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July & August
2004
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| Friday,
August 27th, 2004 - TGIF When we moved, I tried bribing the cable guy. I offered him cookies and brownies, and although HE accepted the bribe, he didn't think his boss would let him get away with it. Bah. Excuses, excuses. Congrats to my own mama for earning her master's degree. Now she's a master. Of what, who knows. But we're damned proud of her. Her snot-nosed brats (me, Shannon and Erin) are throwing a party for her tomorrow at her house. I've been up to my elbows in pasta salad all morning and I stink of garlic and Italian dressing. Skye loves me for it. We saw OPEN WATER last weekend. It was good - considering the low budget they worked with - but I think it had MUCH more potential to be a heckuva lot scarier. We did rent a phenomenal movie two nights ago: Dogville, with Nicole Kidman. It was amazingly powerful, horribly tragic, incredibly well acted, and of course, since it was extremely "theatrical," and I love theatre, it is now one of my favorite all-time movies, ranking right up there with Magnolia, The Color Purple and Forrest Gump. The lighting was great too - it's rare that a film does such a subtly wonderful job of lighting - in fact, I only know of two films that really took lighting to an art form - this one: Dogville and "The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover." Two great flicks - wildly disturbing, but great, nonetheless. Smooches to my wonderful husband who brought home a great big bundle of cheery sunflowers to me the other night. He continues to amaze me with his kindness and concern. He does *everything* he can to keep me happy. He's doing a fantastic job of it. All women should be so lucky to have such a great husband. So, what to do tonight? Ideas, ideas. We're limited though - It seems like all of my hobbies are "off-limits" for the next several months. And I fall asleep right after I stuff my belly full of dinner. So I'm not much fun to be around anyway. Well, the summer swelt is creeping into the computer room, so I'm shutting it down for the day. Don't forget - talk to those cable people for me! I will send brownies and cookies to both you AND the cable guy if I'm successfully hooked up to glorious high-speed internet before I go dial-up insane! Peace, till next |
| Tuesday,
August 17th, 2004 - Its not MUCKO, Bucko, it's . . . Me:
Dude! You should see my living room! It ROCKS! Me:
<relieved> Ahhh, ok, I got it. Where did you lear- ******************************** Skye also had a great dinner. Brian went to give him a rib bone to gnaw on, and as soon as Briguy turned his back, Skye swallowed a stick of butter. He didn't chew. He just wrapped his numpty-mouth around the whole stick, grabbed, and let it slide on down. Brian went to butter his corn and there was nothing left, except a smiling, greasy-toothed dog. I have pictures - not of Skye eating butter, but of Skye with his new favorite toy. Shannon
was kind enough to donate a rawhide to the Skye fund. He can't really
lift it, so he either drags it, or pushes it. However, when he pushes
it, it gets moving kinda fast and it scares the crap outta him.
So he usually gives a big push, gets scared and runs away to hide.
This is the same dog who wants to eviscerate the lawn mower and
tries to angrily chew the tires off it whenever Brian pulls it out
of the shed. And two more pictures. One of my ever-expanding belly, and one bonus picture:
and the bonus shot:
Peace, till next |
| Tuesday,
August 17th, 2004 - Reminiscing Last night I had a dream that I got in touch with one of my high school classmates, (Michael) Mike Leddy - someone I haven't seen or heard from since our graduation day back on June 22, 1986. My dream got me wondering if my class will hold a reunion in 2006. It'll be 20 years since I tossed the tassel to the other side of my mortarboard and burst free through the double doors, never to carry another hall pass or ride on the dreaded schoolbus again. I remember that day, how my friends and I all huddled together in our blue gowns, crying, vowing to never lose touch, spending the next two months partying and laughing together, and then little by little, disappearing from each others lives. I went to my ten-year reunion, and everyone who attended looked exactly the same. I have a feeling people will have changed MUCH more this time around. 20 years is a good chunk of lifetime, yes? That's roughly the amount of time it took for us to get from kindergarten to graduation day, from childhood to adulthood. So here we've gone from late-teen graduation to practically middle age and I can't help but be a little curious about my fellow classmates and learn about what they've been up to. So, back to young Mike Leddy. What sort of a life has he led since I last saw him? Back in school, Mike was the younger brother of Sean Leddy - and these Leddy brothers were pretty darn popular, as the two school "hotties" (ALthough, back then, the word "hottie" had not been invented yet). All of the popular girls dated the Leddy boys. And me and my friends would sit on the sidelines wishing WE could be one of the popular girls. In
sixth and seventh grade, right at the uber-geeky phase of life,
my friend Lisa and I would spend hours filling out our "fake
date books" (calendars filled with fake "dates" with
all of the cute boys from our school) Hey, if we couldn't date them
in the real world, we were sure as Hell going to date them in our
imaginary world. Yes, it's sad. But don't cry for me, Argentina.
I eventually scraped my way to the top and got myself a perfectly
dreamy (Bri)guy. ;-) The rules for fake dating: There are no rules. Friends can fake-date the same guy, as long as it's not on the same night. However,
not
only did we not have boyfriends, but we also didn't have So
progressed those horrifically awkward pre-puberty years. But then
I reached eighth grade, and I discovered I also got my braces taken off, which probably made me a little more appealing to the opposite sex. No more embarrassing gobs of spinach caught in the front teeth. One day, in eighth grade, the Gods were smiling on young me, and Mike leddy asked if I would "go with him" (which was 1980s-speak for "let''s date each other exclusively"). Later, I excitedly told my mom that Mike Leddy had asked me to "go with him." Mom got all huffy and said, "WHERE? WHERE does he want you to go with him??? You can't go ANYWHERE with Mike Leddy, you know, or with ANY OTHER BOY, for that matter!" I rolled my eyes and sighed an annoyed "nevermind," and walked away. She was too far out of the loop to ever understand what I was talking about. I think she grilled Shannon later and got the teen-lingo scoop on what "going with boys" meant. So, the day Mike Leddy innocently asked me to be his eighth-grade sweetheart, I said yes, and for that one single solitary day, Heather and Mike were boyfriend and girlfriend. He walked me to my schoolbus that afternoon, gave me an innocent eighth-grade peck good bye, (my school bus friends all roared obnoxious WOOOWOOs as I boarded the bus, and slapped me high-fives for scoring such a cutie) . . . and then we broke up the next morning. I can't remember the details, but we both knew that we just weren't quite right for one another and mutuallly agreed to end the romance. Maybe it was because I was about a foot taller than he was, or maybe it was because we didn't share the same interests (I liked to read, he liked to play in sports), or maybe it was because of all the stupid WOOWOOs as I boarded the bus. Who knows - but Mike Leddy can go in the record books as being my shortest relationship EVER. So, what became of Mike Leddy? I don't know. But my school reunion is just around the corner and I'm dying to find out! ;-) Peace, till next |
| FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH!!! Happy creepy day! Sorry about the lack of updates, folks. I've had combo morning (all day) sickness AND a flu bug on top of that. The Briguy did a brilliant job of pampering me. He brought me home two six-packs of ginger ale and totally cleaned the kitchen (including dishes). I felt awful. I couldn't even keep water or popsicles down, yet I was absolutely *starving*. I wanted pizza worse than I have ever wanted any type of food before - and not just ANY pizza - a big, fat, greasy pepperoni pizza with lots of gooey cheese. Against Brian's better judgement, he ordered one for me anyway. And mirculously, it cured me. I ate one slice, DIDN'T get sick, fell asleep and slept soundly till the next morning. I'm back on track though - feeling better and finishing up details on buying us a new car! (Well, new to us). Brian's car FINALLY died. It has exactly two centimeters of original paint left on it, the rest has peeled to primer and rust. He drove home from work the other night at about 2 miles per hour with a dying transmission, declared the car officially "retired" and agreed that it was time to go car shopping - which he hates doing. We narrowed our car search down quickly, starting with a Consumer Reports car safefy list. But we found that all the safe cars are also really EXPENSIVE cars, so we decided that we'd forsake the Volvo for a more affordable vehicle, and just drive with slower until we can afford to be safe. We eventually decided on two cars - a cute little Saturn sation wagon type thingy. I said it was a pretty shade of blue, and Brian said, "Excellent! I hear those pretty blue cars are super-duper safe!" and a champagne colored Ford Escort. The Escort was cheaper, but older and had more miles, so we were leaning toward the Saturn. . . . till we drove it and discovered that Saturns aren't very comfy. The Escort wound up winning. It sounded good, felt good and the color was nice. The Saturn also made funny noises that made Brian uneasy. "Whhhhhiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrm," said the Saturn. "Yeah, that might be bad," said Brian. The loan was approved just minutes ago, so I'm waiting for my dealer to call me back and let me know I can pick up a copy of the title to take to the bank, and then drive a big, fat car check back over to him. I think he'll be ok with that. So that's it in a nutshell! We're a movin' on up! Peace, till next |
| Sunday, August 8, 2004 - If you're a slug and you know it, do nothing. Color
me doing nothing - and being damn good at it. I've got this weird
summer cold thing going on this weekend and it's making my stomach
queasier than normal. So I'm taking advantage of the weekend and
declaring it a "catch-up-on-sleep-NO-WORK-weekend." So
far, so good. Ate well at Lima Diner, looked around at all the food booths at the Crossroads Festival in town. Thanked the Gods for not getting us stuck in the Crossroads parade on the way home. Sinuses kicked in and started making me regret eating breakfast. Felt utterly exhausted, gave up thinking it would be a productive weekend. Got home, settled on the couch to work off all those sausage gravy fat calories. Slept for three hours. Brian woke me up to shower and get ready for his company picnic. I showered, changed, made myself up as pretty as a human egg-shape can be, and hopped in the truck. Asked Brian to pull over for emergency ginger ale purchase. Asked Brian to pull over for an emergency vomit session. Arrived at party. Gorged on pulled pork sandwiches from Dinosaur Barbecue. Mmmmm. Started bloating. Asked Brian to take me home before it got ugly. Drove home. Asked Brian to drive faster - which *never* happens. Got home. Ran to bathroom. Parked buttocks on the couch again for another calorie-destroying nap. Asked Brian to go to the store to get something healthy for me to eat. "What would you like? He asked. "I dunno - how about Fudgsicles?" I said. "You got it, baby!" and off he went. He came home with fudgies and a movie I'd never seen before: Jacob's Ladder - to make up for the fact that OPEN WATER isn't playing here - and I'm VERY upset by it. (If anyone knows why I can't find a theater playing Open Water, please let mw know. I'm very curious!) Fell asleep on the couch, woke up long enough for another Fudgsicle and then waddled to bed. Slept till 8 am. Got up long enough to eat the rest of the strawberry-rhubarb pie on the counter, then settled in for a mid-morning Sunday nap. Slept till Brian got home from helping his Dad. Got up long enough to order subs for us. Ate. Brian left for Home Depot, then I slept some more. Finally felt somewhat better and after looking at my horrific living room paint scheme for two days straight, was finally motivated enough to start re-painting (for the third time in under a year). So, here I am, breaking between walls of paint. Fingernails are now green (as is the trim). I'm feeling like a new woman, ready to tackle this week's orders. For those who are wondering: I'm feeling overall VERY good and I won't be taking time off from work until January. (The baby is due in February) and then I will slowly ease back into a work schedule, as Brian and I get to know and understand our little guy's/girl's needs and become acclimated to his/her schedule. Hopefully by May of next year, I will be back in full swing, but to be safe, if your wedding is anytime between January and May, order BEFORE November. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Tuesday , August 3, 2004 - I'm pregnant, so according to the publishing world, that means I'm now a moron too. . . . Yesterday was hot and sticky, and under normal circumstances, I'd be a little bit whiny, but we're not going through normal circumstances, are we? I foolishly made chicken and biscuits which got the kitchen up to a nice degree of pore-clogging-passionate, then I loafed around waiting for that uncomfortable feeling to pass. It didn't, so I started leafing through two magazines - one dealing with newborns and the other dealing with pregnancy. I've never read magazines like these before, and after flipping through just a few pages, I found myself adequately annoyed. I'm about to be a first-time mom, and as many new moms will agree, we have TONS of insecurities to deal with. We don't need these magazines giving us MORE of them - and after flipping through the pages, I concluded that they want us to feel inadquate and they think we are completely stupid. They seem to think that we lose half of our brain cells the moment we conceive. First, the annoyingly obvious. There are no realistically pregnant women within the pages of these magazines. The women all have nine-month bellies and weigh 84 lbs. I'm only three months along and it looks like I'm having twins. One baby will come from my belly, and the other will hatch from my ever-expanding ass. None of the women in these magazines have this problem. And I seriously doubt I am the only woman who looks like she swallowed a watermelon only to have it settle comfortably on her buttocks and hips. These women are all pictured wearing tight sweaters over their perky breasts and perfectly rounded bellies. The women strategically wind their hands around their tummies to say "Look ma, no fat." Most of them have their pretty bellies exposed. They are all smiling. Are they dealing with morning sickness? Mind-numbing flatulence? Constant hunger? Are they thinking about that Big Mac, two cheeseburgers and three large fries they just devoured because it was the ONLY thing they could bear to eat? *sigh* One catalog sported six pages of baby fashion and said, "Here's what you'll need to see baby through the first few months in style." As I leave the hospital, will my biggest concern be about whether or not my baby's clothes are fashionable? Maybe some of the more experienced moms out there can help me with that one - because going on what I remember of Erin bringing Ethan home - the kid was covering himself with puke every six minutes. Will it really matter if the clothing is fashionable if it's covered with baby vomit? Stupid phrases like "Your "breast" friend" fill the pages of these magazines. I rolled my eyeballs enthusiastically at every page turn. I showed the pages to Brian, who instantly noticed all the bare-breast nursing ads and asked aloud "Why didn't I know about these magazines before?" But the pages that really make me angry are the ones filled with ads that use fear to convince you that you will either be a hero of the human race (by using their services) or a complete failure (if you don't use their services). The cord blood folks are true fear predators- After reading their ads, I guiltily felt I should spend my unearned baby's college education money to store his/her umbilical cord blood. The ads prey on expecting mothers' fears. What mom-to-be doesn't worry about the health of her unborn child? I think this is a horrible method of advertising. I hadn't even thought about cord blood until I read these magazines, but they say things in big bold letters: THE LIFELINE YOUR UNBORN BABY NEEDS TODAY MAY ALSO BE THE LIFELINE A FAMILY MEMBER NEEDS TOMORROW! or CAPTURE THE MOMENT, IT MAY SAVE YOUR BABY'S LIFE: because unless it's captured in the first five minutes of life, it's gone forever. WHY TRUST YOUR BABY'S CORD BOOD WITH ANYONE ELSE? Make the right choice - call us today. LIFE PRESENTS SOME DECISIONS ONLY ONCE: Your choice can and often does affect your future and your family's. AN IMPORTANT DECISION! "Just throw it in a baggie and put it in the freezer if you're that worried about it," Erin said. Based on my research, The initial fee will range from $900 to $2100 depending on the predetermined extended periods. Annual storage fees beyond the initial storage fee are approximately $100. Which means that this type of service will simply not be an option for most low-medium income families. So cord storage companies - lay off the guilt trips, please. We moms have enough to worry about without you telling us how horrible we are for not being able to afford your services. However, we do have options. Since I can't afford to store it, (and I dount Erin's freezer trick will work), I will see if I can donate mine. (And anyone else who wants to, can read more about it here.) For those who are feeling guilty (like I was) about the ads, here's something I found from the National Marrow Donor Program:
So, basically, if you have another child or a family member with leukemia (or other disease which may be treated with cord blood), talk to your doctor about it. Otheriwse, consider donating it. But no matter what, don't let these fools make you feel guilty about ANYTHING. We're dealing with weight gain, bad hair days, bad body days, hot weather, cold feet, bloat, gas, cravings, vomiting, insanity and total memory loss - that's enough, wouldn't you say? Oh, and put some realistically pregnant women in your magazines too. I'll be happy to pose - with my belly and my butt. And then we'll ALL feel better about our own realistically pregnant bodies. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Monday , August 2, 2004 - And the finish line is in sight! (NOT)
I just got the latest version of Dreamweaver, and it's very different from my old version. I'm still trying to work out all the bugs (which aren't really bugs - they're just bugs to me). So if things look funny, that's why. My mom and sister came out to visit me yesterday, and I, being the slug that I am, went to bed before they left. Brian entertained them by teaching them how to play Grand Theft Auto. Isn't he nice? We saw M. Night Shaymalan's "The Village" opening night. Was anyone else as disappointed as we were? He advertised a scary, suspenseful flick. It simply wasn't. And lately movie theatre popcorn just isn't doing it for me, so I didn't even have my muchies to keep me happy. I got annoyed and fidgety - which seems to happen a lot lately. My bras are too tight. For the first time in my life, I have cleavage. It's awesome. Brian told me I should wear my little tight tee-shirts, so I put one on and from the underbust up, I looked like a fashion model with brand new C-cup implants. From the underbust down, I looked like I had taped ten pounds of pasty white bread dough to my abdomen. My little tee-shirts seem to have gotten littler. I packed them away so I would not be tempted to try them on again. What's sad is that I've read that my protruding belly isn't even "baby belly" yet. It's my digestive tract slowing down food digestion and making my intestines all distended. How's that for sexy? And my body is making all kinds of weird noises all the time. Briguy: <screaming at the tv, playing Grand Theft Auto> DIE! DIE! DIE! My stomach: grwooooooloompaaaaapaaaa-BUP-baaaaa-gick-gick-gick-blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-PING! Briguy: <pause game. Listening intently> What was that? Did you hear that? I think something just broke - <looking around the room to figure out what mechanical object in the house just croaked.> Maybe I should get the Sawzall out, just in case . . . Me: Babe, no, it was my stomach. Briguy: <momentary disappointment> Oh. Ok. <clicks game back to life> YEAH! DIE! DIE! DIE!!!! (The boy is so eager to use that sawzall on a project, so if anyone can think of a simple Sawzall project for him, that won't cause the house to collapse, let me know.) It's school shopping time. I want to buy pencils and notebooks and a new box of Crayolas. Does anyone else crave school shopping too at this time of year? I remember that transition between letting mom pick out my clothes for school and the next year preferring death to having my mother choose my wardrobe. That was the year I had a spending limit on school clothes. She gave me $100 to buy all the new clothes (including sneakers, jeans and sweaters - remember, this was the EARLY 1980s, so $100 could have been stretched quite a distance!). So being the thrifty, fashion-conscious chickadee I was, I went directly to the most expensive store in the mall and bought myself: One
pair of Jordache jeans Change: .82 cents. Needless to say, mom was more than a little PEE-OHED. I started getting a little worried as the first day of school approached. I was trying to figure out how I could get by with five days of school each week, and only ONE new pair of jeans and NO new shirts. But after three days, I noticed that all my friends had done the same damn thing. Each one of us had one new pair of Jordache Jeans and new Nikes (the white leather ones with the red swoosh, thanks to Michael J. Fox). So much for individuality, eh? Peace, till next |
| Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - The joys of pregnancy Now, don't get me wrong, Brian and I are both thrilled about being pregnant and we can hardly wait to bring our bundle of joy home from the hospital! However, t here are good things to deal with, and there are not-really-bad-but-oh-so-hard-to-get-used-to changes to deal with. I'll cover a few of both. You get treated like a Divine Goddess. Brian won't let me do anything - including carry groceries, jumping, walking, standing for long periods of time, laundry, bending, squatting or reaching. I've heard that all husbands are not like this, but my Briguy is a hero. He's treating me like royalty and I'm getting rather spoiled. However, I'm not so good at "down time," or having to rely on others to do what I consider to be MY work, so this normally self-confident, self-sufficient person, who never worries about having to depend on another soul, is now having nightmares about "being a burden" to the family (namely Brian). I also have other weird dreams - but that's a totally new topic.... Not quite ANY size. I've taken on the shape of a box. I don't really look prengant. I look like a malnutritioned Ethiopian with a pokey-outie belly. I no longer have a waist. I can't button any of my regular pants, and maternity clothes aren't quite what I need yet. So I'm in that "Walmart sweatpants and Brian's tee-shirts" stage right now. Food,
glorious food. I have a list of about
a thousand foods (or so it seems) that I have to eat every day.
Normally I would be leaping for joy about being able to eat it all
and not having to worry about weight gain - but: So a giant calcium-rich cup of yogurt sounds gets the same digestive reaction as a giant cup of chilled snot. A nice healthy plate of protein-rich meat looks like three-day old road kill to me. The only thing I continuously crave is balogna sandwiches with cheap dill pickle chips and plain yellow mustard. I think I could live on them for the rest of my life. Off on a tangent: I have some new (some of it's old) music to recommend. Do you watch PBS? If so, have you heard their commercial with the song "Follow the day and reach for the sun?" It's done by the Polyphonic Spree - a bunch of REALLY happy robe-wearing youngish people and their songs are very cheerful. I was crabby the other day, so I went to the music store and bought three CDs. The Polyphonic Spree, Barnum and Avenue Q. Good stuff, and it made me slightly less crabby. . . . which is another good/bad thing about being pregnant: Insanity. "Norman's Mommy" Psycho: I can go from peaceful, quiet "Donna Reed" newlywed to Chucky's plastic, leg-gnawing bride in less than five seconds. Poor Brian - he has instantly transformed from bachelor-defensive mode to perpetually apologetic husband-of-a-pregnant-monster mode in a matter of just over one month, and I absolutely ADORE him for it. He could argue with me - but he doesn't. Instead he simply pops my eyeballs back into their sockets and does whatever he can to calm me down. He deserves prizes for his fabulous behavior. Blonde Moments: I have fierce moments of forgetfulness - Sometimes I'll find myself standing in the middle of aroom for several minutes thinking (or speaking) to myself "What the HELL was I doing??" I'm having a very difficult time remembering anything lately - and this is HIGHLY unusual for me. I'm obsesso-complulsive-if-I-can't-remember-it-I-will-make-40-post-it-notes-to-myself gal. Of late, I can't remember what I said to Brian five minutes later, even after he repeats it back to me four times. For Brian, this is a rare treat. Before pregnancy (now referred to as "BP" and after pregnancy: "AP"), HE suffered from severe memory loss and it caused him quite a bit of grief. He still suffers from it, but now he can get away with a lot more, because I'm frequently clueless. Before
Pregnancy: And if the situation was reversed: He: Oh yeah? Name ONE time? Me: I'll do even better, I will name FIFTY times it happened. . . (and I will list fifty occasions and annoy the crap out of the Briguy); After
Pregnancy: He: Well, just because you don't remember, doesn't mean it didn't happen! <grin> And
speaking of the boy. I just got an email from him. letting me know
that he will be playing softball tonight. I think I'll venture over
and watch my hero in action. His email concluded with this proud
statement: Ahh, that's my guy. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Monday, July 26, 2004 - You asked for them! Hiya, folks! I honestly DO have a GOOD reason for not updating my journal lately and I'll give it to you in just a moment. In the meantime, I wish to make a shameless plug for my extremely talented sister, Shannon! Are you always stuck when it comes to buying baby shower gifts? Looking for something really special and out of the ordinary? Well, have I got a deal for you! As some of you know, my sister is an accomplished children's magazine/book/print artist. A while back he created a line of limited edition prints of her artwork, and has decided to re-open her website and list one of these prints no eBay. These prints are PERFECT for children's rooms and make great gifts. Here's
her current auction: Let's say you've got a nephew who loves frogs - if so, this print would be a great addition to his bedroom, They are all signed and numbered, and they come with COAs. And he can pass it on to HIS child when he's grown. Remember that favorite story from your childhood and how it gives you the warm fuzzies? Those books get tattered and torn and thrown away. Fine art prints never get thrown away - they get passed on to the next generation! Got it? Good! Get it! And if this isn't what you're looking for, or if you want to see her other prints for the girls, drop her a line! She's got pictures and will be happy to email them to you. You'll *love* them. :-) Now, on to other details of my exciting life: Why have I not been updating? Well, folks. I've gone and done it. I've joined the ranks of those insane women who spend their mornings tied to the toilet vomiting and their nights eating balogna and pickle sandwiches. Yep. Brian and I are gettin' ourselves a critter - and for once, not the furry kind - we're getting the people kind. We don't know if we're having a boy or a girl, and we won't know for a while, but I promise, I'll keep you apprised of *all* the gory, disgusting (but fun) details. You wouldn't expect anything less from me, right? They tell me morning sickness goes away after the first trimester - and if that's the case, I'll be back to updating on a daily basis in no time. What does this mean for the Very Merry Seamstress? Well, since I'm basically a one-woman show, it means that I will be taking several months off. During that time, I won't be filling any orders. Right now I anticipate that timeframe being from January to May. So if you had planned to place an order or wish to have an order delivered during those months, you should order no later than November to have it delivered *before* January. For everyone else, what does this mean? Well, it means lots of funny stories, I reckon - stay tuned and find out. I'll update as soon as I stop vomiting. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Monday, July 12, 2004 - You asked for them! SO here they are - lots and lots of pictures! A few months ago, Brian and I set up a website for the big day, and we've recently uploaded a ton of pictures for people to look at. Here is the website Here
is a link to the old
pictures (friends and family) And here is a page filled with tons of wedding pictures, and all of us working the day before the wedding. ENJOY!!!!!! UPDATE: I have discovered a cure for constipation. First, make a big batch of homemade French onion soup - go heavy on the butter, worcestershire sauce and onions** and eat two big bowls of it with melty mozzarella on top. Wait two hours. Constipation will be cured. NOTE OF CAUTION: Do not go to the Big M for groceries in the meantime. You will find yourself standing in the checkout line praying for speedy approval of your debit card, knowing that if you can't either A) sit down and staple your butt cheeks together B) get to a toilet (preferably one with sound-proofed walls) within the next 15 seconds, you will be in serious trouble. People will point at you and make the "ewww" face. **works exceptionally well if your intestines are known to sometimes violently reject onions. Peace, till next |
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July 09, 2004 - Friday, Friday, YAY it's Friday! So let's skip the Costa Rica chat for now - I am in retro heaven! I went shopping the other day and bought a bottle Benetton perfume. I had no idea this stuff was still around. I thought it was exclusively an 80s thing - and long disappeared! So I see the bottle, I take a whiff, and I am INSTANTLY transported back to the 80s: Jordache jeans, red swoosh Nikes, Izods with flipped up collars and leg warmers. I can't stop smelling my wrists. I smell like a 1980's mall rat. ;-) So, it's Friday, my readers! Brian's brother, Brett is in town for the weekend and we'll be spending a bit of time with him and Brian's family. I just finished doing a fabulous reproduction of Madonna's Vogue gown for a client who will be wearing it to her concert. I'm going to try and get some pictures of it this week if I can get a bit of sunshine. That's all for now - more soon, I promise! Peace, till next |
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July 07, 2004 - Two in a row! So, we had just been told about these crazy li'l monkeys who come visit hotel guests at 6 am. I was sleeping in a new place, so I slept restlessly anyway. At about 5 am, our first day at El Parador, I heard a crunchy noise outside out door. cruuuuuunch,
chomp, crunchcrunchcrunch So I peeped out our peephole, and there, sitting on the railing right outside our window, are two bug-eating monkeys! I ran back into the room whisper-screaming: BRIAN GET UP! MONKEYS! RIGHT OUTSIDE!!!! Brian FLEW through out of bed: WHAAA? WHAT'S WRONG? WHAT'S ON FIRE??? First honeymoon mistake: I had used my "hotel-is-on-fire" voice and hadn't realized it. I made the "oops" face at him, but he couldn't see me because the room was pitch black. I ran over and flicked the bathroom light on and told Brian a little more quietly that the monkeys were crunching right outside our door! "Whaaaaa?" Poor boy was still asleep. But he humored me and peeped out the peephole anyway. "Oh yeah. Those are monkeys alright." and went back to sleep. My Briguy doesn't like to be woken up with my SCARY voice. It makes him upset. In fact, I've never met ANYONE who likes to be awakened by my SCARY voice, so I instantly forgave him for going back to bed. When he woke up, we agreed that if the monkeys came back the next day, any waking up will be done with a PRETTY voice. Not the "hotel-is-on-fire" voice. The next morning I felt Brian snuggle in next to my ear and whisper: "Shhhhhhh. Be vewwwwwwwy qwiet. We'we hunting monkeys!" We grinned stupidly at each other and he whispered, "listen!" and then I heard THE SCARIEST VOICE in the WORLD! Whatever it was, sounded BIG, and MEAN, and REALLY PI$$ED OFF. I made the "BIG O!" face and Brian said, "I think that's the monkey!" So we hurriedly got dressed, Brian grabbed his camera, and off we walked for a bit of x'plorin'. We could hear the scary voice (which was actually a howler monkey), so we followed it. As it got louder, it got scarier, and I was certain that bugger was poised above our heads in the stupid palm trees, waiting to bite our faces off. But then we were standing in the middle of the safety of the tennis courts, and the scary voice suddenly stopped. We were surrounded by enormous, green leafy-lush trees, and the kabillions of leaves were trembling in the . . . -Wait. There's no breeze. . . . then why are the trees shaking like that? Our mouths dropped when we realized that we were surrounded by HUNDREDS of little white-faced monkeys, jumping chaotically from branch to branch - and all the shaking leaves were jumpin' monkeys! Brian stood in awe. "I wanna be a monkey," he announced. We watched them for about a half hour and then they scurried over the roof over to our side of the hotel, so we followed them. We climbed to the top balcony and were eye-level with the tree tops. As we watched, a family of monkeys started swinging past us . . . swinging CLOSER . . . and then landed right on our balcony. Three of them hopped out of the trees and into our space, and put on about a five-minute circus show for us. It ended after they started beating on one of the hotel doors and a very angry guest jumped out at them, screaming. Our monkey friends, who we named Geof, Chico and Joe, ran away and the show was over. Later that day, we drove into the village of Quepos, which is only a few blocks big- but a lot of fun packed into a tiny place. The people were SO friendly, and I met a man and his wife who make BEAUTIFUL bathing suits. I had just blown the elastic out of the leg holes in my bathing suit the night before (don't ask!) and needed a new one, so I looked around, and after explaining there was no way I was gonna walk around Costa Rica wearing a thong, the owner suggested that I purchase a custom-made suit. At first I was hesitant - thinking it would cost me my ENTIRE wad of "fun money" but then I thought, "when will I *ever* have the opportunity to have someone else make me a custom made bathing suit??" Having a child's-size chest and an elephant's-sized butt, Walmart's bathing suits just don't work for me. So I decided to splurge for once, and ordered myself a custom-made suit! I slected a very pretty bathing suit top that fit like a glove, and chose a bathing suit thong bottom, and said simply "Add more?" The kind man asked "how much more?" And I made a big, fat O-circle with my finger, indicating that no butt-flesh should EVER be visible. He laughed and said, "No problem! Can you come back in a couple hours?" <Wow, I was shocked! Only a few hours and my CUSTOM made bathing suit would be finished!> Costa Ricans know a LOT about good customer service - I was genuinely impressed with this team. Anyway - the fellow told me that I needed to pay a deposit - which was fine - and I offered to pay for the whole thing now, rather than paying part now and the rest later -he nodded and said, "That'll be $20." I said, "for the deposit, right?" knowing that my special custom-made bathing suit was going to be at LEAST $100. "No, that is the cost for your entire bathing suit - top and bottom." Speechless Heather rarely happens, but there I was - mouth flappin' and no words coming out. So I nabbed this guy's business card and promised to tell the world about his FABULOUS custom-made bathing suit company, and his even FABULOUS-ER customer service - and here y'all go: The company is Ummara Tropical Wear. The seamstress is Katia Jiminez, and her husband is Andres Morales. You can email them at ummaratropicalwear@yahoo.com and they plan to have a website up and running soon. If you're hard to fit when it comes to bathing suits, these people are miracle workers, and I know you'll be thrilled with their work. Just drop Andres a line and tell him what you'd like. That's all for now - tomorrow we'll talk about the canopy walk! Peace, till next |
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July 06, 2004 - You can call me a loser if ya want! Yeah, I know I told y'all I would update lots when I got back from the honeymoon, but I wasn't counting on feeling so under the weather lately! Whew! I'm still catching up on orders too - I'm right smack in the midst of busy season, and it's only gonna get busier as we approach Halloween! For those who are wondering where all the recent posts are, I finally archived them. You can find the links to past journal entries over here ------> in the "Archives" box. OK, where did we leave off? Ahhh, yes, the volcano! We spent two days there, and lounged around a lot, and finally it was time to move to the coast. We drove through a lot of gorgeous scenery - lots of twisty-turny roads (AKA "that path Jose cut with his machete") through mountains and tiny villages. The only things that REALLY bothered me were the bridges. Costa Rica doesn't have pretty, sparkly, shiny, STURDY bridges like we spoiled Americans have. Costa Ricans have pices of concrete slapped over metal bars with big holes in them. And the only person bothered by those bridges is ME. I whimpered, I whined. I slapped at Brian as he tried to drive AND videotape my reaction AND the road: "JUST DRIVE!!! STOP VIDEOTAPING AND DRIVE!!! THIS IS NOT FUNNY!!!" Finally after a few tears, and nearly-lost lunches, we made it to the town of Quepos and saw the coast. It was worth all the crazy bridges. We drove through town, and up along the shore to our hotel: El Parador. Be sure to check out their photo gallery. Hick girl Heather was a li'l out of her element. We arrived, hot and cranky (ok, so *I* was the only cranky one) and a little unorganized. We pulled up and a bazillion little clerks ran out to greet us. "Must be a slow day around the old Parador" I thought. They opened my door and went to grab my luggage. Because I still thought everyone in Costa Rica was a thief (and I was a little groggy from the ride) I gripped my bag and kinda scouled at the poor bellman. We shuffled to the check in counter and were greeted by a half dozen shiny, happy hotel employees. "WELCOME!!!" they all shouted. I was convinced that this must INDEED be a very slow day at the Parador. A cute bellhop ran over to us and presented a glistening tray with two perfectly rolled towels arranged. He smiled and extended the tray. Hick-Heather thought, "What the hell is this?" I nudged Brian. He smiled and said, "Ahhh, gracias" and took a towel - which was actually an iced towel for us to cool ourselves off. Another smiley bellboy ran over with tropical cocktails, with weird vegetables . . . or fruit . . .or something hanging over the edge of the glass. I followed Brian's lead. "Ahhhhh, gracias!" and accepted a drink. They checked us in, took our car and our luggage, and whisked us off for a "tour." Nosirreee, this wasn't no silly little Red Roof Inn, or La Siesta Motel. This here hotel was good'nuff for a real TOUR of the facilities. I felt like damned royalty. After the tour, we were shown to our room. It was decked out with all the towels arranged in heart shapes with pretty flowers dripping from every corner. Then I realized: "They think were someone important! We're not who they think we are!" I thought about making Brian go down to make sure we were in the RIGHT room, but then I realized how silly I'd be to have admitted to being the ho-hum folks from Rochester, instead of the stellar superstars we are. <ahem> That's all for now - the next update will be about the town of Quepos and the monkeys who almost ate us for breakfast! Peace, till next |
