SLO

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!

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

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...

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

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

I love being an Auntie.

Happy Holidays

Hope y'all had a Merry Christmas



Love,

The Clashing Plaids.

Sick Joke

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

(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.

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

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?

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!!!

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?

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.

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.