Habits (The Bad Kind)

Everyone has them, right? RIGHT?

Please tell me I'm not the only one...

I try to cultivate more of the good variety as a rule, but for some reason, the bad ones are just so much easier to keep around. I have many...too many. But the one that I've recently been trying (currently unsuccessfully) to rid myself of is my sailor mouth. To be more clear: sailor mouth = affinity for using foul, offensive, unsavory, and otherwise un-lady-like expressions. I have found that most people who suffer from sailor mouth tend to employ the gamut of dirty words available to them to get their points across. I, however, only have an issue with one - the big F bomb. I know, I skipped the minor leagues and went straight for the pros... You know what they say- "Go big or go home!" Let me explain - I haven't transitioned over into old salt status just yet - I don't go around dropping random bombs into my phrases or conversations with people. No, my bombs are mostly reserved for those special times when my sailor radar is activated. (Special times = at least 19 times a day. Radar = overly active temper. I'm Italian. We're not known for our level-headedness.)

There are 2 major circumstances that activate my sailor radar - and they are practically unavoidable - driving (especially in Utah -where I happen to reside), and my innate clumsiness.

The driving situation in Utah is bleak, to say the least - and I grew up driving on unpaved country lanes where road improvement meant picking the more sizeable boulders out of the gravel - so that is saying something. Aside from the pot holes that can tear a tire off of its rim, you can't leave your driveway without hitting road construction, and the drivers here are just...ridiculous. I could try to explain the phenomenon of Utah drivers better, but it would take far too long, and really, it's something you just have to experience for yourself. I guarantee that the ignition fuse to your own sailor radar would be significantly shortened!

It's true, I could leave my wheels at home and brave the public transportation system, but I have a couple of tendencies that I fear would make me unpopular with the mass transit crowd: The fact that I shower daily and use deodorant, and my penchant for personal space. So, I guess my only other option for now is to petition the state to require everyone in Utah to retake driver's ed.... Except me, of course.

As for the 2nd trigger of my radar... I don't know how I've managed to survive almost 29 years without a ride in an ambulance. I can't go more than 3 minutes without stubbing, tripping, spilling or dropping something. This invariably sets off my sailor mouth, which then leads to even more stubbing, tripping, spilling and/or dropping. It's a vicious cycle. I'm looking into baby-proofing. For adults.

I guess the main point of this post is to apologize in advance to anyone who ever might have the great misfortune to ride in a car with me, or be within earshot when I run into a wall, stub my toe or drop my keys. One day, the most severe words to leave my lips will be "aw, nuts" or "gosh darn it" - but for now? Plug your ears. I'm a work in progress.

Checking In...

Summertime, and the livin' is easy!
It's been a whole month since I've stopped in to say hello, so I thought I'd better at least pop in to let all of my rapt (I'm sure) readers know what I've been up to lately! Summer decided to keep us waiting here in Utah this year, and didn't show up until about the last few weeks in July... So, the last month and a half I have been spending every minute possible outside, soaking up the sunshine, camping, boating, picnicing, hiking, and generally celebrating the warmth, while most of the time forgetting my camera, or leaving it sitting securely in my purse... Clearly, I'm not quite in the takingallofthepicturesIcanformyblog mind set yet! I'm working on it! For now, here a just a few snapshots of what the last month or so has looked like for me (pilfered from my fabulous friends, who always remember their photo-snapping devices!)

At the end of July, we celebrated Rod's 28th birthday with our awesome friends... We went to dinner and a dueling piano bar... We had the great idea to embarrass Rod by paying the pianists to make him go up on stage and dance around! That idea backfired... Rod, sly prankster that he is, decided to one up us (well, me really), and he paid the pianists more money to make me come up on stage, announcing that we had just gotten engaged. I reluctantly made my way to the stage, but informed the piano guys that I would only stay up if Rod stayed with me. They agreed, and so we both ended up dancing around and making fools of ourselves!

Don't worry, I still love him!

We had another girls' night out, and went to the Tim McGraw concert...Courtney scored us the hookups, (she knows all the right people) and we all got to ride in a hummer limo to and from the concert. We were kind of a big deal! And somehow, we snuck up to (read: were escorted) the VERY front row, and yes, I shook Tim McGraw's hand. And touched his leg. It was definitely better than alright!

And last week, I FINALLY got a new job! (Insert jump for joy, applause, and multiple cartwheels)

More updates on that later, but for now, just know that it is awesome! And my losing weight plan might be in danger of failure.

Unwelcome Guests

Yesterday I had a near-death experience.

I had just finished the teeth-brushing/face-washing combo, and I leaned down to dry off on my towel, and came eye-to-eye with... an earwig. AN EARWIG!! I'm pretty sure my heart stopped beating for about 15 seconds. Until my blood-curdling scream, arm waving and repeated jumping up and down revived it. Seriously though, could there be a more disgusting insect to invade my morning routine? And I know the whole "crawling in your ear and laying eggs" story is a myth, but don't think I haven't been thinking about that and violently convulsing ever since! And I haven't been able to step foot in my bathroom without checking every surface and crevice before using the facilities. Honestly, I think I would have preferred a mouse sighting. Yes, I know, they are equally creepy when you catch them darting across the room out of the corner of your eye, and I know they carry multiple diseases, but at least they have the decency to do it in a semi-cute package! (Nasty, weird-looking tails excluded).

At any rate, I have since been reinforcing my anti-insect battle stations in the hopes that any future multi-appendaged creatures seeking shelter at my residence will know that they are, in fact, unwelcome guests, and to vacate the premises as quickly as possible... Or else.

In other news, Rod and I are most likely sterile after the amount of pesticides I have sprayed in and around our apartment.

Toddlers & Cuticle Scissors Don't Mix

Have you met my grandma? If the answer is yes, then I'm about 99.8956 percent sure that you have heard the following story. If no, then please read on...
I should note that this sortid affair took place when I was at the tender age of 3, and as such, have little to no memory of its occurence. However, after hearing it more times than I have strands of hair, I think I have a pretty firm grasp on the events that transpired (I'm sure that after my grandma reads this though, I will receive her list of corrections)... But where was I..
So, apparently, 3-year-olds don't take as kindly to receiving compliments as adults. I've been told that as a youngster, I was gifted with a freakishly abundant set of dark, long eyelashes. People who met me or passed us (my grandparents and me) on the street would often stop to say how impressive they were. And, as I was being raised to become a respectful, grateful citizen, it was obligatory of me to thank them. I grew tired of this. Obviously, those lashes had to go... I awaited the moment when I could rid myself of them eagerly. I didn't have to wait long. One day, my grandma and I made a visit to her friend's house. The friend happened to be watching her grandchildren that day, and since one of them was several years my elder, they thought it would be alright to leave us alone in the living room for a few minutes while they went to discuss grown-up things. Bad move. The instant they were out of sight, I high-tailed it to the master bedroom to play with the makeup that had been calling to me from the vanity. What I found there instead was far more intriguing: cuticle scissors. You know, the type with the extremely sharp, pointy ends. I don't think I even need to tell you what happened next, but I will... Armed with my 3-year-old know-how, and "I'll show you!" attitude, I unceremoniously snipped every last eyelash down to the root, leaving my lids bald, and me utterly pleased with myself. How I managed to not stab myself in the eyeball remains a mystery. After completing my masterpiece, I emerged from the bedroom and quietly took my seat in front of the t.v. with the other children. No one noticed a thing. Success! Or so I thought. Several hours later, as my grandma sat with me at the piano (she always did this when I practiced... until I was at an older, wiser age where I could be left on my own to practice and not make banging noises on the keys with my fists), I heard a strange noise. Like the largest intake of breath EVER. Followed by my grandma clutching at her chest and babbling incoherently. I was caught.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR EYELASHES????" (Yes, there were that many question marks at the end of her sentence).
"Cut 'em off."
"WHY???"
"I was tired of people talking about them."
And that was all I had to say about that.

Well, my eyelashes grew back. My grandma was worried that they wouldn't. I think maybe she confused cuticle scissors with laser eyelash removal. Unfortunately, they never grew back as long, or thick as they once were, maybe in protest of my carelessness with their ancestors. Or maybe I'm just getting old. Either way, I would really like to kick 3-year-old me's butt.

I just can't stay mad at that face though. It's so much cuter than mine.

Introductions

Since I'm going to be sharing some olden-day stories with you, I thought I should give you some visuals...

Meet my grandparents. These are my dad's parents, Millie and Bill. There was a slight snafu when I was born... Actually, I think me being born was the snafu... I'm still a bit fuzzy on the details- everyone in my family has a different story about the goings-on surrounding my entrance into the world, and they like to keep me guessing as to which tale is the real one- but, long story short, I went home from the hospital with these two, and spent the next 17 years of life with them! They're cool people, if you couldn't tell...

This is them in 1970... I love my grandma's beehive.. Wasn't she foxy? And my grandpa, looking (as my grandma would say) sharp in polyester...

And this is the house I grew up in. I know, I had it rough.

Thanks, Dumbledore

No, this post is not about Harry Potter. Although, I did see the final HP film over the weekend, and yes, I cried. Twice. Or three times.

I have been (unsuccessfully) trying to think of ideas for new posts, and have just recently discovered that I do not have a wildly exciting day-to-day life! Imagine that.

I do, however have several, if not many, stories accumulated from my 28 years of living, and I thought that this might be the perfect place for writing them down, before old age sets in and they fall out of my head completely...

So, if you'll allow me (let's be real, it's my blog and you have no choice), I will be sharing some stories from back in the day, whenever the mood strikes me! It'll be like my own little pensieve... If you don't know what a pensieve is.... Well, there's no helping you.

Thanks, big guy. You're alright!

As Old As Me...

Today is this guy's 28th birthday!

I'm 9 months older than Rod, and he LOVES to rub it in, old people jokes and all... But on his birthday, and for the next 3 months, he is just as old as I am! And I take full pleasure in rubbing that in! (Right back atcha Babe!!) Today, I want to share just a few of the reasons why I love this cute boy...
- He can ALWAYS make me laugh, even when I'm in the worst mood and (in my grandma's words) in need of an attitude adjustment!
- He makes me feel safe.
- He tells me I'm beautiful, even on my most unbeautiful days.
- He is a great son/grandson/nephew/brother/cousin...He is amazing with his family, and just watching him with them I know that he'll be a great husband and father too!
- He is a very hard worker, and he is very good at what he does!
- He loves to cook, and he is great at it! (and on the rare occasion that I get home after he does, he loves to surprise me with dinner!)
-He is very smart!
-He takes such good care of me! He is always willing to listen to me, always asks how my day went, and always takes care of the things I detest doing -vacuuming, taking my car to the shop, killing bugs, etc...
-He is a great friend, and my BEST friend!
There are many more, but for now I'll just say...Happy Birthday Babe! I hope your day is wonderful! I'm so very glad you were born! Thanks for letting me be your girl! XoXo