Showing posts with label Family and Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family and Friends. Show all posts
Monday, November 29, 2010
Movin' on Up!
We've changed the date for the better: we'll now be getting hitched on Friday, October 7th, 2011!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
I'm Engaged!
I love to write Steve letters. Letters and cards. As often as I can, I mail them, hide them somewhere for him to find, etc.
Friday night I get my Jeep back from a long month of repairs and decide I want to drive. We were going out that night so I picked him up at 6:30. He came out of the house with a USPS shipping box. When I asked, he told me it was his sister's Christmas gift.
We drive to the mall and park, and he asks me to turn on the interior light. From the box, he pulls out seven envelopes, numbered 1-7 on the front. "I know I've said I'd someday write you some notes too, so I'm catching up." As I take them in my lap, grinning ear to ear and eager to rip into them, he adds, "and since it's close to Thanksgiving, I'm sure you'll notice a trend."
I open the first note and find one line of words to the eff
ect of: "I'm SO THANKFUL that on July 4th, 2009, I met you at the Harrisville volleyball tournament." With it were three cute little girl volleyball player clip art pictures. The letters went on, each one further detailing our relationship with the "thankful trend" - "...thankful you said yes when I asked you out," "...thankful I could take care of you after your surgery," "...thankful you put up with my goofiness and faults." So when I read the last note and looked up at him to give him a hug and say "thank you," there he is with a black velvet ring box in hand, and he says, "And I'd be even MORE thankful if you would marry me."*insert "OMG! OMG! OMG! yes! oooooh my goodness!!! I don't believe it!" [hug, kiss, hug, kiss]*
Friday, July 16, 2010
Nostalgia Fail
I recently had ACL surgery on my right knee, so for the last several weeks I’ve been regularly going to physical therapy a few miles from my house. Since I couldn’t drive myself, my mom or boyfriend Steve had been taking me. Just caddy-corner from the PT office is a Ponderosa.
For those of you unfamiliar with this franchise, it’s a steakhouse/all-you-can-eat buffet. I have the fondest childhood memories of this restaurant: when I was a little girl, my grandfather would take me there for any occasion he could think up. Birthday? Let’s go to Ponderosa! A long day of fishing? Ponderosa! I loved it there. It was a very family-friendly place – no alcoholic beverages, lots of different kinds of food that all kids enjoyed (like tacos, chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese…you get the idea);
they even had a “Kids Korner” where children could sit and play after eating, complete with a chalkboard, coloring books, and Etch-a-Sketches. Heck, you even got a free Mr. Swirly cup if you were 12 or younger PLUS pick from the Swirly hat to win fun stuff like stick-on tattoos or crazy straws. Let me reiterate: I LOVED that place. And yes, the food was probably cheap, the potatoes were probably instant, but even as a 12 year-old I still thought it tasted pretty darn good. The best part? The ice cream machines. Picture what you see behind a Dairy Queen counter, only it’s right before your child’s eager, pudgy little fingers. They had chocolate, vanilla, or twist, and you could top it with a variety of toppings like syrup, sprinkles, or nuts. Ponderosa was the bomb.
So a couple weeks ago, my mom and I are pulling out of my physical therapy’s parking lot discussing what we’re going to fix for dinner. And – as we so often do – we both suggest at the same time, “We should totally go to Ponderosa.” Then a warning I heard not too long ago broke through to the front of my mind, and I answered us with, “…actually, I heard they kinda suck now.” So there we sat at the stop sign that separated us from the legendary restaurant of our past. Finally, we decided to throw caution to the wind and go – I mean, how bad could it really be?
We pull into the parking lot – Rule #1, kids: if the parking lot looks like they poured some cement over a mountain top then painted some lines on it, then they obviously care little about what you think of their restaurant externally; and if they don’t give a crap about what you think before you go in for a meal, they really don’t care about what you think once you're inside about to eat their food – finding a legit place to park was almost as hard as the ridiculous leg lifts I had to do in PT.
As we’re entering through the first set of double doors, there’s an old man in suspenders sitting on a bench just outside the building who eerily resembles Uncle Joe from Petticoat Junction, and he’s glaring at us. We walk through the second door and up to the counter. The girl at the register rings us up for two buffet meals, a water, and a tea. It’s just over $20. I look at my mom and mouth “What the???” Buffets used to be like, five bucks for crying out loud. At this point we’re feeling pretty bummed, but at least we get as much food as we want – we can make it worth nearly ten dollars a pop, right? Wrong. We round the corner and walk into the large seating area which also includes the buffet. My stomach drops as a waitress walking by wafts a wretched smell towards my nose – whether it was her lack of hygiene or the grease-logged food, I can’t be sure. We sit down and are brought our drinks. As I pray for the meal, I close it with, “…and Lord, please don’t let this be as much of a letdown as it has been thus far.” We walk to the buffet, grab a plate, and begin inspecting. Peeking into the covered soup caldron to check out the chicken soup, I pulled the spoon out and let it run over…it was like pouring yellow mud – consider it dodged. Instead, I started with a simple tossed salad with ranch dressing – the salad was limp and borderline SOGGY and the ranch tasted sour. So after two bites of that, I decided it would be best to move on. So I grabbed a new plate and walked back up. Now remember what I said about all that great food Ponderosa had when I was a wee one? None of it was there. And I’m not saying they were out: I’m saying they had all of about 10 dishes on their “buffet.” So I ended up standing at the buffet for a good three minutes waiting for these two cowboy hat-donning old farts to pick out a slice of this Mexican-looking casserole, followed by a scoop of corn. One bite of the casserole disaster and I was done with that dish. The corn, while still hard, was at least edible. Although I so desperately wanted to, I decided I wouldn’t give up just yet – I had noticed that they had soft taco shells up there. So I limped back up to the smorgasbord of epic failure and grabbed myself a soft taco. I cautiously added something that looked a little like ground beef to it and some cheese, but that was it – there was no lettuce or salsa or sour cream to be found. I dragged myself back to the table and tried it. I choked back a gag. I was so beside myself. Ponderosa was a complete and absolute letdown. My mom looked like someone had just shot Max. I suggested we call it quits on the buffet and just get some dessert. So we walked up to the dessert bar and poked around a bit, hoping to have at least one success story we could bring home. My mom took a bite of one of the cookies up there and immediately began looking for somewhere to spit it out. I continued my search until I found the familiar ice cream machine around a corner. I felt the smile creep across my face. Surely they couldn’t mess up ice cream. I got a bowl, pulled down the chocolate lever, and made it swirl at the top as it circled the bowl the third time. I hobbled back to the table, grinning. And just as quickly as that smile had come, it disappeared. Fact: ice cream CAN get freezer burn. We sat silently in utter disbelief for several minutes, Mom sipping her water and I my watered down, incorrectly-refilled as lemonade “tea.” I watched with horror as a family with young children hollered at their rude little boys and how no one in the restaurant seemed to think this was out of the ordinary for the place. The two old John Wayne wannabees were as covered in sloppy food as the floor was. As a pregnant woman walked to the buffet, I leaned across the table to my mother and asked her if I should warn the lady that eating this crap may harm the development of her unborn child.
We finished our drinks and were heading for the door – the door that no one held for us, the door that no one stood at just to tell us “thank you for coming” – and I noticed a “Comments and Suggestions Welcome” box. My eyes lit up. I quickly yanked a scrap of paper from my purse and dug for a pen. Quickly I scrolled my “comments” and “suggestion” – “If you have even a shred of integrity left, you’ll step up this menu and the condition of your restaurant. The food was awful. YOUR STEAKS CAN’T REDEEM YOU.” With glee, I popped that thing into the box, making a point to make eye contact with the young female employee leaning against the wall nearby who looked bored out of her mind. That was the best part of the whole experience. We walked out together, a tad queasy, vowing never to tell the rest of the family of this encounter but to warn anyone who we can ever catch darkening the doorstep of this hell hole.
The good news? If you have a worst enemy, suggest they eat there. Or, better – go get some of their food to go: I’m betting it would work well for pest control since it nearly turned an adult’s stomach inside-out.
For those of you unfamiliar with this franchise, it’s a steakhouse/all-you-can-eat buffet. I have the fondest childhood memories of this restaurant: when I was a little girl, my grandfather would take me there for any occasion he could think up. Birthday? Let’s go to Ponderosa! A long day of fishing? Ponderosa! I loved it there. It was a very family-friendly place – no alcoholic beverages, lots of different kinds of food that all kids enjoyed (like tacos, chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese…you get the idea);
they even had a “Kids Korner” where children could sit and play after eating, complete with a chalkboard, coloring books, and Etch-a-Sketches. Heck, you even got a free Mr. Swirly cup if you were 12 or younger PLUS pick from the Swirly hat to win fun stuff like stick-on tattoos or crazy straws. Let me reiterate: I LOVED that place. And yes, the food was probably cheap, the potatoes were probably instant, but even as a 12 year-old I still thought it tasted pretty darn good. The best part? The ice cream machines. Picture what you see behind a Dairy Queen counter, only it’s right before your child’s eager, pudgy little fingers. They had chocolate, vanilla, or twist, and you could top it with a variety of toppings like syrup, sprinkles, or nuts. Ponderosa was the bomb.So a couple weeks ago, my mom and I are pulling out of my physical therapy’s parking lot discussing what we’re going to fix for dinner. And – as we so often do – we both suggest at the same time, “We should totally go to Ponderosa.” Then a warning I heard not too long ago broke through to the front of my mind, and I answered us with, “…actually, I heard they kinda suck now.” So there we sat at the stop sign that separated us from the legendary restaurant of our past. Finally, we decided to throw caution to the wind and go – I mean, how bad could it really be?
We pull into the parking lot – Rule #1, kids: if the parking lot looks like they poured some cement over a mountain top then painted some lines on it, then they obviously care little about what you think of their restaurant externally; and if they don’t give a crap about what you think before you go in for a meal, they really don’t care about what you think once you're inside about to eat their food – finding a legit place to park was almost as hard as the ridiculous leg lifts I had to do in PT.
As we’re entering through the first set of double doors, there’s an old man in suspenders sitting on a bench just outside the building who eerily resembles Uncle Joe from Petticoat Junction, and he’s glaring at us. We walk through the second door and up to the counter. The girl at the register rings us up for two buffet meals, a water, and a tea. It’s just over $20. I look at my mom and mouth “What the???” Buffets used to be like, five bucks for crying out loud. At this point we’re feeling pretty bummed, but at least we get as much food as we want – we can make it worth nearly ten dollars a pop, right? Wrong. We round the corner and walk into the large seating area which also includes the buffet. My stomach drops as a waitress walking by wafts a wretched smell towards my nose – whether it was her lack of hygiene or the grease-logged food, I can’t be sure. We sit down and are brought our drinks. As I pray for the meal, I close it with, “…and Lord, please don’t let this be as much of a letdown as it has been thus far.” We walk to the buffet, grab a plate, and begin inspecting. Peeking into the covered soup caldron to check out the chicken soup, I pulled the spoon out and let it run over…it was like pouring yellow mud – consider it dodged. Instead, I started with a simple tossed salad with ranch dressing – the salad was limp and borderline SOGGY and the ranch tasted sour. So after two bites of that, I decided it would be best to move on. So I grabbed a new plate and walked back up. Now remember what I said about all that great food Ponderosa had when I was a wee one? None of it was there. And I’m not saying they were out: I’m saying they had all of about 10 dishes on their “buffet.” So I ended up standing at the buffet for a good three minutes waiting for these two cowboy hat-donning old farts to pick out a slice of this Mexican-looking casserole, followed by a scoop of corn. One bite of the casserole disaster and I was done with that dish. The corn, while still hard, was at least edible. Although I so desperately wanted to, I decided I wouldn’t give up just yet – I had noticed that they had soft taco shells up there. So I limped back up to the smorgasbord of epic failure and grabbed myself a soft taco. I cautiously added something that looked a little like ground beef to it and some cheese, but that was it – there was no lettuce or salsa or sour cream to be found. I dragged myself back to the table and tried it. I choked back a gag. I was so beside myself. Ponderosa was a complete and absolute letdown. My mom looked like someone had just shot Max. I suggested we call it quits on the buffet and just get some dessert. So we walked up to the dessert bar and poked around a bit, hoping to have at least one success story we could bring home. My mom took a bite of one of the cookies up there and immediately began looking for somewhere to spit it out. I continued my search until I found the familiar ice cream machine around a corner. I felt the smile creep across my face. Surely they couldn’t mess up ice cream. I got a bowl, pulled down the chocolate lever, and made it swirl at the top as it circled the bowl the third time. I hobbled back to the table, grinning. And just as quickly as that smile had come, it disappeared. Fact: ice cream CAN get freezer burn. We sat silently in utter disbelief for several minutes, Mom sipping her water and I my watered down, incorrectly-refilled as lemonade “tea.” I watched with horror as a family with young children hollered at their rude little boys and how no one in the restaurant seemed to think this was out of the ordinary for the place. The two old John Wayne wannabees were as covered in sloppy food as the floor was. As a pregnant woman walked to the buffet, I leaned across the table to my mother and asked her if I should warn the lady that eating this crap may harm the development of her unborn child.
We finished our drinks and were heading for the door – the door that no one held for us, the door that no one stood at just to tell us “thank you for coming” – and I noticed a “Comments and Suggestions Welcome” box. My eyes lit up. I quickly yanked a scrap of paper from my purse and dug for a pen. Quickly I scrolled my “comments” and “suggestion” – “If you have even a shred of integrity left, you’ll step up this menu and the condition of your restaurant. The food was awful. YOUR STEAKS CAN’T REDEEM YOU.” With glee, I popped that thing into the box, making a point to make eye contact with the young female employee leaning against the wall nearby who looked bored out of her mind. That was the best part of the whole experience. We walked out together, a tad queasy, vowing never to tell the rest of the family of this encounter but to warn anyone who we can ever catch darkening the doorstep of this hell hole.
The good news? If you have a worst enemy, suggest they eat there. Or, better – go get some of their food to go: I’m betting it would work well for pest control since it nearly turned an adult’s stomach inside-out.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, Packed-out Sunday
Sunday, September 20th was our new church building's official first service and doubled as our church's annual Friend Day. I don't have time to post all of the background info needed to understand what an amazing day this was for Harvest, but suffice it to say that last March we took a special offering - just an offering - where people gave whatever the Lord led them to give: that night, we had brought in over $1.1 million dollars, plus an additional ~$2 million in "promise money," money pledged to be given in the future by church members. This was completely voluntary and this was the outcome. It's simply unheard of - unless God's on your side.
It's a year and a half later, and now we're occupying not only the school and office portion of the building, but we are able to transform the gym into an 800+ seated auditorium on Sundays and Wednesday nights.
It turns out we drew some attention our opening day: someone from the Valley News Dispatch wrote an article on the first service. The article can be read on their webpage by clicking here, but who knows whether it will be eventually deleted....so I'll post it on here as well.
It's a year and a half later, and now we're occupying not only the school and office portion of the building, but we are able to transform the gym into an 800+ seated auditorium on Sundays and Wednesday nights.
It turns out we drew some attention our opening day: someone from the Valley News Dispatch wrote an article on the first service. The article can be read on their webpage by clicking here, but who knows whether it will be eventually deleted....so I'll post it on here as well.
Worshippers pack Harvest Baptist Church for first service in
Fawn
By Michael Aubele, VALLEY NEWS DISPATCH
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sunday's service at Harvest Baptist Church broke a common rule about moving a congregation.Conventional wisdom holds that a congregation should not be moved across a natural barrier such as a river or "people will never show up," Senior Pastor Kurt Skelly told more than 1,200 worshippers who attended the first service at the church's new $5.5 million facility off Route 908.
During his 14 years with Harvest Baptist, he and other church leaders
have been forced by growth to move the congregation several times. This latest
move, however, is the first to break what Skelly described as a hard-and-fast
Bible college rule.
"Thank you for the unexpected," Skelly told the congregation.
Many members got their first look yesterday at the 40,000-square-foot
church, which sits on 28 acres.
Harvest Baptist formally started as a church ministry in 1983 with a
handful of people attending in a storefront along Constitution Boulevard in New
Kensington. When attendance grew, the church moved to Arnold. After several
years, it moved back to New Kensington.
The last place Harvest Baptist called home was along Kenneth Avenue in
New Kensington. Skelly said the congregation moved into the building in 2001 and
"outgrew that facility almost immediately."
Leaders decided to build a church in Allegheny County, across the
Allegheny River. In 2006, the church broke ground on land off the Route 28
expressway. Part of the property sits in Harrison, church officials said.
Members of the congregation said they were in awe of the expansive
building, which also is home to a church-run school with more than 120 pupils in
kindergarten through 12th grade.
Worship services are in what Skelly described as a "transitional room"
that doubles as a gymnasium. A standing-room-only crowd packed the facility
yesterday.
Church officials said Harvest Baptist typically draws 550 to 600
worshippers for a Sunday service.
"This is one of the greatest days of my life," said Bill Holland of
Saxonburg, who has attended the church for more than 14 years. "It's just
amazing to see what God has done with our pastor and the people in the
church."
Holland and other church members said they enjoy Harvest Baptist
because "it preaches the Gospel."
"The new building is exciting," said Gary Waddell of Freeport, a member
for nine years. "But I don't expect much to change. We come to hear the word of
God. We could meet under a tent, and I'd still be excited about the ministry
here."
Bruce and Sharon Ehrler of Cranberry planned to join the church
officially after yesterday's service. The Ehrlers said they had been attending
for about five months.
"We were awestruck the first time we came here," Bruce Ehrler said. "We
really felt God's spirit at work."
"It's a church that totally obeys the Lord," Sharon Ehrler said. "They
have a passion for sharing Christ here. Their faith is so evident."
Most worshippers appeared to be younger adults with new families.
Skelly said he believes that young families are turning to the church
because "they want answers" about things such as how to raise children or make a
marriage work.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Deep Conversations
Before starting this post, let me just say that I've honestly had a drafted post in my "Edit" file for weeks now on the making over of our upstairs bathroom. However, I've held off posting it since I still don't have the pictures to upload (for the extra flavoring).
Now, on to the post.
This is (nearly word for word) a conversation had by my mother and I in front of our local Family Video tonight, arguing over who would take back the movie:
The time - 10:30 p.m.
We're on our way to pick up my brother and need to return a rental by midnight. We're sitting in front of the movie shack - I in the driver's seat, my mom in the passenger's seat, closest to the building. There are no other cars in the parking lot, save for one silver pick-up truck. My mom is in her "pj's," a pair of pastel capris coupled with a robin's egg blue t-shirt. I'm wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a Pitt Zoo t-shirt. These are important facts, so pay attention. Now, on to the dialogue.
me: "You've got the DVD?"
Mom: "Yeah. Here."
"Well no, you go - just stick it in the return slot."
"No?!"
"Yes?!"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Look at me! I'm in my pj's!"
"So? I go INTO the store in my pj's all the time."
(look of horror) "Well I'm not getting out the car looking like this."
"C'mon, I'm in the driver's seat."
"So?"
"So?...I don't want to put the car in park."
"Uuuuugh..."
(two seconds of silence)
(unison) "You gonna go? NO!"
me: "Why'd you wanna come?"
Mom: "To keep you company?"
"Wha?...okay, come on. Just go stick it in the slot. You don't even have to go inside."
"But there's a guy in there!"
"Since when do you care?? You're married!"
"I'm in my pj's!"
"Those're barely pj's. I'm in shorts and a t-shirt, and I'll probably wear those to bed, so I'm in my pj's too!"
"I'm not going!"
"C'mon, please? I'll give you a quarter?"
(cocks head) "Uh, no."
"No really, a quarter. (silence) Okay, two quarters, both my own, too."
"What?! No!"
"Okay, three quarters....a dollar."
(silence) "No! Just do it yourself, you dork."
(gasp) "Are you serious? You wouldn't take a dollar to walk, oh, thirty steps to drop a movie in a slot? Are you crazy? You can pick the type of money, change or paper..."
"No."
(long pause)
"...would you pay ME a dollar?" (grins)
I ended up doing it. *sigh*
Now, on to the post.
This is (nearly word for word) a conversation had by my mother and I in front of our local Family Video tonight, arguing over who would take back the movie:
The time - 10:30 p.m.
We're on our way to pick up my brother and need to return a rental by midnight. We're sitting in front of the movie shack - I in the driver's seat, my mom in the passenger's seat, closest to the building. There are no other cars in the parking lot, save for one silver pick-up truck. My mom is in her "pj's," a pair of pastel capris coupled with a robin's egg blue t-shirt. I'm wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a Pitt Zoo t-shirt. These are important facts, so pay attention. Now, on to the dialogue.
me: "You've got the DVD?"
Mom: "Yeah. Here."
"Well no, you go - just stick it in the return slot."
"No?!"
"Yes?!"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Look at me! I'm in my pj's!"
"So? I go INTO the store in my pj's all the time."
(look of horror) "Well I'm not getting out the car looking like this."
"C'mon, I'm in the driver's seat."
"So?"
"So?...I don't want to put the car in park."
"Uuuuugh..."
(two seconds of silence)
(unison) "You gonna go? NO!"
me: "Why'd you wanna come?"
Mom: "To keep you company?"
"Wha?...okay, come on. Just go stick it in the slot. You don't even have to go inside."
"But there's a guy in there!"
"Since when do you care?? You're married!"
"I'm in my pj's!"
"Those're barely pj's. I'm in shorts and a t-shirt, and I'll probably wear those to bed, so I'm in my pj's too!"
"I'm not going!"
"C'mon, please? I'll give you a quarter?"
(cocks head) "Uh, no."
"No really, a quarter. (silence) Okay, two quarters, both my own, too."
"What?! No!"
"Okay, three quarters....a dollar."
(silence) "No! Just do it yourself, you dork."
(gasp) "Are you serious? You wouldn't take a dollar to walk, oh, thirty steps to drop a movie in a slot? Are you crazy? You can pick the type of money, change or paper..."
"No."
(long pause)
"...would you pay ME a dollar?" (grins)
I ended up doing it. *sigh*
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
These Sleepless Nights
Last night and early this morning, I couldn't sleep. What little sleep I did get involved dreams such as hunting down a Grigori and saving a small child from a marsh-dwelling crocodile. Red flags should have been shooting into the sky when I (a.) couldn't sleep and (b.) kept dreaming about topics involving water since around 3:30 a.m. the whole family was sounded for by my dad into the upstairs hallway. I jumped off the bed and ran to the door. As soon as I opened it, it sounded like someone was taking a shower with the bathroom door open...no, like someone was taking a shower in the hallway. When I ran to the bathroom, I saw the problem: the cold water hose under the sink had burst and water was literally shooting straight out, hitting the back wall and toilet tank. My dad tried to tighten the valve to shut off the water running through the hose, but the knob had rusted itself open. So we all took shifts I stood there in the waterlogged bathroom keeping watch over a bucket I had rigged beneath the sink, careful to empty it when it got too full, while Dad worked his way through each room in the basement searching for the big-mama shut-off for the cold water. About 30 minutes later, the water slowed to a stop. He'd found the lever that shut off not just the cold water, but all the water. I emptied the bucket and made quick use of the mop that was propped in the hallway. After mopping up the bathroom, and went downstairs to investigate.
Now, that part about us all rushing to Dad's aid when he hollered for us? Yeah, let me back up and clarify that a bit: when I got downstairs, I looked over the railing into the livingroom to find my brother, Rob, snoozing away. He'd been sawing logs through this entire ordeal. I saw a bucket in the middle of the floor and (knowing the answer already) yelled, "ROB! IS THIS BUCKET BEING USED?!" His whole body shot up straight and his eyes flew open. He looked around, looking slightly frightened. His eyes lazily met mine and he answered with a: "Uuggghhh, uh." And with that, he keeled right back over onto the couch. Incredible.
So while Rob slept away, I continued to assess the damage. Here, the water had flooded the upstairs bathroom, forcing it to flow through the upstairs hallway, down the stairs, and into the entryway, causing the now river of water to fork off towards both the livingroom and the kitchen, and from the kitchen down the hidden stairs and into the basement. It was a royal mess. Mom swept the water near the front door out onto the porch while all the mayhem of Dad in the basement and me upstairs with the bucket was going on. Finally, around 4:30, we all fell back into bed.
And yet I still couldn't sleep.
Now, that part about us all rushing to Dad's aid when he hollered for us? Yeah, let me back up and clarify that a bit: when I got downstairs, I looked over the railing into the livingroom to find my brother, Rob, snoozing away. He'd been sawing logs through this entire ordeal. I saw a bucket in the middle of the floor and (knowing the answer already) yelled, "ROB! IS THIS BUCKET BEING USED?!" His whole body shot up straight and his eyes flew open. He looked around, looking slightly frightened. His eyes lazily met mine and he answered with a: "Uuggghhh, uh." And with that, he keeled right back over onto the couch. Incredible.
So while Rob slept away, I continued to assess the damage. Here, the water had flooded the upstairs bathroom, forcing it to flow through the upstairs hallway, down the stairs, and into the entryway, causing the now river of water to fork off towards both the livingroom and the kitchen, and from the kitchen down the hidden stairs and into the basement. It was a royal mess. Mom swept the water near the front door out onto the porch while all the mayhem of Dad in the basement and me upstairs with the bucket was going on. Finally, around 4:30, we all fell back into bed.
And yet I still couldn't sleep.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Surf Girl Meets Turf Gril
Friday night was special for me, not only because my siblings were out of the house for the night (teen group version of "Survivor Man" = memories of what it was like to be an only child), but also because I had my first ever steak.
My mom found out about this while making a list of meals for the next week before sending me grocery shopping. "You mean you've never had a steak before? In your entire life?"
"Nope. Well, wait. There was that one time when [my Family Life Skills teacher] brought back a small piece of filet mignon from Ruth's Chris Steakhouse and let me try a bite....does that count?"
"Uh, no."
"Oh..."
"And you've never even ordered it when you've gone out to eat?"
"Well, no. I almost always order something spicy and/or seafood...I don't get that often, so I always like to get something with shrimp. I never thought to get steak."
"That's it. We're going to get you some steak Friday."
And so we did.
We were running errands that evening, so we headed out to Applebee's for their 2 for $20 deal. We both got the 7 oz. House Sirloin. I ordered mine medium rare, hoping they'd undercook it to a perfect rare; instead, I got it the other way around and ended up being delivered something that looked more like medium - there was very little pink. But I couldn't complain: I sunk my teeth into that piece of juicy, savory meat and let it linger there, clamped by my jaw, allowing the juiciness to flow freely into my mouth. It tasted amazing; better than I had imagined.
I opened my eyes - I hadn't even noticed I had closed them - and looked directly at my mom, grinning with satisfaction. "How could you keep this from me for so long?" I asked, with a frustrated but playful tone.
I couldn't finish it all, having eaten my fair share of our boneless buffalo wings appetizer plus the smashed potato side that came with my hunk of meat. But after two hours I attacked it again with just as much excitement. Maybe it's just because I'm new, but it tasted just as good cold.
It sucks having a picky dad and (so-called) vegetarian sisters (interpret "vegetarian" loosely...it's more like "vegetarian...except for bacon and pepperoni"). We have very little options when it
comes to planning "carnivorous" meals. So now I'm definitely going to have to add steak to my eating-out menu.
YAY FOR STEAK!
My mom found out about this while making a list of meals for the next week before sending me grocery shopping. "You mean you've never had a steak before? In your entire life?"
"Nope. Well, wait. There was that one time when [my Family Life Skills teacher] brought back a small piece of filet mignon from Ruth's Chris Steakhouse and let me try a bite....does that count?"
"Uh, no."
"Oh..."
"And you've never even ordered it when you've gone out to eat?"
"Well, no. I almost always order something spicy and/or seafood...I don't get that often, so I always like to get something with shrimp. I never thought to get steak."
"That's it. We're going to get you some steak Friday."
And so we did.
We were running errands that evening, so we headed out to Applebee's for their 2 for $20 deal. We both got the 7 oz. House Sirloin. I ordered mine medium rare, hoping they'd undercook it to a perfect rare; instead, I got it the other way around and ended up being delivered something that looked more like medium - there was very little pink. But I couldn't complain: I sunk my teeth into that piece of juicy, savory meat and let it linger there, clamped by my jaw, allowing the juiciness to flow freely into my mouth. It tasted amazing; better than I had imagined.
I opened my eyes - I hadn't even noticed I had closed them - and looked directly at my mom, grinning with satisfaction. "How could you keep this from me for so long?" I asked, with a frustrated but playful tone.
I couldn't finish it all, having eaten my fair share of our boneless buffalo wings appetizer plus the smashed potato side that came with my hunk of meat. But after two hours I attacked it again with just as much excitement. Maybe it's just because I'm new, but it tasted just as good cold.
It sucks having a picky dad and (so-called) vegetarian sisters (interpret "vegetarian" loosely...it's more like "vegetarian...except for bacon and pepperoni"). We have very little options when it
comes to planning "carnivorous" meals. So now I'm definitely going to have to add steak to my eating-out menu.YAY FOR STEAK!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Cookin' up a Storm
So I was supposed to go to Kennywood today with some friends, but since it was a 70% chance of thunderstorms, we decided we'd rather wait for a day that was forecasted to be sunny so our $40 tickets would be worth while. I was so pumped to go though, so I'm kind of frustrated that it isn't POURING outside right now. (If Sammi ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.)
On a brighter note, my mom and I are assembling something of a cook-book gone cook-three-ring-binder. We're tired of the pages of all our cookbooks getting wet and wrinkled or splattered with food and such; plus, so many of the recipes we use have been altered over time that they're not even the recipe we use anymore. So we're typing them all up the way we actually cook/bake them then and keeping them in clear plastic sleeves so they stay nice.
So. If anyone is interested in leaving some favorite recipes in the Comments section of this post, feel free! Maybe I'll share some of my favorites.
On a brighter note, my mom and I are assembling something of a cook-book gone cook-three-ring-binder. We're tired of the pages of all our cookbooks getting wet and wrinkled or splattered with food and such; plus, so many of the recipes we use have been altered over time that they're not even the recipe we use anymore. So we're typing them all up the way we actually cook/bake them then and keeping them in clear plastic sleeves so they stay nice.
So. If anyone is interested in leaving some favorite recipes in the Comments section of this post, feel free! Maybe I'll share some of my favorites.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Why I'm the Favorite
REASON #1:
For months now, my brother has been on a Coldplay kick. And for the past several months, he's been saying how much he wishes Coldplay would come to Pittsburgh so he could see them live in concert. Thanks to the annoying (but in this instance, helpful) ads on Facebook, I noticed that they were coming to the Pittsburgh Post Gazette Pavillion at the end of May. Although his birthday is in August, I decided to get him tickets as an early birthday gift. But I was trying to decide how to tell him...I mean, it wouldn't be as fun to just hand over the tickets. So I spent a whole night doing nothing but Googling Coldplay lyrics to use as scavenger hunt clues for him. And when I say I went all out, I went all out. Needless to say, he had a blast looking for the clues. I was able to use the video recording feature on my dad's camera to film him looking, but I still haven't uploaded them yet. [[drat.]] So stay tuned for an "updedit" with the clips.
REASON #2:
I secretly requested Friday afternoon off for my mom so that I could take her (and my sisters) out to Alexandra's Tea Room as a surprise Mother's Day gift. We had such an amazing time: the food was delicious, the atmosphere was relaxing, the tea was fantastic, and the company was -- as always -- great. The first teas we selected were "Buckingham Palace Garden Party," "Goddess of Mercy Oolong," "Amore," and "Peach Apricot," but you can have as many different flavors brewed for you as you want. Here are some pictures from the trip.
For months now, my brother has been on a Coldplay kick. And for the past several months, he's been saying how much he wishes Coldplay would come to Pittsburgh so he could see them live in concert. Thanks to the annoying (but in this instance, helpful) ads on Facebook, I noticed that they were coming to the Pittsburgh Post Gazette Pavillion at the end of May. Although his birthday is in August, I decided to get him tickets as an early birthday gift. But I was trying to decide how to tell him...I mean, it wouldn't be as fun to just hand over the tickets. So I spent a whole night doing nothing but Googling Coldplay lyrics to use as scavenger hunt clues for him. And when I say I went all out, I went all out. Needless to say, he had a blast looking for the clues. I was able to use the video recording feature on my dad's camera to film him looking, but I still haven't uploaded them yet. [[drat.]] So stay tuned for an "updedit" with the clips.
REASON #2:
I secretly requested Friday afternoon off for my mom so that I could take her (and my sisters) out to Alexandra's Tea Room as a surprise Mother's Day gift. We had such an amazing time: the food was delicious, the atmosphere was relaxing, the tea was fantastic, and the company was -- as always -- great. The first teas we selected were "Buckingham Palace Garden Party," "Goddess of Mercy Oolong," "Amore," and "Peach Apricot," but you can have as many different flavors brewed for you as you want. Here are some pictures from the trip.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April Fools!
So I stayed home from work this morning with a sore throat, stuffed up nose, and horrible cramps. I woke up somewhere around 10:30 and someone had left whatever channel "The Ellen Show" falls on. I sat up and slowly gained consciousness to it just as she did a segment where she surprises a fan of hers by giving them "Ellen Bailout Bucks." She has apparently been doing this for awhile now because it sounded like it has been a regular deal. So since the twins were still asleep, I ran to their room screaming and hollering "THE ELLEN SHOW! SHE CAME! ELLEN CALLED US AND THEY'RE OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE! C'MOOOOOOOOOOON! HURRY!" Lexi sat up, bleary-eyed, and Ali tripped to the window. "APRIL FOOLS DAY!" I shouted.
They both gave me a dirty look and fell back into their beds.
Tee hee.
They both gave me a dirty look and fell back into their beds.
Tee hee.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Happy Birthday to Me...
Well, today marked the beginning of my 20th year of life...and it started out drippy.
I had my alarm set for 8:00 this morning to get up for church, but, as always, I hit the snooze a good two or three times. The third time, I noticed I could hear the rain...but I had been hearing the rain earlier -- just outside. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside. My mom and I had fallen asleep downstairs, so I (from the loveseat) called over to her on the couch: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Do you hear that?"
"Yeah, it's raining."
"No, I know. But something isn't right...it sounds like it's raining in here."
"Someone probably just left the window open; it's probably hitting the windowsill."
"No, Mom, you don't hear that? I'm saying it sounds like it's raining in the living room!"
*stops and listens* "Oh. Wow. Yeah..." *looks up* "OH MY GOSH, IT IS RAINING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"
And that's how the day started. I came downstairs to see my dad had stationed two buckets and a small pot under the three major drippy areas. He went outside later that morning and determined the leak to be a result of a bent-up shingle. ALL THAT FOR ONE FREAKING SHINGLE. So hopefully we'll get that fixed before the infamous "April showers" we're likely to be getting within the next couple days. [yikes]
Otherwise though, great birthday. Not one of those milestone ones like 16, 18, or (in the future) 21, but hey, I can't complain. After church I was able to take a nice nap, then headed out to get my free coffee that Caribou owed me. Turned out that I could make it ANY drink of ANY size. So naturally I got the biggest thing they offered, a large, of my favorite specialty drink - the white chocolate mocha. Ordinarily, I get it skim, but today I got it soy since it was free (HA! Cuz there's no way I'm spending an extra 35¢ on a drink just to make it soy). After that, we (my mom and I visited the Old Navy that was nearby. I, being the moron that I am at times, forgot to bring along the gift card that I got in the mail from my cousin, so all I could do was look around. Still, we had a good time. On the way back, we stopped at a local DQ to pick up my ice cream cake (my favorite). I told my mom that I wanted to pick what was written on the cake, and she agreed; but when I asked if I could get "Happy Birthday, you sexy thang," she said no. She also turned down "Happy One Year Away from Being Legal" and "Happy Birthday to the Awesome Daughter." Not sure why... :-)
So we had pizza for dinner, ice cream cake and coffee for dessert. I got (apart from some $) a green PINK tote, a pair of layered butterfly earrings, a v-neck Tink tshirt, and [GASP!] the first season DVD of my all-time favorite TV show. I also got this really cool homemade crown that said "Princess Sammi" on the front and "--> I'M AWESOME <--" on the back, but I gave myself that gift, so I guess that doesn't count. After gift opening, we played a few rounds of Catch Phrase, which is hilarious with my family. I've got two nearly deaf grandfathers and a grandma who can't help but spell the word out under her breath if you don't catch on fast enough - it's always so much fun. We walk away with so many inside jokes after every time we play it.
So now that I've walked Max, it's time to look for that episode of "Lie to Me" that I missed last-last Wednesday...thank God for Hulu.
I had my alarm set for 8:00 this morning to get up for church, but, as always, I hit the snooze a good two or three times. The third time, I noticed I could hear the rain...but I had been hearing the rain earlier -- just outside. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside. My mom and I had fallen asleep downstairs, so I (from the loveseat) called over to her on the couch: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Do you hear that?"
"Yeah, it's raining."
"No, I know. But something isn't right...it sounds like it's raining in here."
"Someone probably just left the window open; it's probably hitting the windowsill."
"No, Mom, you don't hear that? I'm saying it sounds like it's raining in the living room!"
*stops and listens* "Oh. Wow. Yeah..." *looks up* "OH MY GOSH, IT IS RAINING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"
And that's how the day started. I came downstairs to see my dad had stationed two buckets and a small pot under the three major drippy areas. He went outside later that morning and determined the leak to be a result of a bent-up shingle. ALL THAT FOR ONE FREAKING SHINGLE. So hopefully we'll get that fixed before the infamous "April showers" we're likely to be getting within the next couple days. [yikes]
Otherwise though, great birthday. Not one of those milestone ones like 16, 18, or (in the future) 21, but hey, I can't complain. After church I was able to take a nice nap, then headed out to get my free coffee that Caribou owed me. Turned out that I could make it ANY drink of ANY size. So naturally I got the biggest thing they offered, a large, of my favorite specialty drink - the white chocolate mocha. Ordinarily, I get it skim, but today I got it soy since it was free (HA! Cuz there's no way I'm spending an extra 35¢ on a drink just to make it soy). After that, we (my mom and I visited the Old Navy that was nearby. I, being the moron that I am at times, forgot to bring along the gift card that I got in the mail from my cousin, so all I could do was look around. Still, we had a good time. On the way back, we stopped at a local DQ to pick up my ice cream cake (my favorite). I told my mom that I wanted to pick what was written on the cake, and she agreed; but when I asked if I could get "Happy Birthday, you sexy thang," she said no. She also turned down "Happy One Year Away from Being Legal" and "Happy Birthday to the Awesome Daughter." Not sure why... :-)
So we had pizza for dinner, ice cream cake and coffee for dessert. I got (apart from some $) a green PINK tote, a pair of layered butterfly earrings, a v-neck Tink tshirt, and [GASP!] the first season DVD of my all-time favorite TV show. I also got this really cool homemade crown that said "Princess Sammi" on the front and "--> I'M AWESOME <--" on the back, but I gave myself that gift, so I guess that doesn't count. After gift opening, we played a few rounds of Catch Phrase, which is hilarious with my family. I've got two nearly deaf grandfathers and a grandma who can't help but spell the word out under her breath if you don't catch on fast enough - it's always so much fun. We walk away with so many inside jokes after every time we play it.
So now that I've walked Max, it's time to look for that episode of "Lie to Me" that I missed last-last Wednesday...thank God for Hulu.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Quote of the Day:
[commercial for the new Osbourne family show comes on]
Ali: I hate them. They’re so dumb. And Harry Osbourne is so creepy!
Me: Uh, Al? Harry Osborn is from Spiderman. And he was played by James Franco who is so NOT creepy. I think you meant…
Ali: Oh, yeah, right. I meant Jimmy. Jimmy Osbourne.
Me: Ali? It’s OZZY.
Ali: Oh.
Ali: I hate them. They’re so dumb. And Harry Osbourne is so creepy!
Me: Uh, Al? Harry Osborn is from Spiderman. And he was played by James Franco who is so NOT creepy. I think you meant…
Ali: Oh, yeah, right. I meant Jimmy. Jimmy Osbourne.Me: Ali? It’s OZZY.
Ali: Oh.
Close, Ali. Very close.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Frog Prince
I was listening to my Keane CD "Under the Iron Sea" while I was getting ready
this morning and the track "The Frog Prince" came on.
It reminded me of an old boyfriend for whom I assembled a scrapbook. Some of the themes included the whole frog prince/knight in shining armor plus princess concept, and I had the cutest sticker collection that I bought for it of these frog princes/knights/princesses portrayed by little cartoon kids. It was adorable. But when I think about it anymore, a feeling of anger follows a smile. Guess that's what happens.
this morning and the track "The Frog Prince" came on.It reminded me of an old boyfriend for whom I assembled a scrapbook. Some of the themes included the whole frog prince/knight in shining armor plus princess concept, and I had the cutest sticker collection that I bought for it of these frog princes/knights/princesses portrayed by little cartoon kids. It was adorable. But when I think about it anymore, a feeling of anger follows a smile. Guess that's what happens.
An old fairytale told me
The simple heart will be prized again
A toad will be our king
And ugly ogres our heroesThen you'll shake
Your fist at the sky
"Oh why did I rely
On fashions and small fry?"All promises broken
Feed your people or lose your throne
And forfeit your whole kingdom
I'd sooner lose it than still live in it aloneYour prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all knowSoon, someone will put a spell on you
Perfume, treasure, sorcery, every trick they know
You will lie in a deep sleep
That's when...Your prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all know
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Walk
(experimenting with some second person perspective writing…)
She stepped onto the escalator marked “DOWN” and, due to state of her sopping (and now sagging) pant legs which had worked their way underneath her shoes, nearly missed her footing. She steadied herself by grabbing on to both sides of the moving staircase and thought to herself That was a close one – I have a feeling rolling down these steps would hurt much worse than tumbling down the wooden ones at home. She was having a relatively good day, all things considered, and not much was going to get her down that Friday afternoon. Pittsburgh’s wintry weather streak had finally been broken and that day and the previous one had been a comfortable fifty degrees. For Friday, however, there was some off-and-on rain tacked on to the forecast.
She reached the bottom of the last escalator and exited the Victoria Building. As she did so, she flipped open her phone, scrolled down through her list of previously called numbers, and hit “SEND” when she reached the contact “Dad.” After a short wait, she heard the cheery voice of her father on the other end. “Hello, Sammi!” he greeted. “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?” she asked.They chatted back and forth as she walked, heading down towards Fifth Avenue. About a minute into the conversation, she cut herself off mid-sentence: “Oh crap, wait a minute – it just started raining out of nowhere.” She dug deep into her tote bag, if one could even call it that anymore. It was more like a threadbare, faded, stained sack with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme in silver on its black canvas body; but it was her favorite. Her fingers stumbled across the parachute-like object that she recognized as her umbrella and yanked it out of the depths of her bag. “Man,” she continued, “it’s been really off and on today, the rain. One minute, it’s fine; the next, it’s a torrential downpour.”
She wrapped up her conversation with her father then pocketed her flip-phone so that she could better grip her flimsy, two-dollar miniature umbrella. The wind whipped all around her as she turned left onto McKees Place. Denying it the pleasure of doing it for her, she rested the thin pole of the umbrella against her forehead to keep the wind from sending it back and hitting her in the face. She looked down and examined herself as she trudged through the rain: her brown velour pants were now even more wet than before, soaked all the way up to her knees. Just my luck again, she thought. Every time I wear these, it rains. And every time, the material sops up all the water like a sponge. She also noticed that she not only picked the wrong pants to wear, but also the wrong shoes. Her green plaid Chuck Taylor “lo-tops” – also canvas, like her shabby tote – were absorbing just about as much of the rain as her pant legs, as though they were in some kind of strange competition. She rolled her eyes to herself as she reached the revolving door to her office building. As she made the half-circle to enter, she let out a sigh of relief, knowing that within a few moments she could rid herself of her wet shoes. She boarded the elevator and rode it to her floor.
She proceeded to her office suite, unlocked the door, and headed straight for her office. When she finally stepped through the doorway, she tossed her bag onto the chair nearest her, rolled up her pant legs, pulled off her shoes and socks, and plopped herself into her own seat. Bending down, she turned the knob to activate the little fan she kept underneath her desk for the summertime and aimed it at the wall next to her; then, feeling resourceful, she propped her shoes against the wall, draped her socks over them, and adjusted the fan so that it was angled in her footwear’s general direction. Then, leaning back in her chair, she began to type.
She stepped onto the escalator marked “DOWN” and, due to state of her sopping (and now sagging) pant legs which had worked their way underneath her shoes, nearly missed her footing. She steadied herself by grabbing on to both sides of the moving staircase and thought to herself That was a close one – I have a feeling rolling down these steps would hurt much worse than tumbling down the wooden ones at home. She was having a relatively good day, all things considered, and not much was going to get her down that Friday afternoon. Pittsburgh’s wintry weather streak had finally been broken and that day and the previous one had been a comfortable fifty degrees. For Friday, however, there was some off-and-on rain tacked on to the forecast.
She reached the bottom of the last escalator and exited the Victoria Building. As she did so, she flipped open her phone, scrolled down through her list of previously called numbers, and hit “SEND” when she reached the contact “Dad.” After a short wait, she heard the cheery voice of her father on the other end. “Hello, Sammi!” he greeted. “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?” she asked.They chatted back and forth as she walked, heading down towards Fifth Avenue. About a minute into the conversation, she cut herself off mid-sentence: “Oh crap, wait a minute – it just started raining out of nowhere.” She dug deep into her tote bag, if one could even call it that anymore. It was more like a threadbare, faded, stained sack with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme in silver on its black canvas body; but it was her favorite. Her fingers stumbled across the parachute-like object that she recognized as her umbrella and yanked it out of the depths of her bag. “Man,” she continued, “it’s been really off and on today, the rain. One minute, it’s fine; the next, it’s a torrential downpour.”
She wrapped up her conversation with her father then pocketed her flip-phone so that she could better grip her flimsy, two-dollar miniature umbrella. The wind whipped all around her as she turned left onto McKees Place. Denying it the pleasure of doing it for her, she rested the thin pole of the umbrella against her forehead to keep the wind from sending it back and hitting her in the face. She looked down and examined herself as she trudged through the rain: her brown velour pants were now even more wet than before, soaked all the way up to her knees. Just my luck again, she thought. Every time I wear these, it rains. And every time, the material sops up all the water like a sponge. She also noticed that she not only picked the wrong pants to wear, but also the wrong shoes. Her green plaid Chuck Taylor “lo-tops” – also canvas, like her shabby tote – were absorbing just about as much of the rain as her pant legs, as though they were in some kind of strange competition. She rolled her eyes to herself as she reached the revolving door to her office building. As she made the half-circle to enter, she let out a sigh of relief, knowing that within a few moments she could rid herself of her wet shoes. She boarded the elevator and rode it to her floor.
She proceeded to her office suite, unlocked the door, and headed straight for her office. When she finally stepped through the doorway, she tossed her bag onto the chair nearest her, rolled up her pant legs, pulled off her shoes and socks, and plopped herself into her own seat. Bending down, she turned the knob to activate the little fan she kept underneath her desk for the summertime and aimed it at the wall next to her; then, feeling resourceful, she propped her shoes against the wall, draped her socks over them, and adjusted the fan so that it was angled in her footwear’s general direction. Then, leaning back in her chair, she began to type.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Blank.
So I decided to update, but for the first time ever, I'm at a loss. Usually lots of fun and exciting things are floating around in my head and I have but to reach in and pull something out. But alas, nothing is coming to mind today.
In fact, I'm at such a loss for words, I actually went back through my Twitter feed just to see if anything really had happened that I had just forgotten. But nothing! (Well, lots of things, but nothing worth writing home -- or on this blog -- about.)
Then this came to me:
Setting: last night in the car, in the drive-thru of DQ.
Ali: So Saturday was fun - we went to [our volleyball coach's] house for a pizza
party then watched a DVD of our tournament in Indiana!
Lexi: Ali. It's "TOUR-na-ment," not "TER-na-ment." Gosh.
Ali: Nuh-uh, it's "TER-na-ment." Anyway, you can say it either way, right?
me: Al, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be "TOUR-na-ment." Think about it - it's spelled like "tour"...like, "going on a tour."
Conversation continues throughout wait...
DQ worker: Here's your order!
me: Thanks...could I get another straw? This one has a hole in it....well, three holes actually, but one isn't supposed to be there, haha.
DQ worker: Sure! [hands me a new straw]
me: Okay, and one more thing.
DQ worker: Okay?
me: T-O-U-R-N-A-M-E-N-T. How do you say that?
DQ worker: Uh, "TOUR-na-ment"?
me and Lexi: YES! Ali: WHA?! But...!
me: Thanks for that - have a nice evening!
I think we pretty much made her night. She had the biggest grin on her face and was still laughing when I drove away from the window.
PS: if anyone was wondering, I ordered the 4-piece buffalo chicken -- they have excellent dipping sauce there -- and a mocha MooLatte.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
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.
Okay, now that I'm way off topic...
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Fast-forward to this past Saturday.
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: 
Sunday, August 17, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, August 15, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, August 11, 2008
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...
"LIVE YOUR LIFE" - American Eagle
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
Friday, August 8, 2008
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:
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:
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.
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