I could have married a UPS driver

You may remember that new headboard. I ordered some lights for the inside of it so that I wouldn't miss the functionality of the old skank headboard. I'm sentimental that way.

Off topic, there is a wall switch in our bedroom that I have been asking Mr. Right to replace for... 2 months now. I think he has been too busy being off work because he hasn't been able to fit it into his schedule. He does have a grueling tour with Call of Duty on the Wii so I totally understand.

However, when the lights showed up in the mail today (I know this via the wonderful UPS tracking website), I sent Mr. Right an email from work asking him to leave the box alone because I would like to supervise that installation.

This triggered an argument that I am not the boss of him and he is getting his tools now to do the installing.

This is what I like to call an epiphany. I need to rethink my whole approach. Rubbing meatloaf on items that need repairing is not the way to go.

An open letter to hair stylists

Dear Husband's Hair Stylist,

When you are cutting Mr. Right's hair, please don't out of the blue say to him "so are you going to go home and take a shower after this?", then just roll your eyes when he looks at you blankly and asks you if that was a suggestion.

Because, then I have to deal with a night of obsessive questions about what he smells like. Of course I didn't help when I said "you don't smell bad, per say...", but I was starting to feel like I have a high maintenance husband, and I'm the only one who is allowed to be high maintenance. Sure, I know you people are just more personal in the way you perform your profession than the average person. I get it because every single time I am getting my hair done, my stylist is on her period and likes to describe it to me in detail. However, Mr. Right is a hetero guy and not street wise in the ways of the stylist.

Thanks, alot.

kisses.

Emergency purchase

We have been married for 16 months now. From day one, there was something about the headboard that came with Mr. Right's king size water bed that I could not stand. Never could put my finger on it, so I put off buying a new one. I figured it was in our bedroom, out of the way, there were other things that were more important to tackle. A vibrating barcalounger for one.

Still, it haunted me.

I would walk by it, stop. Ponder. Was it the mirror in the middle? No. Well, that wasn't the biggest factor. I was down with that.

Was it the wood grain veneer? Not... exactly.

Was it the built in lights? No, I kinda liked that for reading at night.

Was it the built in shelves? No. I surprisingly had become a bookshelf headboard convert.

Then one day I was cleaning (it happens). I discovered it. CANDLE WAX on our marriage bed. Uh, we have never had candles in the bedroom.

I went online immediately and ordered this. It came and within hours Mr. Right was putting it together and the old headboard is now firewood.

From the Bedrooms N More website I submit to you the Skank Free Bookshelf Headboard:

Marriage Detroit Style

You are about to read something very personal about my husband. I promised when I started blogging that I would stay away from certain personal topics. But my mood has changed, the economy has gone very sour, and I don't give a crap anymore.

You may have noticed his job was eliminated. Since we live in a Detroit suburb, I will give you 3 guesses who he worked for, indirectly. Funny thing is, his company is in Austin, TX. So no matter where you are, what you are watching on TV has touched us all and is very scary horrifying.

His plan. To work a contract job for 6 months or so until things improve. Our definition of "things improve" has verbage about Mr. Bush leaving office. I say that as kindly as I can, within an hour of taking my meds.

He is a project manager for automotive online marketing. Snooze fest. In other words, he tells website developers what to do. He has a huge ego. He will probably read this comment and only notice the word 'huge', and see a compliment.

Here is a little insight to our marriage, and how we communicate, Detroit style. He was contacted by a recruiter and sent me this email.

I bet oral that I will have this job. I will get called this week for an interview and I will have the assignment by the first of the year.
That is assuming GM gets bailed.

I know. You want to move here and get a piece of that action, don't you.

It's called Frankenmuth

On Saturday, we had our second annual family Christmas outing. Last year it was a Christmas tree farm, but this year in honor of the bad economy we decided to put up our anorexic fake tree. Somehow it seems fitting and not depressing at all. Insert sarcastic smile here.

Side Note: I'm afraid to watch 'It's A Wonderful Life' this year. Last year I smirked at the "run" on a bank scene. This year, uh - not so old school. Is 2008 the new 1929? Is crying the best medicine, or is that laughter? I forget.

So back to my story. We went to Frankenmuth, which is a Bavarian town about 50 miles away (Christmas every day all year but they step it up a notch in December, if that's possible). Famous chicken. Throw me a bone if you have heard of it.

We told Princess she could invite a friend. I'm learning lessons I tell you.

Turns out, she invited a friend who lives 30 minutes in the opposite direction. It was too late. Friend was already way excited. I didn't put much thought into wondering why this friend is able to go to her school when she lives so far away. I was hung up on the fact that Princess has about 13,000 friends right in our neighborhood.

We piled on our winter coats, left the house, and headed for the ghetto to pick her up. A half an hour later, Kayla comes bounding up to the car like a Great Dane and Princess jumps out to run and hug her. Turns out, Kayla is a little black girl. Just an observation, Princess doesn't even know the difference.

I spent the rest of the day reflecting on how Princess doesn't have to listen to the racism I did when I was growing up. When I think about all the stupidity in the world back then, then cut to today and the age of Obama, I can't help but feel warm an fuzzy inside (but that might be the Spanish Coffee I had).

Despite the fact that we are all headed for the brink of a very different disaster and people will soon be killing each other for a can of cat food to feed their family, I was happy we drove the extra hour.

Happy Holidays!

This is what we get

Princess is with us exactly half of the time. The other half, with her biological mother. Well, she is babysat by a TV there, to be more exact.

Yes, we walk around the house naked, make s'mores with the gas burners, and drink beer the whole time she is not at our house. Get over it.

Facts:
There is a cat ("Kitty") at her mother's.
Oliver, my cat, is at our house.
Mr. Right's job was eliminated last week. Don't worry, we will be fine. I'm practicing walking on my hooker heels as I type this.

Out of the blue, Princess sends Mr. Right an email with simply "sorry about your job daddy". Awe, that's nice. She couldn't possibly want anything, right? She's a 10 year old little girl. Her motives must be pure.

Mr. Right's reply was "don't worry about it honey, but we will just have to be careful with Christmas presents this year".

[ahem, there is a Wii and Guitar Hero sitting in the middle of my living room waiting to be wrapped for her]

Her response, was "that is fine, all I want for Christmas is MY own cat", and this:

Daddy i love playing with oliver but haven't lately much. i would put the litter
box in our bathroom and i would clean it and feed my cat and train it like kitty
i would play with it on my free time and i would do my best to take very good
care of it it will eventualy get used to oliver and oliver would get used to my
cat that is mostly all I want for christmas!
LOVE,

There were some other emails directing him to talk me into it, and more about how much a cat doesn't cost anything. Insert my sideways smile here. Yeah, I sortof look like Elvis with long red hair when I do that.

I had flashbacks to the missing $8,000 I spent in vet bills for my last cat Smokey, over 16 years.

We are both feeling a bit manipulated. What is the deal with her cat at her mother's? What is this "a cat of my own" crap?

I told Mr. Right to keep it simple. Stick to "whose cat would it be when you are not at our house?" because that should be enough to throw her off track. I'm looking for ways to avoid telling her "hell to the no kid".

Consumer confidence rises in November

Today the Associated Press has a story all over the Netz about how, surprisingly, consumer confidence rose in November.

Um. That would be me. Sorry. I couldn't pass up all those great pre-Black Friday sales. Add to this, someone showed me how to google "coupon code" and use these little treats for online shopping.

Since I'm one of like 3 people with a job left in Michigan, I feel it is my duty.

Homework

Be sure to check your kid's homework before they turn it in.

In this case, Mommy works at Home Depot and here she is selling a shovel.

For My Friend Karen

Dear Karen,

Thank you for talking me in to getting a Kindle. Today alone made it worth the 300 bucks I spent on it. As you know, I got called back to the hospital for more glamour shots of my thyroid.

I have to tell you, the Image Center at that hospital is chock full of blue hair patients. They have no problem asking you "what are you here for?". No need to look mortified. I just buried my nose in my Kindle and ignored them all. I think there was a discussion about Cloris Leachman but I can't be sure, I tuned them out. One little lady was kind enough to offer me a butterscotch candy from her purse though. The lint was a bonus.

They left me sitting in the scan room afterwards until the radiologist felt like coming back from lunch to tell me they had everything they needed. Did I notice? Not so much. I whipped my Kindle out of my tote and Edgar Sawtelle kept me company. Not once did a 'what the hell' enter my mind. Which is a miracle because 'what the hell' is my motto these days.

Except, there is something to be said for sitting in the corner shaking like a nervous dog. I scored a coupon for a free icecream from the nurse. I must look 12 years old because she told me that I could get my icecream *after* I was done, and tousled my hair.

Ok, thanks.

I was thinking about keeping the identification bracelet on they gave me. This thing could come in handy for my 3 o'clock meeting with clients. Over the top?

By the way, you need to get these people on board with the latest hospital shoe fashion. They are still hung up on their Crocs (oi vey). I think a strongly worded email is in order with some links to the Keen website. Get a clue, people.

How much longer should I let Mr. Right sweat before I call him and tell him I'm ok? I've already gotten a dozen roses and a mixed boquet out of this deal, should I go for the Michael Kors Austin Cross Body bag, in black? You're right, that would be too mean. I do want that bag bad though...

See, you don't even have to answer me back. I can answer for you.

Hugs,

Me

Exposed

I consider myself a reckless person. There isn't much I'm afraid of. I'm not even afraid of the current economy. I get motion sickness when flying but in reality I'm not afraid of it.

However, I do have a phobia. I can't say it outloud, but this isn't really outloud so here goes.

Doctors. Otherwise known as Latriphobia. Ok, I am self diagnosed but I have no fear that I am wrong.

There I said it. I am acutely afraid of doctors, hospitals, anything related to the medical field. I purposely got into computer science to avoid that nightmare. I would rather go to jail for a night than a hospital. Real gangster jail, not that work release country club shit.

The only time I have ever had surgery in my life is when I had my tonsils out when I was 5 years old. My parents packed my little Holly Hobbie overnight case, stocked up on popsicles, and set off to the hospital with me in the backseat thinking I was going to Sesame Street.

In 1969, they sent parents home for the night.

That mistake may have been rectified immediately after my visit.

Don't think I didn't put on my pink fuzzy slippers and try to escape. You'd also think a 5 year old curly red mop top in Burt 'n Ernie pj's would be a dead give away. Turns out, I made it all the way to the main entrance. I had a taxi in my sights and my kool-aid sale money in my sock. Nurse Ratchet caught me and confined me to a bed that looked like a cage. The next morning, it took 6 nurses to hold me down for a sedative injection to the glutious. In 1969, nurses could kick your ass for realz. They wore white caps, starched white dresses, and white support hose. I do believe they were convent rejects, traveled to work on a broom, and gave enimas just for the fun of it. I lived, but I was scarred for life mentally.

Then I used to watch TV shows like Emergency, then later General Hospital, then even later Grey's Anatomy like people watch horror movies (oh man they are giving her 800 cc's of lactated ringers, stat, what are they going to do with that needle, what the hell).

Anyway. Cut to 2008. Imagine my surprise when I felt something strange about my neck last month. In true Latriphobia fashion, I went to see my kinder gentler holistic doctor.

Who requested a thyroid ultrasound at the hospital.

Shit.

My sister the endocrinologist assistant told me "maybe they will do a needle biopsy to rule out thyroid cancer". What the hell? "uh yeah I gotta go to a meeting or something bye" then assumed the fetal position under my desk in my cubicle.

So yesterday I dragged myself to the hospital, let them check me in, read my Kindle while I waited, then let the technician lead me to her little ultrasound dark room. I thought my joke "is that the heartbeat" was funny but I guess not so much. After about a minute in to the ultrasound, she got up and said she had to "go get someone else to look at this". Before I could crap my pants, 3 doctors stormed the room, there was alot of whispering ("there are 3 over there, 2 over there, be sure to get that, and that"). Hello! I'm right here! I can hear you!

This.is.not.happening.

The smartest looking doctor walked me out. Actually handed me her card. Said "your doctor will be calling you in a few days, if he doesn't, get ahold of me at that number". And "we got some really good pictures".

I was too afraid to ask.

This morning already, as I'm getting ready for work, the hospital calls my house. The lady on the other end said "the radiologist took a look at your ultrasound and would like you to come back to the hospital, can you come today?". Not my doctor, this was the hospital on the phone. For all I know this person's full name was Shit The Hospital.

My best attempt to deal with my fear was to get cocky "you caught me off guard, I'm not sure about today, how about Friday?". She said that "should" be ok.

Again. I was too afraid to ask. Haven't picked up the phone to call anyone. When they say "come back to the hospital"... in my head I hear things like "so we can give you an upper and lower GI, at the same time", and "the needle we will stick in your neck is only 9 inches long", and my all time favorite "catheters only hurt when they are going in".

Why would I think a gastrointestinal exam would be involved? I don't know, it's my phobia, leave me alone.

I will check back in with you on Friday, if they can get me out from under my bed.

Happy Birthday Oliver, today you are 4

Oliver, I know your vote was for Malia and Sasha to get a kitty, not so much a puppy.

Turns out you won't be joining the 53% of us who are singing in the streets.

Sorry dude, maybe next time.

On the bright side, Happy Birthday! My gift to you is socialism. You are going to enjoy it, I promise.

Second Opinions

Princess saw an orthopedic doctor today, who said that her knee is not fractured. She has some condition that I can't pronounce (and it takes a while for me to give up) which is related to growing pains.

To hear Mr. Right explain it to her, it is swollen because she talks too much.

Fractured

Princess has been complaining about her knee for a while now. Mr. Right finally broke down and took her to the doctor. Turns out, it is fractured. Great. More ammunition for her to build her case that her parents are losers.

I believe this is related to the Great Ski Accident of 2007. Aggravated by gymnastics.

Both of which (especially skiing) will probably be out of the question this year.

I was so looking forward to reading my Kindle at the chalet by a toasty fire while Mr. Right and Princess take to the slopes. If global warming doesn't get in the way.

The idea of the first few snow flakes falling while she looks out the window and wimpers is driving me to have dreams about developing an alcohol problem.

I'm doing this for Marinka

Motherhood in NYC is a girl blogger I am in love with I read most days. She keeps posting these cool pictures of sites from Manhattan every day. Taunting me.

So I decided to post a picture of what we get to look at in the great city of Detroit. We affectionately refer to it as the Fist Cock (it's really supposed to be a Joe Louis monument). I actually saw a homeless man peeing on it one time, the nerve!

Nice, isn't it? Gives you a real warm and fuzzy when visiting the city.

Take that, Marinka! Snap!

Phone calls from school

Princess got in trouble at school, for deciding she wanted to sit in a different seat. The teacher's take on it was that she was asked to move back but said she wasn't going to. Then was sent to the principal's office and Mr. Right was called to come get her.

I can only imagine her panick "holy crap, didn't know that was going to happen".

The teacher also decided to add that it was the last straw with her, that she had been misbehaving for a while? (wow, that does not sound like her). He says she won't sit straight in her chair and when he tells her to she responds that her chair isn't comfortable. Ok, that one I can picture her pulling.

She was about to be grounded for quite a while (the girl she wanted to sit next to got in-school suspension, WTH?).

But after hearing her side, I'm not sure what to think. I don't want to be THAT parent who thinks their kid never does anything wrong and teachers are full of it. But Princess doesn't lie either, or if she tries it is really easy to catch her.

She says that there are some kids who sit around her that have been bugging her (throwing stuff at her and talking to her) and she can't concentrate. Before class started, she moved to another desk (instead of asking the teacher first). She says that when the teacher came in, he said for her to get back to her spot and she told him she wanted to prove to him she could sit there (it happens to be next to her friend). He told her to move it, she took her time, and he picked up the phone in the classroom and called the office.

I'm not sure why the friend she moved next to got in-school suspension, and Princess just got a call to home. That seems bizarre.

Friend was actually supposed to come to the house to play Friday night, so that was cancelled. We didn't ground Princess because... if her side of the story is what happened, they need to calm down. I explained to her the correct way to approach a teacher.

Should we have stuck it to her anyway?

The Palin Effect

I'm not going to blog about my politics (Obama Obama Obama) because I leave that up to people who have time for it and can take the ridicule. I'm not that thick skinned. And I know it would take over my life because I am in fact a political person in the real world. This is also a good thing because... well, aren't you sick of it all already?

So I found this funny....

Mr. Right and I of course watched SNL last night. As usual, Oliver (kitty) was asleep in my lap. Just as the real Sarah Palin came on to make her speech at the podium, Oliver started to twitch, woke up, looked at me, and hissed.

I don't think I've ever laughed harder.

I'd like to think it is because something evil came on the TV and he could sense it... but actually he was probably dreaming about how he got outside earlier that afternoon and I found him and brought him back in, which required a real life hiss.

Hopefully that is all the political blogging I will do.

Planning ahead

Since my mom has alzheimer's now at her ripe not so old age, I have committed to having my family over for Thanksgiving this year. I am panicking early.

Please don't open the door to that bathroom that isn't redone yet.

I came across this "stuffing cage" thing. The idea here is that you can put the stuffing in the cage and shove it in the bird, then pull it out by the handle when done cooking. Instead of scooping it out of the bird, apparently that is a tedious task? I think this thing is illegal in a few states.

Is this a good idea, or a ridiculous idea? If I knew what I was doing, would I even ask?

I kid you NOT

I was tagged by Kimmguru to go to my 6th picture folder and post my 6th picture. At first I was a little worried (what if it's porn?) but when I went to my folder and saw it is this picture, I had to smile. I swear this is not gratuitous! You can check her comment on my Meme post if you don't believe me!

Big sigh. A picture of us looking at the Mackinac bridge on our wedding day.

And Kimmguru, Mr. Right says that Mr. Bigwood has to give up his name so he can have it.

With this ring...

Let me first say that I am not a jealous person. I'm not a closeted jealous type, either. I don't have a jealous bone in my body. I usually hate to use cliches too, but I will make an exception here. I am the person who makes fun of people with jealousy issues, clearly they are getting ripped off by their therapist. Mr. Right has not seen a nano second of jealousy from me. Besides, I'm the hot one.

I used jealous 5 times in that paragraph.

This brings me to my point. Why, oh why, does Mr. Right insist on constantly forgetting his wedding ring? Before he leaves the house. For a PMI class tonight. And alot of other days.

I was enjoying my alone time at home tonight, looked up from the kitchen sink, and there it was, sitting on the window sill. Mocking me.

I couldn't resist, I had to call his cell phone and leave him a message asking how his class went without his wedding ring.

I also had to tell him when he got home that his ring is actually a babe magnet, maybe he should wear it once in a while.

It's such a nice ring too, I don't get it. Not as nice as mine, but nice.

Meme

I got tagged for a Meme by Motherhood in NYC. I wasn't quick enough to dart my eyes away and pretend I didn't read it, and I stalk read her every day so I guess I should pay it forward. I'd also like to mention that the reason I read her blog every day is not only because she is a very funny writer and originally from Russia, but she does in fact live in Manhattan with her husband and kids. That facinates me. She doesn't have to cut grass, shovel snow, pick up the neighbor's dog poop, plant flowers, pull weeds, or even drive if she doesn't want to. To top it off, her post yesterday was about how she walks past the Saks Fifth Avenue window display every day. What the hell. The highlight of my commute to work is usually the hooptie that broke down in front of me (it wouldn't be Friday in good old Detroit without a hooptie in your way).

The idea here is to give 6 odd things about me.

1) I was a ballerina for 16 years. People who know me in person, will find that odd. And will laugh in my face. Thanks, in advance.

2) I wanted to be a nun when I was 14. Enough said.

3) I am still in touch with the first boyfriend I ever had, when I was 16.

(you can stop rolling your eyes now Mr. Right)

4) Henry Winkler kissed me on the cheek at Vantasia in 1977. That was when he was The Fonz. I was kindof a big deal after that.

5) I was the Queen of the Kootie Kissers in first grade.

6) I get motion sickness just riding an elevator.

Come to think of it, #3 is probably why #2 never happened.

Now I'm supposed to tag 6 bloggers to list 6 of their own odd things about themselves, I will start with my friend Briana, then Scargosun, Insane Mama, Fluffy Windover, I eat my pigeon, and Mama Fidel.

I'm not going to contact you all to let you know I've tagged you, but I will notice if you go with it.

Indian Summer

This weekend it is going to be sunny and in the 80's. In Michigan this here is what we call "Indian Summer" because we have had frost.

I am not going to give you the running tally on how long I have been on Mr. Right to power wash the house, let's just say I've been patient.

So I sent him an email this morning that "we should get jiggy with a power washer this weekend since it is going to be so warm". I even threw in some ideas on where to rent one for good measure.

The response? He has one lined up for Saturday.

That is so hot.

My latest Target finds

Ever since I moved in to Mr. Right's house, I am ashamed to say that the living room has been practically empty. Just my sad little couch and love seat that I brought with me. Well, that and an IKEA book shelf that takes up an entire wall, purchased post move.

Yes, you caught that "Mr. Right's house". I'm not accepting responsibility for it. I am only tolerating this because of the economy. It's Bush's fault really.

I love The Nester. Absolutely love her. Watching her has made me understand the error in my ways, like matchy matchy furniture, or putting furniture up against the wall. Or beige on beige on beige. Barf. Anyway.

This weekend I cleaned the fish tank which is in the living room (who cleaned this thing before I moved in?). This was a nice segway to re-evaluate the rest of the room. I moved the couch to the middle of the living room with the back facing the foyer/large entry way (the house has an open floor plan, why didn't I do this before, I dunno).

So what do you think I will put on the wall where the couch was? You guessed it, this little honey from Target (dirt cheap in the first place, but 15% off and free shipping makes it a no brainer).

Then, what do you think I will put at the back of the couch? You guessed it again, another honey from Target. This console table.

Grand total, $369. Duh.

Next I will share with you the bamboo roman blinds I got from JCPenney.com for.... drum roll please... $50 each (for 72" windows, come on!). I was actually surfing bamboo blinds that were SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS a blind. What what?

This picture is from the JCP website and does NOT do the product justice. Maybe it's because mine are about 3 times bigger, or because they are under fabulous tab top curtains hanging from an iron rod. All I can say is that I opened the box and screamed with glee.

Come to think of it, almost every window treatment I have ever bought in my life has come from JC Penney. I always end up back there, so why don't I just start there? Don't know.

Did that just happen?

This morning I had to turn around at the end of my street and head back home because I forgot something.

Once I got to a curve in the street, there was a black pickup sitting there, like it couldn't decide what to do. Then it moved up a little. Then it stopped again. Then it moved up a little. Then it stopped again. Then it pulled over to the right.

So I passed.

Later, I pull up in my driveway and they are behind me... WTH?

I get out of my truck and a man is driving and his crazy wife is in the passenger seat with the window down screaming at me. Something about what is the hurry, but with alot of cussing, foaming at the mouth, and an obvious blood pressure problem disclosed by a completely red face.

So, in my vast experience with that which is life, I know that you don't engage with psychos.

I tell her to go away.

I may or may not have told her to ef off. I said something about calling the police.

I went in the house.

They did not leave. Mr. Right went out to talk to them. They would not leave.

This lady was like a rabid dog climbing across her husband to bark at Mr. Right. As I watch, I'm hoping he won't need rabies shots.

Finally they leave... and our neighbor comes over to warn us they are known wackos.

My loving and devoted husband only wanted to know... what did I do to her?

Don't you love it? It gives me such a warm and fuzzy feeling inside!

Do you want a Hoover?

There is a Hoover vacuum give-away going on over at my friend Kathy's blog. Be sure to check it out. While you are there, you must tell her how pretty she is and how adorable her children are.

Bra Drama

Princess decided it was a good idea to take a dare from one of her girlfriends, and put one of her training bras in a boy's locker at school. Then, when the boy embarrassed her about it in front of the class, she thought it was a good idea to go tell the teacher this boy was nasty to her.

And of course, teacher called home. After telling her she asked for it.

Good call, Princess. Brilliant.

Princess is grounded for 3 days.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Obviously the padded variety is a bad idea, too much attention. Back to the pull over ones, sorry girlfriend. But, she was comfortable doing this? Or was the dare just too much to walk away from. Or, is the friend who put her up to it a pervert? Friend's parents are Republican, so I'm starting to wonder.

She's 10.

It is both funny and creepy at the same time.

When I was 10, if a boy even said the word bra to me I would have been mortified. White blouses were a source of insecurity to me at 14 (see thru factor). I wore a cardigan with my Catholic school girl uniform for that reason, when it was 80 degrees. My mom told me sex was something only monkey's did. And I believed her.

I cried for a week when my Dad spotted my training bra and said "why didn't you just give her a couple of band-aids?".

Note: Mr. Right just reading the words my.catholic.school.girl.uniform means I'm going to get a foot rub tonight.

Free Advice

When one is trying to sell their husband on the idea that they haven't been clothes shopping for months, one might want to cut the sales tags off their clothes before walking into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for the ride to work. While the husband is sitting there at the kitchen table.

I'm just sayin'

Ike hits Michigan, can I get a what what?

I love the seasons. Rarely do I say out loud that I'm tired of summer, I keep that little secret to myself. I'm tired of working on 2200 square feet of landscaping that was overlooked by Mr. Right for 10 years (sorry dude). I'm tired of that guilty feeling that comes over me when it is 80 and sunny but I just want to relax inside. I love the beach, but come on already.

I'm sick, I know.

So last weekend, if you took a look at the path of Ike, did you notice? How does this EVER happen? I will recap for you. This hurricane came ashore via the Galveston and Houston area, took a sharp right turn past Dallas, made its way north and east to Michigan.

This confirms it. I need to start praying because somebody is listening to me.

Two straight weekend days, in my jammies, alone with Mr. Right, playing with MY NEW KINDLE (read: electronic reader, not: vibrating toy).

It poured all day both days. It rained so much it wasn't even safe to drive. Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting cooler... I'm ready for my carmel apple now.

Shangri-La

This morning I whispered in Mr. Right's ear "should I eat some cereal or do you want to go get Dim Sum?". When he said I just rocked his world, I took that to mean Dim Sum.

We headed off to Shangri-La with Princess in tow. Note to self: picky 10 year olds won't eat Dim Sum no matter how hungry they are. I thought cute little appetizers were a win win, turns out not so much.

But before we left, I had an interesting conversation when I called to see if we needed reservations, with a Chinese guy named Toby (really?).

Toby: Shangri-La

Me: Hi, do we need reservations for Dim Sum?

Toby: Not if you come now.

Me: Oh, how about at 12:30?

Toby: For how many?

Me: There are 3 of us.

Toby: no, we never take reservations

Me: k.... thanks?

It was yummy but the next time it will be just the two of us. There will be some research first too (did she say chicken feet?).

this is why

I've had a bunch of people ask me why do I want a Kindle. Alot of people don't really know what it is.

The biggest selling point (to me) is that it stores hundreds of books so you don't have to carry them around or store them in your house.

The cost of buying the Kindle version of a book is much cheaper than buying a paper copy.

When you buy a book, it comes across wi-fi to your Kindle, no cords, no downloading.

You can read a sample of a book for free before buying it.

You can have your New York Times paper show up on it rather than in the mailbox or on the porch. No more newspapers to litter the house and waste trees. No more wet newspapers sitting in the rain. You get it before it hits the newstands.

It takes just seconds to think of a book you want to buy, buy it, and wa la - there it is.

It saves on trees, a very important thing to me.

It is easier on the eyes than reading a book.

Set Kindle on the stairmaster and read while working out (I never could manipulate paper books or magazines to read while working out).

It is much more comfortable to curl up and read with. For me, the spine of a book is really annoying when you're trying to read from a relaxed position.

Buying it myself means that Mr. Right will be out of ideas on what to get me this year for Christmas. Loving that!

Brakes... Kindle.... Brakes... Kindle

I finally moved on with my life over this whole 'is there a new version coming out or isn't there' conundrum and ordered myself a KINDLE. Yes, you are so jealous of me.

Once I read the words "display technology called electronic paper Kindle provides a crisp black and white screen that resembles the appearance and readability of real paper... the screen works using ink just like books and newspapers but displays ink particles electronically"... hot damn that's all I needed.

Well, that and the fact that it ran $319 and coincidentally brakes for my SUV are $319. I decided "who needs to stop? not me!".

It was a sign I tell you.

I feel used

Princess has been working me to talk to Mr. Right about giving her a house key so she can walk home from school (the end of the street) at 4 pm instead of going to latch-key.

The sales pitch was that she would call me by 4:20 to let me know she got in. She would not have anyone over or go anywhere until somebody got home around 6ish, and she would not use the microwave or stove.

It started to sound good until I actually did run it by Mr. Right.

... who informed me that he has told her for years that she is too young to be alone at home until at least middle school (next year) and maybe not even then. Nice try Princess.

I guess when I saw her throw a fit about her blanky being in the wash at bed time, that should have been a clue to me she is not ready.

What age is old enough? Is it really based on age or do people judge maturity? Princess is 10.

I was 7, but that was when John Travolta wore polyester leisure suits and I thought the BG's were cool.

I enjoyed it and Dim Sum

It was now time to head back to San Francisco for our last night before we flew home. We stopped at the Santa Cruz boardwalk but didn't stay, it didn't look like anything we were in the mood for. Lot's of crowds and a carnival atmosphere.

That night we wandered the streets of San Francisco one last time. Tired of chasing cable cars, we took a cab to China Town and sampled the food from a couple of places. One place we stopped was a garden room at the top of a tall building with a view of China Town. We sat in the bar and observed the Chinese staff watching the Olympics in Beijing. You haven't lived until you see people watching the Olympics in their homeland, while in the states.

On to the next place. This is where I was introduced to Dim Sum. They had an extensive Dim Sum menu and I fell in love. I'm a sucker for tiny appetizer size foods. The dishes that walked by didn't look bad either. My fear as I sat there was that I probably wouldn't find Dim Sum in Detroit. Wrong. I guess there is a place in West Bloomfield that rivals anywhere (called Shangri-La). Your best bet is that I will be there soon and giving a review.

After we left China Town we headed to Little Italy (aka North Beach). This area is quite the club scene. We were supposed to just stop into a small place with an acoustic guitar or something. Nope. We wandered into a strip club instead. This is where I got my lap dance by a girl (duh). When inside one of these establishments, if you are a girl, I suggest NOT going to the ladies room. No matter how bad you have to go. Even if you have to wet yourself. I'm serious. When I asked where is the rest room, I was directed to an elevator upstairs and told to "go left when you get off". I thought hmmm, the men's room is right here by the entrance (insert nervous eye twich here). Against my better judgement, I pressed the up button anyway. When the door opened, the "VIP" area was to the right, the girl's restroom to the left. They should have told me that by "left" they meant duck and roll to the left as soon as the door opens. Instead I stood there for a second (in my defense, it was really dark with some sort of red lighting). Some guy who was near the VIP area grabbed me and started to hug me and said "I Love You". I pushed him away and said "I'm just going to the restroom". What was that supposed to mean? I'm not sure.

After I did my business, I was afraid to walk back out. Once I got up my courage and made my way back to the elevator, I experienced the longest 2 minute elevator ride ever. Unfortunately a VIP "couple" got on with me. Just what I didn't want. The guy obviously didn't want his time over.

The next day is when I experiened a 757 thru Delta. This airline definitely has the best customer service I have experienced, but that's just me. We flew to Detroit via Atlanta. That is way too much flying, but that 757 made up for it.

We could have flown to Ireland with all that flying.

Pebble Beach is his church

I think this is where he started to whimper and claw at the window.




I had no idea this stop was so important to him, but look at that smile.







We ate lunch on the porch behind him.




I don't normally take pictures of food because well, it's just food. But feast your eyes on that lobster sandwich.



That cheese cake is a piece of art I tell you.

Our view of the 18th hole from where we sat and ate lunch.

get back here... you can't climb on that

Monterey

The Monterey Spa and Hotel is on Cannery Row in Monterey. It was a bit overpriced for what you got, but then we were comparing it to the Tickle Pink. I didn't take a picture of it and I regret not getting a picture of the lobby.


Mr. Right looking at kayak'ers out our window.







More hot tubbing but this time on the top of the Monterey hotel. It was early, so there is fog and you don't get an appreciation for the view but I bet you can detect that Mr. Right is hung over.


What is funny about our Monterey stay is that everyone told us there isn't much to do on Cannery Row and that we would probably stay at the hotel. Cannery Row was actually bustling with people (Friday night) and we saw an awesome band at Sly McFly's.

17 Mile Drive

We hit the 17 Mile Drive on the way to Monterey. I thought Mr. Right was going to pee himself as we drove by Pebble Beach.

I swear I don't normally look like Chubaka and why didn't I just leave the sunglasses on. The new Carmel tshirt doesn't say tourist at all.





calm down, we will go to Pebble Beach tomorrow

Rocky Point

At this point we turned north on the Big Sur coast toward Monterey. We stopped for beer lunch at this cute little place out on a cliff hanging over the ocean. We sat right here, outside.

Inside there was a fly so we moved outside after I asked for a fly swatter and the waitress brought me a glass of ice water.




holy crab sandwich!

Pfeiffer Beach

We left the Tickle Pink and made our way down Big Sur to Pfeiffer Beach. You can see a waterfall coming out of the rock next to Mr. Right's arm. This place does not suck.

Seagull Whisperer

The next morning I made a friend on the terrace of our Tickle Pink room. He loved pretzel crackers, because you know seagulls are finicky. This is proof that they will do anything for food (I was touching him while I talked to him).

Carmel Sunset

That night we went down to Carmel-By-The-Sea to enjoy the sunset and have a beach bonfire. The Tickle Pink gives you all the Duraflame logs you want and we showed our appreciation by swiping one of their towels to sit on.

Tickle me PINK

Two hours later we arrived in Carmel at the Tickle Pink Inn. Can you imagine walking in your room to find that this is your view? I can't and I was there.

or look to the side









I don't remember how that Sofia Coppola wine bottle got there







Oh wait, now I remember (a bit of overkill on the bubbles Mr. Right)

Out the window

Took this shot... out the window while flying down Highway 1 (by flying I mean stopping at every turnout so the locals could stop riding my bumper).

Cuz that's how we roll

We rented a Cadillac STS which turns out to be the perfect ride for Highway 1, or anywhere for that matter. This reminds me that I have a bone to pick with you west coasters, what is the deal with the NO American cars? I think I saw one for every 500. News flash, there are some really awesome American cars and they cost less.

It's sad and you are killing us folks here in the Dirty D.

Let's go to Carmel

The next day we headed off to Carmel via Highway 1 to find the Tickle Pink Inn. Point Lobos on Big Sur makes for some great pictures, but what you don't see is how this wave caught Mr. Right. I only got this shot of him running from it like a girl.

Sausalito

You can get to Sausalito via ferry. It's on the other side of Golden Gate Bridge. At The Spinnaker we had our one year anniversary dinner. Looks very 1950's Rat Pack doesn't it?

Our table was next to the window.

Haight Ashbury

We walked Haight Street, stopped to get a tshirt for Mr. Right, walked through Golden Gate Park....






Then as promised, we both got our toes pampered at the Aqua Spa. The BEST pedicure I have ever had.

Union Square

The best part of shopping Union Square was the live jazz band that happened to be playing, and the opportunity to get some See's chocolates.

16th floor of the Hyatt

We just never got tired of looking at the view from our room at the Hyatt.

Pier 39

Next we walked over to Pier 39. It is alot more touristy than I remember it being when I was 15. But then again, dinosaurs roamed the earth when I was 15 so I guess everything changes.

no, forget it

You can see Alcatraz over Mr. Right's shoulder.