Who's The Boss

Shea and I were running around chasing his tennis ball, when a golden retriever came barreling around the fence and into the field. The two immediately began chasing each other around. Once they had had enough of that, they exchanged pleasantries (sniffed each other's butts) and brought the tennis ball over for some friendly competition.

I could tell this would be a competitive game of fetch. These two alpha dogs wanted to see who was faster and more skilled. I was intrigued to see the competition, promising myself that I would throw the ball fairly. No favoring Shea. I wouldn't throw it to a place that was easier for him to retrieve. I was even more intrigued when the golden retriever's own came walking around the fence with another golden retriever. 

He seemed to have the competitive spirit as well, although his came across through a very thick, and quite entertaining, German accent. After I threw the ball a few times and my speedy, spry, athletic dog whooped his golden's butt, he nearly stole the ball out of my hand so he could throw it. He probably thought I was cheating somehow. But I wasn't. 

I thought it was pretty obvious before the German man threw the ball, that he was favoring his dog, Harry. The pep talk that took place beforehand was a dead give away! 

"Alright, Harry, show em who's boss, Harry. Show em whose boss!" He threw the ball, like an 80 year old woman I may add, and Shea beat Harry to it, scooped it up, and returned it. 

"Alright, Harry, this time, show em whose boss!" He threw it with the same elderly woman enthusiasm, Shea beat Harry to the ball, scooped it up, and returned it.

I'm sure you can guess what happened the third time. The only difference was the man put some loft on the ball this time. Shea, being the gamer that he is, leaped up and snatched the ball out of midair! Shea's acrobatics drew giddy claps from the man who openly declared his impression with my four-legged friend. 

Since he enjoyed it so much, he continued to throw lofty flies to Shea and told Harry to watch. Then, he broke poor little Harry's heart as he put him on his leash to leave by saying, "Harry, you are no long number one."

HR

We went to the Indians/Yankees game. I had two goals for the night.

1) To catch A-Rod's 600th homerun ball.
2) For the Indians to win.

Neither happened. And since A-Rod did not hit his 600th homerun to me, I hope, without injury, that he is stuck on 599 for the rest of his career.

Go Mets!

A Soggy Mess

Beautiful blue skies graced Cleveland. I leashed Shea up and we headed out to enjoy the early evening pleasantries. We had gotten about a mile from the house when someone turned out the lights. The sky went black, and I could smell a storm brewing.

I enticed Shea to run, sprint really, in hopes of beating the storm. Now, so far, everyone I have met in Cleveland has been extremely kind and friendly, from actual friends to random people passed on the street. As we ran frantically, I passed a few people simply going to and from their cars and houses. They simply laughed a friendly laugh and told me I better hurry. What happened to the day when friendly neighbors offer some sort of shelter. 

Anyways, I began to worry as Jeff's plane was due into the Cleveland airport in about an hour. I knew he was already in the air. These skies were not looking good and I could definitely see them taking down a boeing 787. What would I do? I can't lose my husband. He's got a lot of living left to do. After pondering it for a moment, I decided that the pilot would be smart enough not to try to land through a bad storm. Right? Well, I was convinced. He could simply fly the plane to Detroit or Cincinnati, or Chicago if he needed to.  That might mean I don't see Jeff tonight, but he'd be alive. A small price to pay. 

Then, I started thinking about Shea and I, exposed to the elements with no protection. Lightening could strike me dead. My mind shot to Jeff again. I would leave him a widower at 30. I didn't want to be depressed so I put a positive spin on it. Jeff's a trooper. A handsome one at that. I'm sure he would find someone, someone better than me probably. Someone who ranks higher than a 6.5 on the Jennifer Love Hewitt scale of beauty. Someone who actually has a sense of humor. Someone who can cook something more than eggs. Ehhh, me getting struck by lightening may be the best thing that could possibly happen to Jeff! If I had a baseball bat, I would have held it up in the air and tried for him. But, I didn't.

So, I was just a soggy mess! 

Genius Bar

For some unknown reason, yesterday the home button on my iphone stopped working. For those of you that don't know, the home button is by far, the most important button. Really, the only "button" per say. Anytime I needed to do something different on my phone, I had to turn it off and back on again. Somewhat of a pain in the dupah, as my grandmother would say.

Today I scheduled an appointment at the Apple store. When I showed up, the dorky Apple genius told me he thought he could fix it. He just needed to replace the blah, blah, blah with a new blah, blah, blah, and reset the blah, blah, blah, and it would be as good as new. He said it with such geeky confidence that I believed him. When he walked back out, I was sure this genius had figured it all out and fixed my phone. When he showed me what he had done, the phone did the same exact thing. Didn't work.

Then the little genius so gently told me that the warranty on my phone had elapsed a mere 20 days ago. He got almost a little smirk on his face as he said this. I was sure it was because he was rubbing it in. I began to panic, thinking what my husband would do to me. He would surely find out when I turn my phone on and off all the time. There was no way to hide this. Just as I was about to throw myself across the genius bar and take this geeky little, not-so-genius, Apple dork's throat in my hands, he told me he would honor the warranty since it was so close. He then handed me a brand new iphone. 

The guy saved my life. He may not be genius enough to fix my phone, but he was genius enough to provide excellent customer service. He allowed me to leave happy. Steve Jobs may not be happy about him handing over free iphones to unwarrantied customers, but what does $200 mean to Steve Jobs? 

I did not tell Jeff of the phone mishap until after it worked out nicely. I wasn't sure how he would take it, so I was trying to come up with a plan to break it to him easily if the genius bar could not help me. Luckily they did, because all I had come up with was simply saying, "at least I didn't crack it!"

Ball-less

Shea was bred for hunting. Specifically hunting duck. I am supposed to be able to shoot a duck in the water, and have my Labrador Retriever, go retrieve it, and swim back to shore with it gently in his mouth.

Well, it didn't work with Shea. He does not have those instincts, per say. Sure, he will fetch a green tennis ball, even in water, but apparently, the Big Guy is afraid of ducks. The exact thing he is supposed to be able to hunt. Jeff and I had this inkling the other day when we brought him to the lake a couple blocks over. It was confirmed and set in stone today.

All was fine and dandy. Shea was having a great time cooling off and fetching his ball. He was fearlously bounding into the water and swimming around with exuberance.

He was like the energizer bunny, until he saw them. The ducks that is. The first thought that ran through my mind was that he was going to try to attack them. Hunt them out of shear natural instincts. I almost would have rather seen those ducks go down, than realize that my dog was deathly afraid of the precious little duckies. 

Shouldn't it be the other way around? As the ducks got closer, Shea was less willing to adventure into the water. I threw the ball, he would gingerly step into the water that just minutes ago he was bounding into. He would swim halfway to his ball, chicken out and swim back ball-less. Seems very fitting, doesn't it? After fifteen minutes of swimming a few strokes and frighteningly jumping back to shore, Shea finally maned up and got his ball. 

I can't figure out which showing was worse. Watching him flail in the water like a baby made me laugh with pity. But, last time, when we came to the lake with Jeff, we actually ended up leaving the ball floating around in the water. He just couldn't muster the courage to go in and get it. So, all in all, I guess one ball is better than ball-less! 

Qwitness

Jeff needed to be to the airport early this morning. We got up around 5:30 a.m. and hurried to be on our way. The problem with me and 5:30 a.m. is that I usually am not thinking clearly. This morning, at 5:30 a.m., I was in zombie mode as I went through the motions.

For the sake of our lives, Jeff, who is slightly more of a morning person, drove to the airport smelling all Old Spice morning fresh. There really was no other option than to drive home myself, which was fine because at this point, my rudimentary 30 minute wake up time had passed. In fact, I was so awake I began thinking ahead. Ahead to fact that I needed to do some grocery shopping. It must have been my lucky day, as the grocery store on my way home was open this early! So, with a mental list forming in my head, I went in to do some shelf picking.

What I didn't realize, albiet sleepiness or idiocracy, I was out in public with my Witness shirt on. That's right, here in Cleveland, with my Lebron James Witness shirt. Never a good idea. Have you seen what they are doing to Lebron merchandise?

 

Although there were few people in the grocery store at this time, of course, the people that were there needed to say something. I used my most formidable excuse, one that I find myself saying when I make errors in my driving, "I'm from New York." Then I explained how I had gotten up early and just grabbed a shirt, not even looking at it or thinking about it. The other grocery store patrons were not being mean or rude, in fact, they went as far as to show me how to turn my once prized Witness t-shirt into a Qwitness t-shirt.

Now I can wear my t-shirt whenever I want. No matter what time of day!

Dog Food

Luckily, for our bellies, all that I lack in culinary skills, my husband makes up for in talent and energy. He loves to cook and he is damn good at it. So today, while we out gallivanting, Jeff decided that he was going to make a nice sauce, some meatballs, macaroni, and chicken. Oh, and don't forget the fresh baked loaf of Italian bread.

I believe I already mentioned that Jeff loves to cook and is excellent at it. So all the food I listed above, tasted superb! But, really, I expect nothing less. My man is a whiz in the kitchen.

As we delighted in our food, we kept a careful eye on Shea, as he is a fan of anything edible, and somethings that most would consider inedible. He behaved and watched us bask in the glory of our dinner before he ate his delicious kibble. He chowed it down just like he used to when he was a wee little pup.

After cleaning up the kitchen, see I am good for something, and knowing that our boy had a satisfying dinner, we went out for a while. We hadn't any idea what we would come home to.

I told you he likes inedible things. In this former bag of "garbage," Shea got some delectable styrofoam, paper, and plastic. All extremely inedible and delicious things. On top of all of this, he also managed to get the remainder of the freshly baked Italian bread. So much for dipping that bread in oil as I had been envisioning. I can't say that I am left empty stomached, but Shea's belly is certainly full. 

The Human Race

Running. From yesterday's post, you may have concluded that it is not Jeff's favorite thing. He literally has to give him self a pep talk to go run. He convinces himself at 5:30 that he wants to be home by 5:35. Not always the best attitude to leave with, but it makes sense for a man who prays for red lights.

His little episode at the God-foresaken green light reminds me of a race he signed up to run with his brother, Jon, and I a few years back. He wasn't just dipping his foot into this racing thing, he chose to participate in a 6.2 mile race. The Human Race down in New York City. Did I mention that Jeff decided to sign up for this race a mere three weeks prior to the actual event? Well, he did. And he was starting from scratch as he hadn't been running at that time.

The day of the race we were all smiles. Very excited for the event, figuring this would be a great race. Nike was putting it on and the whole concept was that in major cities all over the world, people, about one million, would be running in this "Human Race" at the same time. The race in New York was to begin at 7 p.m. Before we headed over, we took a picture to memorialize this joyous occasion.

Once we got to the race the smiles disappeared. Not for game faces, but because the start of the race was delayed. The special guest who was supposed to kick off the race, Nate Robinson, then of the New York Knicks, was late. That little pip squeak kept all of us waiting for about 35 minutes, jammed packed like sardines at the starting line. During this waiting period we fooled around with the idea of all running together. We went back and forth before ultimately deciding......to this day, quite honestly, I am not sure what we decided. Jeff and Jon contend that we decided to run together. Me, I didn't think that was the consensus, so when the NBA slam dunk champion, who was crowned simply because of his size, set off the starting gun, I began weaving through the Human Race. I threw a few elbows to get where I needed to be. Jeff and Jon did not.

After I finished, I took in the whole scene, had some pictures taken, and roamed around the stadium that housed the finish line. As I waited and waited, I began to worry that I would never find Jeff and Jon.

Finally, I saw Jeff and Jon enter the stadium. They made it!

Jon had not let Jeff stop and walk at all during the race. Much of the course was lined with people, cheering and sharing encouraging words. As we walked away from the race, Jeff expressed how most people like the encouragement the crowd offers. He on the other hand, had to muster up every ounce of self-control he had not to throw his fist through their faces when they were shouting "keep running," and "you're almost there!" He wanted to tell them to shut the ---- up or get their a$$es out there and run. 

He did neither of these things as energy escaped him. We have concluded that Jeff should have tried a 3.1 mile race before jumping to it's 6.2 counterpart. I doubt it would relieve his hate for running though, as I witnessed this same hostility on our run yesterday! 

Red Light

Jeff and I went for a run. Together. It was all fine and dandy. Jeff followed behind me for the majority of the run, probably not because I run faster, but because he was being a polite gentlemen. Simply living by the "ladies first" motto.

When coming to a corner, I would ask, right or left? Never, ever, ever did I get an answer. I ended up turning the wrong way multiple times and looking back to see Jeff running in the opposite direction. I guess he couldn't hear me. Not at all because he was too short of breath to answer or because he wanted to get a few steps ahead of me. Nope, not at all.

When we got to a place I was comfortable with and knew where I was, the real action began. Living now in a more densely populated city, it is hard to avoid major roadways and traffic. As we approached one of these roads, the light facing us shone red.

However, right as we got to the corner, it changed to green. I was relieved, as I hate having to wait for lights. In fact, I don't. I will just turn and run further up the road until I see a time that I can cross. I don't run in place because I think it looks silly! 

Jeff, on the other hand, does neither of these things. Apparently, he was very unhappy with the green light, as I heard a ridiculous barrage of cuss words coming from behind me. "You've got to be f(*#ing kidding me. Mother f#*$ing green light. Sh*#!" 

Once we stopped running, I asked what that was all about. For a second I thought maybe a car had come close to hitting him. But when I turned around to see, that certainly was not the case. The truth is, in Jeff's own words, he prays for red lights. He looks at a red light as a blessing. A small, excusable break in the middle of a hard run. He admits that he even likes to hit red lights when he has only run for 2 minutes. I would say that he loves red lights, but I think it is more of a hate for running. 

Which reminds me....ehhhh....I'll tell you tomorrow! 

Meat Beating

I am working hard on my below average culinary skills. Tonight was no different. I had turkey cutlets and found an excellent, fairly simple recipe to make turkey picatta. Yum, yum.

The first step in the process was to pound the turkey cutlets so that they were nice and thin. Jeff had mentioned that he pounds meat quite often. Yea, that's right, he's a big meat beater. Anyways, knowing that Jeff pounds his meat, I logically assumed that there was a meat mallet somewhere in the kitchen. I just needed to look for it. One drawer, two drawers, ah ha, found it! I took that meat mallet and began hammering away at the meat.

"Lish? What are you doing?" Duh, Jeff, I am pounding meat. His voice sounded awfully worrisome when he asked what exactly I was pounding the meat with. The meat mallet. What else would I be pounding meat with? Stupid question! Or so I thought. Jeff proceeded to ask me if I had gone out and bought a meat mallet, which I obviously had not. I found the meat mallet in drawer number two. However, Jeff was positive that we do not have a meat mallet. In fact, he was correct. I was not beating meat with a mallet, but a knife sharpener that looked very much like a mallet:

Wouldn't you agree? After cleaning the knife sharpener very thoroughly, Jeff introduced me to what he beats his meat with. It was so  nice to finally see:

Add that to the list of hot sauce purposes. From then on out, my cooking went seamlessly. A beautiful turkey picatta was the end result. And me, I have Frank's Red Hot hot sauce to thank! 

Crazy Is As Crazy Does

My father's side of the family is notoriously classified as the crazy side. With my off-the-wall grandmother and her barely less off-the-wall sisters (four of them), one would agree this is rightfully so. Beyond that are my clinically insane sane and 100% normal cousins. Love them all dearly. With the craziness of my father's side, my mother's side looks quote-on-quote, normal. Although this isn't necessarily true.

Jeff had a headache today. With his positive, glass half full, attitude, he came to the conclusion that he has a brain tumor and is going to die. You can see where he is coming from. Isn't that the first place your mind jumps when you have a headache? Being the supportive wife that I am, I asked if he wants to be buried or cremated. He was quite taken aback by this question as cremation is against our religion. I know this, but I also know that it still happens. I know all too well.

This is where the craziness of my mother's family comes into play. Cremation. What is supposed to happen is a person dies, they get cremated, put into an urn, and then the family disposes of the ashes properly. Since my grandparents lived in Florida and loved going to the Naples pier, I have always thought that would be extremely appropriate.

Perfect right? I believe that was the intention. One thing that was never intended however, was the urn. Since money was spent on a casket, nobody wanted to spend money on an urn that the ashes would soon be removed from and spread off the pier. After much arguing with the funeral parlor, both my grandmother and grandfather left un-urned, so to speak. Pop was in a cardboard box and Grandma was in tupperware. Yea, I said it, tupperware. And yes, it irks me just as much as it probably irks any normal, civilized person. To my mother's family, no big deal. I told you they are crazy! 

I love visiting my family in Florida more than anything. I think it would be lovely to be able to go to the pier and visit my grandparents. But I can't. Their ashes never made it there. They were never spread off the pier as originally planned. However, I do get to spend a lot of time with them, as they are in the closet of my aunt's guest room. They have also been consolidated to one box. Together forever I guess. 

As for Jeff's headache, we have narrowed the time line down. He has been having them now for approximately two and a half to three weeks. Which just so happens to line up with the time I have been here in Cleveland. We have come to the conclusion that Jeff is allergic to me. For us, unlike my grandparents, together may not be forever.

She-Man

Facebook is a horrible, horrible place. I have an account, I use it, but it is God awful! I think you will agree.

It all started long before Facebook was incepted. Years ago I used to spend my summers touring the east coast and working basketball camps. It was a fun, easy buck. One year, at a university in Boston (no, not Boston University), I met someone who has come back to haunt me via Facebook.

She was friendly and funny, and seemed pretty cool to hang out with. So, a good friend and teammate of mine did. Being around college athletics, it was quite obvious that many of the people we met were gay. No big deal. I didn't mind that as long as they didn't try any of that sh*# on me! This girl knew we were straight and everything was cool. One night at camp, the entire staff got together in the coaches lounge to eat pizza and watch some TV. Then, this girl, we will call Mae, broke out a video of her stint on MTV. No lie! She was on an MTV series! I was excited to see if it was Real World or Road Rules. I wasn't a big fan of either, but if I knew someone on the show I thought I probably could suffer through it.

She was not on Real World or Road Rules. She was on an even less conventional MTV show. One that came on well after hours. One called Drag Kings. Yup, that's right, Drag Kings. In case you can't figure it out, it is the opposite of drag queens. Women who dress up as men in their spare time. This, unbeknownst to me, was Mae's hobby. I was a little freaked at first, but the show was hilarious! I really thought it more of a joke than anything else. Mae was just trying to get in the spotlight; a moment in the sun. If this was how she had to go about doing it, she would!

Camp ended and as per usual, so did contacts with Mae. For me anyways. Secretly, my friend kept in contact and had a fun weekend with her. A weekend of weakness we will call it. Don't think about it too much, I know I try not too! It's much easier that way.

Anyways, after that little piece of info came out, Mae played no role in my life at all. Long gone and forgotten. Until the other day. A friend request of Facebook. It was from Mae, only, it wasn't Mae. Since you can check out the pictures before you befriend someone (if your privacy settings are on), I saw that our little drag king, Mae, no longer had a need to be a drag king anymore. She could simply be a king. She/he is a he/she. Pictures prove that she/he's got the junk in the trunk to be classified as male.

I always thought of myself as a very accepting person. For some reason, this Facebook revelation has made me quite sick to my stomach. I can absolutely see Mae's face underneath the facial hair and it creeps me out. At least, for Mae, he/she has gotten to try the three things she declared she would want to do if she had male genetalia. I will let you use your imagination on that one!

Case Wives

Today I spent a nice day with some of the wives from Case. It was much different than my norm. It was a great day, but it scared me in a way.

We spent a few, fun-filled hours together. When I say fun-filled I mean it. What we did? Nothing out of the ordinary or too excited. We sat around, watched the kids play with their building blocks, and talked about a bunch of stuff. Vacations we've been on, good places to eat, places to shop, and ice cream. A lot of talk about ice cream!

Why is this so scary? The scary part is this sentence, "we spent a few, fun-filled hours together." Yes, I found this fun. I had a perfectly good time. I enjoyed myself. I wasn't bored. The time actually passed by quickly. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed this rather grown-up like day. Scary, because I, at 27 years old, rarely think of myself as an adult. The only two factors that contribute to my adulthood are that I am married and that I did/used to hold a job. Beyond that, nothing! Nothing at all! Until, today, and this adultly outing.

While it scared me quite badly, I realized that the people I hung out with today, were the same people that I was drinking too much with the past few nights. Drinking enough that I could not write my blog for a few days. Notice that? Yea, I was too drunk for that. 

These wives were the same people who told me it is okay that my boobs are small, you only need a mouthful. The same wives that sang a song to me about how the slightly manly girls on their softball team liked strikes better than balls! And the same wives that threw a bottle of ketchup to me and when I caught it, responded by saying, "nice snatch!" 

These things make me feel so much better. Better, because that is my kind of people. Whether I am drinking one too many beers (which is two by the way), or sitting watching the kids play Wii. Friday and Saturday night make Sunday more than acceptable. 

Looks Fun!

I found this lovely entertaining article today. You can read it if you'd like, but I will give a quick synopsis:

Gay Sex and a 6 Year Old

What happens is this nice couple takes their six-year old out for a morning walk. Such an early morning walk that no place in town is open yet, except the 24-hour diner. They live close to San Francisco, in a neighborhood that resembles Provincetown.  Maybe I exaggerated, but there is a fairly good sized population of gay people in the area. No big deal. Something they knew and chose and had no problems with. 

Living in a larger city with a small child, the parents have coined some terms. Rather than freaking out when they see something they don't like, they say, "looks dangerous." With this, their little boy is deterred from trying/doing whatever the "dangerous" activity is. When they see something they agree with or think their boy would enjoy, they say, "looks like fun!" This is their way of encouraging him to try new things. Good parenting. 

Being six, this boy is just learning to read. So, anything he sees, he attempts to read. Looking down at the ground, he noticed a flyer advertising the previous nights going-ons. There were a few words, but a picture dominated. Two men, one getting, one receiving. Use your imagination. 

As the parents stood speechless, their little boy took in the interesting picture. They looked at each other, trying to use telekinesis to speak to one another and figure out what to do. It didn't work. They had nothing. Then, the little boy placed the flyer back on the ground and simply said, "looks fun!" 

This whole thing cracked me up. The little boy thinks it looks fun. Haha. It in fact was being done for it's fun-ness. I can't help but think back about twelve years. I was a teenager, but my cousin, she was just the cutest kindergarten five year old alive. 

The lucky girl lives in Florida. As a tot at the beach, she saw something written in the sand. It read, "Bob is gay!" When she asked her mother what gay meant, she simply replied, "happy." 

The next day at school, my adorable, absorbently sponge-like brained little cousin made a beautiful painting during art time.  The beautiful painting she brought home read, "Ryan is gay." 

The Idiocracy of Alicia

I'm an idiot. You already knew that; I'm just reiterating. I try to do the right thing and be kind to everyone, but sometimes I just fail miserably. Good intentions turn into idiocracy.

I found a wonderful house for Jeff and I to live in yesterday. I am thoroughly in love with it. Everything about it. It's like Jeff, reincarnated in house form. Not a thing to dislike. Not wanting this house to slip away, because, again, like Jeff, I knew it would be highly desirable, I put in to get the house right away.

Well, the great news is we got it. It's beautiful. There is plenty of room, everything is redone, there's two porches, and a nice yard to toss the ball to Shea. But, the absolute kicker, there is a basketball hoop attached to the garage. The house could have been completely dilapidated and ant infested, the basketball hoop still could have sold it. Lucky for us the house is awesome too.

Going into today, I felt good knowing we have a great place to live. I have been traveling around the greater Cleveland area looking for the perfect place and scheduling appointments to see different houses. Some appointments were scheduled ahead of time and I had one scheduled for today. The guy who was going to be showing me the house had gone through a few hassles to get the appointment. I felt bad. I also had to make sure everything was set with the house we got, so I didn't know for certain until after noon today. With the appointment set for 2:00 p.m., I felt that it was unfair to give such short notice that I wouldn't be coming to see the house. Especially since this guy endured a few extra hassles in setting up the appointment. Like I said, I felt bad. 

I decided I would go, see the house, and really use it to compare on what a great deal we got. I know how to act interested, plus I like looking at houses, so I would be interested anyways. I thought it was the right thing to do, rather than put him out a few minutes before the actual showing. So, with my decision intact, I headed over to see the house at 2:00. Here, a funny thing happened. 

I rang the doorbell, as there was a truck in the driveway. A meek, "one second," came from around the corner. I thought it was odd, but waited patiently. Then, a half asleep young man came to the door, apologizing as I had awakened him from a nap. I thought this was really odd. I didn't realize real estate people took naps at the homes they were going to show. Eventually it came out that this was the guy who was currently living in the house. He was happy to show me the place, which was cute, but definitely not as good as the place we got.

Then, he proceeded to inform me that the agent was at the house at 11:00 a.m. cursing me out for being a "no show." What? I couldn't fathom it. I had it written down as 2:00. It irked me as we were walking around the house, holding small talk. I felt horribly. Then it hit me, he called and changed the time. It really was 11. I f*#%ed it up. I usually don't do that. I am very good with times and dates. I thanked Mr. Nap Time for the tour and left. 

All I wanted to do was show respect for this man's time, by showing up at the time I had scheduled, because I could not cancel the appointment in sufficient time. I tried to do the right thing and screwed it up even worse. I told you I'm an idiot! 

Transforming

I love my grandmother. I love her dearly. I am, however, proud that the only real things we have in common are, as she would say, "our long, sexy legs," and "our long, thin fingers." But really, that is about it in terms of the commonness. Let me convince you.

We will start with the obvious. I do not wear sunglasses inside. But that is just a minor detail. I do not smell of Lysol. I do not get people's attention by yelling out, "hey kid!" I do not think everyone is against me. I do not carry around a bottle of hairspray to shoot at bees if need be. I do not drink beer with my macaroni. I do not spy on people through their windows. I don't ask for help, get help, fire the help, and then complain that I have no help! 

So you see, Grandma and I are very different indeed. This blonde haired, blue eyed, 100% Italian woman is off her rocker. She is lovably mad. Today, I feel as though I transformed into her. A scary thought. Why you ask? Because I did what she does. I washed my entire laundry basket, by hand. 

That's right. I looked it up on the internet, found out it was done exactly how one would imagine, and got to it. Just like kneading dough; second nature to me. 

When I walk into Grandma's bathroom, there are large pieces of undergarments hanging in the tub. Yep, I had exactly that look going on today. 

Once I finished, it didn't really take that long believe it or not, I went for a run. I thought of how wonderful it was that I washed my clothes like I was living in the depression. It must be a wonderful skill to have. What for? I'm not sure, but it has to have some value. My thoughts quickly turned into, I am an idiot! Here, I just washed all of these clothes, and now I am running, getting the clothes I have on all sweaty and dirty. I'm going to need to wash them again! On top of that, I will need to shower when I am done running. Where the heck will I shower with all the clothes hanging in the bathroom? 

In becoming like my grandmother today, I washed clothes by hand and realize that I have a complete and utter lack of ability to think ahead. 

A Montage of Cleveland

I've seen visions of Cleveland all over the internet and websites. Visions of sadness and depression and anger. Since I am here, I decided to go see the main attraction of all these sights myself.

I just thought I needed to "witness" it myself. A far cry from the last photo I took of this building, but things have certainly changed since then. This is currently the imagine that defines Cleveland. The problem I have with that is, there is so much more to Cleveland. Stop laughing! I'm not lying! I wondered Cleveland today, and took some photos to prove it. 

 

 

 

  

Ok, I'm done. I'm sure, much to your delight. But, I hope my point is proven. Cleveland has many great things to see other than the giant Lebron poster that is no more. Personally, maybe because I am from Schenectady, but I think Cleveland is beautiful!