Sunday, October 31, 2010

Happy Halloween

We went to a Halloween party last night. Jeff dressed up as a Mexican, extra long mustache and all. I was the border patrol, ready to deport his pancho-wearing a$$. Weird how I get asked daily if I am Mexican, yet Jeff played the Mexican part.

Anyways, our costumes were second rate compared to the ridiculousness going on at this party. As soon as I walked in, I nearly turned around and ran due to the creepiness lurking in the basement. The creepiness of Matt. Matt, who was dressed as a child-loving Boys Scout Troop leader. The guy actually shaved a receding hairline into his head and stuffed his pants. He was continually asking people if he could show them his tent in the backyard and invading their personal space with his stuffed cargo shorts.
There were other interesting costumes. Keith Stone (Keystone Light dude), McGrubber, Zack Morris and Kelly Kopowski clad in Bayside Tigers shirts, and Wonder Woman to name a few. However, besides Matt's rope-totting, one other group of three came dressed as the characters from Napolean Dynamite. Napolean himself could not have done a better job keeping character throughout the night. He even walked around with tater tots hanging out of his pocket. I mean, just check out the expressions in this picture:
Or lack there of. 

The party was certainly fun. I was unsure of the fact that I had drank too much until one of Napolean's precious tater tot's somehow flew across the room. As I bent down to pick it up, I banged my head off a wall-decorating rhino head. 
A horn that big ought to hurt, right? Nope, didn't feel a thing more than a tickle. Just made me laugh. Glad I lost that game of beer pong or it probably would have stung a little. 


Friday, October 29, 2010

My Little Corner Of Newspaper

Back in my college days I was not only super cool, I was also the photo editor of the school newspaper. And, with my interest in writing, I contributed articles and had my own little "social" corner of the paper in each weekly edition. I can't remember for the life of me what it was called, but I would chose a random question each week and ask whoever I happened to run into throughout my week. This little section was mighty popular. One that, honestly, people often flipped to immediately to see who was in it and what ridiculous things they had to say.

I got thinking about this little weekly column as I was playing Suzie Homemaker this afternoon. I made homemade guacamole because, well, it is one of two things that I can actually make pretty decently. Then, a little later, I made Jeff a calzone, followed by some no-bake cookies. May I add that no-bake does not necessarily mean easy. Anyways, it was more the mess I made that got me thinking than all of the cooking.

I was never much of a trouble maker; never got into any trouble. But, one of the last newspapers we put out my senior year caused a slight uproar. My question of the week simply, "Can you tell me your favorite joke?" The first joke was very typical. Something along the lines of "What kind of cheese isn't yours? Nacho cheese." The other two jokes that were given were seen as demeaning. Demeaning, of all things, to women. Something that I was, and still am.

The two jokes that sent a few certain professors into a tizzy were: "How do you fix your broken dishwasher? Slap her and tell her to get back to work," and "How many women does it take to screw in a lightbulb? None, they can cook in the dark."

Now me, I am all about women's rights, powerful women, equality, and all that good stuff. However, I can't help but laugh every time I hear those stupid jokes. Maybe it's partly because they are so ridiculous, but come on, they are funny. I did not hear any complaints from students, however I heard through the grapevine that some female professors felt as though my little side-column had set the women's rights movement back 25 years.

I never knew I had so much power!

Thursday, October 28, 2010

CO2

Let me tell you about my night. I was blaring my music through the house and had just gotten into a good dance groove, when I heard an odd beeping noise. I thought it was an odd sound effect for the current song on, but wasn't going to let it ruin my personal dance party. It struck me more when the same beeping continued into the next song. There was no way this song had that weird beeping in the background too. So, I went about finding the source.

I found the noise coming from the a detector of some sort in the basement. Once I was down there and was looking straight at the source, another crazy beeping noise came from above. This freaked me out. I ran upstairs to check it out. This one was the carbon monoxide detector. I wasn't sure if the detector in the basement was smoke or co2 because it was attached to the ceiling and I am not that tall. No matter what it was, I was pretty sure something must be up. While I am no carbon monoxide professional, I know it's not good for it to be in your house. The detector said to call 911 if it went off.

With Shea shaking and hiding in the bathroom, I decided calling 911 was out. My luck, this was a double false alarm and Jeff would make fun of me forever. So I did what I thought best, I took the batteries out of both of the beeping nuisances and at a few spoonfuls of Nutella.
Once I ran out of Nutella I got a little nervous. So, I got out the chocolate chips and ate them by the handful. If I was going to die of poison, I was going to eat some chocolate first. Then it hit me, maybe I shouldn't be in the house. I'd feel bad if Jeff came home to a dead wife and dog. My solution was simple, get new batteries for the detectors. I brought Shea with me because he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. The biggest problem with that was when we returned to the house, he wanted nothing to do with going back in. His sensitive puppy ears had heard enough high pitched beeping. 

Once I dragged him inside, he headed straight for the bathroom floor. Apparently something about it is comforting. When I replaced both batteries, the beeping seized. Carbon monoxide free!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Caught on Picture

With all of the things I have decided to love about Cleveland, there is one thing I can't stand: Jeff!

Just kidding, he's okay. What I really hate is that it takes what is seemingly hours to get anywhere. Everywhere you turn, the speed limit is 25 miles per hour. It is nearly impossible to go that slow. I find it preposterous that when I actually make it to 35 miles an hour I feel as though I am flying. Jeff and I do fit in well here as my motto has always been, "the faster you drive, the faster you get there," and his, "drive fast, take chances." Driving 25 miles per hour means going six miles takes an hour and a half.
On top of the ridiculously low speed limits, the cops here do everything possible to catch speeders. If you can even call going 30 speeding. They hide out at every intersection and parking lot. They hide behind trees and buildings. And for the places they aren't, they have cameras set up. Some along the sides of the streets and others on the stop lights, meaning not only can you not speed, but you can't run yellow/red lights either. 
These aren't just scare tactics either. Believe me, I know all too well. Not because of my own doing, but because of Jeffrey. Last year, as the cars were registered to our New York address, his multiple electronically caught tickets would appear in the mail with lovely pictures of my husband driving along at something over 25 miles per hour. 
While the fines were tedious, it was always nice to see a picture of Jeff. I was missing him so much! 

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

The Curse

I am watching the Heat/Celtics game? Yup. Why? I have a number of reasons.

Number one, although Lebron left the city I now call home, I still am curious. Separately, I loved watching Dwayne Wade and Lebron James. I am guessing, no matter what uniform they have on, I will enjoy watching at least some of what they do. I want to see how they mesh. Will it work? Will it be a flop? As of right now, 3rd quarter, Celtics up 15, it's somewhat of a flop. But, I wouldn't write the Heat off yet. I believe those two, not really Chris Bosh, are capable of incredible things.

But, while these are reasons I would watch any game. So really, there is an even bigger reason I am watching. Somehow my husband has found a talk radio channel that I actually like. It's not sports talk radio, it is a hodge podge of miscellaneous topics, that today, happened to focus on sports. Basketball to be a bit more specific. Lebron James to be exact.

A lot of how Lebron sh*# on the city Cleveland. Talk of him being the anti-christ. Hopes and wishes of an injury plagued miserable season. With these negative thoughts, the good guys of the Rover's Morning Glory show called in a witch doctor. I mean, why wouldn't they?
The witch doctor came on and basically annihalated the Lebron memorabilia present. Slashed it, burned it, poked it with needles, and soaked it in blood, all with the intentions of a torn ACL. Personally, no, I don't believe in witch craftery. However, if it worked, I didn't want to miss it. Neither did Rover, who admittedly was going to watch the game and cancel his trip to Texas to watch the World Series in case of karma. 

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Grill Emergency

Before leaving New York today, I got an interesting phone call. A friend who had a somewhat funny and disturbing story all wrapped into one. I guess bizarre would describe it better.

This lovely couple, residing within thirty minutes of good old Columbus, Ohio, bought a pricey new grill. Stainless steel, double burners, real high end stuff. The new grill was out on their patio. Being as most people don't stay home all day, the grill was left alone for hours at a time. One day, when the couple came home the grill was gone. Not knowing what to do, they called the police and filed a missing grill report. The police involvement need not last long, as they returned home a few days later to find their beautiful grill right back on the patio where they had originally left it. On it was a note.

The contents of the note were quite interesting: Sorry about your grill. We needed to borrow it, ours broke during a cookout. Please accept these tickets to the Ohio State football game as an apology.

Bizarre, right? I told you.

So, as it seems any Columbus dweller would do, these folks went to the Ohio State game. The seats were fabulous and they had a blast. I would rather watch Case Western Reserve football (they have won 38 straight spanning 4 seasons), but apparently some people bleed red.

They came home from the game feeling good. I imagine them, reliving their experience with big smiles on their faces. Picture those smiles fading faster than the eye can see, when they noticed their house had been completed emptied. They were set up.

No doubt a football game would take a good four hour chunk out of their day. A four hour chunk that left their home vulnerable long enough to clear it's contents entirely. All they were left with was a grill and the memory of an Ohio State football game. Bizarre turned sad. No doubt they were calling the police again.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Photoe Shoot

My friend Katie got married tonight. It was a great wedding. Beautiful ceremony and a fun reception.

Being as I have a heart of stone, things like weddings don't make me super emotional. Something today triggered my sensitive side. I'm not sure what it was, but I started picturing Katie when we were in college and was just glad to see her so happy standing up there on the alter. Now, don't go jumping the gun and think I let the tears flow. I didn't. I just got a little water in my eyes.

The sappiness ended when we got into the reception hall. I scouted out my place to sit, got some hourderves, and sat down. We all noticed the various pictures lining the tables. They were of Katie and Kenny's time together thus far and of them as youngins. Then, I noticed the one sitting right in front of my face. My sweet, loving friend Katie, the one who I almost just shed a tear for, had placed a cone-headed picture of myself, her, and Miranda after a water polo game. Those water polo caps were not very flattering. Neither were the cheesed out smiles on our faces!

After dinner, the dancing began. I was busting a move when began asking me about my running. Was I still running? How far do I go? Does Shea come with me? I answered all of her questions, when she unfortunately looked down at my feet. With that, came another question.

"Oh my God, are those from running?" I didn't know what the heck she was talking about. Are what from running? I know I have gross feet, but I thought Jeff was exaggerating when he tells me to keep those things away from him. Miranda clarified for me that she was talking about what she thought were bruises on my toenails.

Sheepishly, I explained to her that the bruise like effect came from my last pedicure wearing off because it had been that long. At least two months to be exact. This got a good laugh, sparing me embarrassment. Miranda and Katie proceeded to show off their freshly pedicured toes catching the attention of the photographer. He came over and was eager to take a photo of our feet. I begged and pleaded that this was not a good idea. The damn photographer would not take no for an answer, and neither would the bride. I didn't feel like arguing with the bride, so I slyly hid my grotesque toes beneath Miranda's shoe as best I could.

Anyways, Katie, I apologize when that photo shows up on the wedding roll. But, they do always say, payback is a b*tch!

Friday, October 22, 2010

Layover

I'm on my way to New York. Being as Continental is the only airline to fly direct from Cleveland to Albany and their flights are currently upward of $400, I am sitting in the BWI airport awaiting my connecting Southwest flight. Making what would be an hour flight into a five hour fiasco. Thanks Continental.

Not only am I at the airport, but I am sitting in the Phillips Seafood restaurant here. I made the great decision to go for a run before heading to the airport. Mind you, I was at work, so I did not get the chance to shower. I don't smell, because that kind of thing just doesn't happen to me, but I am feeling pretty cold sitting in my air dried sweat. That's why I signed up for the lobster bisque here at Phillips. Hopefully it will provide some bone-warming goodness.

I'm attending a wedding tomorrow, husbandless, as I am for most weddings. Jeff doesn't dislike weddings, in fact, we always have a blast when he can actually go. It's just with hoop season underway, days off are few and far between. I'm not as upset about going to the wedding along as I am about that empty seat sitting across from me right now. Dining out alone is not really my thing. This would constitute the third time in my life I have ever done it sans take out.

In dining alone, however, I am quietly observing my fellow diners. Here to the right is a nice, older couple slurping down some amazing smelling lobster bisque. They really have me looking forward to mine. They are periodically chatting about seeing the grandkids. To my left, there is some good action going on. A solo male and solo female traveler, brought together by two open seats at the Phillips' bar. He's currently telling his life story, which is boring me to tears (he really likes to cook). The girl is enthusiastically reacting to each and every detail. I can't see her face, but her voice is so extremely enthusiastic, I almost think it has to be real. Their checks are coming, so I am listening intently to which airport bathroom they are going to meet up for a little rondvous.

Obviously, boredom does not suit me!

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Bad (Pot)Luck

Today at work we had a pot luck lunch. There was a contest for anyone who used five ingredients of less. The prize was a gift card to the local grocery store. I had been planning for about a week to win. Not necessarily because I wanted the gift card, although that would be an added bonus, but because of my competitive spirit.

I was debating between guacamole, salsa, sour cream, and cheese dip, and a chocolate pizza. Both are excellent. I decided to go for the kill with a chocolate pizza. There is just nothing that tastes so delicious. I waited all night last night for Jeff to get home and help me make the chocolate pizza. I could have made it myself, but history proves things are much better when Jeff's magical chefness involved. So, late last night he helped me concoct a knockout chocolate pizza.
Once the potluck began, I couldn't keep my eyes off the pizza. I wanted to see how fast it was eaten up. I was almost hoping a fight would break out over the last few pieces. However, things started off very slowly my chocolate pizza friend. Everyone bypassed it for the beer soaked beef, the buffalo chicken dip, and the sausage bread. A bunch of meat eaters I guess. The more time passed, the more uncomfortable I got in my skin. I bet people were secretly mocking me because nobody was eating my dish. I checked and every other dish had been at least tried. Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I was feeling. 

After I went disappointedly back to work, my boss, who I had expressed my excitement over the pizza too, tried a piece. She sought me out to compliment me on how good it was. I immediately went to see just how many pieces had been eaten, now that she had gotten the ball rolling. Yea, one piece. The piece she had eaten. Awards were given, and needless to say, I did not win a thing! 

Before I left the office I had to walk by the dreaded potluck serving area. Throwing a few pieces out crossed my mind to at least make it look like people had eaten it. Right when I convinced myself not to act on my pathetic plan, I noticed that over half the pizza was eaten. Turns out people ate the lunchy stuff first and then came back for the dessert-type dishes. 

This made me feel a little better. I guess an empty pizza plate would have made me feel a lot better. I guess I should have gone with the guacamole dip! 

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Lottery

I accidently stumbled across a study that shows 60% of men would leave their wives behind if they won the lottery. Granted it was strictly the result of the men being polled, but they do put a lot of time into picking the polling pool to emulate real life. So, the question all married women must ask is: am I in the 60% left behind, or the 40% getting to share the wealth?

Personally, I like to think that I am in the minority. I have my reasons for believing this, none of which rely on the ridiculousness of love. I'm thinking more of it as Jeff not buying a lottery ticket without me being present. He sometimes advises me to buy them when the jackpot gets really big, or we stop together to buy one on a whim. It happens very rarely. But, to the best of my knowledge, Jeff is not throwing a dollar or two in the pot daily for lottery tickets. Thus, we'd both be a party to the millions. Me, being slightly stingy, Jeff knows if we stay married he will get to spend the majority of the money. If he left, I would get an even share, or maybe even sue for more, of the jackpot.

Beyond this, we have discussed the wondrous things we would do if we ever won the lottery. Sure, a pent house in NYC and a golf course to call our are on the list, but leaving was never part mentioned. Jeff is incredibly honest, and I have no doubt he would share that plan with me.

I know personally, I would not leave. I'm sure I would make a hell of a sugar mamma, but I couldn't imagine rolling around in my millions without my husband.

Monday, October 18, 2010

A Day of Browniness

This afternoon was a messy one. Not a terrible, quite fun, but messy to say the least. Shea was on a tear!

It all started with slight stomach illness, maybe not even an illness, but liquid poop. Always a pleasure to scrap up into a bag. As we continued to the park, Shea ran around like the jolly jumping bean. After chasing the ball with endless enthusiasm, his nose lead him to the softball infield. I was thinking he may have smelled the t-ballers who play here on the weekends, but a closer looked proved me wrong. He smelled the deer that was walking around early in the day. Like the bounty hunter, I could figure that out by the hoof prints!

The hooves led to Shea to a little prize. I ran over when I saw him start licking the ground. He must have found a Fruit Roll-Up wrapper or something. A favorite childhood snack, I can see why he would be licking at that. But, low and behold, he was licking a nice, thick pile of deer crap. My non-poop eating dog was enjoying a poopscicle! I thought we left that to the little Diggy-like dogs.

Luckily, Shea was deterred when I shouted his name (I wonder if Diggy is so easily redirected). Shea did what every normal dog that just licked some poop would do. He found some muddy water to wash it down with.

Don't worry, for your sake, I won't post pictures of the deer poop. And, for the sake of my gag reflex, I won't post the pictures of Shea's first or second liquid poop.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Accuracy

The Browns are a big deal here in Cleveland. Winning the Superbowl, which they have never done, or going winless throughout an entire season (much more likely to happen), Cleveland area fans love the Browns. Today Jeff and I got into the act, supporting the Browns at a backyard cookout.

The highlight was eating fish Jeff and a few other guys caught out on the sparkling clean waters of Lake Erie. We had no concern of the toxic material we may be ingesting, just feeling good about the pride of creating a dinner caught Native American style. My father and brother both being pretty boys, has never allowed me to experience such a thing.

With any outdoor cookout, there were some games going on. Of course the Browns game, but beyond that, a few simple backyard games transpired. It helped that there were some children there, ranging in age from 9-2. Some simple shooting hoops and throwing the football came into play early. Then, things got more interesting when challenges were made to throw the football through the tire swing. I was very proud to hit the tire swing on my first try, feeling it was good for my first throw. As Jeff took a turn, my feelings of goodness were overshadowed as he threw the ball perfectly through the tire swing, not grazing any part of it. In basketball terms, a swish. While my pride in myself diminished, I felt some pride for Jeff's through. I mean he fished out dinner and threw the ball through the tire swing on the first try. He's a man's man!

Next the game elaborated into throwing it through the tire swing as it swung back and forth, and then as it spun it around. None of were terribly successful at this. However, one of the little boys, age 6, wanted to make it even more challenging. He wanted to sit on top of the tire swing and have us try to throw it through. Of course, by my standards of luck, every else had quit at the tire swing games. I was all that was left to fulfill this six year olds football dreams. Who was I to let him down?

Amazing myself, my first throw breezing right through the tire swing. I was concentrating hard to move my throws down, as most of my misses were high. Anything high would hit the boy. I was so excited to make it through on the first try, I continued throwing. Still concentrating on low throws, I began hitting the bottom of the tire and even the ground. I needed to raise it up a bit. So I did. The ball sailed toward the tire swing, rising slightly at the end, nailing the boy square in the stomach. With the force of the throw he grabbed onto the chain holding up the swing to prevent him from falling backwards. Thank God he did that!

While Jeff questioned my sanity of throwing at the tire swing with a little boy sitting on it, the boy's father described his son as tough and able to take it. Funny that minutes later the boy had enticed Jeff to throw at the swing too. Jeff, being careful not to have a repeat incident, threw wide and low on purpose.

"Booo, you suck!" was the six-year olds taunting response. With that, we decided everyone was better for me having hit him.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Bow Wow Beach

In extending Shea's birthday, I decided to take him to the dog park today. I would have done this on his real birthday, but it's a little bit of a trip and if you haven't noticed, it is starting to get dark early. Plus, Jeff and I enjoyed spoiling him right here in our home.

This morning we set out to Stow, a town about forty minutes away, to one of the top ranked dog parks in the country. No lie. It's actually a doggie beach. Bow Wow Beach to be exact. Eight acres of fenced in doggie fun, including a lake and sandy beach. As we walked up to the entrance gate, Shea could hardly control his excitement. Without an ounce of hesitation he simply sprinted to the water and dove in.

Now while at Bow Wow Beach, the pep in Shea's step never left. He literally hopped through the water for over an hour. In between fetching balls, two at a time, he chased any dogs running by. A number of park-goers actually commented that they have never seen a dog as happy as Shea.

Here is some short footage of him playing with his new friends:






Shea has only been awake to eat since we returned home! 

Friday, October 15, 2010

Reversal

Tonight I attended a reverse raffle for a charity cause. Jeff could not come because it was the first day of practice (yea for basketball season starting!). I found the whole idea of a reverse raffle pretty cool, especially after I found out what it actually meant.

There was a lot going on at the dinner. A silent auction, various raffles, but the reverse raffle highlighted the evening. You see, reverse basically means backwards. So, every raffle number picked is actually out once it is picked. The very last number left, who would normally be the ultimate loser, is the winner here. Reverse style.

Love the idea. Once it got going however, I realized there were over 200 people involved in the raffle. Therefore there were 200 numbers that needed to be called. I was about ready to leave after the excitement of the first ten faded.

After a year and a half of picking numbers, there were five left. These five gathered in the front of the room and got to decide if they wanted to split the $2,000 prize or duke it out. Each time a person was eliminated, they decided again if they wanted to split or duke. The final two folks decided they wanted to split saying $1,000 ain't half bad. I thought it was a good decision. It would have been very sad to leave empty handed after making it that far. 

After that was decided and both contestants received their $1,000, it struck one of them that this is indeed a charity event. The first winner went up and announced that she was donating her $1,000. This was very much to the other lady's dismay. I decided to check out her face, and there was no doubt she wanted her $1,000 but now felt obligated to also donate her winnings. At the end of the night, she finally caved and reluctantly donated her money back to the charity. 

I like to think that I fit in at a charity event, but I do not think I do. I felt for that woman, giving back $1,000 that she just won. I would definitely be asking around if it was okay to simply give twenty bucks back or something. Plus, there was a winner chosen among the losing numbers. They received $50 worth of lottery tickets. Lottery tickets could yield much more than $2,000, but no matter what, they are worth more than the zero the raffle winners left with! The real winners were the winner of the losers and of course, the charity! 

Thursday, October 14, 2010

The Big 0-3

Today my baby boy is three. I spent some time yesterday birthday shopping for him. Jeff and I planned, for Shea's sake, to put him daycare for the day. Something we knew he would thoroughly enjoy.

He did. Since the doggy daycare place has streaming video, we know it for a fact. Jeff even witnessed him taking out his birthday excitement on another dog! When Shea and I arrived home, Jeff was cooking up a nice dinner, and had the gifts Shea received in the mail all set out for him. I was a little stunned that the Big Guy had a package and card waiting for him. His cousin pup Diggy send him a nice toy and some treats, and his paternal grandparents sent him a nice card with a monetary donation toward his peanut butter fund.
It would seem as his maternal grandparents really dropped the ball on this one, huh? Kind of like I did when I tried to capture Shea opening his presents from Jeff and I. I could have used some better lighting. But, you get the picture. 

Now, my three-year old is fast asleep after a fun filled day. A happy birthday indeed!

Monday, October 11, 2010

Bumpkin

Jeff and I went on a pub crawl Saturday night. Twenty people, six hours, a limo bus, and eleven bars on the agenda. My goal: to make it out alive.

When the crawl started, we hit the ground running. A game of "Anchorman" left me chosen as the anchor for chugging a pitcher of beer, providing flashbacks to my funneling championship days. The next bar required a shot, something I thought I could handle. However, nobody told me that in Cleveland shots are actually served in eight ounce juice glasses.

We had a lengthy ride to the next stop. Thank goodness open containers are allowed on limo buses! There was an abundance of drinks to go along with the wide array of headache inducing country music. By the time we got to the third bar, the reggae band playing sounded heavenly.

Our next stop was at a favorite local establishment of mine. They offer drinks served up in fishbowls slightly larger than your traditional beer glass. Before the majority of the party finished their fishbowls, myself absolutely included, a few members of the group were passed out against the wall.

Back on the bus two people had passed out, a girl was throwing up, and the misplaced 60-year old couple kept tripping and falling all over everyone. It was quite a sobering scene for Jeff and I, two of the final ten left standing. No passing out for us. That is for the weak!

Throughout the whole experience, I learned a lot. Ranging from pacing yourself to following drinks with water bombs rather than Irish car bombs. But, what has really stuck with me, is the fact that my husband knows a little more country than I find acceptable!

Friday, October 8, 2010

October 8th

Today is my father's birthday. October 8th. The same day it's been for the past 56 years. Being here, in Cleveland, and him somewhere to the east, we shared no cake and ice cream.

I did however, give him a phone call to share my well wishes. Oh, and a card is working it's way by mail right now. The only thing really differing from October 8th last year is that my father didn't get to see my smiling face. That's right, no gift. Well, I must admit, I gave effort last year. But, as my father reminded me, it availed to nothing.

I took a lot of time trying to think of a wonderful, unique gift to give the man who has everything. What I came up with was pie. I know what you're thinking; how is pie unique? Well, you obviously do not know my mother. The last time I've seen a home made pie was never (she much better known for her cakes with holes in the middle). Plus, this wasn't your run of the mill apple, pumpkin, or pecan pie. This was key lime pie, baby.

The pie was made, smelling delicious, and beckoning for a taste. Me, I was strong. I packaged it nice and neatly, and got all my things packed for a weekend away. I decided that before I put the pie in the car, I should get Shea in first. So, I saddled my baby boy nice and safely into the car. Knowing that he was ready to go give my father a big birthday kiss, I was eager to take off, leaving my lovely pie sitting in the counter at my uncle's house.

I didn't even realize what I had done, until my father so politely asked where his birthday gift was. I explained myself and that I would bring it to him after this crazy busy weekend was over. I didn't know it would be too late by then.

When I got back to my uncle's, a mere two days later, a tiny sliver of apiece of my beautiful key lime pie remained. The aroma must have taken my uncle. He did compliment me on the delicious pie I had made.

I told my father that his birthday pie got raved reviews, but that did not satisfy him. As he reminded me today, again, I owe him two presents, one from last year, and one for this.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Box O Clothes

Let me throw some numbers at you. 48, 52, 47, 49, 51. There ya go. Add in wind and rain to that mix and you have the weather from the past week in Cleveland, Ohio. Pretty chilly, especially when you consider the temperature dropped from the mid 70's the week prior.
This doesn't bode well with me, as I moved here in the summer and only brought summer clothes. Besides a few pairs of jeans, I only have capris and shorts. The only non-open shoes I have here are sneakers. You can blame it on my inability to plan ahead, or my denial that cold weather is ahead. Either way you look at it, I am completely unprepared for what lies ahead.

After talking to my mother, she has packed me a box filled with some heavier clothing. Some long pants, some sweaters, and a North Face. Perfect for the time being. However, the extended forecast is filled with mid to high 70's now. Seems as though mom is a little late on this one!
My box should arrive Saturday. That's my guess. I am also wondering if my mother packed the right clothes. She hasn't seen me in well over a month now (the longest stretch I have not seen her), and Jeff and I haven't been just making chocolate pizzas. We've been eating them too! 
I hope she didn't sent the wider pants, as those chocolate pizzas have not been feeding the hungry in Somalia, they've been feeding my hips! 

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Dealt

I dealt poker tonight. It was a fun and interesting experience. Lucky for me, I get to do it again tomorrow evening, although the players at my table are more likely to believe they are the lucky ones.

After dealing a few rounds, I got comfortable and so did the bettors at my table. This is a good thing when you are trying to rake in as much money as possible for charity. The faster you go, the more money you make. So I was flying! The guys loved it. They were a bunch of clowns and I'm not sure, but I think they may have thought I was as fast as my dealing skills. I mean, I definitely look the part, even more so in my charity poker bright green t-shirt!

How do I know this? The friendly dude sitting next to me pulled this out of his sleeve:

"Alicia (I had a name tag on), you look just like my second wife."

"How many wives have you had?"

"Just one."

I found it humorous. Very humorous in fact, that I think that was my fault. I shouldn't have laughed at his jokes, because after he continued with his corniness.

"Alicia, you are the prettiest dealer here! Are you married."

"Yes."

"Well, your not that pretty."

I found it harmless joking. I only began to get a little nervous when I was relieved by another dealer to take a break. The man immediately arose from the table to chase me down. He needed me to promise him I'd be back. He wasn't going to play until I got back. I suddenly realized he was a weird-o!

After peeing, I did go back and continue dealing to the table, being a little less liberal with my laughs. When it was time to leave for good, again, the man hunted me down. He tried to convince me to stay longer, but I was not having it. He will undoubtedly be back tomorrow night. I am really hoping Jeff will come play for a bit tomorrow!

Monday, October 4, 2010

Outside the Bun

I have a new friend. He is foreign, from a country far, far away. He is named closely to a fast food item. Not a cheeseburger, chicken nuggets, or french fries. Think outside the bun!
Anyways, Tako is an awesome guy. Very smart. In fact, in his native country, he was a doctor. His doctoral certifications did not carry over to the U.S., but he is still working in the medical field. So, it was somewhat of a role reversal when Tako was recently laid on the operating table to have his gallbladder removed.

We all know, especially Tako and his medical background, that your gallbladder is located below the ribcage. After taking his knock out drugs, Tako was slowly fading into the darkness, when the prepping nurse began sanitizing his chest, up by his heart. Barely alert, Tako knew well enough to push the nurse away. Being foreign, Tako's English isn't that great, so expressing his concern was not easy. In fact, it was so unclear that the nurse threatened to call the police, as she went back to working on his chest. Again, in protecting himself, Tako pushed her away and began yelling in broken tongue. He somehow got across the point to go read the charts.
Needless to say, this nurse came back with her tail between her legs. Apologies galore, as she had been reading the wrong chart. They were going to cut open Tako's chest and perform a slightly, and by slightly I mean extensively, more dangerous surgical procedure. 

As Tako left the surgery room, the doctors beg him to stay and continue with the procedure. Unsure that they had any brains at all, he said, "no thanks." He decided to seek out another hospital and surgeon. I felt as though he should have gone through with the procedure as the surgical team was now one-hundred percent clear on what needed to be done. They weren't going to make that same mistake twice! 

Oh well. Either way, my baja supreme Tako friend is alive and kicking. 

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Hero

Jeff and I often prep Shea to break up fights. How do we do this you ask? Well, it is mostly Jeff's doing, I simply scream. Jeff finds some way to throw me to the ground, and we praise the heck out of Shea for running to my rescue.

When I brought Shea to the park alone, I didn't anticipate him using his peace-making skills. We were minding our own business, playing fetch, when two rowdy twelve or thirteen year olds came walking by. They were arguing playfully, but loudly. I didn't think anything of it. I'm sure I did some annoying things like that when I was a preteen. 

The problem came when the two decided to get physical. The boy grabbed the girl and pulled her arm behind her back. She happened to scream as he brought her to the ground, arm still behind her back. They were definitely playing around, but I could see this hurting a little. Shea, apparently, could envision it hurting very badly. He was not happy about this boy beating on this little girl and he was not going to sit around and let it happen. Before the thought even crossed my mind, my Big Guy was jetting across the field. 
Shea pounced on the kid, giving him a friendly, but stern warning about what he was doing. I must say, his approach was quite effective, as the kid allowed the girl to get back on her feet. Shea just proved to me, and all those in the park (me and the tweens), what I've known all along: he is a hero!

Table Flashing

I signed up to deal in a charity poker event. Seeing as I have never dealt poker before, I had to go to a training session. I was apprehensive as I walked down into a dungeon-like, smoke filled room, but the sound of poker chips clinking together brought an end to that. This may be the closest to Vegas I have ever been.

The rules of dealing are very simple, and with this being a charity event, it is extremely important to remember, as the dealer, to take your cut out of the pot. With a little simple math, that should not be a problem. The more hands dealt, the more money for charity.
To practice, we basically played Texas Hold Em and rotated in and out of the dealer's seat. I sat several games before I gave it a shot. I was sure I had it. I knew exactly what needed to be done and when. I knew exactly how to cut the deck, how to deal the cards, how to form my muck pile, and collect the chips. It was just a matter of getting in that chair and doing it. Once I got up there I was oozing with confidence. Remembering that time is money here, I wanted to practice dealing fast, so I could rake in as much money as possible. I felt as though I was basically chucking cards across the table. And, that was fine. I was accurate and efficient. 
My problem came when collecting the muck (the cards from players who have folded). When grabbing them, the dealer is supposed to simply slide them across the table, being sure that their face is down,  never exposing what those cards may be. Well, I did that part ok, but would continually take my muck pile and straight it out, thus, exposing the faces of the cards. I was having trouble letting my muck pile look, well, mucky!
I was unaware of my OCD issues, until the "teacher" said to me, "well I know that the king of hearts, the seven of diamonds, and the five of spades are out of play." Unbeknownst to me, I was flashing my muck to the entire table like Lindsay Lohan when she isn't in prison. I really need to work on that!