Just The Two of Us

Ride 'em Cowboy

So....

I have a new job.  Same company but new job.  And it's in the city, which is a far cry from from my old job, which was decidedly NOT in the city.  What a difference 26 miles makes.  Trust me on this one.

Nothing says "Welcome to the City" more than a 60ish+ man with long flowing white hair riding his bicycle at 6:45 am.  Not just riding his bicycle, but riding it in full-on cowboy gear. 2 cowboy hats - he was wearing one and the spare was flung over his shoulder.  Chaps. Spurs.  Would you be scared to wear spurs while riding a bicycle?  I would be, and you should be too.  It strikes me as dangerous, with the pedals and chain and whatnot.

But the best part of his get-up was the whip.  The whip that he would snap at whatever he rode past.  Stop light?  SNAAAAP.  Liquor store?  SNAP SNAP SNAP (it's a long building that must have warranted more than one snap).  Stop sign?  SNAP.  Bus shelter?  SNAP SNAP (and you should have seen the people jump that were standing inside that shelter).

Being stuck at a couple of stop lights gave me a front row seat to The Bicycle Cowboy.  It was free entertainment. 

Such was my scenery as I drove into the ramp yesterday, at aforementioned new job.  It should be interesting.  Just saying.

2012, Here We Come!

Well.  Here we are again.  January 1st.  Where did that year go?  I believe that sufficient time has passed in order for me to bear discussing last year's resolutions.  Do you remember?  If you don't, refer to this.  I'll have you know that it has taken me a full 13 months to get over the 2 or 3 hours of perfection.  

Granted, these weren't actually my resolutions, per say.  It was an experiment in perfection to let you, my loyal blog readers, know what was worth making resolutions about and what you should just take one moment at a time.  It was a painful, painful few moments of my life.  Which brings us to this year.  2012.  The year in which the Vikings will win more games than they lose (hope springs eternal).  A year in which my friends will send me copious amounts of electronic communications letting me know how much they adore me. (snort.  eye roll.)   A year in which my rather large family will all positively beg us to move closer (hahaha.  right.)  A year in which my dear RW will shower me with his love and affection (ok - that one is likely.  I married well.).  Yes, that year.  2012.  It's here.

I know I may disappoint some, but I don't really have any resolutions for you today.  My friend Stacie and I were discussing resolutions this week, and we both agreed that one can change any day.  This may be a shock to some, but you really don't have to wait until January 1st to do something different.  In my life, today looks a lot like yesterday.  That may have something to do with the fact that the Vikings lost again today, but anyway.. you catch my drift.

So, so long, 2011.  You were a decent year.  You were fairly good to RW and myself.  In 2011 we vacationed with both sides of our families.  We took a few trips.  We saw a nephew that we hold dear get married to his perfect mate.  We rejoiced with another special nephew when he passed the bar, and laughed in awe and not a little bit of admiration at a sweet niece who had the privilege (?) of giving birth to her son in a gas station parking lot (I'm not sure she's laughing about that.) We laughed with friends.  We cried with friends. We loved on our families. We grew closer to God and to each other.  We had jobs.  We watched a parent go through something very difficult, and learned from another parent how to deal with it.  I got to see a friend I hadn't seen in 24 years (hi Kevin!).  I got to spend a couple of days with another dear friend who lives in Africa.  We made some new friends.  We cherished the old ones.  We did life, together. And for that, I'm so grateful.

Happy New Year to you all!  Thanks for being such great readers.  I'm looking forward to a fun year, blog included.  And those resolutions?  Yeah.  Don't bother setting yourself up for failure.  Take it from the expert.  Cheers.

 

I've Been A Little Sparse Lately...

... on time, that is.  Life has gotten just a smidge crazy here in these parts over the past couple of weeks.  Enjoy the "holiday" week and I'll meet you back here in the new year.  And by the new year, I don't mean July.  I'm good with January 1st, just in time to discuss last year's resolutions.

See you then.  In the meantime you may want to go to the gym to work off all that food you've eaten this past week.  Oh wait, nevermind.  I was talking to me.

Working Up a Sweat

Most people can tell when winter has arrived because it gets cold outside.  Snow is another stellar indicator.  At our house, winter arrives earlier than that.  There's a sure-fire way that I know that we are sinking into the depths of the cold, dark crevasse, the underbelly of the year.  How do I know?  Two words: Thermostat Wars.

I like it cooler inside.  RW prefers it downright tropical - think, oh... Sahara Desert.  I want to be able to comfortably sleep under our down comforter.  This really shouldn't be an issue as our bedroom has 2 outside walls, neither of which are insulated.  However, this becomes an issue when someone - not going to name any names here, but I'll just say it's not me - cranks up the thermostat.  RW prefers to sleep with no blankets on whatsoever.  Can you feel the conflict here?  Catching my draft drift?

So this is all to say that despite what the calendar says, winter has officially arrived.  You can forget cupcake wars or cake wars or whatever other reality show "wars" are out there, Thermostat Wars are the next big thing, at least at our house.  Bring it on.

Sharing at Starbucks

I have 3 sisters-in-law on RW's side of life and family, and unfortunately, we don't get to see them very often.  Really, the only time we see them is when we make the trek to sunny California, as oddly enough, we've had a tough time convincing them to leave CA for a few days to visit us.  Apparently that's a hard sell.  Anyway.  We keep working on it.

When we go to California, we almost always stay at RW's sister Nellie's place.  She and our brother-in-law Bobby are really to blame for our marriage.  I kid you - they aren't really to blame.  That sounds as if they did something wrong, when in reality, they gave me the world.  Really, they did. They introduced RW and I, way back in the day. The day in which we all lived in the unfortunate geography of Chicagoland.  I knew them before I knew him.  Nellie helped me plan our wedding.  She put on our rehearsal dinner.  She entrusted me with the care of her kids.  She befriended me.  Bobby welcomed me right into their family.  He actually married us.  So you can see, we all go back aways.  There is history there.

So I am always thrilled when I get to see Nell - I wish we lived right next door.  The last time we were there was in May, for our nephew's wedding.  The day before the wedding Nellie, Amy (my gorgeous niece) and I were running around doing the last-minute things that one must do before a family wedding.  One of the stops we made was at Target.  Walking out of Target, we noticed the Starbucks right by the door, and firmly decided that we should stop there.  It was a necessity. Had I known then what I know now, I don't think that I would have let anyone know that I was with Nellie.  In fact, I just may have suggested that she go get the car while Amy and I handled the orders and such at Starbucks.

It all started with a coupon.  Nell had a coupon for a particular flavor of Frappuccino, but unfortunately this was not the flavor that she desired.  I give her kudos for this - she did really try to get them to accept the coupon.  She was not successful, but I can promise you that it wasn't for lack of trying.  Ahem. 

We (and by "we", I mean Amy and I) got through the embarressment of the whole coupon arguement, all the while glancing furtively at long line of people behind us.  The people who had looks of impatient disgust, watching the whole "coupon discussion".  Anyway, we survived that and stood there with a few other folks, waiting for our drinks to appear on the counter.

Amy's and mine came up first, and we grabbed them and walked to the edge of the store and watched, while Nell waited near the magical counter.  The counter on which your drink was delivered.

Soon a drink appeared on that magical counter. Nellie grabbed it and took a sip.  She took another sip.  She made a face, as if this taste was not what she was expecting.  Meanwhile, another lady was watching her with an unreadable expression.

Nellie caught her eye, and uh... connected the dots.  "OH!  I think this is YOUR DRINK!"  She then proceeded to hand.the.drink. to the other lady.  The drink that she had already sipped out of.  This must have then occurred to Nellie, and she went the extra step; "OH!  I'll get you ANOTHER straw!"

You can just imagine the look on the lady's face.  Oh, and the look on Amy's and my face.  Priceless, is the word that comes to mind... 

Let's just say that a) the lovely staff at Starbucks made another drink for this poor lady, and b) we hightailed it out of there as fast as we could, and c) we laughed about it all the way home.

Pure, classic Nellie.  And I love her for it.

It May Be A Hair Big

When Sista and I were on our little Kansas City excursion, we noticed something that we hadn't really seen before.  Perhaps this is because I'm not from around those parts, but really, I thought it was a little... uh.. over the top.

Now, I will try to describe this to you, and I'll start with a picture that I took. Unfortunately you can't really see what I was trying to capture, but gotta tell ya, it was a little awkward taking a picture of a lady's hairstyle while pretending I was taking a picture of something else.  In fact, I tried very hard to get Sista to walk over and do it for me, but really, she didn't go for it. Not so much.

It's The Hair.  Do you see The Hair?  I know - it's hard to miss. Unfortunately I couldn't get a shot from the front, but if you think taking it from the back was awkward, think about how it would have looked should I have stepped in front of this nice (I'm sure) lady eating her breakfast and pointed my camera in her face.  Well that and I probably would have fallen over the edge and plummented into the lobby area, in which case I couldn't have ever told you about The Hair.

In case you are having difficulty deciphering what you are seeing, let me try to fill in some of the blanks.  This nice (I'm sure) lady had her blond trelleses pulled back into a pony-tail.  So far, so good.  It was the front of The Hair that was.. disconcerting.  It was all curled, teased and.. extended a good 8 or 9 inches from her scalp.  I mean, wow!  No really, WOW!  That Hair has some serious attitude.  I mean, altitude.  Whatever.  It's big. This brings the 80's to a whole new dimension.  Except we're now in the new millenium.  Actually, we have been for 11 years now.  I don't think this nice (I'm sure) lady got the y2k memo.

I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt.  I bet that her husband just looooves her Hair in that particular style, and she's so in love with her sweet (barbershop chorus-singing) husband that she will do anything for him, including taking a curling iron and comb to those "bangs" every morning, just to please him. That's my story.  I think I'll stick to it.  Oh, and I think it's probably a very good thing that this nice (I'm sure) lady doesn't read this blog.  Just saying.

Does This Make Me Look.....Redneck?

So I went to Walgreens in my slippers last night.  Does that make me a certifiable redneck?  I wasn't, however, wearing a moo-moo and I didn't have curlers in my hair - does that make a difference?  Oh, and the slippers were Uggs, surely that must make it somehow better? Don't you think?  Please?

 

Beth, Karen, Amy, and I

One of my best friends Beth and I have a long-standing tradition, one that I get teased about on a regular basis from Karen - we go to concerts together.  Not just any concerts... Amy Grant concerts.  We love us some Amy. I know - go ahead and laugh, we can take it. This tradition goes back some 20 years, and is one we will continue in Milwaukee next week.

I'm pretty sure that Karen is just bitter about Amy because I skipped out on Karen & Nathan's wedding to meet Beth to... hold on for it... attend an Amy concert.  I know this sounds very, very bad, but let's be real - I had only known Karen for about 3 weeks at that point.  Granted, I was actually invited to her wedding, but certainly not because we were the bestest of friends.  All to say, I do hear about that decision on a more-than-regular basis.  We have the same conversation, probably about once a month:

"Oh, that's right.  You're going to an Amy Grant concert."  She'll then turn to whoever is within ear-shot (which last week was her sister, Nancy): "Deb skipped our WEDDING!  to go to an Amy Grant concert."

After I give her The Look - you know the one - the one reserved for spouses and best friends - and rolled my eyes.  As if I could have known that one day we'd practically be joined at the hip and that our mothers were twins separated at birth. Ok - not really about that last part, but they are an awful lot alike.

Then she will continue, "Yeah - Amy divorced her husband and married Michael W. Smith."  She says this because she knows I'll get all up-in-arms about the obvious misinformation she is casually spreading about.

So back to Beth and the concerts.  A couple of years ago, as we were sitting in some arena in Wisconsin waiting for our dear Amy to make her appearance, we noticed that this was a decidedly older crowd.

"Look at all these old people!"  Beth looked around with me, and we began to be quite curious about the crowd. They were, in fact... [gasp] middle aged.

"Yeah", I responded, "what's up with that?"

We pondered the situation and discussed it in an animated fashion. I wondered aloud, "Do you think these people just have season tickets to whatever is playing here?"  We looked around some more, staring at the odd crowd, gathered at an Amy Grant concert.

"Uh, Deb?"  Beth looked at me, a sick, greenish hue on her face.  Whether this had to do with the bad lighting or what had just occurred to her I'm not sure - all I know is that her face typically has a youthful and happy glow about it.  As does mine, I'm fairly certain.  Sniff.  Beth continued... "I think a lot of these people are... our age?"

NO!  Surely it cannot be.

We looked at each other, each studying the other, and then sunk back into our seats, defeated and deflated.  We had discovered the awful truth... the vast majority of people at Amy Grant concerts were people who grew up listening to her music, uh.. just like us, and who were now.. uh.. just like us.

I still maintain that there were people much, much older than us - say.. parents who allowed their kids (now our age, I'm SURE) listen to Amy's music.  That's my story anyway, and I'm sticking to it.  How about you, Beth?  At any rate, this awful discovery does not in any way diminish our love of Amy.  Beth and I are still solidly on Amy's side.  Karen, however.. she just may be a lost cause.

Name That Band

On Saturday night RW and I were at Karen & Nathan's for the evening.  For approximately 7 years, we've had a tradition of getting together once a week under the excuse of watching Survivor together. Although I get a kick out of Survivor, my real reason for going over there is that I get to see the kids, hang out with Karen & Nathan, and perhaps play some games.  Survivor is secondary for me.  

Saturday was a typical Survivor night - we got to eat dinner, see the kids, hang out with Karen and Nathan, and play games.  Oh - and watch Survivor.  That too.  Karen and I roped the guys into a little game of 500.  

The truth is, that they'd probably rather watch some Ultimate Fighter or something as equally... distasteful, but that night they gave in to our whining begging physically dragging them to the table very polite inquiry, and played one game. It used to be that we could get them to play more games without them knowing it, because Karen, the ever-sneaky score-keeper, wouldn't let them know when one team actually reached 500 and uh... won.  She'd just start right over again.  Too bad - they are on to that little trick now, and keep an eagle eye on the score.  Heaven forbid they have to play more than one game (Nathan) or stay up past 8p (RW).

As we were waiting for someone to deal (let's face it, it was probably RW.  He gets easily distracted), Nathan was surfing old(er) tunes on his iTunes, somewhat forcing us to play "name that tune."  Hotel California started playing.  Remember that song?  We had a brief conversation about who the band was (blame Karen for that one, she's much younger than the rest of us, so we can excuse her).  By this time RW had actually dealt the hand and we started playing.  In the background, Nathan was singing along with The Eagles about the Hotel California.... "Welcome to the Hotel California..." [which is pretty much the most that any of us knew of the actual lyrics].

Karen stared at Nathan, watching him sing along for a few moments.

"Hey Babe!  Who sings this again?"

We all looked at her like she had lost her ever-lovin' mind.  Hadn't we just discussed this?  In detail?

"The Eagles...." [like, duh!]

"Right", she replied.  "So let them sing it."

Well then.  What do you say to that?

So now you know.  If you are ever invited to join us for Survivor night, please make sure to keep your tunes to yourself.  But go ahead and bring dinner. We'd like that.  Although be sure to check out our "dinner rules" first.  This season of Survivor we can only make meals from the Pioneer Woman. But I'll save that for another day and another post.

One of These Things is NOT Like the Other

Do you remember this song from Sesame Street (I know - you may have to think back a ways here)?  

One of these things is not like the other

One of these things just doesn't belong,

Can you tell me which things are not like the other

By the time I finish my song?

You can thank me later when you are trying to get to sleep but have the "One of these things is not like the other" song in your mind.  You're welcome.  Anyway, that song came to my mind as we were trying to "Save Big Money at Menards" (there - I traded the one jingle for the other.  Again, you're welcome.)  The Menards nearest our cozy abode has recently undergone a major renovation, and this was the first time we had been there since they reopened.

A trip to Menard's is about as exciting to me as - oh - a trip to the scrapbooking store would be for RW.  Or from what I gather from Facebook (a genuine treasure-trove of information, I tell you!), a trip to Hobby Lobby for my nephew, Brad.  All to say, it's not really on my top ten of places to shop.  Or really even the top 1,000.  

A few years ago RW did all, may I repeat ALL of his Christmas shopping at Menard's.  I'm not sure why that surprised me at the time, I should have known.  That was the year that RW's mom died, and then a few days later my brother found himself in ICU in a drug-induced coma for 40+ days, prompting the now-infamous ICU reunion, as it came to be known in my family.  This all happened the month before Christmas, and neither of us were in the mood for Christmas, but we both felt so lousy about life that we went a little nuts on the presents.  As if the presents could make Hazel come back to us, or heal Tim's MRSA-infected lungs. All 50 or so presents. Yeah, umm, that was just for the two of us.  Like I said, we were a little out of our minds at the time.

Anyhow, RW purchased every single one of them at my uh..., favorite store, Menard's.  Granted, to call some of them "presents" is a stretch, even by RW standards.  If memory serves me, he actually wrapped up house numbers (3 different 'gifts') and gave them to me.  We'd been without numbers on our house since we painted.  Yes, that is the caliber of gift that one can get their wife at Menard's.

So back to the present.  We entered RW's promised land of Menard's, and I immediately scoped out the place looking for something even remotely interesting to look at while RDub pondered the merits of different types of router bits.  As I wandered over to the odd assortment of books they have on display, I noticed something unexpected.  Menard's was piping classical music over their speaker-system.  I vaguely took note of this oddity, and grabbed a kitchen remodeling book to peruse.  As I flipped through the pages dreaming of nice kitchens, a large black object floated through my peripheral vision.  Looking up, I realized that I have found the source of the classical music.

Right here, in the middle of Menard's and right at the bottom of the escalator, was a grand piano with a man in a tuxedo playing Mozart. At Menard's.  He had router bits on one side of him, interior doors and vinyl flooring on display at his back, and was looking at carpet, bug spray and patio furniture.

This is about the time that "One of these things is not like the other" popped into my head. And if the higher-ups at Menard's believe that having a tuxedo-clad man playing classical music will somehow fool me into thinking that I am at Nordstrom's... I have one thing to say to them: You are w.r.o.n.g.  They are sadly and severly misinformed.  If it looks like a router bit, sounds like a router bit, and revs up like a router bit,  got news for ya. It's a router bit.  Even if it is surrounded in classical music.

I think their marketing department needs to go back to the drawing board on that one.  Just saying.