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.

Upcoming Holiday

BIG NEWS: In exactly eight days, my brother and I will be leaving for our week-long trip to Outer Banks (OBX), NC. Half of me truly is excited for the chance to get away, but the other half…well, I’ll just try to keep myself from keeping me from having a good time, if that makes any sense.
Our house this year is located in Salvo, just below the towns Waves and Rodanthe for any of you who have ever visited the OBX before. The name of our house is “Casa Verde,” which is Spanish for “Green House.” (Thank you, Mrs. Brockett, my ever patient Spanish teacher.)

For a view of the house and a few other views of the inside of it, visit my Flickr site here.

Or, you can visit the Sun Reality website here, scroll to the bottom of the screen, and type “S-100” in the Unit ID# box (visiting my Flickr sounds easier if you ask me).

Because we’re leaving next weekend, foresight tells me I should actually pack this weekend because every night but Monday of next week is going to be busy. If I’m lucky, my brother and I will go on a little “date” to the local Wal-Mart to pick up a buttload of travel/trial-sized items to toss in our luggage then come home and do loads of wash so that we’ll have clothes to wear in the meantime (since all the rest will be packed away).

Next Friday, we’ll leave in the evening (tentatively) for Philadelphia to pick up my uncle then drive down together to our beach house where (hopefully) everyone will have already checked in and moved in their stuff. Good and bad: good in that I won’t have to deal with the mayhem of suitcases, totes, cranky children, and grumpy adults who’ve been driving for the past ~11 hours. Bad in that I’ll probably have last pick on a room and will (as Fate will have it) probably get stuck with an impossibly annoying child or my brother (oh wait, that may be the same person?). All kidding aside, my brother rocks, and I’m glad it’s he that came out of the three. We’ll have loads of fun together.

Anyway, DO check out the house – it’s breathtaking.

The Adventures of Vinny and Christine

My sister and I had a very successful trip to the mall on Saturday: I stopped in at Hot Topic and picked up a Paramore CD for way cheaper than I would have had I gone to Borders (sorry, Borders, I love you but it’s true). After browsing around the sales racks, we moved on to Payless where – after what seemed like hours of trying on every black ballet style shoe they had – she picked out these.

When we got home, I gave Max a bath (for which he was ever so grateful). He really is the most hilarious dog to watch when he’s feeling frisky, especially after bath time: he goes tearing down the stairs at breakneck speed and then proceeds to leap – no, pounce – from one piece of furniture to the next as fast as he can, digging his nose into the cushions to dry off/ itch his little bearded snout. In our living room, we sort of have the Bermuda Triangle set-up going on where the couch, loveseat, and easy chair are all within jumping reach for him. Technically, he’s not allowed to do that. But he’s SOOOOO CUTE.

After changing out of my “wet dog” scented t-shirt and shorts number, I decided to make that fudge I promised my grandpa. He’s hilarious in that he has this cute and yet annoying habit of repeating stories he’s told before anytime he hears (which is rare to begin with) certain “trigger words.” So the evening before, I had to listen to him retell his tales of attempting to make fudge but never being able to get it to set up. I, being the amazing cook and baker that I am (HA) would never make that error.

Psh.

I decided to use the directions that had come with the monstrous jar of marshmallow fluff I had picked up the night before. I found it strange that it didn’t include any particular temperature to which it needed heated, since usually it’s like 300* or something of that sort. Shrugging while putting away my candy thermometer, I thought to myself, “I guess this is why the recipe’s name is “Never Fail Fudge” – there’s no temperature reading required…”

Au contraire, my friends.

Typically, fudge sets up in 2 to 3 hours. Five and a half hours later, the stuff was still goo. “Sludge Fudge” is what I named that horrible batch of blech. The next morning at church, I saw my grandpa standing in the choir loft. We made eye contact and, in his only-pappy fashion, he began to pantomime eating my fudge with a spoon right in front of the entire congregation. I would be embarrassed except for the fact that it’s Pappy. Pappy could probably get away with murder.
So after church, I took him home since his car was in the shop, at which time he commented on the tastiness of the fudge and how he appreciated me chopping the walnuts smaller this time so he wouldn’t choke. I laughed and apologized for how runny it was and advised him to keep it in the freezer to harden. He smiled and used another one of his little catch phrases, one that I particularly love: “Sam, you know why they put erasers on pencils?”

“Because everyone makes mistakes,” we said together.

And isn’t that the truth.

As far as the rest of my weekend went, my mom, my brother, and I watched – back to back, mind you – “My Cousin Vinny” (which was hilarious) and Steven King’s “Christine” (which was more freaky than scary, but still great). Something tells me that would have been quite a dream sequence for someone once it came time to go to sleep.

In closing, Happy Monday!

Busy, busy, busy

First off, happy belated fourth.

Moving on.

So here's my timeline of the past three days:

• Thursday: work - home - volleyball until 2:00 a.m. - LotR on Gamecube until 4:30 a.m.
• Friday: tennis with my dad and twin B until 1:00 p.m. - MAJOR in depth weeding of the back and front yards - trees and rhododendron bushes - running the lawn mower on both lawns - running out to Giant Eagle for fudge ingredients (to make for my cute begging grandfather) - stopping in at Family Video for National Treasure II (I had seen it, family had not) - coming home and watching NT II until 1:30 then popping in Robin Hood, too [w00t!]
• Saturday: trip to J&S with dad and twins
  
• CURRENTLY: taking twin A to the mall to follow through with a deal I made her.

Being the negotiating girl that I am, I "paid" her to clean my room, but with shoes instead of money. So now we're off to the mall to pick out a good pair. Pictures will be posted once they've been purchased. I also need to wash the dog today and find time to work on my draft for class and loaf. MUAWHAHAHAHA...

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So today marks one week since my sister ended up in the emergency room. Every Thursday – glorious, beautiful, wonderful Thursday – I go play volleyball with a bunch of people in the area at a local church’s gymnasium. It’s a lot of fun; there are quite a few experienced, skillful players which makes it all worth it when you get to seriously play hard. Last week, my 14-year-old sister wanted to tag along. She’s on her school’s volleyball team, so sure, why not. Since I’m nocturnal, I’m always among the last to leave the gym. My sister knew this and didn’t mind. So around midnight or so (actually an early night for the lot of us, but we were getting kicked out this week), she and I packed up and headed home. About half-way home though, she mentioned that she was thirsty. Being the amazing sister that I am, I pulled into the Sheetz that we always pass to and from and popped in, snagging her a bottle of flavored water and ordering a MTO soft pretzel with nacho cheese for her dipping pleasure. When I returned to the car, she was delighted to see what I had brought her. She was finished with both before we pulled into the driveway. I unlocked the door and we were both greeted most exuberantly by our little mutt, Max. I went upstairs to take a shower, and she went to bed.

Fast-forward five hours. My dad and I are on our way in to work. He keeps yawning for some reason. “Tired?” I ask.

“Well, yeah, kinda. I mean, I just got home awhile ago from the ER,” he replies nonchalantly. WHA??? How did I miss this? Here, while I was in the shower around 1:00, my poor sister was in my parents’ room barely able to breathe. And from what my dad was able to get out of her on the way there, this wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way – it was just “the worst it’s been yet.” Great. So they took an x-ray of her throat and chest to see if there were any obstructions of any sort. When they showed nothing, the nurse asked her what the last thing she ate was. Go figure: pretzels, I guess, wreak havoc on the lining of one’s esophagus when they scrape their way down and often get lodged in the back of kids’ throats. I suppose that may have been a suitable enough explanation if she were, say, 8 years old? No, this seems a little more complex than crunchy food not being chewed well enough. (Plus, hello? It was a soft pretzel, dufus!) After a few hours, they decided to go home. When we took her to a follow-up at the family’s PCP, though, I heard stranger news.

“He ordered a pulmonary function test?!” I asked.


“Yeah…why?” my mom questioned.


“Well, she said so herself that it wasn’t in her chest. She made it pretty clear that it was her throat. So why in the world would he be running tests for asthma?”

I told my friend this last night after we pulled a girls-night-out at Starbucks after church. She admitted that it seemed odd and commented that at the college she attends, it seems “asthma” is the answer to everything, and that “no lie, you come in with any symptom – be it cold, flu, or GI issues – and they give you an inhaler script.” How retarded is that? They tried “diagnosing” her with asthma when she came in with a fever after she forced herself through her PE class.


Retards…


My prognosis? I think she has panic attacks. At work, I get to see firsthand what a lot of our patients are experiencing, and panic attacks in that age group are quite common. And if you spent two hours with my sister, you’d probably agree that it was a possible solution: on top of being OCD, having several “phobias,” and possessing a constantly intense personality, she had an especially high amount of caffeine that evening.



Anyway, it's just a theory. Could be right, could be wrong. Still, it makes me feel less guilty about the idea of almost killing my sister with a soft pretzel.

Hi again...

I brought my books from last semester with me to work today, fully intending to take them to either the Pitt Book Store or other neighboring book shops to see which would give me the best deal (and then end up going back to the first I visited because that's just how it usually plays out). My co-worker, however, informed me that not only does the Pitt Book Store RIP YOU OFF when you buy the books, but it also jips you when you're trying to sell them back. So I checked that stop off my list, which meant that the other three I could think of were probably just as bad. Then I saw the light bulb come on in her head. A second later, she was excitedly filling me in on Amazon.com and all of its wonder. So as of now, I'm kind of sold on the idea of selling my books online. Of course, who really wants to buy a book called "The Foundations of Early Modern Europe"? I think I'll put them out there for awhile, but if they're not sold by the school year, I'll probably just take them down and sell them back to the store for pennies anyway.

In other news, the song "Wave of Anguish" by Lacuna Coil just flashed across my Pandora radio which reminded me of Guitar Hero (since, in fact, Lacuna Coil is one of the artists featured in the bonus tracks in Guitar Hero III....yeah, I'm a fan). And Guitar Hero reminded me of the fact that Guitar Hero - Aerosmith just came out on the 29th. MUST HAVE! I'm a huge fan of both Guitar Hero and Aerosmith. Put them together, and the consequences could be amazing. So I definitely want to look into getting that for PS2.

And now for a little rant. I do a lot of data input at my job, so I'm frequently working with addresses: I'm SICK of reused city and street names. It really grinds my gears. C'mon, people, there are millions - gajillions! - of words out there, and the best you can do is "Greenville"? I mean really, how green is that town? Since I know someone in almost every Greenville along the East Coast, it can get confusing. Likewise but more so with street names. Using numbers in the street names (i.e., "Fifth Avenue") is so lame. Still, I could handle it if there was only one out there like it. But no, there's a Fifth Avenue in practically every town! I can't tell if people are talking about the block above my office or the area about ten blocks from my house (about a 25 mile difference). Either way, I think I'd rather live on Sillypants Lane than drive myself mad researching directions to my friend's house who lives at 1234 Main Street.

Ode to Office Supplies

I'm not ashamed to admit that I often use office supplies for more than their original design while I'm at work. For example, I frequently use those smaller binder clips as hair barrettes when I need to pin my bangs back. Also, I have once or twice turned a giant paperclip into a safety pin when necessary. Even though these basic office materials come in handy for everyday "me" malfunctions, I would never venture into the realm of body piercings by way of these means. I didn't really have an option, though, this morning when I picked up the corner of a stapled sheet of papers only to find that the "arms" of the staple hadn't folded. No, instead, they bit their way into my left index finger. Luckily, I'm not a bleeder, ha. Still, how did that happen? Hopefully I won't start frothing at the mouth or anything.



Reminiscing about this reminds me of the time I was (yet again) sporting the binder clip bobby pin and forgot I was wearing it when I left the office. Since my dad and I work within a block of each other, it just makes sense for us to carpool. So each day, I leave the office at 4:00 and wait outside for him at an Exxon across the street from my building. That particular day, he was uncharacteristically late, so I waited outside - with my fancy little hair accessory - for a good fifteen minutes. When I hopped in the car, he glanced over at me and stopped mid-"how was your day" to comment, "Oh. Nice hair clip."



"What? OH!" As if there were others in the car who might see it, I quickly yanked it from my hair. It was too late though. And here I was thinking everyone at the gas station thought I was having a smashing hair day and just couldn't look away! Sigh...



By far though, my favorite utensil at the office is my PAPER MATE© red pen. Old faithful. Unlike my other pens, it's the only pen that doesn't "stutter." Plus, it's great for sticking behind my ear to hold my side bangs back. Come to think of it, I went out in public with my pen behind my ear once, too, though that's not quite as embarrassing if you ask me. Maybe I should ween myself off of doing this? Or I could just eliminate the temptation by getting real bangs, that's always an option.



On our next episode of "Other Useful Uses of Office Supplies," see Sam decorate her room in post-it notes!



...juuust kidding.