Wow.

It's been so long since I've updated - apologies!

Now that I've wrapped up this semester, I promise to post something soon.

Until then, here's a picture of a cute little cat.

Boo-ya.

I took a quiz. :-)

"You are Schroeder:
You are extremely dedicated and have a passion for the arts. Music is the key in your life and you were designed to follow your dreams. People find you extremely talented. Many people like you not just for your skills but for your amazing heart."

I'll update soon, I promise.

Everything I Touch Gets Ruined (So Why Should My Blog Be Any Different?)

Sorry that the formatting on the previous post is so whack. I copied and pasted it from a document then couldn't seem to get it to look right in both Internet Explorer and Firefox. After toying with it for a good 10 minutes, it looks crappy in both. My work here is done, I guess.

The Final Product

Here's the final copy of my article on Pitt's Fall Fest (previously referenced) Primanti Brothers eating contest. I'll post my grade later if it's any good. Well, even if it isn't, I'll just fib and make up a good, round number to post as my grade. *wink*

Anyway, feedback is welcome - both praise and criticism (but by all means, praise away).

Pitt’s Fall Fest brings Primanti to the table

"The show must go on" - never a statement rang more true for the Pitt Program Council than last Saturday during Pitt's annual Fall Fest when one of the sandwiches for a competitive eating competition was stolen from its table on Bigelow Boulevard.

However, despite the setback, the Primanti Brothers eat-off was still a huge hit.

Allie Miller, PPC's Recreation Director, has been organizing competitive eating competitions since she first became part of the PPC team. Before, it was always perogies or hotdogs, but this year, Miller wanted to go bigger and better.

And that she did: this year, Miller arranged to have real Primanti Brothers cheesesteaks for the eat-off's ravenous participants. "It's intense," said Miller. "The people that do want to do it really get into it." Miller noted that having Primanti's cheesesteaks works both ways: it reels in interest from those who already love the sandwiches and also works as some free advertising for the business.

If those delicious cheesesteaks weren't reason enough to compete, the prizes certainly were: the first place winner would be awarded a $100 Visa gift card with second and third place winners being awarded $50 and $25 cards. "We like to give [students] incentive to sign up and compete," Miller explained. "We want to be up to par with other contests like these."

It goes without saying that PPC spares no expense for each year's Fall Fest. Even the cheesesteaks were paid for by the Pitt Program Council, bought at regular price. "We're looking to expand upon getting donations," was all Miller had to say about the subject.

Perhaps having to pay for each sandwich is what impacted the decision of how many sandwiches would be used for the competition. Whatever the reason though, some who came to watch what they expected to be an "all-you-can-eat" contest could be heard complaining about "false advertising" when they saw just one sandwich at each place setting.

But Miller wasn't paying attention to the few griping crowd members - she was too busy trying to hunt down the thief who had stolen one of the cheesesteaks off of the fenced-in table.

Upon questioning some who had come early to watch the event, Miller discovered that someone had seen the man who took the sandwich and could name him. Blushing, Miller admitted, "I know this kid." Grabbing a nearby megaphone, Miller shouted for the thief - identified as Jesse King - to "bring me back my sandwich," threatening that if he didn't she would tell everyone not to join his fraternity.

The sandwich was never returned, and Miller was forced to make the decision that someone would have to bow out. With only 14 cheesesteaks left, one of the men who had registered to compete volunteered to drop out and was given a Fall Fest T-shirt as compensation.

Since the race was not timed, it came down to whoever was first to raise his or her hand. After only a minute or so, Pitt senior Ben Gillespie, eyes pinched shut, threw his hand into the air, followed shortly thereafter by two other men.

When asked about the techniques used to bring about his success, Gillespie said that the secret was all in smashing the sandwich flat then pouring water over it to make it "nice and soggy." In addition, he "warmed up" the night before by eating three pounds of pasta and drinking a gallon of water.

This wasn't his first victory for this kind of competition: Gillespie has won three other types of competitive eating contests, one which involved eating an entire pie in 30 seconds, another which involved eating 20 hotdogs in five minutes.

Overall, students seemed to be in agreement that the event was a success and that they are looking forward to what PPC will dish out for next year.

Slight Update:

So I'm taking the bus home this afternoon. We'll see how that goes. Knowing my luck, the bus driver will probably be hung over and will hit a fire hydrant or something, leaving me stuck at the scene for three hours or so...

I hate Fridays.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round...

...until they hit someone. Then they stop. For a very long time.

Fridays now are always my least favorite days of the week. "Why?" you may ask - "it's the last day of the work and school week! You should be happy!" Well, maybe I could be if it weren't for my statistics recitation. Any joy and happiness that could possibly come from knowing that it's the last day of work and school for the next two whole days literally gets sucked from my soul by my Dementor-like recitation TA. Don't be fooled by her seemingly meek exterior: this chick is cruel. When I first came to her to get help with catching up (from previous posts, you'll remember that I missed a class and recitation and, as a result, fell majorly behind with homework), she wanted me to turn in three (3) weeks worth of homework plus the homework due the coming recitation all in one day! I'm thinking, "Lady, there are ~20 problems per homework assignment. You do NOT expect me to get these all done in 18 hours." But she did. And when I didn't turn them in because I was so busy with the homework actually due for that week, I asked if they could be turned in late and she wasn't even going to accept them(!!!) until I pleaded with her! She has the grumpiest attitude and makes you feel stupid if you even dare raise your hand to attempt to answer a question but get it wrong. The Hungarian accent only further exacerbates the problem since half the time I can't understand her and am having to ask, "Come again?" or "Can you repeat that?" She gets angry at me because I can't understand her broken English.

Well Expecto Patronum to you, TA. Expecto Patronum to you.

Okay, now that I'm way off topic...

So last-last Friday (two Fridays ago) I had to take the bus home. I literally chased the bus as it was pulling out, but those [expletive] Port Authority drivers wouldn't stop for a little old lady if she were waving them down. So I had to wait an extra half hour for a bus I could have taken immediately if she would have stopped for me.

To make matters so much worse, I board the second bus, it rounds the bend, and he "hits" a lady getting onto the bus. Seriously, we didn't even make the turn fully and this happens. I didn't see the entire thing because I'm so freaking short, but by the talk of the riders who did see, some woman (who they recognized from her daily riding that bus as well) was getting onto the bus, but she claims it was still moving and knocked her down as she was stepping up. One of the passengers thought aloud that she was probably doing it for some good lawsuit money.

Seriously. Of all the buses in downtown Pittsburgh to do this to, it had to be mine.

So the bus driver is trying to figure out if she's okay - "Ma'am? Are you hurt? Can you stand up?" - and, naturally, this lady is milking it for all it's worth and is groaning and mumbling that "[her] back and neck hurt." Well everyone knows that when someone says their back/neck hurts, then you shouldn't move them. Nice move, homie. Twenty-five minutes later, the Port Authority police and the Pittsburgh police arrive at the scene and are asking the lady, the driver, and the other passengers what happened. People are getting frustrated by this point (I already was 20 seconds after her act), and they're checking their schedules to see when the next bus comes. I hear the girl next to me say that one should be coming in about 10 minutes. Ten minutes, huh? Well I gather up my stuff, walk to the front of the bus, leap gracefully over the faking pile of flesh - aka, the homeless-looking woman - and walk all 15 steps back to my bus stop. Within five minutes, I hear the sirens of the ambulance. (It's about time - good thing the woman wasn't REALLY hurt.) Traffic is all backed up now since the bus is straddling two intersections and the ambulance and police cars are hogging up the rest of the road. I see them carry her off on a stretcher and figure the bus is going to get moving after all. But I'm sure you've already guessed it: I walked over, as did two other riders, and waved what the driver must have taken as "bon voyage" to the bus.

Long story short, I boarded the third bus which made it all of 10 stops before declaring that we were going to take some of the second bus's passengers since it's schedule was backed up; and that anyone going straight to Tarentum could go get on the other bus since it was going to go straight there, no stops. Yeah, well that wasn't the most even exchange. We gave two, we got thirty-two. So I rode home next to a man reeking of whiskey. How did I know it was whiskey? Because the guy, with one eye half shut and breath smelling of booze, looked over at me and slurred out, "What a day. When I get home, I'm drinkin' a whole bottle of whiskey."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Fast-forward to this past Saturday.

As you'll see in a soon-to-come post, I took my sister Ali with me to Pitt's annual Fall Fest since I was going to be covering an event there for a journalism project. We had to take the bus. If it wasn't bad enough that our local creepy cross-dresser was on the bus (talking to himself and playing with his hair, as usual) on the way out and back, the bus heading home was driven by the Abominable Snow Monster. We could see our breath on the bus, it was that cold. And he completely ignored the hollers from the back of the bus as two girls called out to him to turn on the heat. But the best part had to be the adventure of Clumsy, the little-known eighth dwarf in Snow White's posse (the guy had the height, the roly-poly belly, the long white beard, and even the funny little hat). The poor guy pulled the "Stop Requested" line and started walking to the front of the bus, but the driver slammed on the brakes and poor little Clumsy was projected forward. Luckily, he was able to grab on to one of the poles and hold on for dear life. But just as he steadied himself and started walking forward, AGAIN, the bus driver slams on the brakes; this time however, Clumsy wasn't so lucky. He went sailing towards the front of the bus, BACKWARDS. He tried to catch himself on anything, but failed and instead landed on his butt then slipped effortlessly into a backwards tumble, knocking his head on something next to the driver. If it weren't so sad, I'd have laughed, and if he weren't so old, I'd have given him a 9 (he didn't stick the landing well enough for a 10). He stood up, and it was at that point with him holding his wrist and rubbing his head that I thought we were going to go through this all over again. I called my mom and made her aware of the situation and that we may be awhile. Ali was mortified. Thankfully, the man didn't ask to be checked out and got off the bus at his stop.

Twitter says it best:

Killing me softly...

...with homework.

Here's how my life has been this week:

Sunday: working until 2 a.m. on an article discussing a book reading for my journalism class.

Monday: class all day, then coming home and working on a critical reading essay and anthropology essay until 1:30 a.m. then studying statistics until 2 a.m.

Keep in mind I leave for work every morning at 6 a.m.

Tuesday: class all day, then working on an article discussing a family selling their farm for my journalism class, then working some more on that anthropology essay until 1:30 a.m. then studying statistics until 2:30 a.m.

Wednesday: class all day, church, finishing that anthropology essay, then being too whooped to even look at my statistics book.

Today: work until 10 a.m. then studying statistics for the EXAM I have today. Yeah. Then anthropology lecture at 11, anthropology recitation at 12, stats exam at 1 (!!!), and critical reading at 2. Then I've got to make a trip to the campus bookstore to pick up the newest book for my critical reading class. Then I have to catch a bloody city bus into downtown Pittsburgh THEN catch ANOTHER one into my town since my dad has a gig tonight (I usually ride home with him). Then I have to work on some homework for stats before going out to the gym to play volleyball until God knows how late to work out all my frustrations. Of course I'll probably just bring my homework to the gym and work in the lobby. It will be more peaceful there than at home anyway.

Lord, help me harness my emotions long enough today to keep from killing someone.

The only instance in which laziness pays off:

I absolutely love Caribou, but I don't like using my debit card there because the receipts are so large and therefore difficult to cram into my wallet for safe-keeping until I balance my checkbook. The solution? 'Bou Bucks, of course! It's like a refillable gift card for yourself. Problem is, I drained mine two weeks ago and haven't gotten around to refilling it yet. So last week I was like the typical alcoholic, not wanting to drink but not being able to help it when passes right by the bar (or in my instance, coffeehouse) each day on the way to work. And dang it, my wallet is stuffed full now of these mile-long receipts that I have to plug in now to my checkbook. (In Caribou's defense, they're only long because either a.) there's a survey code at the bottom or b.) they're attaching a coupon, so it's very nice of them to be so thoughtful, but it gets bothersome after awhile.)

So to address my drinking problem, I've had to come up with an alternative route to work so as to bypass Caribou completely to avoid temptation:



As you can see, my new route (in purple) takes me through the creepy alley behind Caribou. So much better. But hey, I've done it the past two mornings, and I'm still making it to the office $3.48 richer each day than I would have been had I gone my usual route.

See how laziness saves you money?

Just for the health of it.

This past Wednesday was Pitt's annual Panther Wellness Carnival. Each year Pitt hosts a day of carnival-like activities that promote and spread awareness of good health practices. There was free food, candy, games, and door prizes, including a "Go Green" tote, a gigantic magnet with the Student Health Services phone number on it, a gift card to Chipotle (rock on), and best of all? Free OCCs! (Out of Class Credits)
Booths were set up outside the William Pitt Union displaying brochures, facts, and games with prizes to help communicate the purpose of their table.

Here's a t-shirt I got at one of the booths that was promoting wise drinking habits. I still have no clue what OHEP stands for...



And here's the booth at which I got the shirt! You'd pick a rubber ducky out of the pool, tell them the number that was written underneath it, and they'd ask you that number question off the quiz sheet (all of which pertained to drinking habits). For playing, you got a free shirt.




Next booth over was the smoking awareness table. They had a breathalyzer set out to test how much smoke was in your lungs.

As you can see, there were a bunch of local businesses who helped out with donations for the activity. There were lots of prizes involving gift cards (one of which was a $15 Target gift card...I wanted that one).

This had to be the strangest of all the tables. This is the HIV awareness booth. The game involved popping "condom balloons" (yes, I saw the girls blowing up the balloons - and they were ribbed. It was nasty.) with a dart and then answering the question number off of the sheet based on the number behind the balloon you popped (make sense?). To give you a window through which to look through that should tell you a little about myself, I got probably the easiest question: "What does HIV stand for?" and I couldn't answer it. I did, however, get a free pack of condoms for trying (which I nonchalantly tossed back on the table in passing). Go abstinence. :-)

This was the coolest table. It was a handwriting analysis booth. And the guy seriously knew what he was doing. He pretty much nailed me. And not just the ultra-vague "I see that you had a dark time in your past" mumbo jumbo; this guy was very specific. He was able to tell the girl next to me that she had either broken or sprained an ankle in the past year (just based on her handwriting!) and he was correct. He was able to tell me my favorite color, that I sing, and lots of other facts about myself. It was pretty impressive...

This was another cool one. It was a DUI awareness booth where you'd toe the black line as shown then try toeing it again but with the "Fatal Vision Goggles." Seriously, it was hilarious to watch people do this. They would try to walk straight but end up walking off towards a tree or the group of bystanders, not even realizing it.

This guy was especially fun to watch: he nearly fell over twice.

All in all, fun session! I got lots of cool stuff from it, the best of which was an awesome pen. I love pens. I'll steal your pens the first chance I get if I think it writes nicely. Must be a left-handed thing...

Go Pitt!

...like a chicken with its head cut off.

Life went from busy to nearly-out-of-control-losing-my-mind busy (wow, that WORD was busy).

Since the last time I updated (read "really updated"), school has started back up for me here at Pitt. I really love it here: there's such an atmosphere about it. Everything from the buildings like the Cathedral of Learning to the faculty and staff - all is wonderful. Well, actually, I can't say that. But we'll come back to that in a bit.


Anyway, school has also started up for my siblings. In fact, we all started the same day (the 25th). To be honest, this fact alone has made my life a living hell - even trumping my college homework - over the past two weeks. Between my brother needing help with geometry and the twins needing help figuring out how to work the PA Cyber school online program PLUS all of their homework, I barely have enough time to do my own. It's actually resulting in a lot of last-minute (what I like to call) "puke-up" homework where I pretty much BS my way through the assignment to get enough length on it even though I probably didn't do the reading needed to write the essay/paper/short answer well. Alas. But I am apparently good at it though, because I haven't had any poor gradings on them yet.

On the other hand...

I don't think one needs to be a Hindu to believe in the idea of Karma, which is (as one definition reads) "the effects of all deeds actively create past, present, and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to him/her and others." I usually see this mostly in the teams I end up on when playing volleyball on Thursday nights: I get on the elite team at the beginning of the night and we dominate every other team, laughing in their faces and making them kiss our big toes (okay, I embellish); then Karma kicks in and I get stuck with the clumsy, uncoordinated people of the group, and we lose every game.

Anyway, back to how this relates to school.

I'm taking a Statistics course and my teacher is positively off the wall. On top of being down-right scary looking, she's flighty, absent-minded, and clueless to the fact that all the students know it and are making fun of her. I missed my very first recitation for this class due to circumstances outside of my control. I told her this and asked if there were a way to make it up. She told me to just wait a week and go to the next one. I did this (already a week behind in homework, mind you) and lo and behold! No one was there! Apparently, they moved recitation and didn't tell me. So that's two weeks of homework in the hole. Finally, I am able to make it to the third week. The TA is Hungarian and very soft spoken, so I had a difficult time making out what she was saying over the two air conditioners in the room. The period seemed short: she spent the first 15 minutes milling about jotting things on the board and the remainder of the class was spent showing us how to take a survey on the Stats website and assigning a quiz to us (which I ended up taking and definitely bombing). I met with her afterwards to schedule a meeting to get me caught up. The guy next to me was nice enough to give me the website with the homework syllabus on it. I was ready to pull all of my hair out.

So one bogus class out of five isn't bad, right?

...right? :-(

How I'm feeling right now...

So help me, I will update this over the weekend.

Today's Rant: the USPS's Approach to Returning Mail

I work for a research study. One of my jobs is to send out a professional mailing to different area doctors to promote the various studies for which we are currently recruiting in the hopes that some of the DRs/RAs/MAs/nurses will refer some of their suite's patients to us. Technically, it's a "monthly mailing" but in reality - because a life and a million other tasks that are much more important - it's between a bi-annual and a tri-annual mailing. As of the last time I did the mailing, I was still working part time as a full time student and the addresses (of which there were well over 300) were having to be hand-written. You can imagine how long this took me since I was only working four-hour days PLUS juggling the other tasks they would throw my way AND what I was already doing (recruiting, data inputting, scheduling, etc). Now, we have over 500 names on our mailing list, but at least we've come up with mailing labels to save me time. No matter what though, it's always a pain to assemble these. It's perfunctory and very time-consuming stuff.

What really gets my goat - glazes my donuts - harshes my mellow - however you wish to put it - is when the USPS returns our packets to us looking as though they had to tether-sticker it down from breaking free and fleeing. They do this to not only the packets, but also to any boxy item I try to send. If I've been given a faulty address or the person is no longer at that practice, the mail gets sent back to be COVERED in "RETURN TO SENDER," "INVALID ADDRESS," and my favorite "UNDELIVERABLE AS ADDRESSED" stickers. As you can see, it must be like art class when someone gets the chance to return our stuff. They get really creative in where they can put the stickers and stamps and sometimes even draw all over the front of it, crossing out the address, drawing a line through the auto-presorted stamp, whatever they can think up. Anything goes. And this picture isn't even the worst I've seen, really. It just happened to come in today. Usually they've written all over it with a "HE'S NO LONGER HERE" or some such thing in big red letters; the top is often half-ripped as well as if they wanted to take a quick look inside! Which really makes me mad, because I'm all about not wasting; and when they give me one of those giant mailing envelopes back in this condition, it makes me want to slap somebody because there is no way I'm going to be able to salvage it for a second attempt.

*FUMES* But I digress.

In other news, I squashed a cockroach this morning that was the size of a small child. Okay, more like a cell phone (no kidding on this one). I was standing in front of my building's lobby's elevators waiting for one to come down (which is absurd since there's no one in the freaking building that early, but today there must have been because...) when a girl standing next to me nudged my shoulder and muttered, "You know you godda giant bug on yo shoe, miss." Reflex caused me to kick my right foot out violently at this new-found knowledge and I jumped back into almost a crouch. I looked down to see the thing crawling towards me again (Lord, those things are fast!). I've never liked squashing bugs. I don't like the sound, and I REALLY don't like the guts that go everywhere when you do it. But this thing was going to eat me if I didn't act fast, so I took the front cover of my Pitt newspaper, threw it over top of the little nasty, and stomped down as hard as I could (the thing looked practically armour-plated, so I gave it some "oomph"). I pulled the newspaper back to find a splatter of green slime the size of a coffee mug on the marble floor. Where did it GO??? I flashed over to the underside of the paper where I found the little monster. Dead soldier.

Now I'm walking around our suite with extra caution, quickly scanning the room and its corners for critters then slowly proceeding, eyes ever roaming. I'm sitting on my desk chair Indian-style to keep my feet up off the ground. All was going well until about 30 minutes ago when I reached for my jacket and realized it was not on the back of my chair, but on the floor. I grabbed it and immediately started shaking it like a red-headed step child. Then, not wanting to have my hand bitten off, I peeked inside the pockets to see if any little monsters had hidden inside. Fortunately I was safe. Still though, I can't relax. Bugs are so disgusting. Any and all bugs. I hate them all. And I will judge you, by the way, if you've got them. If lice was good enough to be one of the seven plagues in the Bible, then roaches should've been in there, too. And I will avoid you like the plague if you've got either (and especially both). Lice and roaches = filthiness. I'm sorry, it's just the way I am.

Okay, now that that's out of my system, I think I'll go take these data sheets to the back...and I'll be watching the ground the whoooole time...

Party-Hardy

How was your Saturday evening? Good? Great.

How was mine? Glad you asked.

My Saturday evening was spent down at the church practicing an a cappella piece with four friends. Why, you might ask, would people be down at a church on a Saturday night doing nothing but practicing music? Well, to answer your question, we're not organized. That's really all it comes down to. Also, in our defense, the song was picked three weeks in advance to Saturday, which is a real achievement for our bunch. Anyway, we're down there practicing and it's just not happening. We couldn't keep it together for some reason. So we were at the proverbial crossroads: keep practicing our current song and hope it shapes up, pick a different song but one that's familiar to everyone, or...

One of my friends is home from the West Coast. She's in her college's tour group. "There's this awesome song - ah man, you guys would love it - and it's in five parts and it's a cappella too and wow, is it amazing; we should totally sing it!" We all stared and blinked.

"Okay...well, what's the name of it?"

"'Forgiven.' We did it on tour."

Tour groups are big on 1.) picking familiar songs and jazzing them up, 2.) picking really unique songs that you probably haven't heard in a while, and 3.) picking songs that no one in the world knows but the tour group themselves. This "Forgiven" song was obviously falling into the category 3 because none of us had ever heard of this song before, despite her attempt to hum a few bars in case it would jog a memory or two. No such luck. She looked very pointedly at me. "The harmony just flows. You could probably pick it up without ever looking at the music, Sam." At that moment, I saw - not with my eyes, but with my senses - that this was do-able, that this could work. It was just a matter of getting the other two on board (our bass didn't care, he just wanted us to fix it). I drove her up to her house, she ran in and got the music, and we were back down at the church in five minutes.

The song did come together, as I'm sure you figured out by now. If I'm lucky enough, I might be able to swipe a copy and slap it on here. Beautiful song...very intricate harmony, very mellow, but very easy to learn. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

To be safe, we decided we should meet a little early. You know, just to go over the song once or twice before the real thing in case someone needed a little warming up or just all together forgot the melody (which HAPPENED, by the way). Since early would have required waking up earlier, my mom wasn't interested. So to leave them a vehicle, I called to hop a ride with Vick. She said she'd be at my house to pick me up at 8:30. I didn't understand this at first since I live mere blocks from the church and we didn't have to be there until 9:00. But I didn't mind, so I told her I'd see her then.

Fast forward to 8:42. I keep checking my phone to see the time and she's still not here. I finally call as she's pulling up. I walk over to open the passenger door but stop short to instead lean in to see the many balloons floating and bobbing about in her backseat. She glanced back too then turned back to me and grinned. I got in without asking and she explained that it was her Sunday school class's head teacher's birthday today (she's a co-teacher to the class) and she wanted to throw a little surprise party. Vick doesn't do anything "little." So we get to the church with five minutes until practice time. The balloons were being quarantined in a very large clear bag with only the strings exposed (to minimize the chance of them escaping when the doors opened. Unfortunately, she has a small two-door car, so the balloons needed to come through her side with her seat smashed down as low as it would go. I helped by pushing from behind as she tugged from the front. Finally, our worries subsided when the bag exited the vehicle with no popped balloons. She loaded my arms up with goodies for her class then gathered up all she could carry as well. It looked as though she had packed enough food for two classes. So we were able to move all of the goods inside, park the car, practice, perform, and then go to our respective classes. In the second service, we were ready to do it again. We were all sitting on the front row when Vick leans around the back of our tenor and mouths: "OOPS," pointing at my borrowed dress and shrug she was wearing. There against the white was a huge streak of yellow. "The little girls kept hugging me and they still had icing on their mouths!" she whispered intensely. Never a dull moment. Luckily, she had - ba dada da tada - Tide to Go! Thank you, Tide to Go, you saved our lives.

SUCCESS!

Rob's birthday was last night.

For months, he'd been hinting that he wanted a cell phone for his birthday (he just turned 16 yesterday). Then for the past few weeks, he's been simply begging for one. My mother all along had been planning on getting him one but never once let on to it. She's got a great poker face. Much better than mine since, when I try to hide something, my mouth involuntarily contorts into this twisted mess of a smile (which only gets worse when I try to smooth it out into a straight-faced line). I'm so pitifully obvious. Luckily, I can keep a secret as long as no one asks, so my family hasn't completely dismissed the idea of including me on things like surprises.

Anyway.

We sneaked off to the Verizon store last Saturday and went cell searching (kinda like soul searching but more fun). He had expressed interest several times in getting a phone with a full keyboard, something like a Glyde or a Voyager. When we looked at the prices for those though, we came to the quick conclusion that it was a very expensive piece of plastic to ruin in a toilet or lose in a theme park. (Rob is notorious for "misplacing" things such as his wallet, mp3 player, etc.) To see how responsible he would be with a phone, we opted to start him out small. We picked out the Samsung SCH-u340, which is the model directly beneath my Samsung SCH-u410 (it includes Bluetooth), which I love. In addition (to help with the MIA issue he has with his belongings), we purchased him a belt clip for the phone (which he'll hopefully use).

So last night, when my mom got him out of the house to pick up his cake so we could decorate, I wrapped up the box with the cell phone all nice and pretty in pink and blue argyle paper. The twins and I finished decking the dining room with lots of streamers (hung low enough to clothes-line a midget...not sure why we did that) and balloons just in time for him to come through the door.

People started arriving around 6:30. It was a nice little party; mostly just family, though our two of our neighbors (who we're very close to - they're like an extra set of grandparents) came over to celebrate along with one of Rob's friends, Raeven, who may as well be family after the amount of time he's spent at our house this week. Once everyone had arrived, we sang "Happy Birthday" to him and it took him four tries to blow out his candles.

And no, they were not trick candles.

And no, he his not asthmatic.

And no, you do not get as many wishes as chances it takes to blow out birthday candles.

So he started opening his gifts after we had the ice cream cake. He got money from the grandparents and my aunt and uncle's family; money from our neighbors (along with a Matchbox Lamborghini as a joke on the car they wish they could get him, which was cute); a rockin' card and Penguin plush Webkinz from me (inside joke); and...a sentimental card with a pack of basketball cards from my mom and dad. He looked a little down about that one. Well, we were all done with the gifts, so he started piling them in a neat stack and chatting with his guests when all of the sudden: there was a rattling noise and Stewie's voice coming from a little pink and blue argyle package on top of the armoire. Hm, what could that be? *wink, wink*

In a nutshell, he was ecstatic. I had passed out and emailed his number to a bunch of his close friends so they could text him or leave him voicemails to find once he got the phone. I think, in the end, he had about 15 text messages and 20 voicemails. He hasn't put the thing down since. This morning he was asking me about charging it - he wore it down that fast! You'd think it was the first time he'd seen a cell phone before. I guess he's just easily amused. I'm glad he had such an enjoyable birthday though - he's a cool kid.

PHOTO UPDATE

Here are those before pictures I promised (along with a bonus picture of the stenciling we did on one of the walls).

Rob holding the inspiration piece: an Outer Banks hoodie



Rob's closet area before the transformation...

Rob's bed space before the transformation...

Rob's crapped-up corner before the transformation...

An accident befell us Wednesday evening when the paint can tipped over onto Rob's old sheets (which were NOT meant to be drop cloths...but that's exactly what they turned out to be).

"LIVE YOUR LIFE" - American Eagle

Changing Rooms: Shambley Edition

My brother left for a conference in Kentucky this past Monday. To save his friend's mom a 45 minute trip in to drop her son off at the bus, my mom invited Rob's friend over for the night. While they watched "Never Back Down" upstairs in his room, my mom and I watched "P.S. I Love You" downstairs. (As a sidenote, what a sweet but downer movie.) By the time we were finished movie-watching, I let the boys have the downstairs while I went up to Rob's room and played his Game Cube. Then it hit me. My mom and I had been considering redecorating his room while he was away at this thing.


So I sat back and thought about my options: do it or don’t do it. Easy enough. I really wanted to surprise him, but we JUST finished doing the twins’ room over. I figured I’d consult the idea with my mom. By Tuesday, I had her convinced not only on the idea but also on the color scheme: rust orange, also and grunge green, and dark chocolate brown. Yeah, if you can’t see it, it’s okay. She couldn’t either at first. I got the idea from this rockin’ hoodie he got down in OBX and the inspiration just flowed. The twins decided they wanted to be in on it, too. There was a lot of painting, and in amongst that was a lot of shouting, music blasting, shoving, late-night runs to department stores, energy drinks, and memory-making. So three days later, this was the product of our crazy efforts.


BEFORE:

[COMING SOON...]

AFTER:

Nice, huh? The camera doesn’t properly portray the color…imagine more the color of a rust-orange Pontiac Grand Am GT. Yeah, hot. Then the brown is a much richer chocolate…like a truffle kind of tone. I’ll see if I can get some better representations of them in the future. He was pretty surprised though.

As a side note, here’s a book I saw at Borders that just recently went on the market. It’s called “Stuff White People Like: the Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions” by Christian Lander. I looked at the cover and thought I read it wrong. Then I picked it up and sure enough. “Stuff White People Like.” So I flipped through the first few pages. I couldn’t believe the stuff that was in there – this guy is off his rocker. For a snippet or two, here’s a couple I remembered that were especially out-there:

• #8 : Barack Obama.
• #11:Asian Girls.
• #14: Having Black People for Friends.

(Not that liking Obama, Asian women, or African Americans is bad - I just think it's random and kind of prejudiced in the context they're noted.) I don’t know what this guy was thinking when he wrote this book…he’s going to be so hated by so many and the book probably won’t even sell well. At least I hope it doesn’t. Anyway, if you’re interested in seeing it for yourself (or ordering it, heh), here it is.

More catch up...

First, let's start off with the pictures: I've uploaded a bunch to my Flickr, which you can view here (and there are still more to upload?!).

Okay, now for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of the trip - the final three days.


FRIDAY:

A pretty laid-back day, Friday. It was fairly overcast and, therefore much cooler. Rob and I went down to the beach and did a little boogie boarding then came back in time to get showers since we were going to be eating out that night with the whole group. It was going to be at the Down Under again, which we didn't mind. We liked the atmosphere there, the Australian theme and decorations.

When we got there, everyone ordered his food. Sitting next to me, my uncle and I heard my grandma order "sautéed shrimp" which wasn't actually on the menu by that name; rather, it was "shrimp - sautéed or deep fried." So when the food arrived and my grandma started arguing with the waiter about her shrimp being sautéed instead of deep fried, my uncle and I were just as gobsmacked as the poor, blushing waiter. My uncle finally spoke up to reassure the waiter that yes, she did in fact order the sautéed shrimp, and that it wasn't his fault that our grandma is going senile. He walked back to the kitchen, and we reminded Grandma of exactly what she said when she ordered. She denied it and pouted instead. My uncle offered to order her another plate(!) but she refused. Instead, she allowed my brother to eat all of her shrimp.


That night, Rob and I watched a few movies then finished packing our bags so that we would be ready for the next day.



SATURDAY:


Since the realty peeps needed us out of the house by 11:00 so that they could begin cleaning it up for the next group, we decided we'd plan to leave at 10:00 when, in reality, we knew it'd be more like 10:30 or later. Which did end up being the case.

Since the Californian members of the group had to leave about 5:30 that morning to drive up to Norfolk (to catch a plane), it was up to us Pennsylvanians (not to be confused with "Transylvanians") to do the kitchen clean up. There was so much leftover food; it was shameful. Luckily, there's a food bank that takes all unopened food not used by tenants, so we were able to take advantage of that for some items. Others though, like bread, were fed to the seagulls...which was SO MUCH FUN. I stood out on the balcony and tossed some out to the two or three that were on the ground below. Within seconds though, there was a FLOCK of about twenty circling the sky above me, looping 'round and 'round to snatch some out of my hands or catch it as I flung it up in the air.

Then it was time to load our things into the vehicles. Rob was having trouble with his mp3 player, so I was trying to help him figure it out. My grandparents - who drove with us this trip - had been a little...out of sorts this week. My grandpa had been in discomfort the whole trip due to his hip, but he was for the most part content with just getting out and rarely complained. My grandma, on the other hand, was suffering from symptoms of gout and was therefore in a very grouchy state for most of the week. She waddled around, badgering us to get our stuff out to the minivan and not to forget anything.

"Saaaaammiiiii, don't forget your suitcase" - my only piece of luggage - "that's still in the bathroom here," she'd moan out to me as I tried some futile repairs on Rob's music player. I finally got frustrated after awhile and probably, to her, got a little out of character when I hollered back after the third or fourth whine, "I know, Grandma, it's just that I'm busy doing something for someone else right now!" (This hit home for her because she's one of those grandparents who are like the kid with a new toy that needs assembled: you need to do it now - they think - or it's never going to get done.) So finally I had to give up hope on Rob's silent mp3 player and hauled both our luggage out while he spruced up our sleeping area. I finished loading up the van and walked around to the front of it to see my grandma sitting on a lawn chair pouting. Ugh. That made me feel bad and angry, both at the same time.

Everyone finally piled into his respective vehicle and pulled out around ten 'til eleven. As we neared the end of our street and turned onto the main road, Highway 12, I realized that I was glad to be on my way home. Unfortunately, going home was just going to have to wait for awhile...

[CUT: remember that post a few entries back? The one about that phrase "Someone had better be dying"? That statement was used in the context of what is about to follow.]

It suddenly seemed as though there was tons of traffic. Not uncommon - it was a Saturday, it was the afternoon, and it was a typical day for checkout for a lot of realties. But then we sat...and sat...and sat some more. Soon we realized it wasn't ordinary traffic. Something was wrong. As I was poking my head out the window to get a glance at the traffic up ahead of our van, a man came over to the driver's window to report that there had been an accident about 30 miles ahead and that they'd be closing down the road for about three hours from the time of the incident just to manage the problem. The accident was at 9:00. It was only just 11:00.


"So we're going to be stuck here for another hour?" Rob asked. I involuntarily reached back and thwapped him on the side of the face for whining, even though I was subconciously asking the same thing. Luckily, the traffic inched along slowly until we made it to an intersection that had a souvenior shop we liked. So instead of sitting in traffic, we popped into the shop. I was able to pick up a beautiful cedar box for my friend and a nice "beachy" picture frame for my mom (to put a picture of Rob and I from the trip in it). Rob got a really sharp brown hoodie and had a decal slapped on it of "OBX" in rusty orange and sage colors (okay, so I picked it out, but where else would he be getting such good taste? *wink*).


We finally were on our way home in more like 40 minutes, which was a relief. We and the other group met up in Nagshead around 1:00 at the Slammin' Sammy's sports bar (where my uncle had bought me a cool t-shirt since 1: it was purple and 2: it had my name on it). Nagshead is famous for its horses that it has scattered across the island, posing in front of businesses, brightly decorated. There was one at the Slammin' Sammy's with a racer theme painted read and bearing a "motor" on its back and the number "3" which I'm guessing was significant (I don't know a thing about racing).


Seven hours later, we were in Philadelphia. I'm sure my sigh of relief was more than audible when we pulled into the driveway. The trip back to eastern PA had been so difficult - Rob's mp3 player had broken, so he was bored - I'd given him mine, so I was then bored. Soon though, Rob figured out a way to pass the time: he pulled his sleeping bag from its case in the back, laid it out on the long back-back seat of the van, and curled up in it across the seats. He remained in the same spot for the rest of the 5 hour trip...boy, that kid can sleep.


SUNDAY:

That day was one of the worst days of my existence. My grandfather asked me to drive the rest of the way back home from Philly (since his hip was hurting and my grandma's feet were hurting). So he sat in the front while my grandma and Rob sat in the back. OH MYYY GOSH. My grandmother probably has a kink in her neck from straining the ENTIRE trip to be able to keep an eye on the spedometer. And when she wasn't chastising me for going over the speed limit, it was something else. Something dumb that I already knew. I was really getting ticked with her. After the first two hours of driving, I honestly felt like pulling over on the side of the three-lane highway and getting out of the front, ordering her, "FINE! YOU DRIVE!" but I held myself back. We were almost to Breezewood when my grandfather woke up and realized we needed to make a pit stop and he couldn't wait until "the midpoint" (Breezewood). So we stopped at a service station that was right off the road because Grandma saw a Roy Rogers (curse you, Roy Rogers, I hate your filthy cowboy guts). Poor Rob, who had been feeling ill since the evening before, very sweetly said, "Grandma, do you think we could maybe stop at Wendy's for lunch? It'd be cheaper..." But she cut him off with "Roy Rogers is a FINE restaurant, and we'll eat there. You can't just stop at a different place for each person, Robbie." My blood started boiling. My poor little brother wanted Wendy's - I found out later that he'd wanted to get something light like a salad because he was still sick - and she was making him eat at a bloody Roy Rogers! I've always hated that place, mainly because anytime I travel anywhere with them, my grandma loves to stop there. I really don't see the draw. I mean, really: their food is over-priced, looks so disgustingly greasy (and small, as far as portions), and from what Rob said, it still tastes bad too. He got a Philly steak sub and threw most of it out. It was only about six inches, but he paid about $7 for it. Ridiculous.

So after Rob and I called my mom and vented to her for a few stolen minutes while the grandparents ordered their food, we all piled back into the little car and finished the last 2.5 hours of the trip. After taking a few more annoying jabs from grandma, my brother tried standing up for me. First, he took the defensive stance by attempting to assure her that I was an excellent driver and that I knew what I was doing.

[CUT: from this post, I'm sure you're probably all thinking I'm a horrible driver when - in reality - I'm not. My grandma would call me a "better driver" if I went 45 mph on the turnpike, but I'm sure you can all imagine what that would be like, so instead I get called a "risky driver" because I go 70 in a 65 zone to stay with the pack. *sigh* I can't win with her.]

Next, he tried distracting her by asking her questions (to which I knew he didn't care about the answer) or pointing to different things on the side of the road. Finally, he gave up and started making fun of her. Rob's way of poking fun is different though: he did it so subtly that she didn't even realize he was doing it. He'd mimic things she said as if he felt the same way; i.e., bursted into a state of panic and exclaimed, "SAM! You NEED to SLOW DOWN! You're going 67 in a 65 zone!" Finally, after casting a couple mean glares at him (which he didn't process as "the evil eye" meaning "stifle yourself"), I glanced back at him and said something to the effect of "Rob. Shut your piehole."

We finally made it home around 6:00, but not without having to sit through Grandma discussing everything from politics to racism to gay rights. And strangely, none of it was brought up by us. We try to steer those kind of conversations away from Gram. Anyway, it just made it all that more "good to be home."

Oh, and PS: we realized once we got in the house that we'd somehow swapped bags with my grandma: her dirty laundry *ahem* and our souvenirs(?!?!?!). I didn't like the thought another visit so soon after this, so I drove down and made the swap while they were moving their luggage into their house.

Playing Catch Up on the Updating

Okay, folks, this is going to have to be done practically bullet style to fit it all in before I leave, but I’ll try my best to put it into sentence form before then. Here it goes:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday was definitely a lazy day. Almost everyone else had day trips planned for other islands (some went as far as Nagshead, others went to Kitty Hawk to see the Wright Brothers’ museum). With nothing to do but play pool, gin, and black jack all day, Rob decided we should go in the pool (as I mentioned in a previous post, we had an in-ground pool just outside our room). As it turned out, the pool was a good diversion – someone had left some pool-friendly sports equipment outside by the water’s edge, which we grabbed and used for lacrosse (didn’t stay with that very long) and also badminton. Well, the lacrosse game wasn’t working well with only two people, but when we switched to badminton, we couldn’t smack the little ball far enough across the pool. Therefore, we decided to combine the games: use the badminton’s sponge rackets but the lacrosse’s wiffel ball. This seemed to work for us, and we got some really good volleys going. We decided to call it quits after awhile, but not before I took a wiffel ball to the head – I had just reached around to pick up the first wiffel ball that had been floating in the water behind me when I turned around just in time to take Rob’s spare wiffel ball serve right between the eyes. I had happy little wiffel ball holes imprinted on my forehead for the next several minutes.

Rob thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit and rent some bikes to cycle over to Avon and see The Dark Knight at the Avon theatre. Good idea, except that when I Googled the directions, it would be an 18 mile bike. Up hill. Eh…

Luckily, my grandfather and uncle were heading that way to go watch the ships come in (as mentioned in the previous post) so we hopped a ride with them. That night, we went and watched it AGAIN with our cousin Dan. It was just as awesome.

Wednesday, we finally got the bikes. The rental place was about two blocks distance from our – it feels like I should be saying “penthouse” for some reason? – beach house (yeah, beach house), so Rob and I walked over. We were figuring on getting gear bikes this time since they’re a little lower to the ground for me and have handlebar brakes for Rob. Win win, right?

Wrong.

We got there and all of the midget gear bikes were taken. BLAST! So we spent ten minutes looking for a bike I could manage to get up on. Finally I decided to suck it up and take a cruiser bike, which ended up being just as difficult, but I didn’t want to put the poor woman through any more trouble to find a different one. It ended up that for the rest of the day, I had to get a running start with the bike and then hop on while the peddles were turning (yes, it’s as hard as it sounds). About a mile later, Rob hollers up to me to stop and that his bike is “gay.” I reassured him that no, it was just in unisex color and that no one would question is orientation for riding a light blue bike. He didn’t think that was funny. Here, his gears on his bike were stuck. On the toughest gear to ride. Dang it. So what else would we do – we rode all the way back down and swapped his bike out for a cruiser. (I couldn’t believe how many times that morning I felt like screaming expletives at the top of my lungs, and all over these stupid bikes). So we started back out, and what do you know, it’s black as night up (x) miles ahead. I had seen on the forecast that it was going to rain, but it had said that the day before and didn’t so I hadn’t really taken it seriously. We made the decision to just turn around and head for the Salvo-Waves area instead of going towards Avon. Surprisingly, we must have just missed the rain that was following us, because as we road back through our town and into the next, the roads were nothing but puddles. Deep puddles. Puddles that, as we road through them, splashed up onto our clothes and faces. Gross. And to top it off, Rob was hungry (no surprise there). We stopped at the famous (to our family) Down Under restaurant, looking a mess. I grabbed an old stretchy book cover from my backpack and used it to wipe off our faces, which were covered in sand and mud. Rob ended up getting this burger called “the Great Australian Bite,” which was a giant ½ pound burger with everything on it and topped with a sunny-side-up egg. We stopped at some other shops up the road from that, searching for souvenirs, and ended up popping in to the Seaside Treasures shop again to torment the boy at the register get some ice cream. We ate the ice cream outside; when we were finished, I ran down to unlock the bikes while Rob made one last attempt to screw with the poor shop boy’s head, asking him, “You look just like Jesse McCartney! Has anyone ever told you that???” to which he replied, “I hope not?!”

After that, we crossed the street to another shop, "Reef," and got Rob a sweet henna tattoo across his shoulder blades. We then pix-messaged a picture of it to our mom who then called us back, freaking out that I had been his consent to get a real tat. Rob proceeded to lead her on for another few minutes until I finally put her out of her misery and reassured her that it was only temporary. That was so much fun. :-)

When we got back to the house, Rob went down to the beach to do some boogie boarding while I chilled in the hot tub. Rob came back to report that he had successfully swum out to the anchor and had touched it; and also that he had ridden a monster wave that broke his boogie board in half. Go Rob!

We played a hilarious game of Taboo that night - I say hilarious because anytime my grandma plays with us, we're going to have some hilarious clues given. Some of my favorites from that night were:

• "It rhymes with...'balloon'!" (answer: babboon. and technically, you're not allowed to say "sounds like" or "rhymes with" but grandma heeds no laws)
• "Well, first of all, he's black." ("black" said as though it were "he's a serial killer." I don't even remember what the answer was for this clue because I laughed during the entire duration of the clue)

Some other funny answers thrown out by the group were:

• jockette n. a girl version of a jock (according to my aunt and uncle who yelled that out simultaneously...the answer was actually "cheerleader")
• fulcrum n. a point of rest, on which a lever turns (but guessed by Rob when all my grandma could say was "it kinda does this thing wherrrrre...")

That was a great night; I laughed so hard that evening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The higher-ups decided that Thursday would be a good day to take a trip over to Ocracoke (or as Rob first thought it was pronounced, "Oprah-copes") and spend a day shopping and playing on the beach. To get over to Ocracoke, one must take the ferry which is conveniently stationed next to tons of great shops where one can blow all his money. My uncles found some really cool stunt kites that they picked up, assembled, and flew while waiting for the ferry. Since it was "kite festival" day there, they had little stations set up for little kids to "build their own kite" by coloring a piece of paper than tying it to some other sheets of paper and a ribboned tail. It was actually a pretty good kite - Katrina, my little buddy of 6 years - made one and really had it soaring. We got over to Ocracoke and stopped in at Captain Ben's restaurant where Rob finished his meal in less than five minutes and helped everyone else eat their meals too (they would pass down anything left over and dump it on his plate, which he loved).

From there, we went to the beach. Everyone flew their kites while I read my book and my aunts built sand castles. Rob even got chased down and pecked to death by a killer stunt kite (seriously, he get hijacked from behind). On our way back, it was just my grandma, my uncle, and I. We were making light conversation when my grandma asked, "Jim, do they have any deer out here?" (The way she asked made it sound as though she was asking whether or not they were in stock...) Just as she got the last word out of her mouth, my uncle slammed on the brakes and swerved.

"What was THAT?" she asked.

"That," he replied coolly, "was a fawn. Any more questions?" I stifled a guffaw.

We stopped at a Food Lion so my uncle could run in for some groceries. My grandma and I waited in the van and saw a nice couple walking to their car. "What a shame. She's such a pretty girl, too," my grandma mumbled. I wasn't sure what she was referencing, so I just sat there. Moments later, she asked out loud, "Why can't they just find boys in their own color?!" I realized what she was talking about.

"Grandma, there's nothing wrong with a white girl being with a black guy." Her head turned to me as far as it could as she whispered, "Yeah, well it just ain't natural!" Again, I held back the giggles.

Dark Knight and Nights

Today is Tuesday.

Saturday night, as stated in my previous post, we went down to the beach.

Sunday we went to the beach early the next morning. It was nice to get down there before the sun came up and before the masses came to sun-bathe. We spent about two hours there then.

By Monday morning, my legs were nothing but bumpy white flesh. The sand fleas had massacred them while down at the beach those two single instances. I'm practically bathing in Caladryl now.

Today, they've dried up significantly, though I can't say that for my cousin. He's scratched them so badly, it's a miracle he has any skin left. Who'd've thought you'd have to worry about sand fleas?! Now I know how horses feel about regular fleas. Poor things.

Yesterday, Rob and I borrowed the bikes my aunt and uncle had rented and went souvenir hunting. As soon as I get home, I'll post pictures (wouldn't want to give it away for anyone from my family who's reading this).

This morning, we thought we'd rent the bikes again and do a looooong trip. We figured we'd go see The Dark Knight since I found out there was a theatre in Avon (the next town over). Instead, we bummed a ride off of my uncle who was taking my grandpa to the docks to watch them bring in the fish. Anyway, the movie was AMAZING. I highly recommend it. In fact, I think we might go again tomorrow with my cousin; it was that good.

Perhaps we'll go bike tomorrow. In the meantime, here is a link to my Flickr where you can check out some of my pictures from the week so far.

Undercover Restroom Police

So today was the big day to travel down to Salvo. We loaded up and pulled out just before 11:00. Of course, not without complications.

We'd decided it would be more cost-efficient to rent a mini-van than to take two cars, but what we didn't foresee was the level of difficulty our grandma would have when trying to enter and exit the vehicle. She's about 4'10" (you can see where I get my height) and has horrible knees. 1 + 1 = can't get into the van. So we ended up finding some paint cans in the house that we could use to boost her into the van. We later figured out that we could pull up alongside the curb to help her in, too.

Sooner or later, we had to take a break. The first place we stopped was an Arby's. We got inside and placed our orders and, naturally, made sure everyone had emptied their bladders before piling back into the car. When Grandma came out, she told me all about how horrible the restroom accommodations were and how she would have asked to see the manager if we weren't trying to budget our time.

Next time we stopped, it was a Hardee's (I didn't pick these places). Again, Grandma had to use the facilities before we left. We waited and waited and waited... Finally I decided to go have a look. She was just coming out, muttering under her breath something about paper towels. I think that if someone offered my grandma the position of "undercover restroom police," she'd take it in a heartbeat.

We got to the house around 8:00 and unloaded our stuff. We've got the gameroom. It's got its own refrigerator, sink, microwave, television, bar, pool table, couch, easy chair, and coffee table. And bathroom. Boo-ya. It also has a door that gives us direct access to the in-ground pool and hot tub.

Double boo-ya.

So then later tonight, Rob, my cousin Dan, and I all went up to the beach. I saw something out there that looked huge but it didn't move, so I've got no clue what it could be. I guess we'll find out tomorrow if it's still there. Watch it be a pirate ship. Arrrrr....

Fancy-Shmancy

My Thursday evening was spent playing volleyball until the ripe hour of 1:00 a.m. then coming home to pack my brother's and my bags for the beach. I finished around 3:30 then went to my hair appointment at 9:00 (which was supposed to be for noon, but - long story short - there was a change in plans on the departure time). So my sister Lex decided to tag along with me to the salon where I got my hair trimmed and even got some sweet bangs (I'm really branching out). From there, I went to make a withdrawal for my brother so that he would have some spending money for the trip, then whipped over to Donut Connection to get Lexi some chow. I realized how close I was cutting it: it was 11:00 when I pulled up to my mom's office to drop off the car. I would have just run back like I had planned, but I forgot that I had Lex, and that would have slowed things down a bit... I decided to ask my mom to run us back up home (which I felt bad about). Twenty minutes later, I was changed and ready to go. We got in to Philly around 5:00. My grandmother had been talking of nothing but this "fancy restaurant" my uncle wanted to take us to and how wonderful it was, and "fancy," and how it had such amazing food. And did I mention she said it was fancy? Rob and I gathered the level of fanciness and decided we probably would need to bring something a little nicer than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. So fast-forward again to arriving in Philly. We unload the car and get settled down. Then my uncle asks, "So are we ready to go eat?"
"Oh," I replied, "well, we've got nicer clothes in our trunks. Just give us a minute to change."
But he caught me off-guard when he said, "No, no, you're fine in what you're wearing now."
I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Rob was wearing a pair of swishy shorts and a mesh top.
What brand of "fancy" is this?
I should have suspected something, if not after this, then after my grandmother chimed in, "I love this place - they make the best buttered carrots."
A place that's widely acclaimed for their buttered carrots just doesn't sound fancy to me.
So we hop back in the car, this time with my grandpa, Rob, and I in my uncle's car. My uncle was excitedly showing my grandpa his GPS which would lead us straight to the restaurant. About a mile out, my uncle pulls over and tells me to get in the driver's seat and just "follow the GPS's lead" to get there, just to show my grandpa how it really works (I couldn't tell if that was a "so easy a caveman could do it" kind of thing or not). So I did exactly as it told me. And it got us there alright.
"Saville's Diner."
I swiveled my head back to look at my brother who appeared to be as surprised as I was. Not that we expect fine dining, but when it's been so talked up, you kind of get the idea that that is what you're going to see.
So we went in and took a number (as though we were in the deli section of the grocery store) and waited until they called us. As we waited to be seated, I looked around at all the signs on the wall, most of which read "NO SMOKING, NO SPITTING" or my favorite: "We will NOT serve Pancakes or French Toast for breakfast."
Rawr.
"84!"
Thank God, I thought.
We were seated and had our drink orders taken. I think the waitress had some kind of grudge against my aunt that none of us knew about: she continuously "forgot" to wait on her, and only her. When her fork fell, it took three times to get a new one; it took asking twice to get a packet of sweet & low for her iced tea, and then another two times to get a refill; not to mention that she was the last to get her food. Poor auntie. But these fancy waitresses just can't be bothered, right?
And speaking of fancy, my uncle was right: we were actually some of the nicer dressed people there - the vast majority of the customers were in tank-tops and shorts. Or wheelchairs. Rob and I were the only people there under the age of 35.
On the ride back to the house, my uncle asked me to remind him to send my aunt flowers for her birthday since we would already be gone at the beach when her birthday rolled around. My grandma reassured him that it would be okay if he forgot, "because you can always take her to a fancy restaurant when you get back."
I wonder which she had in mind this time? I'm thinkin' Arby's.

"Someone Had Better Be Dying..."

We all have little inside jokes and catch phrases with friends and family that we use quite often either to make a joke or a point. For example of a point, I offer you the phrase "Don't drop the baby," made popular by my mother. She'd use it in response to her mother when she would make no-brainer statements to my mom, one particular instance being when she actually told my mother not to drop the baby she was holding. So now, "Don't drop the baby" has become a household idiom for "duh" and everybody knows it and uses it. Another funny (though borderline morbid) phrase we use a lot is "Someone had better be dying," which was first used by my father on the ride into work one morning with my mother when they both worked in Pittsburgh. There had been some kind of hold-up in traffic that was going to make them both late, and in frustration, my dad blurted out (not meaning to be insensitive), "Someone had better be dying - there must have been an accident for a traffic jam this bad," insinuating that "there's no excuse for such an irritating situation, with the exception of a fatality." So now, "Someone had better by dying" has been added to the list and is used anytime one of us is severely put out. It has evolved over the years to various other phrases, including "There had better be blood!" in response to someone screaming bloody murder for no (real pressing) reason.

Lately, our house (which is very old) has been experiencing some issues with what we believe to be plumbing. We have a bad leak somewhere in our upstairs bathroom (which houses the shower) and, consequently, we have a bad drip which will get you wet if you are coming in or out of the house while someone is showering (our bathroom is right above the entryway). We've had a few plumbers come in and "fix it" already, but it continues to drip...even drizzle on occasion. The younger members of the family have come up with a "solution" - throw a bath towel on the floor to sop up the water. A nice thought; but not only does it not work, they don't pick the towel up afterwards.



Okay, pop quiz, everyone! What happens when a towel gets wet and then doesn't get hung up to dry? Anyone want to take a stab at the answer?



...no? Alright, well I'll tell you. Only because I can't show you. The towel mildews. And it stinks to high Heaven.



I tried to make sure I picked up the towel on the floor when I saw it, but I couldn't be there every time. I wanted to install a hidden camera to find out who kept putting it there.



Then someone had a better idea: why use a whole bath towel when you can just grab the hand towel off the rack and throw that on the floor?



Fact #1: I rule.


Fact #2: I use the hand towel to dry my face off after washing it in the morning.



Guess how gross it is to blindly grab the towel off the rack and wipe your face on it, only to find it stinks like vomit AND has made your clean face stink like vomit? Answer: WAY GROSS.

My mom had been continuously reprimanding them as these problems continued to arise, but it was never stopped. So this morning, I went upstairs to wash my face and found this:



Go, Mum, go. :-)

Marvel Babysitter

Here's an excerpt of two tweets from this morning:

And here's an excerpt of a...conversation...I had via Gmail chat with my mom soon after:

And yes, these are both referencing the same instance.

Work this morning began as usual: I got in around 7:00 and worked until it was time for "the morning meeting," which is simply all of us meeting together in our conference room listening to one of the clinicians review what we would be doing and such. I always keep my ears perked for key words like "kids" and "babysitter needed." When these words do pop up - like they did today - I check to see what time it is that our patient is coming in and make sure that I "take a lunch break" or "go pick up data" just before our patient and her children arrive so that I don't get recruited to watch them. But when I looked at the schedule this morning, I found that there was no getting out of this one. Our first patient was arriving at 9:00. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time, and my stomach lurched when I realized it was already 8:53. I began silently weighing my options.

"I could always slip out of the meeting now like I have to go to the bathroom but then just not come back," I thought to myself. This may have worked except that our bathroom is within eyeshot when sitting in the conference room. Darn. Therefore, I had to resort to Plan B.

Immediately after the meeting, I bolted to my office, shut the door, and plugged my iPod's earbuds into my computer tower. I always have the overhead light off anyway, so after quickly accomplishing those tasks, I had successfully made it look like "no one is home." Quietly I sat at my desk milling away, listening to music on my Pandora radio station. After a couple minutes of peace and quiet, the silence was broken - no, shattered - by the sound of two little monsters. And I heard them before they ever made it through the office door. One child - a boy from what I could make out - was screaming at his mother who was correcting him for hitting his sister while what I assumed to be the sister shrieked as if her brother had actually bludgeoned her with a baseball bat rather than slapped her.

"Surely," I thought, "she wouldn't think I'm in here...or at least she'd think I was extremely busy and not to be bothered." I rarely have my door closed; and, trust me, if I could keep it closed when I wanted, it would be shut at all times. This rarity, I figured, would definitely get the point across that I didn't want to be bothered.

Wrong.

There came a knock at the door. But not just any knock. One of those super-petty and light "tut_tut-tut_tut_tut...tut_tut" knocks. I sighed and threw my head back on the chair - I knew who it was: my hyper-happy co-worker. And I knew what she wanted: me to babysit.

"Hello? Sam? Are you in there?"

"Maybe if I don't say anything, she'll just go away..." I pondered. I was actually quite shocked at myself for having thought that, though the next thing to cross my mind wasn't any better.
"I think I'll just yell 'NO! GO AWAY!' then she won't ever ask me to watch kids ever again." I decided to go with the latter of those two plans, but for some reason it didn't come out quite right.

"Come in," I said in a low moan. She didn't hear me. "Come in, I said," I repeated in a less-than-welcoming tone. She heard me this time and cracked the door, peeking her face inside.

"Oh, uh...I have some babysitting for you...um...they're older kids, 7 and 10...they'll probably make their own fun...er...you probably won't have to do much...so...if you want to...bring some work in with you...maybe you can just keep an eye on them so that they don't..."

"...'kill each other'?" I wanted to help her finish her sentence. I figured that must be what she was thinking anyway. Instead, I just replied, "Yeah, I'll be in in a minute," in the flattest voice I think I've ever let out. Even if she didn't know exactly how I felt just then, I think she walked away with at least an idea. So I packed up my supplies I'd been using (I've been working on our 500 person mailing list for our research study, and it's a nightmare) and hauled them all in to the playroom. After setting down my goods, I looked up at the two little urchins. They had only been in the playroom five minutes, and yet they had completely ransacked the place. There were blocks, toys, and coloring books everywhere. I figured I'd try to win them over with my dazzling charisma.

"Hey guys, my name's Sam, what's yours?" The girl, who was the older of the two, answered my first with what sounded like "Alicia," to which I replied, "Oh, that's a pretty name."

"I say-ed 'Den-EE-sha'," she snapped back. I guess I don't have quite the same effect on children.

The boy proceeded to tell me his name and then immediately followed up with yanking a toy horse off his sister and laughing maniacally. I decided Plan B was to pretend nothing was happening and started back to work stuffing giant envelopes with fliers and brochures. This plan didn't last long since moments later I looked up just in time to see the boy shove the tail-end of the same toy horse into his sister's face and declare, "See this? It's a horse's a** just like YOOOOOOUUU." That did it.

"WHAT did you say?" I stood up and marched over to him, standing as tall as I could (all 4'11" of me) and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't think your mom would be happy if she heard you using words like that, understand? Don't use those words here. It makes me very angry. And you don't want to see me angry..." I glanced over at one of the coloring books on the floor: it was a super hero activity book in which all the super heroes were portrayed as their kid version. On the cover included Captain America, Spiderman, and the Hulk. "...or I'll turn green like the Hulk!"

It got very quiet after that. In fact, minutes later, the sister walked over to one of the couches, laid down, and fell asleep. I think it was the only defense mechanism she knew. The brother on the other hand played quietly by himself. I was able to get lots of work done. It was only about a half an hour before they left that he started warming to me, coming over and chatting. He flitted from subject to subject, first discussing his favorite animals, then jumping to what kinds I liked to eat, THEN jumping to whether or not I liked to eat people and "what's the best part to eat?"

Kids sure are funny.