Zest

Tonight Mr. Pigs and I finally got to go out to dinner as Eddie offered to Pigletsit for the evening. It was quite nice to go to a lovely dinner and know that Piglet was in bed, snoozing away. We had grown up conversation and didn't inhale our food. (Okay, I ate all of my pad thai and half of Mr. Pigs, plus dessert, but I don't get out much!)

Dining out, I was reminded of a pet peeve of mine: water refills. When I order water in a restaurant, I get lemon or lime to zest it up. It makes me insane when the waiter comes around every time you take a sip to refill your drink! I know service is competitive in this area, but come ON! Let me enjoy my water. When they top me off, the lemon/lime-water proportions get all wonky and it doesn't taste good anymore. So I've taken to slapping my hand over my glass whenever they come near me with that water pitcher. That'll show 'em who's boss. Yeah.

It's That Time Again! (sticky post, scroll down)

It's time for my annual picture post! This has become my favorite little summer tradition here in my blog world. Here are the rules:

1. Request any picture that you would like for me to post on my blog. See past years' for ideas.

2. You may make as many requests as you wish, but please make each suggestion a separate comment for ease of organization.

3. Be creative, but remember that this blog is rated PG.

4. Have fun! The pictures will be up as soon as I can get them here!

*Update: I will leave this post up here and the pictures will appear below...

Picture Post 2007: Eddie and I, um...From the Back

Katie had a rather unusual request to see Eddie and I from the rear view. So....here we are. Yep. Hot as always.

Picture Post 2007: Most Flattering Outfit

Leesepea was dying to see me in my most flattering outfit. After sorting through my vast wardrobe, I settled upon my Friday night going out ensemble:

Picture Post 2007: Shower Curtain! Yeah!!

With a personal interest in home interiors, Ashley also inquired about my shower curtain. Alas, I do not actually have a shower curtain in my bathroom, unless you count the film that appears from our hard North Texas water on my glass shower doors.

Picture Post 2007: Piglet + Gus = Love

Jeanne was interested in seeing a picture of Piglet and Gus together. Unfortunately, the only way to convice Gus to get close to Piglet is if Piglet is bearing food. Since the advent of Puffs in our lives, Gus has discovered an actual use for Piglet as he tends to dispense food to Gus. They now have a symbiotic relationship. Peace in the kingdom.

Picture Post 2007: Tutoring Flyer

That Mommyprof, always thinking, that one! She wanted to see my handy dandy flyer that I distributed all over creation just to achieve my (3) students for this summer. I like the out-of-the-box thinking on this request! Here for your viewing pleasure, I present my flyer:

Picture Post 2007: Bedding....oooooooooooooh!

Ooh la la, my bedding is to die for! Okay, Ashley, it's actually really boring. I tried to make my bed neatly and everything for this picture, I'll have you know.

Picture Post 2007: Favorite Furniture

Sarah requested my favorite piece of furniture. I hemmed and hawed about this one for a while. My beloved cushy couch has always been my favorite selection, being that it provides the best naps ever, however of late it has ceased to be my favorite. It has a little something to do with Piget's reflux and Gus's anger management issues, but the couch is nearing replacement. Instead, I've chosen my china cabinet, mainly because I really like the way I arranged the china and crystal in said cabinet. Yep.

Picture Post 2007: Piglet's Favorite Thing

Leesepea was an eager beaver this year and had all kinds of requests. Since I aim to please, I'm working my way through her list. Here we have two, count 'em two, of Piglet's favorite things. This is, of course subject to change by tomorrow as he is into something different almost every day. Today, we are featuring cinnamon apple puffs, his current food obsession, as well as a toy that used to be Gus's, but he didn't play with it, so I dishwashed it and gave it to Piglet who thoroughly enjoys it.

Picture Post 2007: My Retainers

Because she's weird and gross, Eddie requested a picture of my retainers. She's just jealous that I kept wearing mine and she didn't. Heh. This is actually my second set, as Gus ate the first set.

Picture Post 2007: What I Look Like

Amanda asked to see what I look like without a yellow smiley covering my face. I was hard to peel that smiley off, but I hope this helps.

Picture Post 2007: Toe Scar

Ever-curious Allison with an excellent two year memoryrequested a toe scar update from the Scandalous Sink-on-Toe Disaster of '05. The scar has lightened up nicely, but you may be interested to know that the lawyers have STILL not done anything productive regarding my lawsuit. And September is the deadline.

Picture Post 2007: Piglet After a Meal

Well, Eddie requested a picture of Piglet's bib after a meal. Here is the entire Piglet, quite happy with himself after what looks to be a meal of spinach and/or prunes. A true boy, he enjoys being as dirty as possible.

Picture Post 2007: A Gus Update

Well, Bubba's Sis requested an update on Gus, since we haven't seen much of him lately. I went on a search for Gus and found him draped pitifully in this, his favorite chair. He spends much of his day upon this throne, dodging Piglet and watching the world go by.

Picture Post 2007: Favorite Place

A classic request from Leesepea, my favorite place. This is a shot of Holden Beach, NC taken from atop the dunes. Well, the walkway over the dunes. I'm not one of those creeps who walks on dunes. Note the powdery white sand, the gentle waves, the uncrowded beach....shame my trip's already over for this year.

Garbage

Summer TV is such garbage. I'm actually excited that I have about ten episodes of Days of Our Lives on my DVR from my vacation to watch. I tried, really tried, to watch So You Think You Can Dance, but I just don't care. I am much more interested in The Simple Life, which is shameful. I watched some of America's Got Talent while at the beach, but it's hard to get on board with a show searching for American talent as judged by two British people and a German hero.

That leaves Discovery Health, the channel that I can't seem to get enough of. Impressively large people, freakishly tall folks, crazy people with litters of children to take care of....I like it all but the surgeries, which skeeve me out. My mom finds them fascinating, but they make whatever part of the body is being operated on hurt on me.

So there I am. Left with blogging to entertain me. And reading, of course. I finished my reread of Harry Potter 6! Now I'm ready for the finale.

[end rambling post]

Who Be Dat?

So, have you ever heard people talk about what animal you resemble? Mine have never been particularly flattering, ranging from a beaver to a groundhog to a turtle. Apparently I'm somewhere between a rodent and a reptile.

Though we call Piglet a piglet, he actually resembles a bear or a snap turtle most of the time, though he acts like some cross of a monkey and a bull.

While we're on the subject of who you look like, this website is pretty entertaining to tell you what celebrities you resemble. Me? I'm dead on, well 75% dead on, for Lauren Graham.

What animal and celebrity would you be?

Dear American Airlines,

I'm just wondering why it's necessary to load an entire planeful of people, get them seated and settled, only to tell them less than five minutes later that you have bad news....there's at least a 45 minute delay. Wouldn't there be less chance for air rage if the people were in a more comfortable waiting area? Say, in chairs? With food and water luxuries about?

After 45 minutes of plane sitting and playing mind games about the possibility of leaving, you then let the people off the plane, telling them not to go anywhere because you might leave at any moment. My patience was much better pre-Piglet, but I hate, hate, hate to be that person on the plane with the squealing baby. I purposely schedule flights for naptimes to avoid this, but a two hour delay really throws a wrench into my well-laid plans.

I realize that you cannot control the freaky Dallas weather. It has been raining in Dallas for nearly two months now after five years of no rain. I feel like I live in Seattle. I'm fairly certain that you, American Airlines, do not care about my weather sentiments or my fascination with the grass that is miraculously still green. I also realize that I have digressed.

You're going to get by this time, American Airlines. No scathing letter this month, but I want you to know that this is only because of the kindness of the lady at the DFW desk who let my 53 pound suitcase slide without so much as an eye bat. So you be on alert, American. I'm sure I'll have to fly again soon.

Until then,
Pigs

"It was awesome! It just kept coming!" -Eddie

So, Eddie arrived last night in all her glory. Usually, she's beleaguered with Eeyore-esque dreary comments ("I'm sure they lost my luggage." or "That'll probably smell."), but last night she entered my home with a different tale that caught me off guard.

Sitting on the couch commiserating about our dual flight struggles trying to fly into Dallas this week, she's suddenly struck with a thought.

Eddie: Oh! I have to show you something!

Me: Okay.

[Eddie races from den to retrieve an empty candy bag from her gear. She appears to be pilfering through it.]

Eddie: You HAVE to see what I pulled out of my nose today!

Me: Do I? Really?

Eddie: I have never gotten something this long from my nose before. [Poke, poke, pause] Oh darn. It broke.

Me: Rats.

Backhanded Compliment, Anyone?

I'm not sure how I should take this comment from a friend:

"You are so photogenic! You look better in pictures than in real life!"

The End.

Bye, bye, beach!

We're headed back to Texas, the apparent land of rain and clouds. It's rained more in the last two months than in the five years I've lived in Texas. Who knew?

LIVE! From the beach!

So here I am, coming to you live from Holden Beach, NC, where a beach wedding is about to take place just across the street on the sand. I'm here, my nose plastered to the window, as I type detail after detail.

The set up has been taking place all day. A chuppah has been carefully been constructed out of PVC pipe and tulle. Chairs have been dragged across the sand to the site. Flowers have been placed. Someone was kind enough to rake up the peanut shells which someone scattered all over the beach earlier in a piggish feast.

The bridesmaids poured out of a car illegally parked in our driveway in dresses of varying styles, all a summery shade of red. The bride herself gracefully unloaded from a white minivan in a dress with a few too many sparkles for my taste, who am I? Only a casual observer okay, stalker.

Random vacationers line the beach and peer curiously from their balconies and decks. A clueless family who just arrived today rushed across the accessway laden with swimsuits, boogie boards, and sand pails. They should add to the character of the wedding.

The wedding begins in five minutes. Guests are trooping across the street, one after another. My mom stops short of hanging out the window in her zest to gawk and stare. She evaluates the clothing of each guest, rating their ability to dress for a beach wedding. She is alarmed by the presence of both long sleeves and too casual of dress. Somewhere in between must be key.

We wait anxiously, breath bated. What are we waiting for so eagerly? No one can tell for sure.

WAIT! The moment is here! The bridal party has walked! One of the bridesmaids is carrying a baby! Whose is it? The bride's? A collective gasp fills the room! Is she marrying the baby daddy? The author dashes for the camera. Snap! The camera's batteries choose that moment to fail and she is left with only one fuzzy picture snapped through a window pane covered in beach goo.

She dashes outside to see mom and Mr. Pigs and Piglet stopping just short of throwing themselves over the balcony in an effort to see more. More! After a hasty discussion of ethics, mom dashes with me to the house across the street, which we have just seen vacated by its renters. Clearly a thumbs up.

In my haste to gather photographic evidence for you, my dear readers, I failed to put on shoes and hip-hopped ungracefully across a gravel driveway and skittered up the steps to the tops of the dunes where...ta-DA! The wedding lay before me.

Blast! At that moment I took a sand spur to the foot. After plucking the offending sticker, I gimped to the railing and snapped two pictures with my trusty camera phone. Feeling suddenly exposed, I snuck back to our house, realizing only as I crossed the threshold that I had forgotten to save the photos. Back across the street I raced, to take two more photographs, though the wedding was recessing at that point. You still get the picture. Heh.

The result? We still don't know whose baby that was, though its presence caused mom to cast great disdain upon the wedding itself. It was a lovely ceremony on the beach and it was fun to, um, be a part of the event.

Readers' Poll 'O the Day

What kind of deodorant do you use? On a scale of one to ten, rate it for Stink-B-Gone properties. Ten means no stink whatsoever, five is stinky when sweating commences, and one is stank nasty. Not that I'm, um, having a problem or anything.

Say, this reminds me of a story...did I ever tell you about the time that Eddie and I worked at a summer camp and she decided to try Arrid XXXtra Dry and her armpits got scabs on them? I'd better not tell that, she might be embarrassed.

Picked Before it Was Ripe

Try to imagine our uproarious laughter when we opened the entertainment armoire in our bedroom-at-the-beach only to find this:

Daily Ponderance

Say...when you take a shower or bath, do you rub the soap directly on your skin or do you lather in your hands or washcloth, then apply?

Things #131-140: The Beach Edition

131. I really like tan hands. Just mine, but....so you know.

132. I'm kind of scared of periwinkles because they look like roaches.

133. My favorite thing to do is to sit in the edge of the waves in my low beach chair and read for hours.

134. I have peed in said beach chair in said position many times before. It saves a trip inside. You just have to make sure you pee as a wave washes over you.

135. I like to drizzle wet sand through my fingers to make witches' castles. I also like to rub wet sand on my legs and pretend it's a spa treatment.

136. I can ride a wave all the way to shore sitting atop a raft like it's a horse. This takes mad skillz.

137. Once I was doing this very trick with Cousineddie by my side and she rode over a huge wave's crest and landed flat on the back of the very boy she's been stalking all week.

138. Hushpuppies should be sweet, not like cornbread.

139. Only an outside shower will do at the beach. There's nothing like a warm breeze on naked buttocks. Plus, when else can you shower with lizards?

140. I generally like to eat somewhat healthfully, but fried Calabash seafood is the exception.

Do you think Glamour is hiring?

One would think that while on vacation there would be a great many topics about which to write. My family vacations in a most mundane, relaxing traditional manner. We come, we lie on the beach, we eat. Lather, rinse and repeat. It's the way I like it and the way it's always been. Some people like to go out to shows or go shopping when they're at the beach, but I figure I can do that stuff at home. Here, it's all about the vegging out and people watching. And Mr. Pigs would like for me to mention the beer drinking. Always with the beer drinking.

Right now, I'm itching to get out on the beach, but it's my turn on Piglet's nap duty and I figure we have the whole rest of the day to beach. Another thing I personally like to do at the beach is ride waves, but I'm apparently the only one who hasn't outgrown this interest and am alone in my body surfing. This is how I usually end up making friends with strangers because I just take up with other families out in the water. Which brings me to my next point: beach fashions.

Let's get it out there: water shoes. These shoes are perfectly fine for river tubing, required even, I believe, but there are certain fashion limits to which you must adhere at the beach. The main one being: don't wear water shoes. The only people who wear them are the Yankees from up north. I guess their beaches must be rocky? Or maybe people up north have terribly sensitive feet, I dunno. But they look like big weenies walking around on the beach in them!

Also: Let's talk bathing suit etiquette. Okay, tankinis. How to say this nicely? If you have, say, some extra waist. Or extra stomach. Or something you are trying to hide. I'm not sure that a tankini is the way to go unless you get the kind that actually is longer than the bottoms. I've seen more than a few guts hanging out, dunlopping over the waistband of the bottoms and poking out of the tankini top. It's not pretty. I think I'd rather you just wear a bikini and put it out there. I honestly think it would look nicer. In addition, triangle bikinis are for small-breasted women. In fact, the flatter you are, the better I think they look. If you have under cleavage hanging out, it's too small. And probably not very supportive.

Next topic: wife beaters. Now, as my SC born and raised husband insists on wearing these in public to humiliate me, I feel justified in discussing them here. What is the point? Unless the point is to look like a big redneck, I just don't get it. I mean, sleeves....well, they were on the shirt to begin with, so it seems that you should leave them on the shirt. And when you're on the beach, it seems that you should take your shirt off. Call me crazy, but I can't see how a wife beater tan is better than a farmer's tan.

That seems like quite enough criticism for today. I hope you have enjoyed the Pigs' version of Glamour Do's and Don't's for this morning. Now it's time for me to take my dirty-haired, no make-up, mismatched bikini, barefooted self to the beach.

If you were here with me at the sunny beach, what would you be doing? People watching with me? Or heading off to shop? Maybe someone can explain the allure to me.

Green and Shiny

Go!

Tough Life

Well, mom was just trying to help and bought Piglet his own little pool to have on the beach since he's too little to go in the ocean. She grabbed the last one (only $3!) and brought it along. Turns out, it's hot pink with flowers, so Piglet's having to really man up to pull off this look. How do you think he's doing? Have we scarred him for life?

On another note, Piglet's done some mean bonding with his grandpa who just can't get enough of him. My dad never got over the disappointment that my sister and I were not boys, so thirty one years later, he's finally got his boy and they are inseparable, even speaking a language we're pretty sure they are the only ones who understand.

Darn cute, no?

test

Photojournalism

Well, we have departed rural SC, much to my chagrin....snicker. Just to round out the trip, I feel it necessary to illustrate the experience with a photo of my child on a tractor. That's right, my 8 month old driving a tractor. If I'd stayed there another day, I might have joined the natives and put some sweet tea in his bottle. Good thing I got out when I did:

Now? I'm at the beach! Ah, sweet heaven. As I blog, I gaze out the window to my right at this:

Or to my left at this:

Last night's sunset was lovely too...

I type and listen to the sounds of the surf....the gentle squawks of seagulls...ahhhhh. It was worth three days in Podunk, South Carolina.

Now? I'm off to enjoy the beach. TTFN!

Yep.

Boonies 101

Um, y'all? I think I'm in the smallest most remote land in the country right now. I'm in a house. That house is surrounded by 40 acres of land. I can see a pond. There are a lot of birds. Waaaaaaaaaaaay down the road, there is another house. The owner of this house is called the "next door neighbor". There are two other neighbors if you journey down the dirt road at the end of the property.

This town settlement community place has no stoplights. There is one stop sign and(!) and blinking yellow caution light above it. Two towns over, there is a Wendy's. It's new and it put the Hardee's out of business. There is not a movie theater in the entire county. You have to drive an HOUR to get to a movie theater. An hour. I cannot imagine living here. It's hard to spend three days here.

This morning I thought I'd pass the time by going to the gym with my father in law. We drove through three towns and arrived twenty minutes later. I hopped on a treadmill and prepared to watch some Regis and Kelly whilst I took in a jog. The next thing I know, some man asks me if I'm Mr. Pigs' wife and starts telling me about his children. He had heard I would be in town. Never met the man in my life. He asked all about Piglet and Gus and wanted to know when we'd be moving back closer to home. Ten minutes into this conversation, in walks someone I know. There are eight people in this gym and somehow I know a quarter of them. Er...they know me. Whatever. It was very bizarre.

I don't think I'm cut out for small town life. It's 5:30 and I've already had my supper. Next we're going to go sit on the porch and watch the birds fly around. It's a good thing they invented satellite, because there's no cable here. Or city water. Just wells. Have I mentioned the septic tank? I've learned a lot on my visits out here. Tomorrow, I'm going to ride on a tractor around the property. Then Mr. Pigs and I are going out for our anniversary. We'll either have to talk to all the other people in the restaurant who know him, or we'll have to drive an hour to an actual town. Decisions, decisions.

Cheese Qwesa-dill-ahs

Being at home, I have all these flashbacks to high school, and even college, with all of my old clutter treasures around, being stored. I was flipping through some yearbooks and looking through some of my priceless artifacts leftover from the dorm days. This perusing, combined with AMP's dating post got me thinking back to my college years.

Coming as a surprise to many who know me, I decided to attend a private women's college instead of one of the big state schools to which I had applied. Said private women's college was also Southern Baptist, which I am not. But, I liked the campus, I liked the people, and I loved the size. The size lends itself to more a personalized education and more leadership opportunites.

Off I went. I joined the masses of girls swarming into the mandatory dorm life. We were not permitted to have cars our freshman year, except for those few who were able to plea some sort of economic hardship. Though my broke life seemed like an economic hardship, my dad saw no reason for me to have a set of wheels in college. In my group of friends my freshman year, one girl had a car and it became something of a community vehicle. In order to reach it, you had to schlep across campus to the horse riding ring turned freshman parking lot.

This schlepping was the most fun after dark when we returned to campus. It was against the rules for us to ride in the security officer's car. Oh - did I mention security? Right. While there was technically no curfew, the campus locked down at 11pm on weekdays and 1am on weekends. If you came in after hours, you had to show ID at the gate, and a security vehicle followed you to the parking lot, and then trailed you to your dorm. If a date returned you to campus, they had to leave their ID at the gate and they had five minutes to drop you off and return to the gate before campus security came after them. It was a great way to impress guys, really.

In fact, the whole dating game was a little skewed at our small college. No men, I'm sure you're saying, had to play a role, but that wasn't actually the problem. There was no shortage of men at the big university down the road and they seemed to like us Angels pretty well. Did I mention that our mascots was the Angels? Yeah. The fraternities often serenaded entire dorms beneath our windows and threw their comrades into our lake when they became lavaliered.

The embarrassing part of dating, aside from the dad-esque security guards breathing down their necks, was the process by which they had to pick us up. The dorms were locked down. Upon arrival, our gentlemen callers had to use a telephone outside on our dorm porch to ring us that they had arrived. Someone would then let them into the first floor parlor - I swear, that's what they were called - where they would wait until you met them. They were not allowed into the upstairs parlors, only the first floor, until our junior year when they began Male Visitation Days. (!) This was big news. On the third Sunday of every month, between the hours of 1:00 and 4:00pm, you were allowed to sign in male guests and they could come up to your room. With the door open, of course. And that was that.

Though I'm making fun of it, I actually really enjoyed going to a women's college. And during our years there, the college actually dropped its affliliation with the Southern Baptist Convention when they said that women couldn't hold positions in the ministry. That didn't exactly jive with the goals of women's empowerment that a women's college possesses. The college featured greasy southern cooking: ham fried rice, Carolina bar-b-que, and biscuits galore. If you called the Dial-A-Menu, they'd tell you on Mexican night that we'd be having [insert drawl here] "Cheeeese qwesa-dill-ahs". What more could you ask for?

Make up was never necessary until you actually left campus, pajama pants were acceptable class wear, but few girls were ever without their pearl necklace, sweatshirt or not. Alcohol was strictly forbidden on campus, but class songs were all the rage. A little competition called Cornhuskin' played out every fall, something I'm not even going to try to explain here. It was a little step back in time, but it worked for me.

Quickie?

Is anyone clever enough to know why the bottom left side of my blog will no longer load? Like from "Daily Reads" on down? Or is that just my computer? I can't see any of my blogroll or my book list and I am seriously bummed about it. Anyone? Anyone? Beuller?

Flashback.

Right, so being at home in my old childhood bedroom, I really start looking back in time and checking out my old stuff. I was niccin' for something to read and starting to get that antsy feeling that my book stash was running low, so I headed for some books that have been on the brain lately.

See, AMP found this blog that basically reviews Babysitter's Club books, discussing them along the way, and I was instantly hooked. I used to be an absolute BSC addict back in my day and have, um, all of them. At least as many as were published when I finally outgrew them. In, oh...ninth grade or so.

Shut up.

So last night, I read Kristy's Mystery Admirer. I fell back into the land of Stoneybrook, CT where Kristy's Krushers softball team finally beat Bart's Bashers. The land where Stacey still has diabetes and the Babysitter's Club includes people from nearly every race and culture just to make everyone feel warm inside. It was really pretty awesome. I just might read another one tonight just for kicks. Maybe, maybe even one of the Super Specials if I'm feeling punchy. You know you're jealous.

Just to get in the mood, I'm going to go put on my old scrunchy and pull out my Bangles tape. And I'm going to call Eddie and talk to her on my corded telephone from inside my closet, just so I can twirl the cord around my finger like Mary Anne Spier. Uh huh...yep. Bet you wish I'd call you too.

Horror

Ew! Ew! Ew! Piglet goes through new habits about every week as he learns new things and has to try them out over and over and over again. And over again. I was fine when he thought sucking air in and out of his new teeth was the cool thing to do. It didn't bother me a bit when he learned how to blow snot out of his nose and went around snorting like the little Piglet that he is.

But this week? Yesterday? He's started grinding his four little front teeth together. Scritch screch, scritch screch.....YAGH!!! I can't handle it! It's worse than fingernails on a blackboard! Worse than teeth in a towel! Arrrrrrrrrrrrgh!! My teeth ache to their very roots just thinking about the sound that his teeth make against each other over and over and over again. Shudder. Full body, down to the deep roots of my front teeth shudder.

I'm paralyzed with horror.

Wound

My left eyelid has been twitching incessantly for three days. This only happens when I achieve a state which my familiy refers to as "wound". I think it came from the original "wound up", but evolved into simply "wound".

I only get wound in anticipation of large events that require a great deal of planning. It's not the flying that I'm nervous about, though I do not particularly enjoy flying with a baby, especially alone. It's the actual preparation. I don't know what tragedy I think is going to befall me if I forget my razor or my pajama pants, it's not as though there are no stores in North Carolina. Even in the boonies of the beach we have a Food Lion. I'm just inexplicably wound. And my eyelid is exceptionally jumpy. I'm vexed.

TTFN!

I have managed to complete my list, as well as six additional lists pertaining to my impending trip tomorrow. If I don't have lists, I have nothing.

Tomorrow, I will be taking off for an NC/SC, visit the grandparents, hit the beach for a week, kind of vacation. Piglet and I will be gone for two weeks, but the word on the street is that we have wireless internet this year, so have no fear! I might even bring the beach to you.

In the meantime, Gus's caretakers have been aprised of the trip, given the key, handed the puppy treats, and fully prepared. Gus, on the other hand is engaging in typical suitcase-is-out-of-the-closet behaviors including, but not limited to, pantry scrounging, trash can dumping, excessive howling, and of course, pillow humping.

Sharing a suitcase with an 8 month old severely cramps my packing style. I hate the idea of wearing the same things over and over for two weeks. I don't like repetition in fashion. It's boring. Not that I'm going to be wearing much other than a bathing suit at the beach, but at night it's so nice to clean up at night and put on clean clothes and feel tidy and cute.

Speaking of cleaning up at night, my very, very, very favorite thing about going to the beach? Outdoor showering. For real. I love that I don't get goosebumps when trying to shave my legs, and how it's all warm and humid outside....love it. You just have to make sure that the neighboring houses can't peek down into your shower. That determines whether it's a bikini shower or a nekkid shower.

And so, with that image, I'm off. Tomorrow I'll be flying alone with an 8 month old who wants nothing more than to put the world in his mouth. Wish us good bacteria and the person beside me naps on the plane.

Don't Procrastinate Now, Save It for Later

Um, I'm leaving on Saturday and have made no moves to plan or pack for this two week trip. I have no lists. I'm panicking that I have no lists, but I am so disabled by my panic that I can't seem to make a list. It seems like a better idea to just go have a nap. Stick my head in the sand. Rest up.

I was actually out late last night. Okay, late for me, which was like 11:15pm. My tennis partner and I played some of America's youth last night, much to our aged chagrin. Upon seeing that our opponents were 19 and 21, respectively, we vowed to beat them. We promised to obliterate them. We outlined their certain defeat. And then we almost had heart attacks. Those girls were some good competition. Because we are stubborn and would not go home losers, we fought our way through 12 games, then a tiebreaker to win that set, followed by another 10 games to win the second set. We are the great American heroes. Oh, wait....isn't that G.I Joe?

This post is becoming progressively more rambly. Long story short (too late), we clearly had to have our celebratory beer after that win, and I didn't get to bed until close to midnight. Then Piglet decided to wake an hour early this morning for no apparent reason. Thus, my weary mind. My weary mind which is actively avoiding making a list of things to pack.

I'll just start here so that I can go take my nap:

1. clothes
2. bathing suits
3. sippy cups
4. Tylenol
5. Harry Potter 6
6. camera
7. monitor
8. Piglet's frog
9. toys
10. sunscreen

There. That's a good start.

I need a babysitter. For me.

So, I have a patch of poison ivy on my neck in the shape of a hickey and a bruise on my forehead in the shape of my sink faucet. Why, you might ask? Because I had to stay home alone last night. I am the biggest chicken in the world when it comes to staying home by myself in a house. It never bothered me when I was in a dorm, or lived in an apartment, but put me in a house? I think there's burglars at every turn.

When I was little, in my mind getting kidnapped was not a matter of "if", it was a matter of "when". Much like my house burning down, it was certain doom, I just didn't know exactly when the event was going to transpire. I had a plan though, lest you worry. My plan was to befriend my captors. I was going to be sweet and nice and make them like me and then they wouldn't hurt me. There would be no kicking or screaming from me, and I figured they would probably let me play Atari and read my books if I was a good girl. I was worried about missing school though, never was able to reconcile that possibility in my mind. Perfect attendance was an important goal to me.

Anyway....this brings us to 2007, when we have a 31 year old adult who hears boogeymen in every closet and under every bed. And so begins the routine. All doors must be compulsively locked all day long. The alarm, normally not set, is turned on. Before dark, a thorough search of the house must commence in search of the Bad Guy. More lights than are good for the globally warming environment are illuminated. The dog? Sleeps in the bed with me. I give myself treats to reward self for being a big girl.

Last night's spoiling began after Piglet went to bed and I rustled up a special dinner for myself. Now, when cooking for one, it's a lot easier to just whip up a sandwich, but what's the fun in that? I defrosted some frozen burrito meat and created me some yummy burritos. The treat? RAW ONIONS. Yummers. I usually refrain from such delicacies out of consideration for Mr. Pigs. Then I topped that off with a cup of peanut butter cup chocolate ice cream, which I promptly counted as one of my junk food 'o the day on my trusty chart. Where's all this going? you're probably asking.

Well. Turns out the onion breath was pretty unbearable, even for me, so I headed for a thorough brush, floss and Listerine treatment. Since it was onion related, I vowed to rinse longer than the standard 30 seconds for good measure. Do not do this. It burns. Somehow, I found myself away from the sink at a time when I urgently needed a spitting receptacle. Racing at warp speed for the sink, I thrust my head under that faucet and - WHABAM! - bashed my head into the hot water turner onner. It hurt kind of a lot.

Rubbing my new bruise pitifully, I climbed into bed to curl up with Gus, who was luxuriating in the knowledge that he didn't have to go to his room for the night. And so we snuggled. And that's how I came to have poison ivy on my neck in the shape of a hickey. I conclude that staying home alone is bad for my health.

I'm Gonna Kick Your Bottom!

Well, it seems like everyone in the blog world is writing about pee and poop today, and you know it's hard for me to resist that kind of temptation. This blog is finally an outlet for my bathroom humor. My mom used to tell me that I was never going to have a boyfriend if I didn't stop talking about the bathroom when I was little. She said I would surely outgrow it. She said she didn't know where I got this predilection for poo, that preference for pee, the fascination with....oh, wait. I'm not allowed to say that word.

Perhaps this ban on certain potty words is what triggered my interest in the subject. Perhaps my mom's overzealous efforts to make me a proper young lady backfired and sent me running willy nilly in an entire other direction! Perhaps....my mom was the catalyst for my bathroom humor. Now there's a concept.

I think she also indirectly triggered my creativity and I'll tell you why. My sister will back me up on this. When you aren't allowed to say, "Mom! Katie f@*ted!" you have to think on your feet for another word that will have the same delicious impact as the banned lexicon. The preferred parental substitute was "had gas." I don't know about you, but you are Dorko Numero Uno if you come out with that on the playground. We preferred: pooted, tooted, or let one rip. There were many others in the day, but somehow they've faded from memory. I recall something about car exhaust, but I can't...quite....seem to grasp it. Darn poor memory.

We were also not allowed to utter the "b" word. I'm writing this in past tense, but if you notice I am still not using the words because my mom reads this and would certainly chastise me a) for saying bad words and b) for doing it on a public forum. Then she'd start in on how she raised me better and it would become a gigantic headache. Anyway, we were supposed to say "bottom". Now, I did use that word when teaching and I do use it in regard to Piglet, but it's a pretty goofy sounding word. When teaching, I actually preferred such lines as, "Put what's in the air in the chair!" or the ever-simple, "Park it." But in our family, bottom, rear end, tush, and later bohonkus had to do. "Bottom" just doesn't have the same pizazz when you're in the moment....."Get out of my way or I'm going to kick your.....um, bottom. Thanks."

So now I feel at least partially included in the pee and poop discussion, as I have covered the basic gas and posterior nomenclature for you, my dear readers. Discuss.

Brief Sidebar....

In reference to my dorky post the other day about my charts and the rules relating to junk foods and fitness-

Do Baked Cheetos count as junk food?

What about one Milano cookie?

Things 121-130

I took almost a year's break from this endeavor, so I think I'll resume here.

121. I cannot bear to sit on a warm toilet seat. It grosses me out to think that someone else just sat there long enough to warm the seat.

122. I have four hairs that grow on each of my big toes.

123. Twenty three is my favorite number. I think because it's my birthdate, but I think the numbers are pretty together. I also kind of favor 26 with no good reason.

124. As mentioned in an earlier post, I visualize numbers as colors and picture a calendar as a circle with shades of color tinting different seasons.

125. I'm dying to know who the Mighty Favog is who posts comments on here all the time and has no blog. Eddie and I had a fierce debate last night over Favog's gender. Yes, we are sad.

126. I love black and white photographs in white frames. It does something fancy for me.

127. When I was little, I really really really wanted to drive the fire truck when I grew up because I liked how all the cars pulled off the road for you when you honked.

128. I'm a compulsive coupon clipper.

129. I still wear my retainers at night because my teeth move if I don't and I really don't want my buck teeth to return. They're still lurking under there, taunting me.

130. I went on a cruise once and really didn't like it. It's fun with a group of friends, but it didn't do much for me on the whole. I like a nice resort better.

'Cause You Don't

I have a name. My name is one of those names that it would be nice if people could spell correctly once in a while, but I understand why people don't. My charming moniker is a less common spelling than its much more popular counterpart. It's not so weird that people haven't heard of it, it's not one of these Maddisyn's or Krysteen's that they do nowadays. It is a real name, somewhat old-fashioned and mostly Southern, but a real name nonetheless.

I'll compare my name to the name "Casey". There are many variations on Casey, including Kacie, Kacey, or Casie. Some might be inclined to play around with Kaicie, Caisey, or even Kaecie. They might get cute and experiment with a Kaci, Kaysie or a Caycee, you just never know. The point is that the first letter, last letters, and/or second vowels leave a lot of options open. These shorter names might be nicknames for Cassandra, Kassandra, or Cacille. Who knows?

So, imagine that my name is one of THOSE names. Those difficult, ambiguous, lots of ways to spell it kind of names. Imagine that my name might be pronounced differently depending upon what part of the country I was in, like Caroline or Penny. I understand all of this about my name and always, always, always spell my name when giving it to anyone writing it down. What vexes me then? When I spell it for people letter by enunciated letter and they STILL spell it wrong. Or people I've known my whole life....my step-grandmother for instance who spelled it wrong for 25 years.

It's extraordinarily irritating for someone who is a spelling nazi like myself to have a name that no one can spell. Combine that with a middle name ending in a silent "e" and the ten letter German monstronsity that was my maiden name, and you've got a kid with a problem.

So, take a lesson people. Listen when people spell to you, and write down what they say, not the way you envision the name in your mind because you've known exactly 32 people with that name, and Duh! You know how to spell that!

'Cause you don't.

I get a gold star!

It's been demonstrated numerous, countless, endless times on here that I am a genuine dork. An indisputable nerd. A goobersmooch, if you will. As a part of this condition with which I am afflicted, I love to make lists. Lists and charts. Lists, charts, and checklists. I'm getting all giddy just thinking about it.

A few weeks ago, I decided that Mr. Pigs and I needed some self-improvement. We had a few things to work on. His list was easy for me to create: pick up clothes, put away messes, take vitamins, all the little things that drive me crazy. Mr. Pigs is a very good sport and puts up with my little games, diligently checking off this checklist each night and reporting his progress. Through this checklist, Mr. Pigs has proven very successful at self-improvement. My dandy little chart has managed to create him a bona fide vitamin habit, cleared up a persistent foot fungus, and tidied up his counterspace. Win, win, win!

It was harder to create my own chart, because I am already practically perfect in every way. So, after a great deal of study and thought, research and analysis I came up with two key areas of improvement: oral hygiene and my abs. When pregnant, I fell out of the habit of regular flossing because of the whole bleeding gums issue. Now I have no excuse, so my first 3 items were: two minute Sonicare brush, floss, and Listerine. I did fabulously my first month. Also on the first month were my ab exercises: planks, exercise ball sit ups, bicycle sit ups, and some sort of leg lift thingies. Again, I did a great job with my chart.

So that brings us to this month's Brand New Chart. I've added some things, but have some questions. Despite my heroic efforts with the ab exercises, I have failed to rid myself of the thin layer of fat which remains on top of my nicely toned abs leftover from Piglet's stretchy habitation of my abdominal region. It's not really noticeable to anyone but me, but it's not firm like I want. Word on the street is that you have to cut calories and burn it off to make it go away, something I'm not supposed to do until I'm done nursing. SO. That brings us to the new chart.

I've added 20-30 minutes of cardio at least three times a week and 2 or less junk foods a day. This addition brings about my questions as I immediately try to find ways around my own rules. Here are my questions. And I trust your judgment.

1. Regarding junk foods: Does beer or wine count as a junk food? Would something somewhat unhealthy for a meal, like a spinach calzone that I know is high fat count as junk food even though it was my meal? What about Sonic? If I get a grilled cheese kids' meal, how many junk foods is that? Grilled cheese, tots, and a Coke.....3? 2? Help!

2. Regarding cardio: If I play tennis for an hour and a half, does that count as all of my cardio, or just one? My gut says just one, but I have to ask.

3. If I get all my checks for a week and earn a gold star, what should I get?

4. On a scale of one to ten, one being clever, organized, and together, and ten being total dorkarama, just how much of a geek does my chart make me?