Georgia on my mind...

Dear Peyton,

Thank you for the wonderful photos-- you are as cute as ever! I bet you are even cuter in person... and I would be able to verify that if only your Uncle [PH] would get his act together and order our plane tickets already! Please don't take it personally-- he's just very cheap and wants to make sure he gets the best deal. In fact, he was considering making us take the train down (20 hours on the train!) until he found out it was almost as expensive as a plane ticket (only four hours on the plane!) While most people would have rejected the train idea purely because of the time issue, I can assure you your Uncle PH still would have done it if it meant saving a couple more bucks.

I will keep telling your Uncle PH that a trip to Georgia means all those Wii games played late into the night with his brother-in-law get to be in person (perhaps you shouldn't listen to their language when that happens-- you don't need to know what "Suck it!" means just yet...)

I hope to see you very soon and will have plenty of kisses for you (and the loudest, flashiest, most inappropriate toy I can find... as long as I can sneak it past your mom).

Love, Aunt Busty

Happy Birthday, dude! And some other stuff.

Actually, it's not the blog's birthday.

It's my bloggy friend Pat's birthday. His *30th* birthday - which is kind of a big deal.

So if you get a chance, please endear him with happy birthday wishes and assure him that he is not old, particularly because every time he says that, it makes me feel older.

Pat, here's my gift to you:


What's that, you ask? What did I do this weekend? Well, I had fun. It involved singing Irish folk songs, singing karaoke (badly) after with my friend Henry (Pictured below. He's single, ladies. Just saying. Quite the catch. And totally made me look almost good at karaoke.) and some other fabulous friends and I topped it all off with a fun New Haven adventure that involved Frank Pepe's pizza *and* seeing dinosaurs (the Peabody museum at Yale).

All in all - good times.

Friday Favorites from SJ

So to pick up on Twitter's #followfriday trend (yes, I twitter. do you?), I have decided to declare Fridays "Favorite Fridays" and announce to you my five favorite things today. It could have just as easily been four, but I was feeling generous and optimistic.

Yay for Favorite things!

These things may change from day to day, but today, as of right now, these are my favorites.

Favorite childhood toy: Glamour Gals -- followed very closely by Lincoln Logs. The old school kind that were made of wood -- not those cheap plastic imitation wood kind.

Favorite blog post this week: This one, from Muffy. That may be the best birthday present ever. The only thing better than this would be Clive Owen himself. (My birthday is in July, Interweb. Just saying.)

Favorite food: the tomato, mozzarella and basil panini I ate yesterday. This will likely change this weekend when I eat something not canned or boxed.

Favorite girl scout cookie: Tagalongs have replaced Thin Mints this week. But I may need to do a blog poll to explore everyone else's thoughts about those Lemon ginger ones. I find them oddly fascinating and yet repellent.

Favorite song: Whiskey in the Jar because that's the kind of thing you listen to when you are dressed up like a Disney reject from Fantasyland.

How to get your house egged in three easy steps

Since we moved into our new-old house, we’ve been dealing with a “situation.” I have been transformed– kicking and screaming and with a lot of whining to the Pretend Husband– into the neighborhood witch. You know, that mean lady down the block who would keep your ball if it accidentally got thrown into her yard? That’s apparently me.

 We have a pond in our yard next to our house. It’s a nice pond that was one of the reasons I was most excited to move back to that house… and one of the reasons the PH was dreading it (silly lawyer with all his worrying about lawsuits!). It all started this winter when I looked out the window to see someone shoveling off the pond while his four kids ice skated around him. Wait, what?!? I hadn’t been on the ice, hadn’t checked to make sure it was safe and definitely hadn’t invited anyone to skate.

We let it go because we weren’t sure if my dad had given anyone permission to skate (and we were sure the ice was safe). But after talking to Dad and finding out he hadn’t given anyone blanket permission that would extend beyond him owning the home, then finding out a school vacation day had brought a whole bunch of kids onto the pond (without adults) while we were at work, we decided to needed to set some rules. For the record, I was all, “But not everyone is lucky enough to have a pond in their yard and it would be a good way to meet people and…” (The PH was all, “All we need is someone breaking through the ice and suing us! We could lose the house! How would you feel if someone got hurt in our yard?!?”) (The PH is a lot more logical than I am, obviously.)

I was all for holding neighborhood skate parties… until I looked out the window to see someone clearing the ice with a snow blower he had dragged down the road from a quarter-mile away and then was extremely dismissive when I went out to talk to him about our concerns. Then it was on like Donkey Kong.

So it’s been a struggle the last few months (until, thankfully, the ice melted) with a plan of attack that included me enlisting Neighbor Lady Z to keep watch (we have awesome neighbors who keep an eye on things for us and are willing to not only put up with us, but to lend us things and do things for us like moving our piano), me having to chase two 10-year-olds off the ice (“Did you know this is private property?” “Noooo.” “Really? Did you think it was a park? No, it’s my yard.”) and us having to consider asking the police to swing by our yard on school vacation days (which we luckily never had to do).

And I thought this had all ended (without me bitching and moaning about it on the blog even!) until I had a dream the other night that I looked outside to see that someone had set up those bounce house things on the edge of the pond. When I went outside, a couple of girls were hang gliding over the water and Neighbor Lady Z’s husband and kids were swimming in the pond. Then I got in a fight with Neighbor Lady Z’s husband because he thought I was being mean for asking everyone to get off our property (when in reality, he agrees with our concerns).

If we make it through the summer without having our cars broken into or our house egged, I will be shocked. And yes, I AM keeping your ball. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful where you throw it.

SJ's Weekend: A Brief Pictorial

I had fun. I had fake hair.



So awesome. I felt like a pop star. Except that my pop star was more like... an Irish Lady in Waiting. Which is what I was for a Renaissance dinner on Saturday. What. Are my glasses "not period?"


And then I got to be at a photo shoot for the New England Pirate Faire in Gloucester -- which was awesome. It was like being on the set of Pirates of the Caribbean. Except there was no Johnny Depp. Which was kind of disappointing. But it was still awesomely amazing.



How was your weekend?

The price of beauty...

I'm not sure guys know how easy they have it (although I think the Pretend Husband's toiletries-- deodorant and cologne-- versus mine-- full drawers of them-- are cluing him in...) But think about everything the ladies have to do on a routine basis-- pluck the eyebrows, shave a whole bunch of areas, sometimes wax some oh-so-sensitive parts. Apparently, we females are a pretty hairy bunch, but we do a good job of hiding that. But I'm not sure how easily I'm going to be able to hide the dreaded mustache. Scroll down to take a look and tell me what you think...

Be honest. Is it obvious?

Actually, this is in honor of the King's birthday. The King is the husband of blogger Isabel and he has a thing for fake mustaches. And yes, I do have a lot of work to do, but found making a fake mustache and posing for photos in it a good way to procrastinate. Why do you ask?

A Day Late, but Happy St. Patrick's Day from Heidi.. er... SJ

what. like you don't dress up in your kitchen like this?

come on. quit lyin'.

I'm going to start introducing the PH as "Bob" and see if he notices...

I got together with some college friends this week and one of the things we talked about was a mutual friend who recently got engaged. We all remembered a conversation that took place right after she met the man who would, years later, become her fiance. They had been out a few times and things were going well, and she loved everything about him... except his name. In fact, she HATED his name. And was trying to come up with something else to call him (as in, his name was "Rod," but she was going to suddenly start calling him "Derek"-- how awesome is that?!?) She never did try to change his name but, from what I've heard, she's still not a fan of it.

The topic came up because one of my college friends who visited this week is facing a similar situation. She loves the guy she's dating, loves spending time with him... not so in love with his name. And she was considering telling him to change it (I encouraged that approach just because I figured his reaction would make for an entertaining story...) I think her final solution is to come up with a pet name for him so she never has to use his real one (She told him, "You'll be 'Babe' soon enough.")

I don't hate the Pretend Husband's name by any means (especially because it's so similar to mine-- as I've said, we have a Pat & Patricia-type thing going on), but I rarely use it. Instead, we are "hon" (as in "honey") to each other. In fact, an easy way to tell I've annoyed the PH is when he calls me by my name. I'm not sure if we tried out different names for each other, but "hon" is what stuck. Oh, and I've started calling him "Mr. Tickles" because it's random and makes him wonder what he did to earn it. Got to keep those guys-- whatever you call them-- on their toes.

Babies!

Well, the news is that I am not in fact good at animal husbandry. Apparently, there is, in fact a science behind this beyond lighting some candles, singing some Barry White and hope for the best.

But one of the bunnies did in fact have BABIES! Only one lived, so, it's more like we have a single baby bunny. I am, however, equipped with knowledge from a local farmer (who also is related to us) on how you're actually supposed to do this.

Also, you don't *need* satin and lace and some good Gypsy King music. Go figure. I feel kind of silly now. It was impossible to find little furry mules to go on those bunny feet anyhow.

So we're going to give this a go again. And when this baby has grown into a little furry thing instead of the little pink wriggly thing, there will be pictures. but right now he's, frankly, a little scary looking.

Wait - did you think I meant me?

Sorry to disappoint ;)

SJ's List: Things that Failed this Week

I'm tired and cranky, but somewhat appeased by a fantastic bagel, and taking a minute out of my day to confess that I've been out there, lurking on your sites, and not commenting. Sorry, Interweb.

But in hopes of entertaining with my misfortune, I have compiled a list of things that failed this week.

1) My spelling of the word "week." I've corrected it from wek at least 14 times so far in this post.
2) My ability to comment on various blogs, including Andy's, Sam's, Muffy's - just to name a couple. Or wait. That's more than two. Just to name a threesome, then. I've totally lurked... hit the comment button and then: Brain Fail.
3) Time. I had nothing to do with this. Time failed me. Or daylight lose an hour of sleepness. Whichever.
4) Sleep also failed me.
5) The ending to last night's Grey's Anatomy. FAIL.
6) My ability to slam a door in someone's face. FAIL. Because I don't have one.
7) My rule of not staying past 7 at work.
8) My strict I'm Going to Mexico diet.
9) My intentions of restarting my pilates routine.
10) My plan to clean my extra room and start sewing.

So yeah, this was, on the whole, an unsuccessful week. However, we may end on a positive note, since KAT and I will be bonding over tacos and setback tonight. I know. I bet you wish you were with us. We wish that too. I'd invite you over, but it's not my house.

I hope that next week will be better for all of us. It's already looking up, what with it not being an hour shorter and all.

OH! AND! This weekend I will have an important annoucement. It has to do with... babies.

In this post, I try to coherently tie together two completely different subjects... how'd I do?

Wouldn't you know, on a day when I actually have something to blog about, we get tagged! WildARS has signed us up for a photo thing where you have to pick the sixth photo of the sixth folder in your computer and post the photo (thanks Andy, I'll remember this...) I've been tagged for this before, but never remember to do it after I get home, plus our personal computer is not currently hooked up to the Internet. So, I decided to do it with my work computer. And this is what I got:

I think that's pretty self-explanatory. Oh, it's not? Well, I work for a newspaper and this photo was taken for an advertisement. Or, more likely, I so love martinis and everything that goes into them that I was creating a photo essay of how to make them. Either way...

And, back to what I was originally going to post...

This is what we get for moving to the country. A few weeks ago, I took the dogs out into the yard and wasn't paying much attention until I noticed they had been sniffing at a pine tree branch laying on the ground for a long time. I called th

em away from it to no avail, so I walked over to it... only to discover that it wasn't a branch-- it was a tail. A tail. Like a raccoon's tail (but, luckily, without any sort of body or blood or anything else too gross).

We have a fox that comes through our yard almost daily and the theory is that it brought it home as a souvenir from its last good meal. Gross, but whatever.

Then, today, again noticing the dogs sniffing at something in the front yard, I went over to discover what I think are intestines. Yeah, intestines! (Or a heart but it was big so I don't want to imagine what kind of animal that came from if it was actually a heart). A few more days and I'm going to be able to piece together an entire animal.

Grossed out yet? Me too. Let's go back to thinking about this:

There. Isn't that better?

I need a door.

i am one of the few managers at my company (one of two, really) who doesn't have a door. i prefer to sit in with my team, and help them, train them, etc. the only problem with this is that managing them is only one small piece of my job.

except lately, my being in plain sight has become an open door policy to the extreme. i cannot get anything done. at all. without being interrupted. so i thought perhaps if i put on my ipod and turn my back on the world, i could focus. that worked for 5 minutes. and then someone knocked. ON MY DESK.

seriously? how is that not rude? there are only two people allowed to do that - and they are both my boss.

anyway. i'm going back into my blog coma, because frankly, am in a deep and prolonged work funk.

i so should have gotten the puppy. i'm not going to make it to Cabo at this rate.

The PH's sudden interest in soccer, explained

OK, enough about my weird dreams about politicians. Let's talk about the Pretend Husband and just one of the things he did to make me laugh this weekend (seriously, he was on some kind of roll... I wish I had followed him around with a video camera to capture his comedy act).

Last night, the PH was in the car with me on the way to my soccer game. I casually mentioned that we were playing a team that, for some unexplained reason, was named after an-- ahem-- adult entertainment establishment in the state.

The PH's eyes got wide. "You're playing a team of strippers?!?"

I didn't even respond before he was off on a litany of jokes about playing a team of strippers (apparently, from my perspective).

"Wow, PH, you're sure eager to come to my games these days."

"Um, PH, you can't be on the field during the game. You're going to have to go back to the bleachers."

"PH? Why the sudden interest in coaching... the other team?"

My cheeks are burning as I type this...

In lieu of amusing you today, I'm going to confess something completely and utterly embarrassing (which, come to think of it, probably will amuse you). Did you ever have a dream (perhaps even a dream where you are-- ahem-- getting intimate...) about somebody that you would never, ever think about-- ahem-- getting intimate with in real life?

But you have that dream and the next time you see them, either in real life (or say... on the news), you're completely embarrassed and can't even look them in the eye (or even look at them on the screen...)? Yeah, I had one of those last night. And I soooo don't want to admit who it was because I do find it incredibly embarrassing. But, I can't think of anything else to write about today, so I will share. It was...

Barack Obama

Augh! I can't even type it without my face turning totally red. I'm not even sure why I'm so mortified by this confession of mine (except who dreams about getting lucky with politicians--  and does not having this dream about a rock star or a model make me old?!?), but I do know one thing. I will feel so much better if you tell me something embarrassing about yourself. (And if you do happen to know Michelle Obama, could you tell her I apologize for dream macking on her husband? Thanks.)