Conversation with the husband this morning:
TH: There’s a … vegetable … on the counter.
Me: You mean something besides the lettuce?
TH: No. No, just the … lettuce.
Me: I’m making a salad for lunch.
TH: Oh. Ok. Just wanted to make sure they weren’t taking over.
Me: Vegetables?
TH: Yeah.
Me: Oh. Nope, that was just me.
No less than TWO of my family members were starting to worry about me since I haven’t posted in awhile. So yeah, here I am, still alive!
So, just to recap, in my time away from blogging, I:
got summoned for Jury Duty
had Christmas in Texas
decided to write another murder mystery
knitted two Jayne hats
knitted a pirate sock and a half
decided to host a candle party
bought some new sweaters in 75% off January
got pretty and went to the husband’s company party
bought travel books for Italy!
and, talked to a financial planner.
Except for my time in Texas, I have been freeeeezing the entire time. The butt-cold does NOT agree with me.
And I am exhausted. I know I just had a holiday with New Years and all, but I am so ready for this upcoming 3-day weekend. So very ready.
This weekend I went out with the neighborhood ladies to enjoy an evening of screaming 13-year-old girls. Yup, that’s right, we went to go see Twilight.
The movie takes place in Washington state (where vampires are totally safe, only 50 days of sunshine a year), and it really brought me back to my childhood.
Squishy-muddy grass, trees everywhere, moss, rain, clouds, fog, the rare sunbreak through the clouds - all the details were spot on. It was filmed in Portland, just an hour away from my hometown, so no wonder it made me nostalgic.
Of course, it also reminded me of all the reasons I don’t live there any more: the squishy-muddy grass, rain, clouds, 50 days of sunshine a year …
When I got home from work today, I had an interesting message on my answering machine. Mike Reed has requested that ‘Mr. Akaemi B.’ please return his call.
It has long been tradition that married women are referred to as ‘Mrs. the-husband’s first and last name.’ It is nice to see the trend moving in the other direction; men being referred to as ‘Mr. the wife’s name.’ I wonder, though, should it be ‘Mr. the wife’s maiden name’? Perhaps I will ask Mr. Reed when I return his call.
In church today was the annual ‘Primary Program’, where all the kids age 3-11 sit up front, sing, and each take a turn at the mic to say something truly inspirational. Being the teacher of the nine-year olds, that meant I also had to sit up front, sing, and take my turn at the mic to say something truly inspirational.
Two weeks ago, they informed us that we’d be singing a cutesy li’l duet, kids vs. teachers.
Now, God has blessed me with many talents. He did not feel the need, however, to bless me with any real vocal talent.
<We will now take a break to explain the akaemi singing-voice classification system. Starting at the top, there are solo voices, small ensemble voices, small choir voices, large choir voices, congregational voices, and the please-don’t-sing-not-even-in-the-shower-voices.>
So I have a congregational voice - with a little practice, I can do ok in a large choir. But two-weeks notice that I’ll be taking part in a small choir - who are spread out among all the children, so that makes it more like a small ensemble - is absolutely horrifying. For me, as well as anybody who has to listen to it.
But today after the program, I asked the husband how it all sounded. And he said he didn’t notice the teacher singing part. That he kept waiting for it, but he assumed it never happened.
Whew, that’s a relief! If the one person in the congregation who even cares about my existence didn’t notice me singing and failing, that pretty much means no one did.
3 years ago, the husband and I took the plunge and bought a house. It was 2005, and housing was booming. Lenders were willing to loan ridiculous amounts of money. In fact, they scoffed at the “modest” amount of money the husband and I requested. They offered to loan us twice as much, but we declined; we knew how much money we made, we knew how much other debt we had, and we knew what kind of lifestyle we wanted to maintain.
And so we got a loan we could afford. We took a risk with an ARM, but even in a worst-case scenario, we knew we’d be able to afford the payments.
Silly us! If we had over-extended ourselves, we’d be able to renegotiate our loan terms. Instead of being stuck with a loan for twice as much as what our foreclosing neighbor is selling her house for, we might be able to get our principal reduced. Or get our ARM converted to a standard loan.
But, alas, we were responsible. And so there is no help for us.
The other day, the husband and I noticed that our new next-door neighbors had put rock in their flowerbed. It’s a lovely rock, nice marble chips - but it is, nonetheless, banned. By our over-protective HOA.
I finally caught one of the neighbors outside, and let him know the error of his ways. He looked at me with a blank look when I told him rocks in landscaping were against HOA rules. As I explained to him my HOA struggles, he suddenly registered what I was saying, and he stopped me with a flabbergasted, ‘Wait - you’re joking, right?’
I assured him that I was indeed being truthful, and I just wanted to warn them that the HOA may, at some future date, send them a nasty letter.
I still don’t think he believed me. Here’s hoping he’s spared the fate of dealing with the HOA.
The other night while I was watching politically minded tv, Forge slept soundly through Obama’s half-hour love fest. When it was Mccain’s turn on Larry King, however, Forge jumped right up on the edge of the coffee table to get a better look. He watched intently, and even stuck around for a minute or two after Mccain left in the hopes that he’d come back.
(I’m serious about that - Forge watches Meerkat Manor and the Dog Whisperer, and is somewhat aware of commercial breaks and that if he just waits it out, the show comes back.)
So, there you have it. Forge 4 Mccain. Of course, Forge also poops in sinks and eats bits of not-food off the floor - so I suppose it’s a good thing his vote doesn’t count.
I woke up not feeling great this morning, so I dug out the thermometer to check my temperature.
96.3 degrees.
I have an anti-fever. I did a quick check on the internetz, and 96 degrees is a valid, normal, healthy human temperature. Especially for a first-thing-in-the-morning temp.
Ok, no fever. I’m still calling in sick.
On the flight to L.A., I read a book. And in the process, I managed to bruise my left jutty-out pelvic bone with my left elbow. For whatever reason, it seemed like a good idea to rest my bony elbow on my bony self to prop up my book. (That wasn’t even that good, btw. The third Odd Thomas book is not one of Mr. Koontz finer works.)
5 hours later, I had a most tender hip.
Excuse me, I think I need to go eat a sandwich …