conversation ensued because for the costume, I thought I might need to borrow some of my sister's clothes...specifically a dress of some kind.)

Heather: Can I try on your bridesmaid dress from my wedding? Maybe that will work.
Jessie: Yeah, sure.
Heather: You know, I loved these dresses so much. I always wished I could have had one of my own. I never tried one on until now.
Jessie: And I even got to try your wedding dress on.
Heather: Ha ha.
Jessie: No seriously, I did...I was never going to tell you though.
Heather: Shut up!
Jessie: You know, I decided it was not a flattering cut on me.
Heather: Oh my God! So, what did you do when you...when did you...why did you put my dress on?
Jessie: Hmmm, let me think. Because I was alone in a house with a wedding dress...and I am a woman.

The $100 store.

2007-09-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

The $100 store, or the "$50 store" as I try to call it more often so as not to drive us horribly into debt is commonly known to most people as Target. I don't know what it is about that store but when you enter the doors, you are sucked into some kind of alternate reality that convinces you that it doesn't really matter what your original need was when you enter Target because regardless, you will be leaving with either $50 or $100 worth in goods.

Take the other day for example. Grant and I went to Target to purchase the following items:

1. Foil
2. Deodorant
3. Spray-n-Wash

My best estimate: Total cost of the items will be about $13.

Here is what we left Target with (including but not limited too):

1. Halloween socks for my nieces
2. 3 CDs
3. A wicker pumpkin
4. Halloween themed tablecloths
5. A giant, decorative, ceiling spider
6. An "I love Jim Halpert" (from The Office) magnetic notepad for the fridge.
7. Chip clips
8. A houndstooth headband
9. Toilet Paper
10. Foil
11. Deodorant
12. Spray-n-Wash

As you can see, all very necessary purchases. Since I now have come to terms with the fact that it is simply impossible to walk into Target, go directly to the foil aisle, as the case my be, ignore the temptation of the shoes, clothes, decorative candles and clearance end caps, I have decided to embrace it. Since I can typically determine within the first 2 minutes if it is going to be a $50 day or a $100 dollar day, I make every effort to come in just below that number. And the grand total of all our purchases the other day, ridiculous Halloween decor included...$99.45.

Just barely though. As we were about to go check out and we were walking past the shoe section, Grant said, "You know honey, I saw some really cute shoes over there that I thought you might....you know, why do I even suggest these things to you?"

It is a disease, I tell you.

Justice is Served

2007-09-03T18:42:00.000-07:00

The other day, my 2-year-old nephew was stung by a bee. We are all well aware of the fact that a bee gets what it deserves when it stings you because it dies shortly after you are stung. (Is that really true...seriously? Or is that something said to make little kids stop crying? And learn about a little thing I like to call revenge?) Anyway, of course he was fine, just a little shook up.

But for me apparently, death to the little buzzer was not enough. Today on my run...I PUNCHED A BEE! Seriously, reminiscent of a Dane Cook routine, "I punched that bee in the FACE," rendering him unconscious and unable to fly.

Take that bee! That will teach you and your friends to mess with my boy!

Itsy Bitsy?

2007-08-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

I am not afraid of spiders. I just don't want them near me. They just give me a general skin crawling type of willies. I am ashamed to admit it, but I am a spider killer. Growing up, I remember my Dad going on "bug hunts" before bed. He would comb the perimeter of my bedroom where the wall meets the ceiling and take care of any creepy crawlers that would surely come eat me during my slumber.

When I became a preschool teacher, I had to change my killing ways as we taught "non-violence" in my classroom. When bugs (spiders unfortunately included) were found in the classroom, we told the kids that they must be lost and we need to gently take them back outside so they could find their homes again. So, I would scoop the little thing up in a cup and shake it out as far away from my body as my arm could possibly reach. Gross.

Well, my home is no classroom and the spiders should know better as far as I am concerned. Grant is now my protector when it comes to slaying spiders. Usually I exaggerate the size. I will come running down the hall from the bathroom to our bedroom and say, "Honey, there is a HUGE spider in the bathroom!" He will look at me with disbelief and say, "Are you sure it is 'HUGE?'" It is rarely any bigger than a dime.

Yesterday was the exception to the rule. This spider was, in fact, HUGE. I swear to you, as the self-admitting queen of exaggeration, I am not joking when I say this spider had the wing-span of a silver dollar. And its spider ass was the size of a large garbanzo bean. Not to mention its web was starting to block our front door. Something needed to be done.

"Honey, I swear to God, you need to kill that thing."

"No, we can't kill it."

"Why not? If we don't that thing is going to find a way into my bed."

"Honey, I feel bad. I mean, I don't know why I feel less bad killing tiny spiders that I find in the house and I can't kill this giant one."

"Exactly, the ones in the house might be babies...you could be killing a baby. Now just go do it!"

"Well, I mean, I feel like based on the size of that one, it is more advanced...like it has the ability to use tools."

(pause)

"Oh my God, it is on me...I swear I feel it on me"

"Ok, ok...I will kill it."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"What are you going to do if it jumps at you?"

"I will effing freak out."

I wanna rock!!!

2007-08-13T20:40:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Grant and I went to Ameoba Records in San Francisco and saw John Vanderslice do an quaint in-store performance promoting his new album. It started at 2:00 pm and after it was over (around 3:30) Grant said, "I kinda wish all concerts were this early."

Agreed.

It was lovely, after the show we got to enjoy an early supper together and made it home just in time to catch all our programs.

At the show, a few isles in in front of us was a couple that looked about our age and with them, specifically on his dad's shoulders, was their little boy. He was probably about two and a half to threeish. I am sure mom (or dad) saw that there was going to be a concert by one of their favorite musicans, in a music store with no age limitations, cover charge or need for a sitter and they said, "Screw his nap time. We are going to this!"

The little guy did pretty well, actually. When John Vanderslice first came out on stage he was waving at him frantically. And after each song he turned to his mom with a big semi-toothy grin and clapped proudly. Despite how well he was doing, he was bound to get tired. His mom gave him his blanket and a binky and he closed his eyes and laid his head on his dad's shoulder.

This made me think of the time that Grant and I went to see Superdrag at Bottom of the Hill in the city. We had a nice dinner and being that I was freshly 21 years old, I decided to order a glass of wine, house red I am sure. Not realizing the effects that cheap red wine can have I proceeded to get very, very sleepy. You would think it would be impossible to fall asleep during a rock concert. You would be wrong. I started to fall asleep...while standing. Since I knew this was never going to work, I scoped out a stool, placed it behind Grant and leaned my head against his back and fell asleep.

So, it can be done. And this little boy also "pulled a Heather" right in the middle of a rock show. After he fell asleep I thought to myself, toddler, enjoying a rock star, not causing a ruckus, falls asleep without disturbing his father's listening enjoyment...this is everything Grant could ever want in a child.

Oh...you were talking to me?

2007-08-09T12:40:00.001-07:00

The other day I think I was hit on. I say "think" because I think that most of times I am hit on (like men just flock to me or something...hilarious) I am oblivious to what is going on. Basically I have been married, well for about 12 years. Ok, so officially almost two, but Grant and I have been together for as long as I can remember. I think even that brief period we were not together, we both knew we would find each other again. Therefore, I always feel like I am walking around with a giant neon sign flashing over my head that says "TAKEN! TAKEN!"

So if and when it does happen, I am either completely unaware of what is taking place, obviously trying to ignore the advances, or laughing nervously. The other day, I was demonstrating "completely unaware."

I was waiting to cross the street and there was a line of cars stopped at the red light to my left. I thought I saw someone motion to me from a car. I looked and saw nothing. The motioning occurred again. So I looked once again at a gentleman a black convertible, waving to me...with his fingers. Um, creepy. I did not know the gentleman so I thought he must be waving to someone behind me...so I looked. Of course there was no one there and now I feel like a complete idiot. So, I fixed my eyes on the stop light in front of me and refused to peel my gaze away. I mean, I can't look again! I married for God sake! Do you not see my giant neon sign, sir! Meanwhile, the man began to rev his engine to, I don't know, scare me or something. As he peeled out in a last ditch effort to make me all hot and bothered for him, bothered being the operative word, I thought to myself, thank God I never had to play the dating game. As evidence from above, I would have surely lost.

I give life.

2007-07-31T22:07:00.000-07:00

I periodically donate blood and it is always a rewarding but basically uneventful experience. It takes all of about 30 minutes and nothing very exciting ever happens, and for that I am thankful to be very honest. The blood bank will typically have a volunteer there to help you with your treat of juice and cookies after your donation is complete. It is always a very awkward exchange because you sit down in an area that is about 3x3 and the water, juice and cookies are all right there. However, it is the job of the volunteer to walk the 2.7 ft to the water cooler to get your beverage. I always feel so silly being waiting on in that setting. I mean, it is not like I have to run up a hill or battle a dragon before I can get my water. I was able to walk the 15 feet from the donation chair to the "canteen" as they call it. For God's sake, I can walk the two more and get a glass of OJ! But I digress.

Nearly every time I have donated, the volunteer has been an elderly lady named Dolores. She talks (pretty much for the entire 10-minute required waiting period to make sure I don't pass out or something) in a low, mumbly voice. Though it may seem rude, I have found that asking her to repeat what she says does not really change her volume or diction, so I basically smile and nod and try to laugh when she does at her own jokes.

At my last donation, it was not Dolores but a bubbly teenager who quite quickly reaffirmed the fact that I am getting old. During my donation I watched her sing...and kind of dance along to the new Rihanna song, "Umbrella." (Hey, I guess I can't be that old. I did not even have to Google that song title...that's right, I like the funky jams.) As I made my way over to the table she greeted me with a smile full of braces. Oh Lord.

She asked me what I would like to drink and brought me my water. She then sat at the table I was at and just stared at me, smiling. "Thank you." I said. (Wow, that is quite a smile she has there. Uncomfortable...)

"So how are you doing today?"

"Really well, thanks."

"Do you come here a lot?" (To the blood bank? Yeah, totally, it is awesome here!)

"Well, not recently. My iron levels have been too low so I have not been able to donate but I have been taking iron supplements so..." (why the hell am I telling her all this!?!? Ok...now there is awkward silence...why is she still staring at me...)

"Hee-hee...well I am really glad you got that taken care of!" (and hair flip, hair flip)

We had a few more uncomfortable exchanges and then the kicker. I asked, "So, have you ever participated in a blood drive at your high school?"

"Well, I mean, we have had them and stuff but I have never done it because, like, you know how you have to be like 17? Well, you also have to weigh 110 lbs...and I am neither so...hee-hee!"

"Riiight." (I don't remember when I weighed 110 lbs but whatever!)

"And I mean, next year I will be 17 but like, I just don't think that there will be anyway that I can gain 5 pounds between now and then!"

Ok, you know what, honey? I would be willing to bet that these Nutter Butters I am eating right now are probably going to pack on an extra 5 lbs. In fact, just looking at them is probably going to make me gain 5 lbs! And you know what else, lets not even talk about the Pecan Sandies that I am eyeing over there that I probably won't eat right now, but lets face, will take for the road. I gave life today!

Alright, so maybe I am overreacting a little. I know, I am not old. I will say that it is quickly becoming very apparent that people in high school are a lot younger than me now. I don't remember when I reached the point where I no longer felt like I could still identify with them in some way.

But there is still that high school girl in me somewhere. After donating, I went to buy myself a pair of running shoes (See aforementioned Nutter Butters) and I went with the light blue ones, not because they will support my feet and ankles, but because they will look cute with my new running outfit. Some may call me juvenile, but I say that is just good fashion.

Pure Joy.

2007-07-30T22:42:00.001-07:00

I had some of the best company on my vacation.

Kids these days.

2007-07-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

At dinner tonight there was a table kitty-corner from ours that was a party of six girls. If I had to guess they were probably 14-ish. I could be off by a year or two but I can say pretty confidently that the only way those girls got themselves to the restaurant was via parental escort or public transportation. They were all dolled up in an attempt to look a lot older then they actually are even though three of the six girls had braces and I think one had ordered apple juice as her beverage.

All of their outfits made me think of how my father must have felt when I was fourteen and trying to leave the house. One young lady clearly had a sweater on when she left her house, but once out of sight of her parents, quickly removed and shoved it in her purse not to be worn again until returning home. She was wearing a strapless black dress and red bra. Yes, I said strapless and yes, I said bra. Classy.

All six girls had cell phones which they spent approximately 78% of dinner talking on, texting boys, talking pictures of each other or just looking at the shiny buttons. But I think what truly aged these girls was their menu selections as three of the girls ordered french fries...for dinner. Enjoy it while it lasts, ladies.

Welcome home...

2007-07-25T19:55:00.001-07:00

There are a variety of reasons why coming home from vacation sucks. Lucky for us, Grant and I came home to a clean house. I am still not sure how this happened but I am pretty sure gnomes were somehow involved. Even more miraculous, we unpacked within an hour of being home instead of next week, or next Christmas, like we usually seem to do.

One of my favorite activities on this vacation was to go for walks at whatever time of the day I wanted. My walks were not dictated but pesky alarm clocks or work hours. One thing Grant said to me on one of our daily walks was, "Everyone says 'hello' here." It was true; we never passed a fellow vacationer and/or retiree without hearing a friendly greeting of some kind.

So I my walk today I guess I expected the same treatment from passers-by. Well we all know what happens when one assumes. Not a single person that I passed in this quaint and pleasant little town of my mine said so much as hello to me. Vacation is officially over.

I are smart.

2007-07-10T21:52:00.000-07:00

Someone I work with has a daughter that is going to Yale. When I hear things like this I wonder if maybe I was aiming low when I applied (and later was accepted) to Sacramento State. Did I really try? Should I have gone for something more impressive on paper just to say I did it?

As my co-worker talked about Yale, I sort of tuned her out a bit and these thoughts crossed my mind again today like they have million times before...

Yale.....I wonder if I had tried if I could have gotten into Yale....well maybe not Yale...maybe Cal at least....or maybe UCLA...sigh....where is Yale? Seriously...I have no idea, what the hell is wrong with me. Well, I can't ask her! What will she think? She is standing in front of my desk...I can make it look like I am working when in fact I am googling "where is Yale." That's right Heather, just keep smiling...just keep nodding....Connecticut! Excellent....

"Wow, so Connecticut is going to get pretty cold, huh!"

Good save...

Yeah, I think Sac State was a good choice. I don't think my interviews with the staunchy Yale guy would have gone over very well:

Staunchy Yale Man: And do you have any questions for us Miss Andersen?
Me: Um, yes actually...where are you located?

Numero dos.

2007-07-07T13:35:00.000-07:00

I have officially started blog number two which can be found here for your reading enjoyment.

Why, you ask? Beacuse food is tasty and I would love to tell you all about it.

Enjoy!

One more of our silly conversations...

2007-07-03T21:31:00.000-07:00

Grant on fancy cars:

"You know, I am not really into having a super nice car"

"Agreed"

"I guess I am more interested in..."

"Functionality...point A to point B if you will."

"Right. I mean, I don't want an ugly car."

"Sure."

"I guess if I am ridiculously rich one day, I might buy a fancy car. But only after I install the indoor pool."

"Well yeah. I mean, we have priorities."

"Right. And what better way to cool off after dancing all night in the Disco room?"

"Well, that goes without saying."

Growing up boy/girl

2007-07-01T10:01:00.001-07:00

I am not one to buy into gender stereotypes. Girls can play with trucks and get dirty. Boys can play dress up and "house" and fight over who gets to be the mommy at preschool and not grow up gay. (Seriously, ask my mother-in-law about that one...true story). But these beliefs of mine are up against societies norms so lets just face the facts, people.

"Are transformers good guys or bad guys?"

"That depends. Some are good guys and some are bad guys."

"Which is which?"

"The Autobots are the good guys and Decepticons are the bad guys."

"Oh."

"Ok, I will tell you the name of a transformer and you tell me if it is an Autobot or a Decepticon."

"Ok."

"Optimus Prime."

"Decepticon"

"What!?! Decepti...how can you? You know what, we can't talk about this anymore."

So what if I didn't know. What I do know is that anytime I was around any boys playing with those silly little action figure things, they always found a way to ruin a perfectly fancy and lady-like tea party I was having with my Rainbow Brite dolls and My Little Ponies. How rude!

Maybe someday we will be on VH1's behind the music.

2007-06-26T23:25:00.000-07:00

Ok. So I am a little biased, but if you come to one of their shows, you will not only see them live, buy a CD and get it signed by the band (before they were famous), you can also hit on my very handsome and talented husband and I promise I will not interfere with your attempts. Seriously. I am no help to him. If he finds himself trapped in a corner with a fan and we happen to make eye contact from across the room and he calls to me with his eyes for help, I just smile and wave. He really appreciates it.

www.farewelltypewriter.com
www.myspace.com/farewelltypewriter

Now I am in it to win it!

2007-06-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the last class in session one of belly dancing. Jess and I both missed last week so we were just a little lost this week. At one point the instructor stopped what she was doing to turn around and look only at both of us and just say, "Ohhh-kaaay. Let's try that again...from the beginning." I can't really blame her. The confused expressions on our faces spoke louder than 1,000 words. Also, I think the "rhythms" we were creating with our finger cymbals were seizure inducing.

When class started I was sure that by the end I would leave that class and never look back. But surprisingly, at the end, I was starting to get it. And by starting, I am talking, my movements became...slightly more human in nature. So you know what? I am going to take this class again and this time, I am not going to care what I look like. I'm going big baby, and I am going to get this!

Wow.

2007-06-17T22:56:00.000-07:00

We bought a Dyson on woot.com the other day. It was a great deal and I am really excited that we have it.

Grant, however, seems to be experiencing something that is difficult to describe. Elation maybe? In the days leading up to its arrival, he was acting as though we were days away from the arrival of our first child.

It was late when we came home on Sunday. It had a been a long day, a long weekend really, and when we got home I walked right past the vacuum without a second thought. I had a few quick things to do before bed and that was it. Clearly there would be no time to vacuum. At 10:30 I realized I had not seen Grant for a awhile so I called downstairs.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

silence...

"Nothing."

That was a loaded "nothing." "Nothing," in reality was him putting his new baby together. When I came downstairs, I found him with his hand gripping tightly on the handle and he had a look on his face that can only be described as pure and utter joy.

I just looked at him with an expression that tried to convey, "It is late. What the hell are you doing?" But nothing could ruin that moment for him. He just looked at me with his child-like eyes and said, "It is our vacuum honey!"

He named her Regina.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-06-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

Friends: The one with Frank Junior

Joey: Maybe my ruler is wrong.
Phoebe: Maybe all the rulers are wrong.

My phone rings:

Heather: Hello?
Jessie: Hey.
Heather: Hey.
Jessie: I am very distressed.
Heather: Why?
Jessie: Because I just went to the doctor and apparently I am 5'8" 1/2. 5'8"1/2!?! How tall are you?
Heather: 5'11"
Jessie: What the hell!
Heather: I'm sorry?
Jessie: I am 5'10". That is what I identify with; that is what I always tell people. 5'10" is cool. 5'8" 1/2, is so...boring. So, either I am shrinking or the ruler is wrong.
Heather: Maybe all the rulers are wrong.
Jessie: Friends?
Heather: Yeah.

One of our many talents. We can always bring it back to Friends.

Not that I plan on eating any but....

2007-06-06T22:59:00.000-07:00

...boy does it remind me of the fair. The beautiful, beautiful fair...

(photo by grant)

Don't ya think?

2007-06-05T20:38:00.000-07:00

I find it a form of cruel and unusual punishment when you are at the gym and the hanging TVs above your head are tuned to the food network. Not only is it the food network, it's Sandra Lee's show. Nothing is worse, in my opinion. If she is not using Tater Tots to substitute for potatoes, cool whip topping for real whipped cream, or making this (ugh), she is pouring vodka into a chilled champagne glass and calling it a cocktail. Plus her eyes make her look dead inside. Easy on the eye liner for God's sake.

On second thought, maybe all the TVs in the gym should be her show. The loss of appetite is basically instantaneous.

I H8 VANITY PL8S

2007-05-30T12:17:00.000-07:00

Maybe hate is a strong word. For the most part my reaction to whatever your personal vanity plate says is, "who cares." I don't care if you figured out a clever way to say that you love dogs, you are a soccer mom or you are part of Raider Nation in 7 characters or less. What I hate even more than vanity plates of the cheesy variety are the ones that are so complex and personalized to you specifically that they make no sense to anyone but you. What is the point of that? I don't want to feel like I am trying to figure out a word scramble while driving.

The other day I came across a vanity plate that didn't seem to fit into the cheesy or annoying cateragory. I don't know where it belongs to be honest and I am truly at a loss for words as to why someone thought that this would be a "cute idea." It said, POO(heart shape. lame)SME.

Poo loves me!?! Um, gross. Personally, I think some things are just better left unsaid.

Unfortunately, my hips do lie.

2007-05-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

My sister and I started taking a belly dancing class.

(and pause for laughter...)

Our first session was...interesting? No, frightening would be a better way to describe it. But at least my sister was there to look ridiculous with me as we both tried to move our upper bodies as though they were not attached to our legs. However, for the second session Jess "wasn't feeling well." (Whatever...cop out.) So I had to go by myself.

While doing my best to blend into the back of the class, I learned several new things:

1. Seeing myself trying to belly dance in a full-length dance mirror is a little too much Heather all at once.

2. It is much better to stand behind the girl who can dance just like Shakira than in front of her. Luckily, I was in this prime position for most of class. Then we had to switch lines, which meant I was in the very front of the class (see no. 1) and Shakira was now behind me and undoubtedly judging my every attempt at a hip shake.

3. Dancers are show-offs. As the class neared an end, the second-session students started to come in and began to join our class. The end of class proved to be a disaster for us first-session students as we tried to combine feet, hips and finger cymbals into one move. I think I looked like a belly dancer. Well, if by belly dancer you mean a drunk epileptic with concrete blocks for feet. Sexy. The teacher quickly noticed that we were spiraling out of control, stopped the music and said "Right now, the most important part is to remember your feet...just focus on your feet." That was the point when "Session Two" standing next to me felt she need to chime in and say in her wispy, ethereal voice, "But I thought the most important part was to feel the music."

Barf. You know what, Session Two?!? Is there even music on right now?!? Because I could give a crap what is on the radio since I am pretty much just focusing on not making a complete ass out of myself! Feel the music....give me a break.

4. Finally, one thing that is reiterated time and time again in yoga is that yoga is not a competitive sport. Yoga will never hurt you but your ego will, and when you are on your mat it does not matter what is going on around you because you can only do as much as your body will allow. It is not about skill, it is about listening to what your body is willing to give you that day.

Right. Um, that is all beautiful and everything but really, really does not apply to belly dancing. There are very clear and well-defined skill levels in belly dancing and it is pretty obvious that I am about as graceful as a donkey and my body movements are about as fluid as that of a 2x4.

God help me.

To whom it may concern

2007-05-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Jean Makers of the World,

I can think back to a time when the jean size I actually needed to wear was called "slim." Well those days have since come and gone due to things such as college and what is commonly known as the "freshman 15," the discovery of alcohol and 9 to 5 employment. To my dismay, you have brought back "the skinny jean" not as a necessity for some woman, rather a fashion trend which I contend is designed to make women feel bad about themselves.

And yet, they call to me...like a moth to a flame and if I happen to find my size it seems I cannot resist the urge to try them on, just to see...just in case. There is one similarity in all these jeans that I have come to realize and you, Jean Makers, have clearly overlooked. It is not just our waist lines that gets wider. It is an all over type of expansion, if you will. Increasing the waist band but leaving the leg hole openings a size 2 is never going to work for us.

When I returned the ridiculous pair of pants to the dressing room monitor she asked me in her oh so bubbly voice, "How did that work out for you?" In my mind I heard myself say, "For my self esteem? Wonders! Thanks for asking." But out loud I simply replied, "No thanks. Not today." Not today. Not any day.

In conclusion, I am not asking you to bring back palazzo pants because no one wants to see that disaster again but I am asking you to understand that no one deserves to feel and look like a sausage in their jeans. I think the women of America are with me.

Sincerely,
Heather

Just a suggestion...

2007-05-15T20:48:00.000-07:00

Not that I think that Anonymous commenter will ever read my website again, but just in case they do, I invite them and everyone else who reads this little insignificant, just because it is fun and maybe, just maybe puts a smile one someones face, website to read this.

It is for this very reason that I love her, that she is my best friend, and she is my Brittaney.

Conversations with Jessie...x2

2007-05-14T20:49:00.000-07:00

Considering my sister is one of the funniest people I know, it should not be surprising that one conversation with her warrants two separate "Conversations with Jessie." Sometimes, I think that maybe I am the only one who thinks these are funny...then again...sometimes I think you might be jealous that she is not your sister.

Jessie: How was work today?
Heather: Oh fine. Busy.
Jessie: Do you want to know what does not taste good?
Heather: Um....
Jessie: Rotten Kalamata olives.
Heather: I can imagine.
Jessie: It was like I was eating them....but in reverse.
Heather: Well, thank you for the warning.
Jessie: Just an FYI.

This next one, I would like to preface with the fact that my sister is a very, very good baker. However, I think that this next little moment of banter is due to her lack of employment and boredom.

Heather: What did you do today?
Jessie: Today, I made Red Velvet cupcakes...sans the red.
Heather: Oh...kay. How is that?
Jessie: Well, we didn't have any red food coloring.
Heather: But the name of the cake is Red Velvet cake.
Jessie: I would have been able to make a Blue Velvet cupcakes...but I thought that would be gross.
Heather: Again, I don't see the point of making a Red Velvet cake without the main ingredient!
Jessie: Oh yeah, I didn't have any eggs either.

Feeding My Impatience

2007-05-07T11:58:00.000-07:00

There is now a sign up that is counting down the days until the fair comes to town. I feel like it is not really helping, rather taunting me. The other day as we drove by Grant and I discussed my strange addiction to this summertime event.

"Still 49 days! I can't handle it."

"I know honey."

"Love the fair. I am a big fan...and you know, I really don't even know why."

"Because it is kinda dirty and sad."

"It really is."

Like drinking wine from a mug.

2007-05-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

The other night, Farewell Typewriter played at the Red Devil Lounge in San Francisco. It was a really cool venue; I felt like I was at a Halloween party!

There were several interesting characters there for the show. One in particular was a man who I think was doing Yoga? This was the same guy who came over to the merch table while I was selling Farewell Typewriter CDs and put himself on the other band's mailing list. It is too bad he was not a fan of Farewell Typewriter but I am not sure what kind of mail he expected to get considering his email address consisted of a few "letters," squiggly lines and happy faces. Right...

The person who I assume was the owner or manager of the club had his dog there. The dog wandered around randomly from the behind the bar and into the crowd several times throughout the night. Oddly enough, the dog did put himself on the Farewell Typewriter mailing list. I guess he liked what he heard.

But I think my favorite was the girl who was drinking Bud Light from a can...with a straw! Whatever gets the job done I suppose.

Fremont's Finest

2007-05-01T12:50:00.000-07:00

Recently, Fremont opened a Hooters to which I have two words, Thank God. Nothing says class like a euphemism for breasts! I walked by it today during a lunch time stroll and outside was a waitress who I assume was taking her break. She was wearing the traditional bathing suit and opaque dance tights that made her legs look like flawless Barbie doll legs, or as Hooters would describe her attire as her "uniform" which consists of "shorts" and a "tank top."

Even more repulsive then the business men enjoying their lunch break at this fine dining establishment, was what was outside of the restaurant. As I walked by I quickly noticed a smell that surrounded Hooters in a disgusting fog which seemed to marry all the componets of this scene before me into one big, happy trashy family. The smell was not that of deep fried chicken wings, beer battered clam strips or the fake-n-bake skin of the waitresses. Rather, the smell could be described as none other than a toilet. That's right, a sewer drain over flowed outside the resturant and was cascading down the grass, sidewalk and gutter. As I walked by, gagging and at a very hurried pace at this point, I realized that the place was full, which means that the patrons literally got out of thir cars in the parking lot and looked at one another with snarlled noses and at least one member of the group said, "It smells like poo out here." But the poo did not deter them and they still chose to eat there. Ah, the power that is Hooters. Classic.

Dirty birds...

2007-04-26T21:05:00.000-07:00

Grant's response to the previous post:

"You think they are expectant parents?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I can't hear the baby birds yet."

"No. I mean, Maude is pregnant?"

"Well, no...I mean...birds do not really get..I mean, they just...What else would two birds be doing in a birdhouse besides hatching eggs?"

"I don't know. I thought that maybe they were just shacking up."

"Oh no. They are good Christian birds."

Feathered friends

2007-04-24T21:28:00.000-07:00

My Grandpa made me a birdhouse that hangs outside my kitchen window. I hung it outside with the intention of it only being something cute to look at. I guess I never thought that the house which is intended for birds to live in would actually serve its purpose as real estate. One morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find that a couple of birds decided it was time to settle down and raise a family in a house in a safe neighborhood with a white picket fence. I mean that quite literally; look at the picture. Spike and Maude,(that is what I named them)have been really great expectant parents. It has been fun to watch them each day.

Today, while I was making dinner, Spike was bringing Maude a little dinner of her own. A big, fat, still alive, still writhing caterpillar stuck betwixt Spike's tiny beak. Nature in my own backyard...Disgusting.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-04-19T21:18:00.000-07:00

Dinner had ended and Jessie requested the radio be on the local college station so she could sing along to the lastest "jams" that all the kids are listening to these days. Lucky for us, the singing was coupled with dancing. Granted, she looked ridiculous but I have to give her credit considering she really has had no formal training, that girl can move.

Heather: You are looking good.
Jessie: I know it.
Heather: How did you learn to dance like that?
Jessie: What do you think I do when I am home alone? I dance!
Heather: In front of the mirror...don't deny it.
Jessie: Oh yeah, fully. Um, just dancing around without looking? Well that would just be ridiculous. I need to be able to critic myself. Hello.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall....

F is for fun!

2007-04-16T12:34:00.000-07:00

Another great weekend with my friends has come and gone. It started with an awesome rock and roll show featuring Farewell Typewriter and Shayna and the Bulldog. The house was rocked and beverages were consumed.

Saturday night we decided to take it down a notch. We had a nice dinner and retired to the house for a family fun game of Scattergories and the hilarity ensued.

On the letter "O" one of the categories was "Bad habits." To which Ryan tried to earn double points for "Ogling octogenarians." This raised debate as we discussed the possibility that the ogler them self could in fact be an octogenarian, making the act seem slightly less offensive. Regardless, no points were earned as Brittaney also had ogling as her answer, canceling each other out.

Another veto: Things you find at a football game. The letter was "A" and Brittaney's answer, accents. This was vetoed due to the fact that it was not specific enough despite her gripping argument, "What, someone could be at a football game and have an accent!" This answer did lead into a very interesting conversation by the language police, Grant and Toni, as they debated the difference between an "accent" and a "dialect." As interesting as the whole thing was, Brittaney ended the discussion by saying, "Ok, this conversation is getting to the point where I am going to shoot myself."

We also had Ryan and/or a law student playing the game with us. When one of the categories was "items you save up to buy" he begged the question, "Now, does this category imply that it is looking for the item that you actually purchase, or the 'items' you are saving to purchase the item, such as money." Such an attorney.

One of the most impressive moments of the game was with the letter "W." The category was "things you find in Las Vegas." Several variations of "hookers" were used, such as "woman of the night," "walkers of the night" and "whores." All variations were different and accepted for a point. Brittaney's answer: Wayne Newton.

In conclusion, nothing says good times like a little adult humor when it came to categories such as "body parts," "things that are round" and "things that are sticky." Use your imagination. Just saying.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-03-28T21:53:00.000-07:00

At dinner, we were discussing at what age our parents allowed us to reach certain milestones as growing young girls. One thing, for example, ear piercing. For me it was 12, for Jessie, 10...whatever, no bitterness here. Make-up came up as well. I think the first time I got to wear make-up was to 6th grade promotion and it was tinted lip gloss. Junior High was the first time that we both started experimenting with all the wonder that is make-up. Oh, the make-up techniques of a 13 year old in the early 90's. The color combinations we concocted on our face were criminal.

Heather: When did you start wearing make-up?
Jessie: Junior High. I think Mom let me wear, you know, powder and clear lip gloss at first. But then I started to use your make-up and it was all over. I think at that point she didn't really care. She would just look at me and say, "Fine. Whatever. But you look like a damn fool."
Heather: I really doubt Mom said you looked like a damn fool.
Jessie: Yeah well, she was thinking it.

Could be worse I suppose.

2007-03-24T19:11:00.000-07:00

Since the day we moved into our house, the downstairs bathroom had a mysterious and unexplainable scent of vanilla. I have searched for the producer of the smell that haunts the room to no avail. I assumed it would dissipate as the moths went on. This is not the case and instead I have just gotten used to it. In fact, about a month ago, my sister used the bathroom and when she came out she asked me, "Did you guys ever figure out why that bathroom smells like vanilla?"

Tis' a mystery indeed.

The plot thickened the other morning when it was not vanilla, rather toasted marshmallows that I could smell. Now it is just messing with us.

I only have one request

2007-03-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

Even if you hate the very ground that American Idol walks on, you have to watch it for one reason and one reason only. Watch it only to see each contestant stand next to Ryan Seacrest and gaze in wonderment at the fact that they all literally look like giants next to him. GIANTS! As in "fee-fi-fo-fum" giants. I swear to God, I am not exaggerating. He looks like he is the incredible shrinking man. Especially next to that Jordan girl; her Dad is a football player and it i looks like she could step on Mr. Seacrest. It is worth a moment, I'm telling you.

Confession...

2007-03-18T20:32:00.000-07:00

I did something for the first time today. Today was the first time that I have vacuumed the cob webs from the corners of the ceiling and wall. Appalling, I know. And I admit, they no longer fell in the "web" category. Cob business parks would probably be a better description.

Cleaning and I have a very love-hate relationship. Part of me wants so badly to really care about having a house that is clean nearly 100% of the time. But the larger, albeit lazier, part of me seriously would rather be doing something else. I would never call my house dirty, mostly thanks to Grant, who cannot leave the kitchen after dinner until it is clean. Messy at times would be a better word to describe it. There are already so many tasks that I have to do constantly. For example, as previously mentioned, the kitchen. I cook a lot. I also tend to use every dish, bowl, pot and pan I own when I make a meal. If I want to cook again the next night, the kitchen has to be clean. Then we have the laundry. How two people can generate enough laundry to warrant washing several loads on a weekly basis is beyond me. I am still not convinced that there is not a boarder living discreetly in our guest room who plays dress-up while I am at work.

Laundry and basic kitchen cleaning is time consuming in and of itself. By the time it is all done, sometimes I just want to moved the pile of papers off the couch and on to the floor, watch some TV and enjoy a glass of wine. (It should be noted here that this pile of papers that I speak of was moved to the couch after being on the kitchen counter. I can't cook dinner with a pile of paper on the counter!)

The problem I struggle with is that I do love the look and feel of a freshly cleaned house. When I do go all out and really clean up, it is usually sparked by a comment like this to my husband, "Hey, we should have a party. I need to clean the house again." And to the people of the world who are able to keep a tidy house all the time, I am envious. Honestly though, I can handle a little mess if it means that I am a happier person. There will always be time to clean up, but if the world is going to end tomorrow, wouldn't you rather want to go out knowing that you spent your time doing what you wanted instead of making sure you had a clean house that only you would see anyway? I would...and the spiders thank me for that.

Good Morning!

2007-03-13T12:32:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite ways to start out my morning is to pay $3.03 per gallon to fill my 12 gallon tank. If you are like me and are unable to do the math in your head yourself, it was $39.00!!

I hate cars and the fact that they are so necessary. Maybe I could try to popularize blading again...

Son of a.....

2007-03-11T12:32:00.000-07:00

We got a new oven. It is quite a sexy piece of machinery. As Grant and I gazed lovingly at the new member of our family, we were holding each other and thinking how lucky we were that this oven was actually ours to love and care for. Just when I thought I could not be happier, Grant looked at me and said, "Did you empty the drawer in the old oven?" (The pan that contains all the lids to my pots and pans)

It was about this time that I started swearing.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-03-06T16:35:00.000-08:00

Call time: 3:40 pm on Tuesday

Heather: Hello?
Jessie: Hey. What are you doing right now?
Heather: Um...I'm working.
Jessie: Oh, right.
Heather: Why do you always ask me what I am doing when you call me between 9 and 5 on a Monday thru Friday? What do you expect me to be doing?
Jessie: I don't know. Maybe one of these times you will say you are milking a cow or something.

Silence....

Jessie: So, are you busy?

Open wide.

2007-02-27T12:21:00.000-08:00

At a recent trip to the dentist, I was thrilled to find out that all 5 of my oldest fillings would need to be replaced making me realize that parents should never give their children a hard time about the cavities they have to pay for since, apparently, you have to pay for them all over again.

I think it is pretty fair to say that no matter what you are getting done, the dentist is an overall unpleasant experience but I have decided that nothing is more demeaning than someone else flossing your teeth for you. On our recent trip to Oregon, I was reminded of the full-service only gas stations law in that state and Grant was having a very difficult time with it. As we would pull into a gas station he was utter things like, "What, do they think we are stupid?" and "Seriously, this is ridiculous" or "Um, hi, I can pump my own gas."

That is what I felt like as the hygienist was flossing me. I am not a child. When he was done he asked me, "Do you floss your teeth like that at home." To which my bloody gums responded, "Yes" because you and I both know you lie to your dentist about the frequency of your flossing habits. I said yes but what I felt like saying was, "No! No I do not floss my teeth like that! What the hell were you were trying to do? Saw my jaw in half!"

Then for the polish. What the hell is that? Did a bunch of dentists sit around a table and say to one another, "How can we make this experience more uncomfortable? I've got it, mix sand in the toothpaste!"

At the end of my appointment the hygienist handed me a wet-nap. I took the wet-nap and thought to myself, "Why that is odd, I do not recall eating any barbecued ribs at this appointment." In fact, the last time I checked, your hands are not usually involved in any type of dental work. I had no idea what to do with it, so I started to wipe my hands, then thought it must be for my face, but who puts a wipe on their face?

Honestly, the best part about the dentist is rescheduling knowing that you will not need to come back for another 6 months. I was robbed of that satisfaction as well as I will be back for two appointments to fix the wear and tear. Lucky me.

Converations with Jessie

2007-02-21T23:19:00.000-08:00

Ode to Oregon

Mom, Dad, I don't think you know the full extent of this story so now might be a good time to close your eyes. Sorry for telling on you Jess:

The following are tips for how not to get caught by your parents if you are planning on taking a secret road trip: 1. Do not take pictures of funny road signs along the way. 2. Do not ask your mom to get the pictures developed for you but not to look at them.

Jessie: I drove to Oregon once. Remember that?
Heather: Oh yeah. Wait...I thought you only drove to Redding?
Jessie: Well Mom saw the pictures of the road signs we took along the way and we ran out of film in Redding so....
Heather: You are an idiot! You actually created your own evidence.
Jessie: Yeah. True story.
Heather: What did you even do in Oregon?
Jessie: We drove across the border into Ashland, ate a Subway sandwich and then drove home.
Heather: That's awesome.

Mom and Dad, you can open your eyes now.

Portland, Or

2007-02-20T12:39:00.000-08:00

Grant and I took a little adventure this Presidents' day three-day to the great city of Portland, Oregon. The whole trip, in a way, started with a joke. Grant happened to notice that Ben Kweller, who I adore, was going to be playing in San Francisco on Monday, February 19th. I do enjoy a good show in the city but I am not as young as I used to be and Monday night? I would have to be to work early the next day, the show would be over late, etc...

"You know, he is playing in Portland on Saturday the 17th. We could go then."

Next thing we knew, we had a hotel room booked in another state, so we could go see a show on a Saturday because Monday night was just going to be too late. Perfect solution, drive a total of 20 hours there and back. That is not exhausting at all.

Regardless of what you think of our logic, it was a great time spent with my husband and stepping outside of my comfort zone and doing something totally spur of the moment and in many ways, ridiculous.

As I watched Ben Kweller rock the freaking house down, I thought to myself, "Are we crazy for doing this?" Maybe we were but maybe someday, when our kids say to me "Mom, tell me a story from when you were a kid," like I remember doing so many times, I will be able to say that one time me and their Daddy took a crazy road trip all the way to Oregon just to see a concert and really just because we could. We spent too much money and we ate too much dessert, but it was one of the best times we ever had together.

Best show on TV

2007-02-12T21:37:00.000-08:00

I am really not normally a fan of action. I am not a violent person or one who enjoys watching that kind of thing. But there is something about 24 that I cannot get enough of. Maybe it is because the complete unrealistic plot lines make it almost believable. Maybe it is because Jack Bauer is a bad ass and can kill a man with his teeth. Or maybe it is because despite the seriousness of the subject matter, Grant and I always seem to have conversations like this one:

Scene: A nuclear bomb is found in an apartment building by none other than Jack Bauer and it will detonate without his steady hand and quick wit. He enlists the help of the very smart, yet very odd, Chloe at CTU to help disable it. He only has 3 minutes.

Grant: I love watching bomb dismantling scenes.
Heather: Why? Because they are so ridiculous?
Grant: Yeah. What, does she know how to dismantle every bomb? And it is always so ridiculous. 'OK, what you need to do is cut the 2nd and 3rd wire. That will open a box. In that box will be a picture of Johnny Carson. You need to trace around his face. But do not, I repeat do not touch his nose. Do you copy?
Heather: Yes, I copy. The box is open. Oh God! It is a picture of Jay Leno. Repeat! We have a picture of Jay Leno in the box!
Grant: Dammit! I must be looking at an old schematic!

Maybe you had to be there. Either way, nothing says good times and laughter like some explosions and a few Johnny Carson jokes!

I love my friends.

2007-02-11T22:30:00.000-08:00

With the birth if my nieces, I knew that a lot of things about my life and the activities that I share with my friends would change. Things have changed and for that I am very, very thankful. I am so in love with those girls. But the truth is, we just can't do some of the same things we used to do. I mean, you just can't take babies to rock and roll shows.

Well....

See, the show was at a pizza parlor, not a bar. And it was their Uncle Joel's band so we thought we should all show up and surprise him. And surprise him we did and it was awesome.

Now just calm down because we were sitting all the way in the very back of the restaurant. Honestly, it just sounded like a loud radio was playing. And you know what, they better get used to it. Two of their uncles are rock stars for God's sake. The point is the babies were fine and it just goes to show that even though the day of their birth was a day that our lives changed forever, it was also a day that our lives changed for the better and no matter what we will still find ways to support each other and spend time with one another.

It was the babies idea anyway.

Conversations with Jessie

2007-02-08T18:44:00.000-08:00

I came over to my parents house for dinner and upon my arrival my sister told me that we were going to the store. Reluctantly, I agreed to going. Agreed, only if she was willing to change. She was wearing a shirt with a hoodie...cute enough. However, coupled with a pair of dirty gray sweats, bright purple muppet-ish slippers, no makeup and who knows what was going on with her hair, for once, I actually looked better than her.

Heather: I don't want to go to the store.
Jessie: Yes you do.
Heather: I am not going to the store with you looking like that.
Jessie: What? Don't worry. I'll put on a bra.

My crazy mind.

2007-02-04T12:26:00.000-08:00

Recently, Brittaney posted a dream she had that left her readers entertained, shocked and admittedly, slightly disturbed. It is worth a read.

Typically, I am of the belief that the only person who really cares about a dream is the person who actually dreamed it. Dreams only make sense while you are in the dream. When you start to explain it out loud you start saying things like this: "We were at the mall, except it wasn't the mall." Or, "I was at your house, but it wasn't your house but I knew it was your house, but you weren't there, but there was this other lady there, and like, she was you...blah, blah, blah."

The only person I really subject to hearing about my dreams to is my husband. He never remembers his dreams but in the morning I always ask him if he had any good dreams that night. This morning was no different. He then asked me if I had any. I did. Brittaney has inspired me to share, despite how I feel about sharing dreams with other. However, this one is kinda funny and I have a few readers who I think will find it entertaining:

I was at a restaurant giving a presentation for work and in the next room, John Vanderslice was performing. After my presentation I walked over to talk to him. When I went into the room, John was hiding in a loaf of bread. I said, "What are you doing." He poked his head out and said, "I'm hiding." The I told him that I wanted to go to his show on Wednesday at the Independent. That's all.

Grant said, "How was he hiding in a loaf of bread?"

"I don't know, like this."

"That's awesome."

So how was your day?

2007-01-30T21:34:00.000-08:00

All I wanted to do was wear my pearls to work today. I don't know, I was feeling fancy I guess. Twenty minutes before I needed to leave (which is usually my coffee and couple minutes of a morning news program time) I went go to put the pearls on. Except that they are not there. So my last twenty minutes before heading to work were spent looking for the missing pearls.

I hate when I lose things. I mean, I can't think of anyone who enjoys losing their valuables but when I lose things like that I tend to panic and obsess about it until I am ill. My husband is a very patient man.

So I leave for work, thinking only about the pearls that I must have thrown away or accidentally donated to charity. I mean, I was not able to locate them in twenty minutes so the only logical explanation is they are gone forever.

Then I was almost hit by a bus. Excellent.

The work day seemed to go ok. Surprisingly, nothing terrible happened. Nothing seemed to be missing. This is shocking to me considering at this point I am pretty sure that the pearls are actually out to get me and intended to ruin my day. But before it would be time to search for the missing necklace again, I would be going to yoga. Calm, relaxing yoga. So I drive from home to pick up my mom, then on to class. As we pull into the parking lot of class I realize, I do not have my yoga mat. Ok, now I am about to drive myself into a bus. What the hell.

Now I am even more determined to find the pearls that I have convinced myself are living in a landfill somewhere. When I am trying to find something that I have lost, I am truly in rare form. If you are ever around I would recommend protecting your face and to watch for flying objects. I seem to turn into...well, I honestly don't know if it is Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. Whoever the psycho one is.

No luck. I went through my purses, jewelry boxes, backpacks, cabinets and attempted to move furniture. I even tried to conjure the spirit of my great-grandmother, may she rest in peace, to tell me where they were.

By the time Grant came home, I was too exhausted to think straight. He went through a list of places I had already looked two and then three times. And just about as quickly as he said that he was sure it was not donated and would eventually turn up, I heard him say, "Honey. it is right here." Here was on the floor between the wall and dresser with just the little gold clasp poking out. This was about the time I broke down. Grant just hugged me and asked, "Are you just glad that you found your pearls?" To which I responded between sniffles, "I was almost hit by a bus today." Honestly, at that point, I am not sure if I was speaking literally or metaphorically.

It would mean having to live in my brother-in-law's attic....

2007-01-25T23:30:00.000-08:00

I am watching Full House and it is the one where Uncle Jesse gets a record deal and Jesse and the Rippers are going to go on tour but at the same time Rebecca finds out she is going to have a baby and she just doesn't know how she is going to tell him. Getting a record deal would be the chance of a lifetime for Jesse and the Rippers. I mean, they had always planned on starting a family but not for a couple of years! And before you know it, the entire family knows about the baby. Everyone but Jesse that is. And that little Michelle just has the hardest time keeping a secret! Oh, the conflict! But when she tells him in that riveting game of Win, Lose or Draw (Cheese, 1/2, ink = she's having. What a hoot!) she realizes that although Uncle Jesse is nervous about the change he excited at the same time and ready to be a father and she had nothing to worry about all along. Sigh....

As I watched this episode the other day I asked myself two questions:

1. Why the hell am I watching Full House right now?

2. Why am I getting emotional over Uncle Jesse and Rebecca's unborn baby?

As soon as the famous "tender moment" Full House music started to play, my eyes started to well up. Well, Rebecca is married to a rock star and she gets to have a baby! I was actually jealous of and yearned for that moment on the cheesiest sitcom that ever was and that ever will be, so much so, it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I thought to myself, I want that!

Oh man. Maybe I should get a puppy.

Great Weekend

2007-01-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

This weekend was one of the best. It started with seeing one of my best friends rock the mic like a vandal (quite literally) with his band Shayna and the Bulldog. It was good food, good drinks and great music.

And then, I got to spend the day with three of my favorite people, Brittaney and my nieces. It is so amazing to see brand new babies looking at the world around them. Everything is new and exciting. They are enthralled by things as simple as ceiling lights and are now at the point where they will stare at your face, as if they are studying every detail.

I am so lucky to be apart of these new experiences. For example, when Brittaney, the girls and I went shopping on Sunday, I was honored to be able to say to them, "Ladies, this is the Nordstrom shoe department. You must treat it with respect and honor and you will grow to love it."

Rescinded.

2007-01-18T20:16:00.000-08:00

Fine! So I left out a few details. What's the big deal? Apparently my husband states that this was the "real" conversation we had.

Admittedly, I was sore and did not take any medication to help fix that problem. Which is exactly why I was asking for a massage! Hello...

And I guess he used the word "silly" and not "annoying" to describe my behavior. Well, silly may have been what was said but the non-verbal cues were screaming annoying!

It went something like this...

2007-01-18T09:15:00.000-08:00

I am not feeling well and I just wanted Grant to rub my back before bed. Is that too much to ask?

Heather: Can you just rub my back? I am so sore.
Grant: Not tonight. I have a headache and I just want to go to bed.
Heather: Please. I am sick. (I'll admit, there was a little whinning)
Grant: You are so annoying about these things sometimes. And you have not emptied the lint trap in the dryer for like, three loads. It was like I pulled a sweater out of there the today.
Heather: What?
Grant: Sorry. I just thought of that right now.

1....2....47.

2007-01-17T17:45:00.000-08:00

I have a new goal or myself. I will do 47 crunchs a day. I was going to set an arbitrary number but I figured that might be to lofty of a goal. Instead, the other day I decided to do as many crunches as I could. That number, 47. I know it doesn't seem like much, but now I know that I can do at least that many.

I have other things I plan on accomplishing in 2007. One of which is to find the perfect lip color and to not be afraid of a little bling.

Christmas 2006

2007-01-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

We arrived at my aunt and uncle's lovely little cabin in the woods of Plain, Washington on Christmas Day. It was beautifully covered in snow. The landscape made it difficult to realize how cold it was outside but it was cold. None of that mattered since the cabin was powered by a nice electric central heating system. But see, the thing is an electric heater (and stove, water pump, fire place fan, hair straightener, blow dryer, blender...all the essentials) will only work if there is this fancy little thing called electricity.

See, it was really uncalled for when those trees fell on those power lines because it was right at the part in the movie when Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby had just gotten to Vermont and they were bringing the whole show up three days before Christmas to try to save the lodge from going under. And you know what? It is just not Christmas until I can hear those crazy cats sing, "Gee, I Wish I Was Back In The Army."

Well, the movie we had not, but a White Christmas, yes. It continued to snow and get colder. And an electric water pump meant no showers...or flush toilets. Yay! We all survived the first night and the next morning, still nothing. We drove into Leavenworth, which is a little Bavarian town with all the schnitzel and bratwurst you could ever ask for. We ate breakfast and shopped, but more importantly used every working toilet in the town.

Driving back to the cabin we had high hopes as we saw the Plain Valley lit up and beautiful. Not so much. Still no power at the cabin. It was night time again and it was getting colder.

Family meeting time! Frustrations were high at this point and there are really only so many "Donner Party" jokes that can be made before they all start to sound the same. And lets face it, there would be no drawing straws; the weakest were going to be the first to go.

Our choices were the following:
1. Brave the night. Load up on layers of PJ's and blankets and if there was no power by morning, pack up and leave.
2. Pack up the house and the cars in the dark in 12-degree weather and leave that night.
3. Make more Donner Party jokes.

Everyone was silent. We all looked at each other, huddled around the candlelit table staring at the bags of pretzels and beef jerky we would be eating for dinner. And to everyone's surprise, Grandma, (who was bundled up and looked like the little brother from a Christmas Story at this point) said with passion, "I say we stay!"

So we stayed. And we ate pretzels and beef jerky for dinner. We played Scattergories by candle light. We drank very, very cold wine and beer. We made more Donner Party jokes. It was the best.

And after 30 hours (give or take) we had power again.

I am sure as we re-tell this story as the years go on it will get a little more exaggerated and sound more like we were not just at a cold cabin on Christmas but in the seventh circle of hell. Obviously, we were all fine and we were not in any real danger. One thing I did think about as we were sitting in the dark with blankets wrapped around us was at least we were inside with a roof over our heads and that we had blankets to keep us warm and food and family around us. And when this is all over, we have a home to go to and this trip will be just another funny story to add the the vault and it is not really my life.

I am thankful for that...and that we didn't have to eat Grandma.

A little late but....

2007-01-02T20:16:00.000-08:00

Christmas was an adventure this year. More to come later. As for now....

Merry Christmas from the Shellens!

(The giant, red Christmas balls you see in the background are courtesy of my dear friend Joel. He thought they would enhance the tree.)

A girl can dream...

2006-12-22T20:05:00.000-08:00

When it comes to buying a house, I am very pessimistic. My husband regularly hears me utter, "We are never going to buy a house." Too which he responds, "Yes we will." I know, it is a riveting conversation.

But like, houses are like expensive and stuff. I mean, I'm all like, I have bills and like rent that is all, like, really expensive and stuff. And it like, makes it like, really hard to like, buy, like, a really great investment and all when like, I have to pay for all this other stuff like, every month. I'm all like, what the hell!

And the process itelf of buying a house is terrifying. When I hear people talk about all the steps and paperwrok involved, I actually turn into that 15 year-old-girl quoted above.

"Wait, your escrow closed? Oh know, when will it open again?"

You see what I mean.

One of the things I have discussed with Grant is the possibilty of us having to aim low. I am talking low. We live in the Bay Area for God's sake and we are not planning on going anywhere. So I am saying if we want to stay here, our first house is going to have be purchased in a city that no self-respecting Bay Arean would choose to live unless forced. Grant wants to live in Palo Alto. As far as I am concerned that is never going to happen unless he puts "East" in front of that city.

I realize the following conversation may cause a stir. Please note, it was Grant that made the comment:

Heather: Maybe someday when Madison and Ella are old enough, they will ask, "Mom, why haven't we seen Uncle Grant and Auntie Heather and our cousins in a long time?" And then Brittaney will say, "Well, because Uncle Grant is a rock star and he is on tour again."
Grant: Yeah right. No, I think it will go more like this:

Hypothetical Babies: Mom, why haven't we seen Uncle Grant and Auntie Heather and our cousins in a long time?
Hypotheitical Brittaney: Well, because they live in Hayward now...and we don't go there.

He is finally coming around.