Snapshot: Household

Married life has been a little hectic, to say the least. Adding one 11 year old boy into the mix has definitely changed things a LOT around here - but in a good way. There is always something going on, a ton more mess, a ton more laundry (he changes clothing more often than a 13 year old girl!), and a LOT more noise.

None of those things are bad things, except for the laundry. I'm thankful he at least has clean clothes on though - Rockboy would wear the same thing over and over again until I threatened his life if he didn't hand over some smelly t-shirt for the wash.

Something else has been claiming my attention as well - scrapbooking. I avoided scrapbooking like the plague for years because I knew that it would be like crack for me. I love paper and stickers and all the junk that goes along with it and I knew that collecting all the stuff would be just as obsession-making as the actual activity of scrapbooking.

Alas, Patient Reader, I fell prey right after the wedding when I saw a wedding scrapbook kit at Target and thought, "Oh, that would be nice for the wedding pictures. Everything is included and I won't have to buy anything else."

Famous last words.

I'm still working on the wedding scrapbook, but I've also been doing a few pages from the past year or so. . . Halloween 2008, Father's Day 2009. . . with Skaterboy's 11th birthday in the line-up, as well as a trip to the Farmer's Market this summer.

I have to say that it's been good for me though - I like doing something creative and this forces me to come up with something on my own, rather than just knitting a pattern that someone else designed. (I have NO desire to design knitting. None.)

So, that's life in the Roadie household these days. . . laundry, cooking, a little bit of scrapbooking, a whole LOT of wrestling on TV.

And, it's perfect. It's exactly what I wanted.

You Are Not Forgotten

God Bless America!

A Confession, and the Main Event

Darlings, your Auntie Roadchick has been dreadfully remiss in not updating sooner, but things have been just a wee bit busy in the Roadie household. Since we were last together, Redneck and I have tied the knot. Gotten hitched. It's all official and everything. Awww.

The wedding was very small, up in the mountains around Gatlinburg at the cabin that we rented for the weekend. My parents, my two brothers, one sister-in-law, and one small niece were present. (The other sister-in-law had to stay at home with one small nephew who came down with strep the night before they were to head to the mountains.) Rockboy and his girlfriend were present. Skaterboy was present. My very good friend and her husband were present.

Anyway, it went off without a hitch (mostly) and a Good Time was had by all, except for poor Redneck who was sick as a dog with a summer cold(?) or the swine flu(?) or something. He perked up long enough for the ceremony then collapsed back into bed to nap until it was time to go to dinner in town. He perked up long enough to get through that and then was pretty much finished for the day.

For the wedding, I got Redneck a watch. He gave me the summer cold(?) or the swine flu(?) . . . which I still have and apparently am going to keep until at least our 25th anniversary when he will gift me with anthrax or ptomaine. He, of course, is much better now since he's passed it on to me and since I cannot find anyone to pass it to, I continue to hack and cough and pray for death or codeine cough syrup.

Since the wedding, things have been hectic, hectic, hectic. It was back to school for Skaterboy and that is always traumatic. More for me than for him, but there was a period of adjustment like there always is.

Yesterday afternoon, there was ominous silence from the other end of the house and I went to see what was going on.

Skaterboy, in the wisdom of his eleven years, had decided to customize his $40 Under Armor shirt that he bought with his Christmas money in January. A few snips here and there, so he could look just like his idol, Jeff Hardy (of wrestling fame).



As Skaterboy is a skinny, pre-adolescent eleven year old, he does not come close. His new name:

Jeff Hardly

And so, life in the expanded Roadie household begins.

Rainy Days and Mondays . . .

I freely admit it's my own fault.

I went to the dentist today to get my teeth cleaned and have a check-up. I have more than a little dental phobia so I do not go to the dentist as often as I should. I also cannot afford the outrageous out-of-pocket expenses very often so in between visits, I'm saving up to be able to pay for the next time that I go.

When I was younger, this was not so bad - a filling or two - no big deal. Now that I'm a little older, the price has gone up - shockingly.

When I was little, we lived in a house that had well water which meant there was no flouride in it. I also had a mom that did not believe in flouride toothpaste, apparently believing it to be poisonous or the work of the devil, but anyway, it was not used. Ditto on the vitamins with flouride.

The end result is a lot of dental work. And a lot of cash. How much cash, you ask? I really don't know. Apparently, the total is so enormous that the billing girl needed additional time to figure it out and will email me an estimate. I'm a little afraid to see what it says.

In other news, I've been spending a lot of time working in the garden. I know what you're thinking: what's this? Roadchick gardening? Are they snowmobiling in hell these days?

Yes, it's true. It started out innocently enough with three tomato plants that were given to Redneck. They were planted in the ground. Then it seemed like a good idea to get some squash and zucchini and cucumbers. Those were planted in the ground. Then I needed some flowers for the pots on the deck and for the windowboxes on the shed. . . and then there was a sale at Lowe's over the weekend . . . . and now I have a "gothic" garden on one side of my porch steps, complete with a gargoyle that Redneck brought home on Saturday afternoon.

Is anyone else just exhausted today? I think the dentist's office took it out of me and it didn't help that it was the monthly birthday pizza party at my office, complete with cake. I think I've got a carb overload going on but I could just put my head down and sleep.

Only one more hour and I can go home. Just lately, it's my favorite place to be.

And Then, I Yelled at Those Kids to Get Off My Lawn!

I'm a terrible, sentimental traditionalist. There are certain things that I don't want to change and if it's a memory I hold dear, I really don't want anyone to mess with it.

After a little sentimental Googling this evening, I found out that Santa's Village in East Dundee, Illinois went out of business a few years ago. I remember going there when I was a kid.

It was a Chicagoland area amusement park geared toward younger kids and built in a less-sophisticated time than the time that we live in now, but oddly, as a kid, that was exactly what appealed to me. I was the one that wanted to live in the Dick and Jane readers with a cat named Fluff when everyone else was all Strawberry Shortcake and Barbie's hot pink Corvette.

Santa's Village used to run commercials in the afternoons or on Saturday mornings when kids were home watching cartoons and if I remember correctly, for awhile, they had a jingle that went something like: "Any ride a quarter, six for a dollar!" (Yes, I know - you can't even buy a pack of gum for a dollar, let alone six rides at a theme park - or even a carnival. Now get off my lawn.)

By the time I nagged my mom into taking me, you just paid to get in and then rode all you wanted. We went on a day that wasn't really busy (apparently there were a lot of those, or else it wouldn't have gone out of business) so if we wanted to keep riding what we were on, we'd wave at the teenager running the ride and they'd just let it keep running as long as no one else was in line.

There was a frozen North Pole - coated in ice, even in July. There was a petting zoo too, but the ride that I remember the most was something called the Swiss Toboggan.


(Click HERE to check out other roller coasters of today and yesterday.)

The Swiss Toboggan was really the first "roller coaster" ride that I had ever been on and I imagined that I was quite grown up. The kid from next door and I had a whole elaborate game going on where we were rich and famous and had the park to ourselves, etc. We were always somewhere deep in our imaginations no matter what was going on around us. We always had a little embellishment, a little sparkle to add to the situation.

Do kids still do stuff like that or is it all Nintendo and texting and surfing the 'net?

It made me a little sad to find out that Santa's Village was gone - for childhood passing, I suppose, and the fact that times change whether we want them to or not.

Weddin' Nonsense

So, there's the dress that I'll be wearing whenever it is that Redneck and I finally tie the knot. We don't have a date yet, mainly because it seems that one commitment at a time is enough for the poor darling. He's going to be surprised when I just tell him when it is.



Can I tell you how ridiculously happy this dress makes me? I love the net underskirt part that hangs below the skirt - so Lucy Ricardo! It's just frilly enough without being a giant meringue of a dress.

The jackety thing may stay or it may go, depending on how the dress looks with a sheer pashima wrap that a co-worker has kindly offered to lend me. I'm not much on sleeveless so one or the other is going to be worn.

Since both of us have been married before, neither of us wanted the huge wedding with attendants and all that fuss. We were actually thinking about just going to the mountains by ourselves and getting married there.

Then, I got the phone call. From my mother.
(For those of you who have read Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, the Mother-of-Roadchick closely resembles Vivi except for the drinking and fun.)

Mother: Are you making plans yet?
'chick: For what?
Mother: Um, your WEDDING.
'chick: Oh. No. Not really. All I have to do is show up.
Mother: Hmph.
'chick: What?
Mother: Well, I certainly HOPE that you intend to get married in a church somewhere.
'chick: Well, no, that wasn't really the plan.
Mother: I'm sure that Pastor Smith would be happy to marry you at the church in town.
'chick: Why? I don't attend.
Mother: He would do it for your BROTHER.
'chick: Brother didn't even get married there. He got married in Vegas.
Mother: We are not talking about that.
'chick: Yes we were.
Mother: No, we were not. You need to give some serious thought to this.
'chick: Ok.

I seriously thought about it for two seconds and then dismissed it completely. I got married in a church last time. It wasn't really what I wanted then and it's not what I want now. I don't have a thing in the world against church, but it's not where I want to get married. Vivi hasn't brought it up again, but she will, when I'm least expecting it.

The fun part is going to be when she finds out that I've already got the dress. I wasn't actually looking for a dress but I found it, loved it, and bought it. No other shopping required. Vivi loves shopping. I do not. I knew when I put it on that it was The One. Vivi would've made me leave it there to hit eleventy-seven other stores to try on sixty-seven other dresses that made me miserable only to go back and buy the one that I knew was The One from the start.

Maybe I'll get her to take me shopping for shoes. . .

I Have A Secret

He asked.

I said yes.

'Nuff said.

*g*

{This Space Reserved for a More Amusing Post}

As soon as I think of one.

Life in the Roadtrip corner of the world is better now. Redneck wisely decided that he needed to get me out of town before something really bad happened. To someone else. Because I snapped and climbed a tower with a rifle.

Last Thursday, we got the chance to do a ride-along in IROC race cars and Mustang drift cars as a part of the Marlboro Hot Laps program. In a bad mood? Life going to crap? Going 140 mph will definitely lift your spirits. I highly recommend it. The only way it would've been any better was if they had let me drive.

On Friday, we got up and headed to Metropolis IL to the Harrah's Casino there. We took our time, took a 10 mile detour off the highway, hit some antique shops and then hit the casino. We didn't win anything, but it was fun. Then Redneck took me out for dinner and we just kicked back and enjoyed the time away together.

The hotel that we stayed at offered a free continental breakfast including waffles. The girl at the front desk was particularly proud of that and mentioned it several times and also informed me that there would also be boiled eggs.

I woke up pretty early but figured that no one really wanted to see me wandering down to the lobby in my pajamas so I got a shower and got dressed before heading down there.

When I got there, it was to a lobby full of rednecks (not to be confused with Redneck). I have a fondness for rednecks in general, but these particular rednecks had snaffled up all of the boiled eggs. I suspect they were packed in a cooler somewhere until they could hit Hardee's and snag some mayo, mustard, and relish packets. Voila! Dressed eggs for the picnic later! And free! That's good eatin'!

I also noticed that they ate all of the Froot Loops and Lucky Charms. Ditto the cinnamon rolls. The organic granola and bagels were safe for another day.

They were also in the process of setting the lobby on fire with the waffle iron. A rather large woman had commandeered the machine (blocking the coffee pot in the process) but had no clue how to operate it.

The iron was beeping like crazy and the little light on the front was whirling around like a propeller. She promptly turned around and HOLLERED at the front desk: "Something is WRONG with this-here contraption. I don't know how to work it. It's making noise."

I glanced over after nudging her out of the way of the coffee pot and told her quietly, "When it beeps, that means it's time to turn the waffle." After she picked the machine up by the handle and looked ready to launch it, I amended my instructions to: "If you will rotate that handle, the waffle burner will turn over and cook the other side of the waffle."

I am sympathetic to the technically and culinarily impaired, but it was a little ridiculous. The directions were on a large poster directly over the waffle iron. In pictures. With arrows. In color.

Since coming home, we managed to make it through Mother's Day without bloodshed. (This is not always a given.)

To balance out all of the good and lovely things that took place over the weekend, the Universe decided that in order to make sure my life was in balance, I needed a kidney infection to make me aware of my blessings.

There is nothing remotely amusing about a kidney infection unless you count the fact that the medicine they give you for pain does interesting things. Depending on which one you get (there are two basic varieties) you will either pee blue or red/orange. It's a fun little party trick. (Not really.) I was reading the insert on the one I got (the red/orange kind) and it informed me that if you wear soft contacts (and I do) that you should not wear your soft contacts while taking this medicine because "it can cause permanent staining of the lenses". What? Are you telling me that if I were to cry, I would cry red/orange tears? I'm halfway tempted to rent Terms of Endearment and try it out. Now THAT's a pretty good party trick for Halloween!

Insult to Injury

A UTI on top of cramps.
(Sorry, guys.)

Life is not fair.

Radio Silence

Patient Reader, Auntie Roadchick apologizes for the extended radio silence that has taken over the Roadtrip. Suffice to say, a couple of things in real life have my head absolutely spinning and following that old, old advice: Since I have nothing nice to say right now, I won't say anything at all.

I will be back, hopefully very soon, with the whole Roadie Crew.

Tell me something funny in Comments and make me laugh - please?

Really?

Overheard at Waffle House. . .

Woman behind me (on a cell phone): Well, you know that I don't tell my business to everyone.

Woman behind me: Did you see the story about me in the paper?

Woman behind me: Well, when you get laid off from your job, how are you supposed to afford your anti-depressants?

Woman behind me: Stop talking to me about her.

Woman behind me: You know I'm not working.

Woman behind me: Well, I'll come see you tomorrow, but I'm going to the tanning bed first.

There are so many oxymorons in that conversation that I don't even know where to begin, so I won't.

But, wow. Just. . . wow.

Invasion

It's that time of year again: time for the Semi-annual Outlaw Invasion. Yes, Patient Reader, the Outlaws are coming! The Outlaws are coming! And they will be here this evening.

I'm actually a little bit ahead of schedule in preparations - the guest room has been ready for a week. This is not usually the case but I had a fit of productiveness last weekend and got it done. Getting it done included a trip to Goodwill to drop off a carload of stuff that I set aside for a yard sale, and then the general cleaning and making up the futon.

I think (although I could be wrong) that all I have left to do is:
1. Make a grocery list
2. Go to the grocery store
3. Clean the hall bathroom (Rockboy has been in there. It was scrubbed last weekend, but that doesn't last around here.)

As many of you probably remember, Easter dinner is MY holiday. In the extended Roadies family, there are three major holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. My sisters-in-law divide up the other two, but Easter is mine. Every year. Without fail.

One reason is because it is the one holiday that I have the Outlaws with me. The other reason is that Easter doesn't require a turkey (don't like 'em) and there is no expectation of extreme decorating. As long as I manage to get out the pair of ceramic rabbits that I own, it's all good, although I think in the chaos of Rockboy's breakup with his girlfriend last year, I might have forgotten the rabbits. I don't think anyone noticed. They would've been obscured by the drama and angst anyway.

Yesterday, I had lunch with one of my girl friends whom I hadn't seen in awhile. We went to Olive Garden and generally indulged ourselves silly. I actually took the day off work (in case I still had major prep work to do, as well as a few days next week while the Outlaws are still here) and instead of working myself to death, I thoroughly enjoyed it. There is definitely something to be said for relaxing! Who knew?

In case I don't see you before then - have a wonderful holiday! (For those that celebrate Easter.) And, if you celebrate Passover, I hope it was fabulous. If you don't celebrate either of the above, take this weekend and celebrate the fact that SPRING is finally, really coming. We can all celebrate that.

Blah, Blah, Blog

So, did you participate in Earth Hour on Saturday night?

The Roadie household did not. I forgot all about it. But, since I don't usually sit in a blaze of light anyway, I'm sure that my contribution will not be missed.

I did hear that Al Gore left his landscape spotlights on at his mansion, as well as numerous lights inside. He must've forgotten too. Or else his trees are afraid of the dark.

Saturday was an interesting day anyway - we had storms roll through here with tornado sirens going off all over. Redneck and I went to the flea market on Saturday and were heading for the car when the siren at the fairgrounds went off. We looked up at the sky (dark, threatening) and at the car, about a 1/2 mile away and decided to walk a little faster. We got rained on a little, but not whisked off to Oz, so that was good.

This is a boring post and I apologize, Patient Reader. I'm tired. I feel like I've been in the car for weeks and I'm not getting anything done. I should be working (it's 8pm here) but I'm blogging instead because I just can't wrap my head around doing anymore work right now.

I'm on the road again tomorrow. Wednesday will be a fast day in the office trying to finish up a couple of things before all hell breaks loose again and one of my team members takes a couple of days off while I cover for her. I'm not looking forward to that. Three days of doing her job will have me drinking from a flask in the bathroom. Possibly at my desk by the end of it.

Then, after she comes back, I've got one day before I'm off for a few days, but it's not going to be restful time off. The Outlaws are coming for their annual Easter visit. I love the Outlaws coming. It's Easter that I don't care for very much. It's the dinner that I host every year and I just can't get up any enthusiasm for it.

Did I mention that I was tired? I'm the kind of tired that almost has you wishing you'd get sick so you could stay in bed for a few days. I can't afford that right now.

Equal Justice

Is there anything that will get your heart to pounding faster than looking in your rearview mirror and seeing flashing blue lights behind you? I don't think that there is, unless it's a train bearing down on you while your car is stalled on the tracks (in which case - GET OUT NOW - THE CAR IS NOT GOING TO START FOR YOU).

I was coming home from a friend's house last night around 9:00. She lives about 25 miles from me and I've been to her house a thousand times in daylight and dark.

And honestly, when the lights flipped on behind me, I kind of figured that he was getting ready to swing into the other lane and go after someone else. Why, you ask? Because I was not speeding, I had my seatbelt on, I hadn't been on the divided highway long enough to change lanes without signaling, I was not swerving, I had not tossed trash out the window, and I had not been drinking. My tags were current, my tires were inflated, and all my safety lights (headlights, taillights, turn signals, brake lights, license plate light) were functioning. As near as I could remember, I hadn't mistakenly left a bale of marijuana on the roof of the car or a dog tied to the bumper, the trunk was not open and flapping. You get the idea. I was being a law-abiding citizen on my way home. Hell, the Kid Rock wasn't even blaring at eardrum pounding decibels.

He didn't go away, so I put on my turn signal and started slowing down and edging for the shoulder, waiting until I passed a turn off so that BOTH of us would fit safely on the shoulder without blocking the side road. I put on my hazard lights and pulled out my wallet to get my driver's license. Rolled down the window and waited.

After a minute, the deputy walked up to the window and shined his flashlight on me and said, "Do you know why I stopped you?"

Since I had already reviewed my list of possible offenses (see above), I looked back at him and said, "Honestly? I have no idea."

"What is the speed limit along here?"

"65, sir." (I knew I was going 65 because I have driven this road for YEARS and I had set the cruise control.)

"No, it's not. It's 55. You just passed a speed limit sign."

"Really? It's been 65 through here for at least the last 16 years. I know it drops back to 55 up there by the red light."

"It was changed. There have been a lot of accidents through here."

"I'm sorry. I honestly had no idea and I did not see the sign. I even had the cruise set," pointing at the steering wheel where the little light was indeed lit up, "so that I wouldn't speed. I'm pretty careful about that."

(No need to mention the last speeding ticket I got cost me nearly $200 and 20 hours of community service and was richly deserved but that was a few years ago and I paid the ticket and did my time and we're not talking about that now.)

"Where have you been tonight?"

"At my friend's house."

"And where are you going?"

"Home, sir."

"I'll need to see your "

I already had my license out the window.

"and your registration and insurance. This is your car, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's my car. Let me get those for you."

"Any tickets or problems that I need to know about?"

I considered telling him my problem of having too much to do and not enough time to do it, or about the difficulty in getting my new kitchen blinds installed, or how sometimes the power cord on my laptop seems like it's not working right.

"No sir."

So, I proceed with the digging in the console for the envelope with the registration and insurance information in it. Since it was buried under CD cases and maybe a couple of Nintendo DS game boxes, it took a minute.

I handed it over and made sure that he could see that the insurance was current. (Auntie Roadchick's helpful tip o' the day: Use a highlighter to mark the effective date and expiration date on your insurance card if it's paper. It saves a lot of time.)

He went back to his car and I sat there. And sat there some more. I sat there for so long that I thought about calling my friend to let her know that I had a lovely evening and oh, by the way, the speed limit on the by-pass has changed, did you know that?

He got out of his car and came up between our cars. I heard a cell phone ringing. It was not mine. It was his. He answered it and proceeded to stand there and have a conversation with who knows who, but eventually making plans to meet up for dinner or whatever.

I waited some more. I waited long enough to start planning my defense in court.

"Your Honor, while Officer What's-His-Name had me pulled over, he stood between his car and mine and conducted a personal cell phone call while standing on the side of the road, detaining me." (This probably would not make a bit of difference especially since I was GUILTY.)

Finally, he hung up and came back up to the window.

"Well, your record is clean and I'm not going to ruin that for you so I'm letting you off with a warning."

"Thank you - I really do appreciate that."

"You pay attention to those signs and be safe."

"Yes sir, thank you."

I stuffed the paperwork back in my purse, turned off the hazard lights, put on my turn signal, checked my mirrors, and merged back onto the road, paying very close attention to the 55 mph speed limit.

A minute later, he caught up with me again and passed me in the left lane. I was obeying the speed limit. He was not. (He had dinner plans, remember?)

I glanced at the cruiser as it went by and grinned.

A few minutes later, we were both at the red light and he was next to me. I rolled the window down and waved until he rolled his window down.

"Sir, I hate to tell you this, but your taillights are out. Would you like me to follow you back to the station for safety?"

(I had debated yelling "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest! just like Gomer Pyle but had wisely decided against it.)

"What?!?"

"I'm serious. You have no operational lights on the back of your car."

"Pull over up there."

"Yes sir."

The light turned green and he hung back until I was in front of him, then he flipped on his blue lights again. We pulled over. He got out and walked behind his car. He was back there for a long time before coming up to my window. He didn't look happy.

"Ma'am, I appreciate you telling me that. The station is not far from here, so if you wouldn't mind following me back there . . . "

SCORE!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

So, it's St. Patrick's Day and I'm at work.

Not working, but at work.

This morning, I had a court hearing for one of my clients. Normally, this is not a big deal - it's an appeal over a service that the state has denied or reduced but we feel is needed.

I do these hearings all the time.

I've never been to a hearing where only one side (the state) gets to speak and then it's over. Decision rendered.

Very confusing.

I contend that I did not lose because I did not speak.

I'm thinking that a nice big GREEN margarita for lunch might be just what's needed.

Have fun & stay safe, y'all.

Redecorating with Roadchick

It's Springtime, when Roadchick's fancy turns to redecorating.

For some reason, when the weather starts to get a little better, I always get the urge to do something to the house. Last year, Redneck and I remodeled Rockboy's bathroom. Since his bathroom is also the guest bathroom, this was a wise choice. It went from white walls and a white vinyl floor to coffee-with-cream colored walls with a dark brown/green/gold vinyl tile floor. It's easier to mask dark hair fallout with a dark floor.

This year, I really wanted to do my bedroom, but figured the dining room should be done first since I host the annual Easter dinner for about 20 people. They were tired of looking at scuffed white walls and a damaged chair rail where the floor guys slammed into it with their pneumatic hammer.

I've had my paint colors picked out for about a year so I went to Lowe's and went shopping. Wall paint. Check. Trim paint. Check. Brown paper to cover the floor. Check. Blue painter's tape. Check. Check. Check.

Redneck had been asking me when we were going to paint. I figured that meant he was onboard with the project. Wrong.

On the Friday evening, I started clearing out the dining room. Pictures off the walls, knick knacks in boxes, as much furniture as possible out of the room.

On Saturday morning, I started putting down the brown paper to cover the hardwood floor. The bottom half of the hutch was in the way. The table was in the way. I shoved the table into the hallway, blocking the living room doorway. Fortunately, there is another living room doorway. I shoved the hutch through the doorway into the kitchen, mostly blocking that doorway. I continued papering the floor.

It's a lot harder than it looks on HGTV. There were many taping accidents. There was bad language when there was a strip about 5 inches wide angling down into nothing that had to be covered with a whole extra sheet of paper. The dining room is either NOT square or my papering job was off. Either one is a possibility, and probably both are true.

And then I started taping off for the painting. And I taped. And taped. And taped some more.

FINALLY, it was time to start painting.

The ceiling.

I hate painting ceilings. It's painful, it's awkward, it's boring, AND you have to watch out for the light fixture so you don't paint it white or speckle it with paint spray from the roller.

I was in pain by the time it was finished.

I dragged the rickety ladder in and started edging the wall. And then I painted the wall. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Then I looked back at the first part of the wall and realized that the paint was not covering completely and I was going to have to go back over it - just a little - to cover the little speckles where it didn't quite cover.

Retouch. Retouch. Retouch.

Halfway through, I ran out of wall paint. I bought another gallon, because I wanted to do the little hallway outside Rockboy's room. There should be enough.

I will not continue to regale you with every single pass of the roller and brush, but I will tell you that it took me exactly ONE week, an hour or two at a time through the work week, to get the whole thing finished, including all the blasted crown moulding, chair rail, baseboard, and doorway trim.

ONE WEEK.

Redneck assisted for exactly 23 minutes on Sunday evening and I later had to go back over all of his "edging" of the wall because the color was not even.

But, it's finished and it looks nice:




I started the hallway on Sunday. I papered the floor, taped the edges, painted the ceiling then started the walls. It's a short hall. Should take a day, no more than two.

Right.

I ran out of ceiling paint and had to get more.

I forgot to factor in drying time for the massive spackling job that I had to do on one of the walls, where Rockboy's fist "accidentally" went through it.

And, when you're up on a ladder, close to the ceiling, you can really see the places that you missed when you painted.

And, apparently, after so much time spent inhaling latex paint fumes, it makes you paint like a drunk monkey and get green paint all over the freshly painted ceiling that you didn't completely paint the first time. This was not an issue in the dining room. Not ONE spot of green on the ceiling. Not ONE. And no bald spots on the ceiling either.

At one point on Sunday, I also managed to somehow step on the edge of the roller tray and flip it upward, spatter-painting the leg of my jeans with ceiling paint. And some of the hardwood floor not covered by brown paper. And possibly the cat. (It's easier to get paint off of a hardwood floor than it is to get paint off of a black cat who is trying to bite you.)

And then, to add insult to multiple neck, back, arm, and hand injuries caused by repetitive stress. . .

I RAN OUT OF FUCKING GREEN PAINT.

I got the first coat on and needed to go back and "cover" all the places where the paint didn't cover well the first time. And fill in the edges. I used what little paint was left in the can to get the edges.

I resorted to scooping paint out with the brush, into the roller tray and diluting it with as little water as possible, desperate to get the damn walls done so I could touch up the ceiling and paint the trim.

I'm going to Lowe's tomorrow to buy one quart of green flat enamel paint. And another roller, since I trashed the one I was using without thinking. Time involved? (Minus 2 evenings off due to other work-related commitments) ALMOST ONE WEEK. The hallway is approximately 8 feet long and 3 feet wide. ONE WEEK.

I think I'm over the painting bug for this year.

Redneck asked about painting the living room. The living room with 14-foot ceilings. And carpeting. Because we could rent a scaffold and do it in no time.

Bless him.

Stupid Cupid

It has been pointed out by Liz that I have not posted in two weeks. She's right. My life has been a heady whirl of work, laundry, dishes, driving, more laundry, more dishes, more driving, and more work. Very little knitting of the sock. Try not to be jealous.

Valentine's Day came and went while I was leaving the blog shamefully neglected.

I've found it's a lot easier to be all laid back and nonchalant about Valentine's Day when you're in a relationship.

I did my Valentine's Day gift shopping for Redneck on Feb. 13. Redneck did his Valentine's Day shopping for me on Feb. 14. In the afternoon. With Skaterboy.

I like to put some thought into the cards that I choose for people and I tend to buy the cards early so there will be a good selection. I had Redneck's card not too long after Christmas.

Redneck, on the other hand, also bought my card on Feb. 14.

When he got back to house on the Day O' Love, he sat out in the driveway, in the car, for about 10 minutes, signing the card and stuffing everything into a gift bag with wadded up tissue paper.

So, it's gift time.

I'm weird about opening gifts. And I'm definitely weird about opening Valentine's Day gifts with an audience.

Skaterboy was not having any of that mushy crap of Redneck and I opening gifts alone together later. There were presents. They have to be opened NOW.

Redneck opened and read his card with Skaterboy standing right next to him, reading along. Redneck opened his gift bag with Skaterboy almost snorting the tissue paper because he was so close. I was thankful that I didn't buy the "little-bit-risque" gift that I was considering in addition to the main gift of expensive cologne. Redneck might have been having that birds & bees talk sooner than he was planning.

Now all the attention was on me. (Did I mention that I hate that and I'm really weird about it?)

I opened the gift first since the card was stuffed at the bottom of the bag. Lindor truffles and diamond hoop earrings. Very nice.

I dug the card out from under wadded up tissue paper and opened it. It was like being in third grade all over again.

Because there, smiling up at me, wearing a pink and purple tutu, was a chimpanzee, dressed up like Cupid, holding a bow and arrow. The inside said: From your favorite pain in the butt.

I don't know that I've ever gotten a more romantic card in my life. Skaterboy then proudly announced that everything in my present had come from Walmart. Uh, a little too much information there, kid. Hush up. Because now I'm thinking that the receipt for the earrings and the card would also show a case of motor oil, some athletic socks, and maybe a bottle of Advil.

Last weekend, Redneck and I were over at my brother's house and somehow Valentine's Day came up. I said that I had gotten diamond earrings and described the card, and then said: "But I guess Skaterboy picked out the card."

Redneck, bless him, does not know how to quit when he's ahead.

"No, he picked out the earrings. I picked out the card."

A Day in the Life

I'm Tired. Tired-With-A-Capital-T. The kind of tired that makes the back of your neck ache a little and makes you wonder if it's too much trouble to breathe.

I would like to go home now, snuggle into my corner of the couch, and knit on my sock. (Knitting on a sock is simple - it's just round and round - no thinking involved. Mindless, for a vanilla sock with no texture.)

I would like to watch some decorating show on HGTV or something on BBC America and eat junk food and just relax. And knit on my sock.

I'm tired of working. I'm tired of typing (and yet, here I am - typing), I'm tired of solving problems and dealing with issues.

I would like to order a massive cheese pizza for dinner and have full-sugar Coke with it. And brownies afterward. With ice cream and maybe some hot fudge.

And then, I would like to put my pajamas on and Go. To. Bed.

And just sleep.

What will actually happen is - I will continue typing, solving problems, and dealing with issues. Then I will go home, deal with whatever is going on there, do some laundry or clean a bathroom, run some errands, do some more typing, deal with more issues and problems for work, and then be unable to fall asleep until it's almost time to get up again, at which point, I will say the hell with it and just stay up, after catching maybe 2 hours of sleep.

God, I need a vacation. Me and my sock.

Dear Craig,

I know that you don't know me (and to be honest, I don't know you either) but I felt like I needed to write to you to tell you a few things.

I found you online awhile ago and I would glance through your pages from time to time, flirting with 'Free' and peeking at 'Arts & Crafts'. I even got wild every once in awhile and had a long session with 'Help Wanted'.

But Craig, (I can call you Craig, can't I?) we need to have a talk.

It's one thing when you and I are flirting around, maybe seeing each other on the side from time to time.

It's another thing entirely when you completely seduce my boyfriend, Redneck, into spending all his spare time with you and your slut of a cousin, eBay. I didn't even know Redneck went that way.

Oh, it was all innocent in the beginning. You'd flash 'Free' at him or give him a little taste of 'Auto Parts' but that wasn't enough for you, was it? Before long, it was a full out obsession to get him to spend hours with the 'Cars for Sale' or 'Electronics'. And so, you'd show him a Chevy ZR2 at a low-cut price only to snatch it back at the last second. He'd pant around and click frantically but never managed to be the 'first email'.

I tried to be patient. I'd sit quietly, waiting for him to get done with you. I knew that eventually, he'd have to give up.

But you're a jealous beast. You knew when he was getting bored and ready to walk away, tired of your charms.

You showed him the Sony Trinitron 32" TV for $75. And let him be the "first". He actually got to bring the TV home.

It was like the merest taste of alcohol to an alcoholic. He was out of control.

He found another Sony Trinitron but this one had a flat screen. Not working, of course, but a low, low price. It was an easy win.

He rushed to pick it up and then carried it to the repair shop. He covered it in my old sheepskin jacket - to 'protect' it from the weather. Bullshit. The sun was out that day.

He wants to compare the picture on both of the TVs, side by side. To see which is 'better'.

I asked him what he was going to do with the TV he decided not to keep, since we didn't need two huge TVs.

He LOOKED RIGHT AT ME and said he was going to YOU. He's listing on YOU. Was 99.9% of his free time not enough for you? Must you take every last minute of it?

I begged Redneck not to start this torrid affair, to not let it get out of hand, that we did not have the storage space to start this madness, this buying and selling.

His eyes were glazed over though. I don't think he heard me.

Please, Craig. Please. Give him back to me. You don't love him like I do. You never did. You never will.

Sincerely,
Roadchick

Deduct THIS!

It's been a long and busy week at the Roadtrip. And in some ways, it's been one of those weeks. It seemed like every time I started to do one thing, I'd get distracted by something else so nothing got finished. That meant a lot of time catching up on stuff at home instead of at work.

Things were better yesterday though. I spent half the day working at home, then headed into the office for a little while before going to a meeting. So far, so good. The meeting ended early and I headed home instead of going back to the office. Did a little more work at home, then actually cooked dinner. Real food. The oven was even involved. (I know - scary!)

Redneck got here after he got done working - about 8:00. He ate, then I got the kitchen cleaned up, and settled onto the couch to read for a little while before going to bed at a decent hour.

Now, in the sentence above, which statement is FALSE?



If you guessed "going to bed at a decent hour", you would be CORRECT!!!

It was about 10:00 and I was a little sleepy and just thinking that it was definitely time for pajamas and bed. I fiddled around for a few more minutes, yawning and just on verge of getting up and moving when Redneck said:

"Hey, where did you say to do taxes online?"

All I could think was - you're kidding, right? You're not really going to do your taxes RIGHT NOW, are you?

He finally chose a website, then got frustrated over creating a suitably unique password that included both uppercase letters and numbers. I fixed it.

Then he didn't have Skaterboy's social security number. He had to get up, parking the laptop in my lap while he went to get his wallet.

Now, bear in mind - the website gave a list of documents that you would need in order to complete your taxes. He read the list. I double-checked to make sure he knew where his 2007 tax form was because he would need it for the AGI number.

A few minutes later, he shoved the computer back at me while he went to retrieve his W-2s from the bedroom.

I know what you're thinking, Patient Reader. "Roadchick, why didn't you just get up and go to bed?" And if you are, you either: a) have your taxes done by a professional, or b) have never watched a man do taxes before, or c) are a man.

I knew there was going to be frustration going on. This is the first year that Redneck was going to do his own taxes instead of paying a service a lot of money to essentially fill out the form that's available for free online. He doesn't have any tricky tax situations that would require professional intervention.

I took over the process when the W-2s were retrieved. I added those in, moved on, went through deductions and all the other stuff. Clickity, clickity, clickity. No big deal - I've been doing my own taxes for years.

Now it's time to actually efile. I need the AGI. Redneck has been retrieving paperwork like an archivist at the Smithsonian and apparently his job is wearing thin. I asked him for his 2007 tax form to verify his exemptions and get the AGI.

There was a heavy sigh from his end of the couch and he hauled himself up again, went out to his truck and came back in with an envelope. He pulled out a stack of paper and started going through it page by page. I don't know what he was looking for, because I hadn't told him what I was looking for. This went on for a few minutes before I finally asked him to just give me the packet.

Him: Wait a minute.
Me: It's almost midnight. I have to get up at 5:00. Give me the packet so I can get this finished.
Him, offended now: Go to bed. I'll do this.
Me: You don't even know why I want that and YOU'RE going to do this. Give me the packet.
Him: Well, you're in a bad mood.

You'll be proud to know that I did not kill him. He handed over the packet and a few minutes later, everything was finished and submitted and accepted and all that good stuff.

I started to tell him that in a day or two, he'll have to go back to the place online where the taxes were done and make sure that all was good. He would need his passwords. That was when he wandered off.

Since he was just through the doorway in the kitchen, I kept talking. (I know. Don't even say it.) Then he wandered into the dining room and I knew it was hopeless. I waited for him to come back and started over. He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. None of it was getting through. Passwords? What passwords? Taxes? Huh?

I gave up and wrote down his username and passwords then went to bed. I'm a little tired this morning. I didn't sleep well. He, on the other hand, slept like a baby, secure in the knowledge that his taxes are done for the year and his refund will be on the way shortly.

All I can say is - he better spend it on me.

And The Award Goes To. . . Roadchick!

***This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, Brilliant.

This award was given to me by Sunshine Jones! Bless her heart, she wants to write just like me when she grows up. Talk about bad influences and hanging out behind the gym, smoking cigarettes!!! Seriously though, I am honored that she enjoys the Roadtrip. It means a lot to know that people are reading and having a reaction to what I've posted.

The rules:

When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to said person so everyone knows he or she is real.

Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have 7 friends. Show the 7 random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with “Honest Weblog.” Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon. List at least ten honest things about yourself. Then, pass it on!

Ten Honest Things:
1. I am seriously OCD - not in the repeated handwashing way, but in the attention to detail and a near photographic memory.
2. Must. Have. Coffee. In. The. Morning. Do not speak until the coffee consumption has begun.
3. I'm a dedicated list-maker. I have a notebook full of lists. Things to do, things to read, things to buy.
4. I don't like people to watch me eating a snack. A meal is ok, but snacks seem shameful somehow.
5. I never in a million years imagined that this is where my life would take me. I imagined fame, for some reason. For what, I don't know.
6. I'd rather be at home than almost anywhere in the world.
7. I get very annoyed when people don't put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
8. I sing along with the radio or a CD while driving in the car. I ignore the funny looks I get.
9. The older I get, the less I care what people think about me. (See #8)
10. It's hard to come up with 10 honest things. Maybe I'm boring. Or secretive.

_________________________________________



And. . . The Proximity Award was given to me by Autrice.

Again, I am very honored. I've been reading Autrice for years and her posts never fail to entertain or make me think. She can be wickedly funny but is not afraid to write posts that are touching and heart-felt. I admire that. I don't know that I'm brave enough to do that. If I can't be funny, I stay silent, for the most part.

Blogs who receive this award are 'exceedingly charming'. This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY-nearness in space, time and relationships. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!

“Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award. According to the rules, you must mention eight more bloggers with whom you wish to share this.

And now, the nominees (who are being nominated for both awards because they deserve them so you should definitely check them out) in no particular order:

*Heather
*Knit Witch
*Ann & Kay
*Marinka
*Marla
*Susan
*Lindsay
*Franklin

I wanted to get those awards posted and do my nominations but a regular post is going to have to wait. I've got a ton of stuff to finish up for work and the end of the month is looming.

I'm Going In

In a minute, I'm going to get up from my very comfortable spot on the couch, get dressed in something WARM, and go out to brave my garage.

Why?

Because tomorrow, the garage door guys are coming to replace the dreaded torsion spring.

Actually, my garage isn't too bad, but it's not too good, either. I've been getting ready for a helluva yard sale, and as I've gone through stuff, it's been packed into boxes and dumped in the garage. The boxes line one wall pretty completely and they are not the neat, tidy stack of boxes that I started out with, mainly because I suspect Rockboy has been rummaging to see what was in them.

Because they block one wall, I'm also a little concerned that the garage door guys may not be able to get to everything they need to since there's a lot of S P R E A D at the base of the pile.

And, on that side wall, there is a regular door to the outside. It's blocked by boxes and piles of crap. But, if it rains really hard and the wind is howling, water comes through the bottom of that door and makes a huge mess and gets boxes wet, etc.

So, I've re-thought the whole thing and am going to re-arrange everything and tidy it up.

I really didn't worry too much about it because the car has always fit in there, but now seems to be the time to get a handle on this mess.

It's been an interesting month, home-repair-wise.

Let's review the list:
* Broken torsion spring on the garage door
* Washing machine making funny noise (diagnosed by the way - I need a new agitator)
* Broken water supply line on the fridge, leaking water trashing hardwood floor

***NEW ADDITION: When I came home on Thursday night (the COLDEST night of the year), I thought, hey, it's a little chilly in here, I'm going to turn up the heat just a little. When I nudged the thermostat up, nothing happened. I kept nudging. Nothing kept happening. Then I looked at the thermometer, to see what the temperature actually was.

It was about 56 degrees in the house.

No wonder it was a little chilly. And the heat wouldn't kick on.

I flipped the breaker in the garage (which meant scaling a pile of boxes - part of the inspiration to DO something about that flea market out there).

It didn't help.

Sigh.

I went next door to my neighbor's house, since I had seen him rummaging around in HIS garage.

He said he'd look at it and see if he could figure out what was going on. He came. He looked. He offered to call a friend with a HVAC business. I told him to call. It was too damn cold to fool around.

The man finally came, clomped upstairs to the attic, fiddled around for a few minutes, pulled out some metal stick-looking thing, wiped it off, scraped it with his knife, wiped it off again, and stuck it back in.

The verdict: Dirty flame sensor.

The cost: $90.00

A value, since I was FREEZING, but wow - $90.00

I asked about the price. He said that it's for the service call and first hour of service, new parts not included.

I mentioned that he hadn't been here an hour yet and asked him to vacuum the living room.

He politely declined, took his check, and left.

(That's probably best, since he was young and reasonably cute, because the next thing I was going to say was, "For $90.00, you better get up on that coffee table and dance.")

I called my neighbors to let them know we had heat again. This time I was talking to the wife. She was glad the heat was running and said that when she came home from the grocery store, she pushed the garage door opener remote (not realizing that hubby was in the garage with the door already up) and the door started to go down, then gathered speed and slammed shut. Now it wouldn't go up again.

A little lightbulb went off.

I told her how to check it: pull the emergency release cord. If the door feels like it weighs 400 pounds (and it does) and you can't move it, your torsion spring has broken.

Voila.

But, my neighbor came up with a creative solution. She publishes a local home magazine that you can pick up for free all over town. She sells a LOT of advertising.

She called up a garage door company and offered to trade them ad space in exchange for fixing the garage doors.

Hers AND mine.

For free.

As in, no money.

Since I diagnosed the problem.

And, in exchange, I owe them a dinner (home-cooked) and the use of Rockboy as a slave.

Sounds like a deal to me.

I just haven't mentioned it to Rockboy yet.

Adventures in Home Ownership

It all started a couple of weeks ago.

Redneck and I came back from running errands and he pushed the garage door opener button. The door went up about 8 inches, then stopped.

He did this a couple of times before I decided that he didn't know what he was doing and took the remote away from him. Amazingly, it did not work any better for me.

I went in through the front door and looked into the garage. What I saw was the cables from the garage door draped over the garbage cans in graceful coils. What Redneck saw was the torsion spring over the garage door had snapped. Then I saw dollar signs dancing in front of my eyes from how much it was going to cost to get that fixed.

Between the two of us, we heaved the garage door up (they weigh about 400 pounds for a two-car garage door) and he stood there like a statue while I backed my car out.

It went on the list. Fix garage door.

On Friday evening, I decided to get some laundry done before Redneck came over after work. I threw everything in and wandered off to do something else. A few minutes later, I tuned back into the washer because it was making a funny noise. Crap. It was still working, but didn't sound right.

It was added to my mental list while the wet stuff went into the dryer.

Redneck came in a little while later and we left to get something to eat. When we came back, I was walking through the kitchen and saw a puddle of water on the hardwood floor. I immediately knew what had happened. I screeched and grabbed towels and dropped them on the floor.

Redneck came running and saw the problem too.

The water supply that feeds the ice maker and water-in-the-door on the fridge had broken.

Crap.

We pulled the fridge away from the wall and started mopping up the mess. He turned the water off at the wall and disconnected everything so it wouldn't keep dripping on the floor. We mopped some more. We found Speedbump's 4367 scrunchies that keep disappearing. (She LOVES to play with them, especially fetch, if you shoot it for her.)

After all the water was off the floor, we took a good look at it. Not good.

The next day, Redneck headed to Lowe's to get copper line to replace the broken plastic line. I headed for the phone to call the floor dude.

The floor dude said that he would come over on Tuesday and look at the floor. I called my dad and he said he would meet the floor dude here and see what he had to say.

The floor dude was here yesterday and said that he'd give it about three months because sometimes the flooring will dry out and the floor will go back to the way it was supposed to be. The polyurethane was not stripped off, so if the floor would cooperate, it might be ok if we did nothing. If it's not ok in three months, then we'd look at replacing the warped sections. Call your insurance company and let them know that you might have a claim in three months.

Dad and floor dude finished up and headed out. Dad locked the front door behind himself. Then he turned around and locked the deadbolt. (Dad's a big believer in security and locking locks that were meant to be locked. Me, not so much. I'm lazy and usually have to pee in a hurry when I get home so I just lock the doorknob.)

I got home later than usual last night so it was dark. It was also freezing cold. And I had to pee.

I knew that the damn deadbolt would be locked, so I unlocked the doorknob and then spent precious minutes playing hunt-and-poke with the key, trying to get it into the deadbolt. I finally got the key in there and tried to turn it. Nothing. Ok, maybe it goes the other way. It turned, but did not unlock the deadbolt.

By now, I'm whimpering with cold and pee, and dropped my bags and purse on the front porch to seriously wrestle with the stupid key. It. Would. Not. Turn.

I left everything on the porch and headed for the back door, praying that I had not locked the screen door, but thinking I probably had.

I had.

Thinking fast, I headed down the steps from the deck, dragging one of the patio chairs with me.

Rockboy is not known for his diligence in home security and I was hoping this was one of those times. Oh PLEASE let his window be unlocked.

I shoved the chair up against the house and climbed up, praying the whole time: for the window to be open, to not pee my pants, to not break my body when I launched through the window. . .

It was unlocked.

I pushed the window up, chased Speedbump away from the open window and dropped into the room with the grace of a drunk koala bear. Slammed the window closed and ran as fast as I could with my legs pressed together for the bathroom.

It was close, but I made it.

I tried to unlock the deadbolt from inside with my key (it's keyed on both sides because there is a huge glass window in the door although I don't know what the difference is - if you break the window, why would you need to unlock the door? Just step in through the window.) The key still would not turn.

I gave up and went out through the back door, around the house, and hauled all my crap in from the front porch and driveway.

I tried the lock again. It opened (unwillingly) this time.

I've gotta get that garage door fixed.

No, Really

Yes, Patient Reader, I do know that it is January and the holidays have been over for a little while.

But, see, I forgot to tell y'all this, what with being so outraged about Redneck's "your roots are showing" comment.

We unwrap our presents to each other on Christmas Eve. Rockboy and Skaterboy are there as well.

Redneck, bless his heart, has gotten me exactly what I wanted and had been dropping very obvious hints for during the past 5 weeks. He got me a Nintendo DS. He got me a little carrying case. He got me games. He did good.

I was sloooowly unwrapping the DS, stretching it out, because present-opening time never lasts long enough. (I personally think it should last for HOURS.)

I finally get the paper off and I'm smiling and saying thank you. I'm reaching for the next package . . . and then it happens.

Skaterboy is watching since he's ripped through his pile of loot in 3.2 seconds.

He looks up at me and says, "Daddy was playing with that the other day."

At this point, Redneck gets a guilty look on his face.

Skaterboy continues, "He got it out from under the tree, unwrapped it, unwrapped one of the games, opened it, played with it for a really long time, then put that stuff back into the boxes and re-wrapped them and stuck them back under the tree."

Me: stunned silence.

Redneck: You would never have known that if Skaterboy hadn't told you.

Me: Um, yes I would have. The game would be out of its shrinkwrap.

Redneck: You wouldn't have noticed that.

Later on, it's finally a little quiet and I can play with my new toy. I stick the unwrapped game in and turn it on. My name came up as the player.

I leaned over and showed it to Redneck.

"I may not have noticed that the game wasn't shrinkwrapped, but I think I would've noticed that apparently, my DS is psychic and knows it's me."

"At least I put YOUR name in and not mine."

"You're right. That totally makes it ok."

(And actually, it was ok, but still very funny. Especially since he got caught.)

Music Wars

For Christmas, I bought Skaterboy an iPod Shuffle. He's 10. He's been wanting a MP3 player for ages and I figured that I would get one that I actually know how to operate. (Or that Rockboy knows how to operate.) Skaterboy has another MP3 player that his grandma found at a yard sale but no one could figure out how to get any music onto the stupid thing and the directions were written in Chinese.

Skaterboy opened his gifts here Christmas Eve and was excited about the iPod. Rockboy told him that if he wrote a list of the music he wanted, he would get it set up. Skaterboy wrote a list, left the iPod, and departed for his granny's house.

Late that night, Rockboy came home and looked at the list. He came and woke Redneck and me up, muttering and grumbling.

Who, he wanted to know, had told Skaterboy about this band. Did we know what this band was like? Totally inappropriate. And as for that 'Lollipop' song by Li'l Wayne - were we aware that it was about oral sex? And WAS THIS APPROPRIATE MUSIC FOR A 10 YEAR OLD???

He wandered off again, still grumbling and muttering, but I did hear him say:

"He'll get what I give him. He won't know the difference anyway. And if he doesn't like it, too bad."

Rockboy filled up the iPod shuffle without spending a dime on iTunes - he used his extensive collection of CDs, put a huge variety of music on there, and to be honest, I have heard no complaints from Skaterboy. He, apparently, does not know the difference.

I had to laugh. About 7 years ago, Rockboy and I were having that exact same conversation about bands that I felt he was too young to listen to at that point. We had arguments. We had screaming matches. We had a face to face showdown that would've put old-time gunslingers to shame. He SWORE he would NEVER treat HIS child like that.

All I've got to say is - how ya like me now?

New Year, New You

This post is for the ladies. Gentlemen, move along. Trust me.

I learned something today. You would think that having reached nearly 40 (good God!) years of age, I would've figured out some basic things by now.

For the past few days, I've been really dissatisfied with how I look. I'm not usually too hung up about those things, but you know how it is when you want a haircut and don't know what you want done, and you really need to touch up your haircolor, but should you keep it the same or change - go lighter or darker or a completely different color. . .

I try to wear make-up on the days that I'm working, especially if I have visits or meetings or if I'm going to work in the office instead of at home. I feel better if I wear make-up. It is a positive thing for me. (No, I don't have to put on full make-up to run to the store to get milk or go to the mailbox. I'm not a junkie.)

Lately, I haven't been happy with my make-up. It's the same stuff I've been using for ages, but somehow, all of a sudden, nothing looked right to me.

I'd go through the whole routine (plus moisturizing - this is new) and then at the end, I'd think: I look like hell.

So, last night, I went to Walgreens for a few odds and ends and wandered the make-up aisle for a good 15 minutes. I came home with a couple new eyeliners and a couple new eyeshadow sets. (Revlon was buy 1, get 1 free!)

This morning, I tried out my new stuff and I was a little happier with how I looked, but still . . . not quite.

This afternoon, I stopped at CVS for odds and ends that I forgot at Walgreens last night and yes, you guessed it, I wound up in the make-up section.

And there, I had a revelation.

Loreal (and every other company out there) has come up with a system to simplify coordinating your make-up. But Loreal had this little card hanging there, next to the foundation. It was printed on clear plastic and you hold it above your wrist and the color that you CAN'T see against your wrist is the foundation color that is best for you. Amazing.

Not only that, but the little card also had three different categories of color: warm, neutral, and cool.

For years (and I mean YEARS) I have been buying warm-toned make-up when I am, in fact, a cool skin tone person.

I bought new foundation and blush and concealer and powder and hurried home with my new treasures. I couldn't stand it - as soon as I got home, I washed my face and started over with the new make-up.

It was amazing. I no longer look like the walking dead or like I need to wash my face because I look vaguely grimy or like someone smacked me in the eye.

RUN (or drive really fast) to CVS or Walgreens or somewhere like that and check out the little card thing and find out if you're using the right colors for you.

If you are - good for you. If you're not - join the club. And if you're a warm and have been buying cool colors, let's trade. I've got a bunch of stuff that I can't use.
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ETA: Last night, when Redneck got to my house, we went to Waffle House (because we really know how to get wild with the New Year's festivities. While we were sitting there in the fluorescent glow, Redneck looked over at me and said: You look tired. Your eyes are red.

I'm going to (deep breath) assume that the make-up did not have anything to do with this because I was tired, I haven't been sleeping, and I'm so stressed out I could almost levitate. My eyes were red, from lack of sleep.

This morning, he rolled over and looked at me and reminded me that I need to do something about my roots. Since when did he become my personal beauty nag?

Happy New Year, y'all. I'm off to "do something about those roots".