Summer

I recently spent a few days "downashore" at my parents' house. A niece and nephew were up visiting from Florida, and my other niece and nephews were also there. Thus we spent the weekend doing summery things...jumping and floating in the pool, laying on the beach, jumping waves in the ocean (yes, I went in), playing mini golf, eating ice cream, going on water slides. Phew. I'm exhausted just typing that. It's weird being the "grown up" at the shore, now. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was the kid harassing the adults (or more likely, the kid curled up in a chair on my grandparents' patio with a book and ignoring the adults). For instance, I get to sit in a chair at the beach? Digging in the sand is optional? Or, I'm the one handing out money to nieces and nephews or paying for the batting cages? How about, I'm the responsible one on the big water slides? Even weirder, one of the boys, at age 12, is taller than me, and the girls are big enough to wear my clothes. I am thoroughly freaked out.

***

Thanks to an early dismissal (how juvenile) from work, CPM and I took the opportunity to catch a 5 p.m. weekday showing of the last Harry Potter film. We rarely do the movies. CPM is so easily distracted by other people that going to the movies is something undertaken only when we KNOW there is a good chance I won't have to start a fist fight with the five irritating people behind us who keep talking to one another/answering their cellphones/listening to their ipod/letting their baby cry. We were lucky...5 p.m. on a Thursday is apparently a good time to see a film...it was just us and about 10 other people. The chatty chicks in front of us only needed one hiss/shush noise from me early in the credits, and they kept a lid on it for the remaining 2 hours. Late in the film, a lady behind us started texting, and the light from her phone became annoying, but it didn't rise to the level of me needing to threaten her life (trust me, I've done this). So, we enjoyed the film. What I did not enjoy was what happened overnight...I apparently dreamed that Nagini, the big snake, was in my bedroom, and was entering the blankets to kill me. I leapt out of bed and darted into my bathroom, flipping on the lights to scare the snake away. And then I realized there was no snake. It was still difficult to go back to sleep after that.

***

CPM recently did something so generous, big-hearted and kind for my sister, that I am still reeling. He is a big believer in "surprises," the kind that make your heart stop dead in your chest. So, this was a pretty big one, and while I don't want to discuss the details here, suffice it to say that it reaffirms what a great person he is, and how lucky I am to have him. Even if he is kind of a grouch from time to time.

Miscellany and Stuff...

Three day weekends really throw me out of wack. So much happens that I am unable to come up with a pithy blog title that adequately summarizes the days...ergo, miscellany. And stuff.

CPM and I attended a family wedding on Saturday. Of course, in typical CPM fashion, something has to cause us to be late or almost late (we skipped the mass altogether due to his work schedule). About 2 hours before the reception start time, CPM called me and ordered to me to fill a bowl with ice and water, fill a bowl of dog food, and put it all into our yard. He had picked up a stray pooch on his travels through the rougher neighborhoods of Philadelphia.

This guy.


He was scrawny, skeletally thin, almost unable to walk from thirst, infested with fleas, and suffering from a terrible case of what I think is flea dermatitis (rash, patches of hair missing, open sores). And he was one of the sweetest, most affectionate puppies that I have ever met. After he slurped down two bowls of water, we gave him a bath with the hose, rubbed off as many fleas as we could, and applied a dose of Frontline. (I've never seen fleas actually jump off of a creature like that before. There was an actual cloud around him after the Frontline application.) He wouldn't touch any food, which really worried me. Unfortunately, he obviously needed much more help than we could give him, and we couldn't risk exposing our puppies to whatever he had going on, so CPM took him to the animal shelter. He's going to keep track of him, to make sure that he doesn't end up on the "kill" list.

So, after our doggy good deed, we spent the late afternoon at one of the best wedding receptions that I have ever attended. The food was relatively awful (with the exception of dessert...two words...chocolate fountain), but the 12 piece band was incredible, and all 300 guests danced for almost the entire time. We saw lots of family that we haven't seen in a bit, and even went out AFTER the reception for more socialization. And that's when we had Tony's tomato pie. (Really, an upside down pizza.) Thin, crispy crust. Ample sauce (cheese underneath). Delicious. We went back on July 4th AFTER a BBQ just to partake in a second pie. I'm almost mad that I know where this place is now, because I am a pizza addict, and will have to ride my bike lots to earn the right to get more.

On Sunday, I did a whole lot of nothing. Literally. Slept late. Made banana bread. Slept some more. And then on a walk through the neighborhood with one of the dogs, a guy approached me and asked if I would be willing to be interviewed about my neighborhood. In my head, I wondered if this was the moment that would be highlighted in a film version of my life...the moment that the serial killer conned me into believing he was a nice guy on an anthropological mission. I also wondered, as I usually do when a stranger seems really "nice," if this was just another weirdo religious proselytizer, who would trap me into a long conversation about how I needed to be "saved." Always willing to live on the edge, I invited Adam to join me on my walk around the block, and further invited him into my home to interview me. (Spoiler alert...he was not a serial killer or right wing Christian after all. Bullet = dodged.) Since Adam is blogging his project over on his site, I encourage you to take a peak. It really is an interesting idea, and I plan to follow along on his adventure. (I hope I don't sound like too much of an idiot in my interview.)

Finally, on the 4th, we attended a BBQ at a friend's house. This friend is a cop, his wife is a cop, his dad is an ex cop, all of the other attendees were cops. Basically, I was at the safest house in the area yesterday. I drank some tasty beer. CPM ate a piece of chicken (on the bone, yuck). And then we went to Tony's for pizza. Again.

Weekend, fin.

Happiness

Jaime and spent a lovely afternoon together on Saturday. We had a great lunch at Sprig and Vine, did some wine tasting and shopping at Peddlar's Village, and capped the day at Bowman's Hill Wildflower Preserve. Basically, we spent a day doing things that I would have not been caught dead doing "for fun" in my youth. Somehow these things have become fun. Go figure.

I've been trying lately to do things that make me happy, even little things, like reading a book outside on my patio in the evening, taking a solo bike ride through the park, or buying myself a pair of shoes (retail therapy totally counts). I've been trying to avoid negativity, misery, and meanness, although it hangs like a miasma over some that I know. You know, "always look on the bright side of life" and "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything."

I don't really have a point today. Gah. Be nice to one another and to yourself, maybe? Don't sweat the small stuff?

Nesting and rearranging

For a while now, I've had this unsettled feeling at home. You know, the sort of feeling where you wander from room to room, with an itch to do "something," but you don't know what that something is? Well, my something turned out to be a slight rearrangement of furniture in the living areas of the house, allowing for not one, but TWO trips to Ikea in a single day. I'm quite proud that on the first trip, I managed to wrangle an entire Expedit shelving unit into my car all by myself, got it home and into the house all by myself (not without falling up my back steps and tearing a brand new pair of shorts open from hip to thigh), and then assembled, placed and loaded the fucker, again, all by myself. (Spouse had banned further Ikea furniture from the house, but I overruled him, because all other options cost roughly four times what this cost.) So, I feel a little more settled. (Am I the only person who walks by new pieces of furniture a million times and admires my own handiwork?)

Squirt Approves of New Furniture


On the second trip, we got a chair for the living room. I had always felt a little barbaric in our living room...we had only a couch and a recliner. The layout was not "conversational." If you visited me, it was like coming to the movie theater...you could sit and look at my TV, which is an arguably awesome 52 inch HDTV, but that's not why you came over, right? You came to chat with me about how cool my pets are, or what an old codger my husband has become (ask me how many times he called the police to report noise violations recently)! Now we can do this face to face, you seated across the room from me. It is, sadly, very exciting. There were other accessories purchased, a drawer knife rack (no more knife block taking up space on my counters!), some pillow covers (matchy matchy!), some throw blankets (more matchy matchy!).

So, here are two Ikea related observations. I got there so early on Saturday, the store wasn't actually opened yet, and I had to kill time in their restaurant. They give out free coffee in the morning. And (here is the observation), it is tasty! In fact, it is so tasty that I will actually make a point to get a cup on future visits. Secondly, you know who I would like to meet? The guy who has the job of "undesigning" the furniture, so that it fits into flat boxes. Because this chair here...



...it was in a flat box. And that just blows my fucking mind.

The Situation

Somehow or another, I found myself in a club in North Wildwood on Saturday night. Trust me, this is not my scene. However, this is a moment that will live forever in my memory, so why not share it with the internet?

Picture this. I am standing against a high top table along the fringes of the room, arms crossed, going on my third hour of waiting for a good song to be played by the DJ (preferably one without the same stupid techno beat that he's been playing over and over and over again), being the responsible designated driver, and having had nothing alcoholic to drink because it's possible that I will be called upon to drive us to another club soon. I'm entertaining myself by watching the drunk people around me perform elaborate courtship rituals which involve lots of fist pumping and dancing while holding their drinks. (I surmise that this is why white people are rumored to have no rhythm, that if they would just put the drinks down, they could let their inner rhythm demons loose.) I am amazed at the number of men who have definitely spent a lot more time fixing their hair tonight than I did. I see evidence of Jersey Shore style blowouts and ample usage of hair product. As the hours have passed, the crowd has gotten younger and drunker. I am convinced that there are at least some boys in possession of fake IDs, because they don't look old enough to shave.

So, me, leaning against table, arms crossed. A gentleman is passing by the table, in possession of the aforementioned blown out hairstyle, a popped collar polo shirt, and a fabulous tan (Gym Tan Laundry, perhaps?). He stops in front of me. He steps closer, reaches down, and uncrosses my arms from my chest. He leans in and says, "This is very negative body language that you have goin' on here. Open these arms up. See, better." Shocked that a stranger would dare put his hands on me, I can only stare. He leans in closer, plants a kiss on my cheek, whispers in my ear, "You're beautiful," and shimmies his way onto the dance floor. I am struck dumb, and turn in shock to my companions, who ask, "Did he just lay one on you?" "Yes. Yes, he did." And then I laugh, because it is just that ridiculous.

I even managed to dance to a few horrible techno songs after that. Apparently, a kiss from a stranger is as good as a few shots.

Major Weekend Accomplishment

In a crazy fit of parsimony, before the relocation to the burbs, I canceled all the good cable channels. While this saved us a little bit of money, we lost HBO and Showtime. When the cable came back in the burbs, I stuck to my cheapskate guns and got the bare minimum HD package (the 52 inch flat screen just looks terrible in regular definition), which included Starz for free.

Starz unfortunately does not offer the same caliber of original programming that is available to those of us with a discerning TV watching palate. (Camelot straight up sucks.) I became tired of watching the same 10 episodes of whatever show was on HGTV. I switched over to watching repeat episodes of Iron Chef America. Still, the upcoming seasons of Dexter, True Blood and Entourage have been calling my name, as has the new series, Game of Thrones. Thus, I succumbed to the siren song of the cable upgrade. Fortunately, the evil empire that is Comcast Xfinity was offering some decent 1 year promotional pricing that included a free DVR. Sign me up!

Thus, CPM and I spent quality time this weekend by watching the entire last season of Dexter. This is not an activity that should be undertaken by anyone with a heart condition. At several points during our two marathon viewing sessions, I found myself pacing around the living room, or sitting on the couch, heart racing, hands shaking in fear. Good lord, how has he not been caught yet?

Some Pictures and Class

We spent 10 days or so on Oahu. This was our sixth trip to Hawaii. We love it there. Yes, yes, expensive, blah blah blah (it's actually not that expensive when you have no kids). Yes, yes, really far. But it's worth it. All pictures are here.

Beach Gazing


Beach Dogs


Rich People's Stuff


A Coconut


My Dream House


***

I woke up to the sound of clinking silverware...

I was in first class, flying to Chicago from Honolulu. My mind took a moment to register this fact. My mouth was really dry, but I was laying flat on my "bed." I was covered by a real blanket. I had eaten a delicious dinner (fresh salad, cheese ravioli in a mushroom cream sauce), dessert (a freshly made ice cream sundae), and then passed out after drinking (possibly) an entire bottle of white wine. Surreal.

How did this happen?

Ah, well this entire vacation to Hawaii was based on some really cheap round trip tickets snagged thanks to Air Fare Watchdog. Of course, when you add in the lodging expenses for 10 nights, car rental, dining, shopping, etc., you've actually spent a whole bunch of money at the end of the day. Still, the tickets were incredibly cheap. Thus, when you are checking in for your return flight at the self service kiosk, and the screen offers you the chance to upgrade to first class for what is really not a lot of money in the scheme of things, your spouse tells you to do it, and you do it. Because you have a 9 hour flight home ahead of you, a flight that is taking you away from paradise and back to your job and your real life, and it will be nice to spend that 9 hours not crammed into a tiny seat like a veal calf, but luxuriating in actual space, edible food, and flight attendants who will simply refill your wine glass as soon as you've sipped it below half way full, without being asked for more.

That's how that happens.

And I'm not sure that I can ever fly coach again.