Kermit Does Not Wear Pants

Long weekends are difficult for the hermit in me. I know I need to get my ass out the door and do things. Fun! Exciting! Things! Yet the Hermit says stay in, it is so hot out there. There are Fun! Exciting! Things! to do inside the doors.

A couple months ago, we had talked about going to float the river over Memorial Day weekend. I have not done this in several years. Beer, water, swimsuits. Beer helps make you forget how that swimsuit looks on you. But, as it got closer, we decided not to do that. Which may be good in light of how fat pansies are.

The in-laws were planning on coming into town today. I found out about a new display at the Natural Science Museum for the mens to hang out at. The girls, well, we could find something to do, I am sure.

Last night we indulged in beer. Copious amounts. And then some. We slept until noon. I knew that I had lots of cleaning to do in preparation for the arrival of the in-laws. I have been repeatedly told by Not Craig to chillax. His parents don’t care if the house is clean. They probably wouldn’t even notice. In my mind, that translates into, “Blah, blah, blah”. I needed to clean. So I would not panic when they knocked on the door. I had to buy groceries. I had things to do. So when I woke up at noon, feeling like warmed poo, I tried to step it up and do things. And I did. I made coffee and sat on the couch.

Then the call came.

They cancelled.

So now, my plans are shipwrecked. I do not have to clean, or shop, or entertain.

Now what?

I still feel icky. I have no clue as to what we should do this weekend now. Thoughts? Ideas? I am not opposed to being a hermit and not showering for 3 days and not leaving the house. Ever.

I am of the opinion that Not Craig will not permit this. He does not share the hermit-y factor like I do.

And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could ya’ll post some things. I need something to read when I stubbornly glue myself to this chair for the next 72 hours.

P.S. This posting was interrupted by the urging of Not Craig to shower and go see the new Indiana Jones movie. That requires pants. That is not the weekend I have embraced in the past hour. A weekend without pants, that is.

Hi, My Name Is Luka. I Live On The Third Floor.

After the whole diamond posting thing, I was tired. That process took a lot of time and effort. Which means that I am super lazy at blogging as well. My new line at work and at home is that I am a month and a half behind in my life.

I always wonder what I will do when I have kids. My time seems so stretched now. I know what will happen...the innernets will miss me, my laundry will pile up high, my cats will move out and get their own place, my job will no longer own me, and my legs will remain unshaven for longer periods of time than they do now. If that is possible.

Over the past week, I kept thinking when life was happening, "Ooooh, I gotta blog about this." On a couple occasions, I even emailed myself the ideas. Now, it is Saturday morning, I am drinking coffee and being chillax, just when I should write a post. But instead, let's just explore my brain.

These are the items I was thinking of blogging about:

Special shoes - do your feet get fatter when you get fatter? Have I really lived to be 31 and not know what my shoe size is? (Our goal this weekend is to spend a bazillion dollars on running shoes for my fat feet. Because the more we spend on fitness...the fatter we get. Good plan.)

Sleeping upside down - no matter how we sleep, right side up, upside down, sideways, in a car, outside, in a rent house, in a shack, in our own home, I will sleep well knowing he is by my side. (We slept the wrong way on the bed one night. And we weren't drunk. I think.)

Gardening attempts - pics required. (I am a bad ass catnip and basil grower. Rosemary, eh...not so much.)

Ice skating - the bruise and subsequent chiro visits, 12 year olds bounce. (Dude. Ice skating is fun, ice skating is also painful. 12 year olds don't care about the pain. And they laugh at the old people who don't like the pain.)

New car - heated seats, sunroof, leather. I love a warm bum. (Um, okay.)


Those are the ideas I have had over the past week. Pretty lame, huh? Here's hoping next week is less lame. 92% less lame.

I Rhyme With Kermit

Over the last couple of years, my age seems to have shot straight into elderly. I would rather stay at home watching HGTV than go out to the bars. I spend more time than ever before alone. I have become a crazy penny-pinching hermit.

My dear Not Craig has insisted that I become more sociable. That I get off my butt and go out. That I work at maintaining the limited friendships I have.

Which leads to today.

I am a bit nervous about my stupid back. It is Houston, hot and humid with a threatening sky.

I am about to go sit outside, with my pasty porcelain skin, for 8+ hours, on a wet hill, listening to bands that I remotely know. And if I get wild, pay $10 for a beer. And $15 for an Aramark hot dog.

Oh Lord, what am I getting myself into?

How old is too old for this scene? And who the hell are these bands?

When can I apply for the AARP?

I really want the discount at IHOP.

Low Talky

This week has kicked my ass. The last 3 weeks have kicked my ass. And before that? We were moving, which kicked my ass.

I am an introvert. Too much activity freaks me out. Too much talky-talky. Too many people. Not enough Ahhhh-oooommmm. Alone time. Chill and stare at the wall time.

I am at That Point. Where I am just beat down. I just want to wrap myself in my little cocoon and not talk to anyone for awhile. I want to spend the weekend in my PJ’s, drinking coffee. Doing nada. Spend time with the only human I really want to spend time with right now. And not talk. And not listen. And just be quiet.

To get Me back. To become level again.

However, let’s see…my boss wants me to go to work today. I am not going because I stayed there until 9:30 last night in order to avoid working today. I expect his call any minute asking where I am. I will probably not answer.

I then need to go to a friend’s kid’s first birthday party. I was so wishing this was tomorrow. Just so I could regain some balance and become a nicer person. However, I will go and smile and enjoy meeting the kid for the first time. It is waaaayyy over due.

And then. I plan on planting some herbs. Perhaps something flowery, and maybe a small tomato plant. Are there any small tomato plants?

I used to hate tomatoes. I was very much into tomato by-products. Tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, ketchup. Any processed tomato was acceptable. But I HATED fresh tomatoes. This has been going on since childhood. I did not eat tomatoes. One day, however, I decided to break out of the ordinary, quit doing the same thing, and ate a slice of fresh tomato that I was about to put on a pizza and bake it into oblivion in order to make it acceptable. And guess what. It was acceptable. In fact, it was downright tasty.

I did this a year ago with dairy. I decided maybe this self-imposed lactose ban wasn’t me. Maybe I really wasn’t lactose intolerant. Maybe my genes became strong and kicked that stupid deficient gene’s ass. I started eating dairy. Oh sweet baby Jesus. Cheese. Milk. Ice Cream. The Heavens opened up, it was amazing. However, I was wrong. That stupid lactose deficient gene is still partying it up with that vision impaired gene. They are winning. I am still blind and still lactose intolerant.

Point is though, I tried. I tried something that I had previously written off. I changed my thoughts and my actions to attempt something new. I went against what I felt I should do, what I had been doing for years, what was the most comfortable route.

So today, when all I really want to do is watch E! all day and the Celebrity Rehab reunion. I am instead going to get off my lazy butt, go buy some noisy brightly colored toy and spend time with humans. Humans I don’t see very often. A really small human that I can’t wait to meet. And just maybe, that is what I need more than anything I think I need.

I am still not going to work though.

Why Are The Scots So Bitchy?

Whew. Moving sucks big goat balls. I am tired, tired, and more tired. I am pissy and grouchy and altogether unpleasant to be around. My Our house is a mess.

How quickly gratitude can disappear. How quickly your gleeful attitude turns to irritation. Rudeness. Grumpy McGrumpyness.

Mere days is all it takes to move from being just blown over by how well life is to being a snippy little bitch. Hey, babe….umm…sorry.

I have discussed before the irritation of dealing with small town New Mexico.

My decision to start an import/export business during my “brief” trip to Houston.

Every birthday should end in fast food, tears and vodka shooters.

Monkeys, lower evolutionary development, fucking retarded idiots – semantics – New Mexico has them all baby.

1,001 Reasons to Sue Your Apartment Complex.

There are things that I haven’t written about…my fights with 2 different doctors’ office. The resultant collection attempt that is marring my perfect credit score. My love’s dealings with things that I probably shouldn’t refer to because this is my blog and not his, and my career and not his. Have you seen the movie, The Hills Have Eyes? I wholly believe it was taped in Oil Field, New Mexico. And is a true story. ‘Nuff Said. Word to your mother.

(HAHAHAHA!!! After intense fact-checking because this is a quality blog, well written, researched, and factually accurate – the movie DOES take place in NM. There, Bitches.

So…this is what we were faced with. I flew in Sunday, needed to be moved back across Texas asap so I could return to the Great Law Office in the Sky and draft more TPS reports. We needed to get a U-haul, a trailer, a rebuilt transmission, boxes, return the cable box, pack, clean and get a seal of approval on the clean apartment.

The sheer terror that rose over me thinking of the difficulties we would face when working on this move….

I couldn’t get a piece of fried chicken in this town without a fight. It is simply impossible, (under normal city standards), to do anything in this small town.

I would like a hamburger, no onions or tomatoes, add bacon. HUH! WTH. We don’t have no bacon burger. Well, could you add bacon to a hamburger? NO. We ain’t got no bacon on a burger. Do you have bacon? Yea. Can you place it on top of a burger? NO. I done told you no. We don’t do those high-falutin burger deals here, lady. See. Impossible. You want something. You can’t have it. Welcome to New Mexico.

So…we set out with great trepidation on Monday. We obtained a U-haul, the exact trailer we needed and sufficient boxes in less than an hour. Perfect. Ecstatic exclamations may have been heard.

We then had to obtain a vehicle that was in a shop. A rebuilt transmission. Work that was originally quoted to take a week. We wanted it done over a weekend, ready Monday afternoon. They agreed. We did not truly believe them. We had lived in the area long enough to know the difficulties that arise from needing things from other people. Be it toothpaste from Wal-Mart, a burger from Burger King, a tire rotation at a tire rotation place. Not Easy. Staples has an easy button. These are not advertised at the local Staples. It would be false advertising and I would sue.

The truck was ready when quoted. For the low end of the quote. We passed out. Woke up. Drove the truck home. And it worked. The tranny didn’t fall out. We made it back to Oil Field in one piece. Life was looking up.

I do believe that when things are right, when things are meant to happen, it is clockwork. Greased wheels, however you want to describe it. In a Land of You Cannot Have It How You Want It Because We Said So, we were given everything exactly the way that we wanted, in normal world time, without hassle. In a year of living in this area, this has never before happened. It was unnatural. Supernatural, Yes, Joel Osteen, we were living in the Supernatural.

Life was wonderful. Life is wonderful.

We got all the moving accoutrements in place. We boxed and moved and got rid of a bunch of crap to the bestest home in the entire world.

We drove and drove and drove.

We then hired people to carry all our crap up the 89 stairs that lead to our place. It took them 63 minutes. It would have taken us 6.3 days.

The worst thing we could think of that happened during this blessed week was that my sandwich at McDonald’s was kinda gross. The very worst thing. Hmmm….aren’t we amazingly fortunate.

However, then I have to go and get all involved. I have to “feel” a certain way. I have to get tired and bitchy and cranky. I have a dirty house, boxes everywhere. I am exhausted. And people at work talk to me. I hate when people talk to me. Quit talking to me!!!

And so I get all bitchy with my love. And Cranky McCranksterston hit town and was mean.

My dear, I apologize for being a Fussy McFussy Pants. And for talking all Meany McMeanster.

Forgive me please.

I will make Popcorn shrimp for dinner.

Miss Crazy Cat Lady 2008

I probably appear to be a Crazy Cat Lady. Hell, my Fun Monday post pretty much cemented that reputation. And I probably am, except for the man in my life that legitimizes my obsessive cat ownership as a simple “animal-lover".

Shut up, that is my own personal validation. It works for me.

While I may be considered a Crazy Cat Lady on the innernets, I officially, am NOT the Crazy Cat Lady of my block.

May I introduce you to some of the neighborhood cats:

And those folks, are the ones that would stick around for me.

The realtor that showed me the place told me it was cat-friendly. And boy, howdy, is it!

The number of black cats causes problems. This morning, for instance, I am backing out and I see a black cat dash up the driveway, see my car, and turn around and bolt back down it. It looked terrified, or on a mad dash, a Buffalo Stampede. I am concerned it is poor Yoda, who sits at the bottom of my stairs and meows, wanting freedom, who has bolted out of my door on a couple of occasions already, the latest being when I came home tonight. I worry that perhaps I didn’t see her escape this morning and she is loose. I continue down the road until the fear becomes too much. Yoda is declawed and not an aggressive cat, she has had her ass kicked repeatedly by Kitten and has been cornered on previous escapes by neighborhood cats (Have I mentioned how that damn cat used to jump off my balconies?) I did not feel good about the small chance that she was loose in my neighborhood. So, I pull a You-EE and run back in my house, where, she is still sitting at the bottom of my stairs, willing it to open.

Anyhoo, when I met the landlord, I got the low down. In the building next to mine, also owned by my landlord, is the top Crazy Cat Lady. The self-nominated, Crazy Cat Lady of the block. Whew, I am safe! I hope she doesn’t move any time soon, I am not ready to assume the throne.

She feeds, houses, and has outside litter boxes for those that don’t go inside. She is the Queen of the Cat Kingdom. I met her last night and that is when the true breadth of the problem was evident. At least 4 cats I had never seen before appeared. I pointed out to her that I hadn't seen all of these before. She laughed... that there were many more than the 9 that were surrounding her!

However, she didn’t bring all the cats around. She is not to blame, completely. It all started a couple years back. One of the elderly residents of my building hadn’t been seen for awhile. Someone accessed her apartment and she was found to have passed away. She was the Ultimate Crazy Cat Lady. There were cats everywhere – probably a hundred cats in her apartment. Some were taken to shelters, some had to be put down and well some…are hanging out on my car hood right now.

So there. I can continue to rant about my cats without fear.

I am Not the Queen.

I only get the silver medal.

Happiness Schmapiness

A couple days ago, I was looking around my sparsely furnished apartment, looking in wonder at the few things that I have here in Houston. I am tired of sitting on the floor, I am tired of not having the comforts I am used to. I started thinking of how cheap I am. How I rarely will splurge on anything pricey. How I can afford more, yet I don’t allow myself these items.

I was actually down on myself for this. I buy cheap. I buy secondhand. I comparison shop. And perhaps, most notably right now, I do without. And I was feeling bad about this. Felt that I should do more. I should go buy myself a couch. I should buy myself that chair I want for my foyer, where I can chat with that secretary I need to hire. I should get some better, higher thread count sheets. I need, I need, I need.

However, I have been holding back. Not wanting to spend much money. Knowing that this situation is temporary. I will have my old comfy sheets sometime in the future, I will have a couch, I will move my camping chairs from my living room to my foyer, where my secretary and I will chat about what that crazy bitch Britney did this week.

I am not in debt, I don’t want to get back into debt. And the Good Lord knows, my rent doesn’t justify any extra expenditures. But dammit, I work my ass off. I deserve more. It will make me more comfortable. It will make me happy. I am just going to buy myself those things I deserve.

W. T. F. !

Hold Up. Wait A Minute.

Screw that, I told myself. My belongings don’t make me happy. Hell, over the past 10 years, I have given away so much of the crap I have bought anyway. Why would I need to buy more crap?

Crap isn’t what makes me happy.

And hell, who cares if I am happy or not.

I was never promised Happy.

This culture drives me fucking crazy.

Entitlement makes me livid. You don’t deserve a thing. What you get, be thankful for. Work hard to get more. Put out good things, hopefully you get good things back, and if you don’t, oh well, at least you made other lives better.

As for your job, screw job satisfaction, you should be happy you have a job. Who cares if you have a comfy couch. Be happy, you have a roof. Your family, your loved ones driving you crazy? Be happy you have them to drive you crazy.

This post made me start thinking about these things.

To me, the most important point of the link is this quote: When money or health is a problem, you think about it all the time; when it’s not a problem, you don’t think much about it. Both money and health contribute to happiness mostly in the negative; the lack of them brings much more unhappiness than possessing them brings happiness. One of the greatest luxuries that money and health provide is the freedom from having to think about them.

So, if you have a bit of money, you have a bit of health…get busy. Stop thinking about not having enough of either just by staying busy. If you are busy, you are working, you are active, you don’t have time to consider how little you have. How little happiness, how little money. In the end, what do you really want, anyway?

I think I can do without that couch, those sheets, or that secretary for now.

That Roomba?

Hmm….damn, I take this back. All of it.

Fun Monday - Home Edition

This week, Kitten is hosting. Kitten has requested that we discuss the history of our home and the street that we live on.

I signed up anticipating to be in my new home. Having slept a couple nights there, enjoyed a leisurely weekend where I would stroll the streets, take some pics and just soak in some of the rich history and amazing architecture found in my new neighborhood. As the post below indicates, I am still living in the hotel. I am kinda sure ya'll don't really care about the history of the hotel or the freeway that runs outside it. Although if you must know, the freeway was constructed in 1935. As for the hotel, who knows. Or cares.

The new home, however, is rich in history. It is one of the oldest and most historic neighborhoods in Houston. The neighborhood was platted in 1907, whatever that means. My home was built in the early 1920's. There are a plethora of little bungalows and large Victorian style homes throughout this dense area just outside of downtown.

There are gorgeous trees and many outstanding gardens, both flower and vegetable (some large enough to be bordering on small-scale farming operations). The neighborhood has at least one resident beekeeper, and in many places it still has no proper gutters, but instead relies on open drainage ditches (with choruses of frogs most summer evenings). (Plagiarized from Wiki). One of the annual events is a Christmas home lighting extravaganza. I would estimate that 80% of the homes within a 10 block span of my home are beautifully decorated. It has been a sight to see and makes me feel so at home.

I will be surely showing off my neighborhood in the coming months, however, I probably should spend a night or two there before I start photographing neighbor's homes.

So, Fun Monday is all about photos. So here are a couple of inside shots.

Looking down to my front door:

My foyer. Where my secretary will sit and make my appointments:


My expensive, imported living room suite:


Now go look at everyone else's beautiful homes!

Solitude

I am enjoying the quiet around my little abode. I miss my man, but it is nice to be able to lay around and do whatever my little heart desires. Which today has consisted of reading a book. Checking out books on Colorado for the upcoming vacay (see below). Visiting the wonderful world of Wally. Drinking coffee. I think I may go crazy later tonight and....wait for it....wait.....Go to.....wait........Arby's! Folks, the excitement in my world in small town New Mexico may get your head a-spinning.

So...is it wrong to enjoy being alone this much? I do miss him. And have a hard time sleeping without him. But I am a solitary individual. I could very well be a shut-in hermit. If I am ever left alone too long, you may want to check on me to ensure that I haven't taken in 30 cats and a pet rock. Because I am very susceptible to being a crazy cat lady.

One of the company wives was trying to reach me earlier, I am guessing to break me out of my hermit-ness or she may be lonely as the company is keeping her man quite busy. I, however, am perfectly fine to not speak to another human for the next 36 hours. Is this wrong?

So...Anyone have thoughts about Colorado? Since we abandoned the Euro-trip, we haven't decided on where to go for our vacation. In a week. He pooh-poohed the Go West, Young Man idea. And since East and South lead us to places that we either lived for 1/2 our lives or to where you need to have at least applied for a passport to enter, we are probably going North. Colorado here we come. Until we decide to fly to Chicago or DC or Kansas City or stay at home and put a kiddie pool on the patio and drink boxed wine and eat Gobstoppers for 2 weeks. Not that I am doing that for the next 36 hours. Just call before you come over, I may or may not need to hide a few things.

My Sunday To-Do's

I couldn’t sleep anymore this morning. I have this evil affliction that I cannot sleep in very late. There have been a few wondrous times in my life where I was able to sleep past 10 A.M., but they usually involved lots of beer and passing out around 6 A.M. Can you imagine how lovely I would be if I wasn’t able to sleep in those days?

But now, I am officially old. I have said that I was old before, but waking up both weekend days before 9 A.M. without purpose, may actually seal my old-ness.

So, I am up. And wondering what I should do. I need to hem my work pants that I bought at the thrifts in Austin and then throw all my laundry into the washer. I find it odd that 2 of the pairs of pants I bought both have the left leg hem undone. Did these come from the same person whose left leg is 1 ½” longer than their right? These questions wake me early on a Sunday morning… Anyhoo…I have made a deal with my downstairs neighbor that I wouldn’t start laundry until 11 A.M. at the earliest. He is a restaurant manager at one of the three restaurants in town and I don’t wanna piss him off. I am sure to see him on a semi-regular basis and do not want him to drop my portabella on the floor and then spit on it before it arrives at my table.

I need to do some Ebaying, which today will consist of counting sewing pattern pieces and posting the patterns. I have a ton ready to count, but have been putting this off. I did post a boatload of stuff yesterday while my dear was working hard out in the desolate oil fields of far West Texas. And getting sunburned. I think just being in close proximity to me causes a reduction in a person’s melanin. You may want to stay away from this portion of Texas/New Mexico as you will never be able to have a tan again. Something I do aspire to in life. In secret, though. Sun is bad and causes wrinkles and skin cancer. So…I guess I will just deal with being as white as typing paper. That is all right. Life could be worse. They could stop making Gobstoppers. Yep, moved away from sunflower seed obsession, hello Gobstoppers!!

So, today I also need to change out my brake light. My lovely car is missing a brake light. An extremely serious officer of the law who takes his job super serious, pulled me over to inform me in a most serious voice that my brake light was not functioning, seriously. And then he sternly advised in a most serious fashion that he was declining to provide me with a ticket at that time and would instead provide just a very stern and serious verbal warning that I have a burned out brake light. Dude, he is so needing to smoke a joint or something.

He also had a SWAT badge. I wonder how many SWAT situations arise in this small town. However, I am much comforted that in the case of a SWAT-y situation, he is ready and very serious at all times. You never know when a girl in a Corolla with a fresh loaf of bread, a nice smelling candle, brown sugar and cinnamon pop-tarts and other assorted groceries, is gonna take 5 people hostage in the back seat of her car and drive around with a broken tail light refusing to roll down her broken window. Thank goodness SWAT is nearby. I am comforted. But still can’t sleep late.

I must return to Big Lots again this weekend, in search of foil and plastic wrap. I bought a large amount of meat yesterday and need to divide it up and freeze it. I am so dating a meat and potatoes type of guy. I have tried to make meals without meat.

Me: Honey, would you like spaghetti for dinner? Response: With hamburger? Me: No…we don’t have any thawed. Response: No, let’s just go to McDonald’s. …

Ok, whatever, I am estrogen filled and don’t quite understand. I love dead animals just as much as any other self-respecting Southern gal(don’t throw things K, I am pretty damn Southern …. My man wears wife beaters and has a red neck….and I post songs about turnip greens, ya’ll!), …but I don’t require flesh-eating at every meal. But that is just me. And we must respect the desires of each person that resides in our household. So off to freeze some dead chickens and pigs. Cows were properly frozen last night.

I also should probably call my Dad today. He hasn’t called me since we spoke and I told him that I was pregnant and not sure if I was gonna keep it, but truly was just referring to finding a sickly kitten. He may not have recovered from the heart attack I caused. I may wanna wait until tomorrow night….

Hmmm…that may be the end of my Sunday To-Do list. I may read a bit more in Apollyon, the fifth book in the Left Behind series. This job business is getting in the way of my reading about the end of the world. Bad job.

Have a wonderful Sunday, folks. If you want some dead pig, head on over to my place this evening. I am fixing to cook some up and may throw together some collard greens and corn bread, if you ask nicely.

Homebound

Our household currently has 4 vehicles at our disposal. My Corolla. His truck. His motorcycle, that I can’t drive because it weighs as much as my Corolla. And now his official company car, which of course, I can’t drive, because he needs that job so I can sit around and play with the cats all day. So, between two people, we have four vehicles. Four. So…you may wonder why I am homebound, unable to go anywhere, am discovering our town does not have taxi service and am scheduling USPS to pick up all my Ebay packages. That would be because I am an expert, near genius level, at breaking vehicles.

So, let’s start with my dear Corolla. I love that car. She has been very good to me for a number of years. I, on the other hand, have not been kind to her. She has waited patiently for new brakes for some time. They were on her Christmas list last year, but Santa only brought coal (of course, mixed with a bit of ethanol and all in a liquid form). She again asked for brake pads for Valentine’s Day, President’s Day, Easter and Flag Day. I am a true wench. And well, my dear Rolla finally had enough. She has decided to protest my horrible treatment in the form of the loudest screech and grinding that you have heard. So…she is parked.

Ok, Vehicle #2. I begin driving the man’s truck due to the Corolla’s temper tantrum. Big hulking truck that it is. It sure served me well when I needed it for the motherload. It served me well when I had to make numerous trips to various fast food establishments this weekend. And when I needed to deliver packs of Jolt! Gum, beef jerky and Cokes to its rightful owner. The truck was wonderful. It cared for me just like his owner would. But, apparently, it heard that smack I talk. Maybe I discussed how it was so big and inconvenient for me. Or perhaps how I hope my car gets fixed soon. Or, the theory I am going with for now, how his daddy, my dear, was going to park it, in exchange for the company car that was soon to be bequeathed. It decided to exact revenge. And not start.

So, these delivery missions I had been pursuing were ongoing from Saturday morning until Sunday or technically Monday at 1 A.M. My Baby Truck Daddy had a very very very very important work deal-i-o. He did not have the time to run to the gas station across the street for Jolt reinforcements. He needed sustenance in the form of Quarter Pounders. And a back massage every few hours. I am a good woman, so I delivered. Of course, until I broke the 2 vehicles that were in my care.

So…what is a girl to do? Well….have you ever driven a vehicle without using the brakes? You should try it sometime…it is fun…but don’t let a cop see you running all those lights and pretending to California stop, because when you are going 10 mph, I don’t think you can claim it is a California stop. My recommendations, be very aware of the roads where you are driving and typical traffic patterns, look far ahead and try to time the lights and other vehicles in your way. And most importantly, have your hand on the parking brake to slow down as needed and in case of emergency.

Yes…I did it to my poor car. Twice. I am a wench. Once for a Sonic run. And then at 1 A.M., a McD’s, and Jolt from the Gas station run.

Now kids, these were dire circumstances. This presentation had the ability to make or break our future here. He stayed up all night, came home at 5 A.M. to shower and change, just to go back to work and give the presentation to the big wigs that had driven into town just for him, without a lick of sleep.

Now, his loving girlfriend, who had taken care of all his needs the night before, let him come home and fall asleep as soon as possible, right?

No. Remember - I am a wench. We were not sure if it was a battery issue or a starter issue or the alternator. What was the deal on the whole truck not starting? So I, leery of the lack of transport, and needing a vehicle for the interview I had today (ha, snuck that in, didn’t I!), made him remove the battery from his dead truck and test it. It was ok. A waste of time and the last reserve of energy he was able to muster from his right pinky toe.

Sleep was then permitted. It was a 14 hour sleep. And he woke up very refreshed today. And dropped me off for an awesome interview, and then picked me up again once it was completed.

What a man! I may just let him replace the starter tomorrow, instead of today. Hmmm….maybe not…I really want another Vanilla Rootbeer from Sonic!

So This Isn't Home Sweet Home. Get Used To It

I have a friend that left Houston a couple years before I did. She and her husband just returned for a short vacation, a showing off the kid, catching up with old friends whirlwind tour.

I am a bit nervous about returning to Houston in September.

Bon Jovi was wrong, you can't go home. Because it isn't home anymore. It has ceased to be home. Everything and everyone has changed. Including you.

During my conversation with my friend, we gossiped about our friends, she caught me up on all that I have missed. She visited our local Cheers. And man, was she happy to get on a big jet plane, with her 18 month old son that was throwing up every 3 1/2 minutes. She wanted to get back to her real home. The home she had created, away from home.

I grew up in the same small town until I was 15. We then moved to Texas. I hated my parents for a long time. I had to make friends, start over, be the new kid for the first time in my life. It wasn't pretty. My mom found and hung a wonderful framed picture.

Read the title again. My mom was brilliant. And ever so right. And ever so wrong.

I don't call this place my home yet. But it is. The things I love are here. The boy, the cats and all the material belongings I like to dust on a regular basis. Home is where you make it. This is home and I better damn well get used to it.