Wrapping up the Hooker Trip

It's almost 11 a.m. on Saturday.  It's my first sleep-in opportunity since October 14, and I REALLY love to sleep in.  But I woke up at 7:30 a.m. and laid in bed stressing out about work for about an hour, and then said uncle, got out of bed, drove to a donut shop and bought 12 donuts for five people, and brewed a pot of coffee that I'm 3/4 of the way through.  My life is fueled by sugar and caffeine and fear.


At first, the kids had Disney in the background, and it was like fingernails on chalkboard with the stupid jokes and canned laughter and lippy teens, but they've switched to "Chopped", so I can write again.  Whew.  That Disney/Nick stuff makes me crazy.  We were the only parents I know who forbid the kids to watch Suite Life of Zach and Cody because those kids were so rotten.  Our children were ashamed.


So...let's wrap up this hooker convention.   I'll show you a few of the hooking projects so you know of what I speak:

An awesome footstool, all hand dyed wool and hooked.

School scene in a very small cut of wool -

each wool strip is about 3/32 of an inch wide.

This was one of my faves - it's small, about 8x10, and the detail is amazing.  There are probably 10 shades of flesh toned wool and another 10-15 shades of red in her hair, all hand dyed and hooked in that little 3/32 of an inch strip width.
Even though these shows are grueling with the lugging around of product and incessant talking and taking of money that has to balance out later and the 10 hours of standing, and for all of my joking about hookers, these people are truly artists and incredibly.  I've made one rug and started three others, and they are not easy.  Or cheap.  Enough about hookers, let's bring it back to me.


My co-worker and I arose at 6 a.m. to get to the airport on time for our second experience of sitting in each other's laps and pedaling the plane to Baltimore.  However, when the taxi pulled up at the Lancaster airport, which is slightly smaller than your average Texas Roadhouse, it was covered in fog.  Damn.  And I had no coffee.  I brought the airport Sunday paper in for them from the front step, so I knew there was no coffee shop in this building.  Our flight was delayed, so I settled in and started reading.

"This is Where We Live" by Janelle Brown.

352 pages of the rest of my life.

After the pilot got on top of the plane and squeegeed all the windows and took the made sure there were fresh batteries in the remote control that operates the plane, we boarded.  I knew when we buckled our seatbelts that we were going to miss our connection in Baltimore.  As we landed, I saw our United flight to Chicago taxi down the runway.  Goodbye Weekend!  No big deal though, right?  We can just get on another plane.  We went to the United counter, and funny, EVERYONE is flying to Moline on Sundays.  Everyone.  Every United flight to Chicago was booked, as was every flight to Moline.  The ticket agent said, "I think you might have to spend the night in...." and looked up to see me starting to come unravelled and tears forming in my eyes, and said, "Um, let me see what Delta has available."  The very nice woman found us two seats on a Delta flight to Atlanta and then to Moline, IL, getting us in at 10 p.m.  Sold.  I gave her the golden chocolate coins the hotel used for turndown service


When we got off the plane in Atlanta four hours later, we knew we still had five hours until our next flight, and then, like a golden oasis in the middle of the desert, we saw this:

The best franchise EVER.  A spa in the airport.

My friend and I each signed up for a 30 minute Stress Relief massage.  Yay!  The day was saved!  I had a moment of panic when my person, Tonya, started.  I have a HUGE problem with eyebrows being rubbed the wrong way.  I can barely type it, and I have that heebie jeebie feeling right now even mentioning it.  I have no idea where this originated, but if Current Husband wants me to leave the room, all he does is start rubbing his eyebrows...ugh.  They grow in one direction.  Those hairs are not meant to move the other way. 


I feel like I've just exposed a great weakness.


So Tonya starts my massage by pinching my eyebrows.  I grab the chair arms tightly and think, "How long can this last?  She HAS to stop, right?  Did I sign up for an Eyebrow Massage?"  After about 10 seconds she stopped, and it was just in time, because I was about to bolt up and run to the nearest mirror to brush those brows back to their German unibrow origins.  AS THEY SHOULD BE.  Once I knew the brows were safe, and I wasn't gassy, I could relax.  And it was lovely.


We got to our next gate, all blissed out, and found out our flight to Moline had been delayed.  It was announced over the loudspeaker that the flight to Montgomery, Alabama came in late because they were deciding whether or not the tires needed to be changed.  The people waiting for the flight looked around and smiled nervously.   DID the tires get changed?  Was one going to blow on landing?  "HA!" I thought.  "Glad I'm not on the Montgomery flight!"  and then they announced, "And the flight to Moline is late because they spent three extra hours in Montreal with mechanical problems."


WTF?!?!  Are you referring to MY plane?


So all of the Moline people quickly texted goodbye messages to their loved ones and got our affairs in order.  NOTE TO THE AIRLINES:  If my flight has bad tires or mechanical issues or the pilot is drunk, and you aren't going to do anything about it, don't tell me.  Ignorance is bliss, and a lot better than sitting in what you've been told COULD BE an airborne potential death trap for the next hour or so.


We finally landed after 11 p.m., and CH arrived with Youngest Daughter to pick me up from the airport, because YD had been waiting for 5 days to see her Mommy and she wasn't going to miss it.  I went home, then to bed and back to work 7 hours later and spent the entire week catching up with paperwork and kid stuff.


And that, my patient and tolerant readers, is why I only blogged once in the past two weeks.  Please forgive me!


On Thursday, I leave for my biennial high school friend reunion, and there is always PLENTY to blog about then.  Here is a refresher course from our last reunion in Scottsdale, AZ.  These are my WOMEN.  If you've ever read The Girls From Ames, we are The Girls From Fremont.  I love them all.

SKIN TAG, YOU'RE IT
BACONCAT

Day 9 - Meh.

What does it say about your day when the high point was getting a pap smear? 
But now is not a time to talk about that, I'll save up for a Whoreticulture Friday post. 

TODAY:  I got a hard time in a meeting for something I didn't do, and just about everyone at work then joking referred to me as "Troublemaker!" but after a while you just want to send a company-wide e-mail that says, "I didn't have anything to do with that, and the next person who calls me Troublemaker is going to get punched in the junk."  I returned bottles at the grocery store and figured out about an hour later that I forgot to print my receipt for my money.  I nearly walked out of the gas station without the $20 cash back I punched in, and let the employees make fun of me for that.  You know.  Petty stuff that sort of adds up after a while.  My day vastly improved around 6 p.m. when my friend Julie came over with her kids and had a waaaay overdue pizza and beer with me.  We haven't spent time together since April, so it was really good to sit on the back deck with her.  *deep breath* and then *laugh*.  Okay.  All is well in the world again.

Well, I've made good on my promise so far of quantity over quality for August, and I'm pleased to say this is my 9th day in a row of blogging.  Only 22 more days to go!  I will have you know that this is an Olympic effort, because of course the minute I walked down to my studio, George the Superpet and Youngest Daughter followed me, YD parked herself on a stool in my room, and hasn't stopped talking since.

She's very good at bringing it all back to her.

When she first came downstairs, she sat and looked at my Beatles action figures.  She quizzed me about the Beatles and asked me who my favorite one is - John, BTW - and then she told me how freaky all of the dolls are.  She then noticed the picture on the little shelf of CH and I on our wedding day, which started an avalanche of questions about our wedding and why I wore what I wore.  In thie picture, she is telling me all about the kind of wedding dress she is going to have.  The top will be like a tank top and then a huge puffy floor-length skirt.  And a long veil with flowers.

The she saw my china mosaics that need a coat of polyurethane, and started asking questions about those:  "Which one is your favorite, Mom?"  "Can I help you make one, Mom?"  "How do you decide which plate to use, Mom?"  "Can I organize them for you?"

The little hand is "organizing" by color and theme. 

And attached to an endlessly talking third grader. 

She just saw my caption and stopped talking.  She looked at me and said, "This hand is attached to someone with FEELINGS, Mom!"  She is laughing, but she really wants me to stop blogging and pay attention to her.  And so I shall.

Have a good night, Wifers.

Get In The Van. I Have Candy. The End of the Road.

Well, Gentle Readers, it is here.  The day I finally stop talking about our trip.  But I only get 10 days of paid vacation, so it's sort of a big deal in my life.  I love my job and all, but who wouldn't rather get paid to stay at home and pursue their own interests?


Like stalking musicians.


So we're in Nashville, and I've cased The Black Keys off-the-grid recording studio.  As we're walking away from the front door, a dude with a spiderweb tattoo on his neck and black skateboarding clothes pulls up at the front of the studio and gets out with a computer case and two bags of groceries or takeout food.  He is punching a code at the front door as I'm begging the kids to go back with me and get a pic taken with him, but the kids are all, "You're going to get arrested!  Let's get out of here!" and I informed them that they were never going to be good stalker groupies if they don't work their way up the food chain in these situations, but by the time I finished my life lesson the guy was in the building.  We left the studio and went to the diner that Dan Auerbach said in an interview that he frequented three times in 24 hours - Brown's Diner.  They had cold frosty mugs of beer and delicious burgers, but no blues-rock musicians.

Photo of me, creeping on Dan's lunch spot.

Our stalking was not yet finished.  We moved on to Third Man Records, owned and operated by Jack White of the White Stripes, Rancotuers, and The Dead Weather.

Jack and Meg White, when they aren't busy being humans.

The kids were more comfortable here because this studio is open to the public.

Making rock star faces after buying stickers

 for their cello cases.  Because we are cool like that.

We also visited Ryman Auditorium, where Minnie Pearl, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, and Patsy Cline performed.  I'm not a country person or a Grand Ole Opry person, but you can't deny the history in this building.  Kudos to Nashville for preserving it after the Opry moved to their new location on the outskirts of town.

YD now wants to get a new dog and

name it "Minnie Pearl".  I'm sure MP would

have been honored.

Nothing else too exciting happened after that, except that I found some awesome stuff in the funky shops along the Vanderbilt University area, we had amazing burgers at Fido's, and the houses in the historic, Civil-War era neighborhoods are amazing.  Oldest Daughter noticed me looking around the city, falling in love, and on the last morning she put her foot down.


HER:  "No.  It's not going to happen."
ME:  "What!!?"
HER:  "We are not moving to Nashville.  I see you thinking it."
ME:  "I don't know what you're talking about.  But it IS a cool city."
HER:  "I am starting high school this year.  If you wanted to move, you should've
done it in 2009.  You have me, and then two more kids to get through high school, so you are stuck for the next 10 years."
ME:  "Well I'm 42 and I don't have as many years left in my life, so if I want to move, we move.  I'll take you to some nice concerts.  WILCO is playing next week."


Would I move to Nashville?  In a heartbeat.  But of course I was thinking about the kids and their schools and friends, etc.  But there is something about your 14-year-old telling you what you can and cannot do that makes you get a little obstinate.  Because she's right - I'll be 52 before I can move without it adversely affecting anyone.  I'm starting to see why my parents put a hot tub room in my bedroom three weeks after I left for college.

Dinner on the ride home.  With a side of Dramamine.

We sweated, we stalked, we lived to tell about it.  The kids got in the van.  They had candy.  They threw up.  But not in that order.  I hope everyone got a chance to take a little summer getaway.  I am now officially done talking about this trip.


The End


p.s.  It is August, which means it's the Second Anniversary of this blog.  Last time I had a giveaway and then didn't get the prize out for seven months, so that was a personal FAIL.  This year, since I have been slacking a bit blog-wise, I am going to post every day this month.  I didn't say they will be good posts.  This is definitely quantity over quality.  And I *might* end with a giveaway if I think of something good.  Thanks for reading, Wifers!

Get In The Van. I Have Candy. Part 2

So, Part 2.
(Remember, sequels are NEVER better.)

We try to take a weeklong family vacation every summer so that I may make Shutterfly photo albums lovingly captioned with snarky descriptions of our hi-larious times together.  This way, when the kids are in their 30's and complaining about their bad childhoods, I can throw my stack of family fun and nutty hijinx on the table and say, "What now, you ungrateful bastards!?  You got nothin' on me and I have the Shutterfly books to prove it!"

As I mentioned in the last post, there was a lot of drama and even more Dramamine on the first leg of our trip.  (Fear not, Gentle Readers, the worst part of the trip is now over.)  We drove through Southern Illinois, which honestly makes Nebraska look a little exciting, and lo and behold, we saw a sign for Metropolis.  Wha?  You mean SUPERMAN's hometown?  Current Husband is a huge fan of The Man of Steel, so SNAP! We fell right into the Tourist Trap.

Poor YD was still not feeling great. 

But c'mon, honey, rally!  It's Superman!

It's a bird!  It's a plane! 

No, it's my new gigantic knockers!

Able to leap bored housewives in a single bound? 

I certainly hope so.

(And?  When am I going to learn to

suck in my gut for pictures?)

At 11 p.m., we finally rolled into our friends' driveway in Atlanta.  The family we visited moved from our hood over a year ago, and they're the kind of people who will not only let you fly your freak flag, they will raise your freak flag if it isn't up already.  Needless to say, good time were had by all.

The kids played the "I'm the floating head creeping

in the back of your picture" game all week.

We occupied the kids so we could go out drinking.

(Oh put the phone down, they did it to themselves.)

And YD organized a game of Marco Polo,

but apparently she misunderstood the rules.

We really went to Atlanta just to visit our friends, so we didn't go out too much, and besides, it was about 175 degrees outside, plus humidity, which brought the heat index to 280 degrees.  The only thing that could cure our Beiber fever was a bartender with cold chardonnay and a moustache tattooed on his finger.  We were in luck.

He is known in Downtown Decatur as Chardonnay Tony.  

We stayed up talking into the night.  (Back to the friends, not Chardonnay Tony.) We awoke in mid-morning, and drank the best French press coffee ever. (Me and Tony.  Obviously.) We ate.  We drank.  We lounged.  Then we drank a little more.  We watched the funniest damn PBS special ever, which my friend Angie gave to me and has absolutely changed my life, simply called "Ferrets".  It about ferret breeders and the biggest ferret show in the country, The Buckeye Bash.  Here is a little snippet for you, but I HIGHLY recommend you buy your own copy:

That damn ferret song goes through my head all the time.  Then I made them watch this classic movie, because doesn't EVERYONE sit with friends they haven't seen in a year and watch ferret videos and cheesy 70's movies?

Oh yes, Barbra.  My love for you is ageless and evergreen.

And thank you for covering Kris Kristofferson's nipple.

There are so many terrific things about spending time with people you love, but of course, all good things must come to an end.  We pulled away from Hotlanta and headed for the hills of Tennessee, where we enjoyed our Family Stalker Adventure in Nashville.  Stay tuned for Part 3 of "Get In The Van, I Have Candy".  It's like you are trapped on vacation WITH me.  The call is coming from inside the van...get out!

   

Don't. Say. It.

Have you ever had a day when you wake up and discover you are out of coffee while remembering that you are on Day 2 of Another Period On Your Great March Toward Menopause and you realize you are late and still have to make the kids appealing yet nutritious lunches, only to find that the little buggers ate all the snack packs of chips over the weekend but left the big empty bag in the cabinet, thus giving the appearance that you are NOT out when you went to the grocery store the day before?  AND you forgot the coffee?

Have you ever had a day when you drove to work yawning the whole way and remembering that you are somewhat iron deficient during that time of the month and that you need to schedule both a pap smear and mammogram because they are both overdue and yours always turn out irregular, thus making you THINK you have cancer and writing goodbye letters to your family, only to thankfully find on the third test that you don't, in fact, have cancer yet, and you're so relieved that you forget to delete the letters and your husband finds them months later and thinks you're suicidal and he's totally missed all of the signs.  And then you get to work and the first middle-aged man you see says, "How's the Hooker today?" and in your mind you say, "A fucking hooker on the verge of homocide, you jackwad" but then you realize that not only have you joked about the hooker thing but that you are having your period and might black out while kicking him over and over with the steel-toed Danskos you just HAPPENED to wear to work that day and your review is next week so maybe not such a great idea?

Have you ever had a day where you shoved so much food in your mouth while thinking, "I'm having my period, I NEED THIS!" and at the same time thinking "Holy shit I'm getting fat and I'm seeing college friends in July and high school friends in November, I need to eat a tapeworm" and then saying out loud, "I'd like a Whopper Jr. and a Diet Coke...with sprinkles" and pulling ahead to pay?

Have you ever had a day when you were irrationally pissed off and could lead a co-worker who looked at you wrong around by the short hairs, making him sing "Sweet Caroline" and tell you you're Number One?  Have you ever had a day when you looked at all of your friends' vacation pictures on Facebook and then spent an hour at work researching flights to island resorts and pre-ordering your umbrella-and-pineapple laden drinks?

Have you ever had a day when you complain to your husband about your lower back pain, your bloating, your upgrade to purchasing Ultra Super Lamb size tampons, but if he was to say, "Geez, who's having their period?" you would shove the rest of your king-sized Symphony bar in your mouth and drop-kick him in the giblets? 

Or you started crying because:

• You overcooked the pasta.  
• The scanner wouldn't work for a project you need done by Thursday.  
• The dog's paws were covered in mud and he walked in the kitchen. 
• You thought about all the lonely people, and where DO they all come from?

All within a four-hour time period?

You didn't? 

Oh.  It must just be me.  Never mind.

Just two or three more days to go, then.

Clash of the Phitens

Let me preface this post by saying that it is really effing hot here, which is convenient because I had nothing left to bitch about.  When it is hot, I need to hydrate, and my hydration of choice is special German water:

Mmm.  Das ist Gut.

Actually, I have enjoyed two ice-cold glasses of this German delight and a large cock someone gave me for my birthday:

I was going to say something about this cock being very erect,

but I don't know most of you and am not sure how much you can take.

My mother, however, is laughing.

So anyway, it is hot, I've been drinking, and I've just made a major purchase.  Those of you with boys older than 8 may be familiar with the Phiten necklace.

The Phiten is a piece of rope that has a presumably toxic metallic dust in it that retailers sell to anyone who wants to appear to be an athlete, or is an actual paid endorsement athlete.  The faux athlete pays $30 to over $100 for the priviledge of wearing said piece of rope around their neck.

This is the Phiten necklace:

This is the Phiten philosophy:

At Phiten, we focus our energy to develop products that work for you. We got our start by trying to help a friend in need. Today, after extensive research and development, we are helping people enhance their quality of life all around the globe, building on our Phiten philosophy of health, energy and well-being.

Origin of our Name: Phiten


Based on the Greek letter PHI Φ and the exponent 10, we crafted a name which symbolizes our goal: maximizing the perfect balance found in the natural world.

Ahhh.  It's Greek.  Like the people who founded the Olympics!

This is the Phiten founder:

What the...?!? 

Long Duck Dong is a billionaire?



Oh come ON, that is not racist, he does look like the Donger.  You know, from Sixteen Candles!  He certainly does not look like Jake Ryan, and that is good because of my recent discovery that Jake Ryan encourages date rape.  The Donger does not.

This guy is laughing because he is RICH!  RICH, I tell you!  At an average of $40 a pop, every kid in little league baseball and 70% of the middle school population is wearing these things.  Oldest Daughter got one for Christmas, and The Son decided he needed one for baseball.  Oy.  I took him to Dick's Sporting Goods, which makes him laugh every time, and perused the Phiten display.  The Son wanted a 22", I selected a nice 18".  I explained to The Son that besides being $10 cheaper, and I am cheap, it would fit him better.  The Son disagreed.  We took one to the checkout area, and just as it was rung up, The Son changed his mind.

We went back to the Phiten display.   Upon further discussion, he selected a 22" that he liked.  We were going to be late to pick up Oldest Daughter, so okay okay okay, ring it up!  We set off the alarms going out of the store, to the stares of those walking in.

On the way to pick up OD, The Son put on his Phiten and started to worry.  "Is it too big?" he said, as it hung down mid-chest.  "I personally think 22" is too big, as I told you in the store," I said.   "But it's up to you."  By the time we picked OD up from cello, he was in a full blown panic.  He had made the wrong choice.  It was the wrong Phiten.  His life was irrevocably altered.  I picked up OD and turned to drive back to Dick's.  (hee hee)

We walked into Dick's, set off the alarms, walked back to the Phiten display, and let OD, the seasoned Middle Schooler who knows what is cool, select it.   We got the same cashier, who was now ringing us up for the third time and was no longer laughing at my jokes.  We walked out, set off the alarms one more time, and got in the car.  The Son had his Jock Jewelry, OD had her cool creed reaffirmed, and I was out $35 for some voodoo rope.  Long Duck Dong was laughing even harder as he counted his money.

The Son admitted I was right the first time about the placebo necklace.  Not that it is a .50 piece of rope with the word "Phiten" on it, but that it was too big.  He is going to wait until he is college and 'roided out before he can upgrade to the 22", and then he will say, "I am truly a man" as he snaps it shut. 

But next time his mommy picks something out for him?  He's not Phiten it.
(Oh yeah.  I went there.)

Off to a Hooker Convention

I'm off to a Hooker Convention in Milwaukee tomorrow, and I need to make sure I have cash for the cash box.  Because everyone needs cash at a Hooker Convention.  No kidding. 

So I'm looking around my house and I'm thinking

I don't know how people do this.

You might be asking yourself, "Self, what the hell is she talking about?"  And if you are asking yourself that, you can join the thousands of people who know me and ask themselves that every time I talk to them.

What I'm talking about is Being A Grown Up.  From the chair I'm sitting in right now, I'm looking at a pile of crap in my family room, all moved up from the basement because the waterproofers are coming next week and the basement has to be empty to jackhammer the floor and inevitably cause my walls to crack or a water main to break.  I'm looking at my dining room table, covered in school lunch boxes and paperwork, magazines I will probably not get to, and junk mail.  The living room has a bathrobe, a Von Maur bag, shoes, blankets, and Wii and xBox paraphenelia.  I can't see the kitchen from here, thank God.  But I know what lurks in there.

Besides all of the ridonkulous cleaning responsibilities I'm shirking, there is the driving.  I feel like lately all we do is spend our time driving.  Driving to school, driving to lessons, driving to work, driving to obligations.  Bleh.  I want to drive to a liquor store, then a book store, then a hammock store, then an ice store, and then a beach, in that order.  But who has the time?  Not I, said the Wife.

So I'm off to a Hooker Convention in Milwaukee tomorrow.  Current Husband has a schedule for the next two days telling him where he needs to be and when, starting at 3 p.m., because apparently no one else in the world has a job and that's when things are scheduled in the school system.  I am sharing a hotel room at the Hooker Convention (because NO ONE SLEEPS ALONE AT A HOOKER CONVENTION!) with someone who is sweet as pie, but doesn't drink or swear or probably poop, and so I won't ever really be off duty.  Or be able to poop.

I'm ready for a vacay, but Memorial Day weekend seems to be a looooong way away.  I'll report back from the Hooker Convention, and in the interim, here is something for your viewing pleasure.  Peace and Blessings! Have a great week!