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!

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.

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! 

Chocolate Pizzas

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! 

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!

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. 

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!