Kelly Clarkson!

Yesterday after work I went to one of my specialists. He is the one that diagnosed me with Snuffy's Disease, even though he is not a podiatrist. I am pretty sure I am his dose of entertainment for the day (Unless it is an emergency flare visit, in which case there is endless crying and sweating. That might not be his favorite.).

Anyway, I have been doing okay with my disease. My main focus right now is the Snuffy's Disease and my three week long sinus infection (I went to the doctor on Saturday. It got pretty bad, Friends.). He asked about S.D. and I informed him that I was still having problems. He suggested the injection again, which I was hesitant about because I don't love the idea of masking the pain. He said that it would bring down the inflammation and allow me to use the foot again. It might even give the foot time to heal.

After a lot of nervous wiggling and clapping (Yes, clapping. I think I was trying to encourage myself.) I decided to go for it.

They wheeled the most ginormous machine into the room and at that point I realized that it was probably too late to turn back and that also this might be something that I regret. It was actually just the ultra-sound machine and he even pointed out my tendons and foot parts. So far, so good.

The next step was a quick cleaning because I had been in sandals all day and feet get filthy in Phoenix. I am so serious. First thing I do when I get home? I wash my feet. Anyway, then I made him promise that he would tell me when he was going to shoot me. He promised. It went like this:

E: Promise me?
Dr: I promise. Right now I am going to put some cold stuff on it.
E: Okay. Wow, yeah, that's chill-HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! The bastard shot me. There was a lot of clapping and weird mouth noises and even some swearing until he was done - which was about a minute. A minute of getting a shot in my freaking heel. Normally I would wiggle a lot, but they were holding down BOTH of my feet.
E: You are a sneaky liar!
Dr: What?
Dr: Oh. Did I forget to mention that I was going to stick you? I thought I said it. Huh.
E: You are a sneaky, evil man.

I should still be mad at him, but he ever so gently attached a band-aid to my foot and helped me down from the table because walking at that point had become treacherous.

If you do not mind a lot of swearing - and I mean A LOT of swearing - this is what my visit was like. Except I do not need my chest waxed and I am not a man. The general overall flip out? Practically the same. Except some different swears.

Again - not an appropriate video for watching in a public place or around children. Don't pull this out in church, friends.

In fact, I will just provide the link:
I like your sweater. Does that come in a v-neck?

If you are interested, you can revisit another visit to Dr. Lying Sneaky Pants HERE.

p.s. Also I can't really walk today. I seriously need a walker. Or a cane. Because I am really limping. I look like I am trying to be a gangsta.
p.p.s. In school-related news, do you know how many paper towels it takes to clean up an entire carton of milk when it falls into a desk? I do. That was a great start to the morning. 


I Will NOT Be the Grinch.

I have not been blogging as much.

We have done stuff around the house.

Walls are painted. New lamps. Art on walls.

Here's the deal:
Both of my computers are completely full. Meaning, there is no memory space for me to upload pictures. I delete stuff, but somehow still no room. This makes it frustrating as I like to share the going-ons here.

So I am feeling grinchy because I just took pictures of our holiday decor. Quick and easy. Then I tried to load them onto my computer. For AN HOUR. I got rid of over 100 pictures. Plenty of space to upload twenty or so shots.

Just kidding.

So after much stress, here are some tree pictures. Which started out as fun, but now I am ticked.

Deep breath.

I am going to do what I usually do. Highlight some new favorites. And sometimes some old favorites.

 The theme on the small tree this year was blues, greens, pinks, and purples.

Crate and Barrel, Glass, Love!

Handmade by a friend of my mom.

Reminded me of Jeremiah. Crate and Barrel.

Crate and Barrel. Glass.

 While I like the star on my mantel, I am not loving the mantel decor itself. I think I need to move some things that are on the right. I've got some ideas.

Any extra ornaments always find a place in a container.

The bottom of this lamp from Salvation Army is open, so I slipped some ornaments in there, too.

Have you met the pig? I found him over a year ago. I love him. We don't eat pig or cow here, and I take an odd delight at having this little porker hanging around the kitchen. I have a bird that is the same style, but he has yet to find a home on the walls. 

 The front tree has the same theme as last year - metals. Golds, bronzes, silvers, whites, and ivories.
The little birdhouse is new. Clearance from Target.

I actually bought this at Jo-Ann's. Not on clearance, just liked it.

World Market, this year. He was just too cute to pass up.

Glass ball from Crate and Barrel.

Maddie has done her best to destroy Christmas this year. She only goes after the big tree, which is awesome, because most of the breakable ornaments hang on this beautiful beast. So far she has only destroyed the one bird, which was felt, not at all breakable. Odd. The tree looked better the first few days, before she began climbing it. There will be some rebending of branches come January.

I guess that's about it. Friends, I hope that you all have trees that are withstanding children and pets.


Wake Up in the Morning Feeling Like P Diddy.

No. No I don't, actually.

I imagine that his mornings are glorious. 

I wake up feeling like crap. I can't figure out if it is allergies, sinusitis, or a sinus infection.

Every single morning I am hoarse and it feels like someone has shellacked my throat in snot. I know it sounds gross, but believe me, living it is even grosser. I am an over-sharer, but I will NOT tell you what happens when I start coughing (I just threw up in my mouth a little while thinking about it.).

Crappy as I feel, there have been some great soundbytes happening this week, and I will be damned if I am going to be negative right now.

So please enjoy these conversations that have happened over the course of the week. Warning - some of them are not appropriate. They are the opposite. They are inappropriate. And childish. If you aren't ready for this jelly, you may want to skip this one.

J: What did you have for dinner?
E: A delicious breast of chicken with a sweet sauce and some grilled pineapple.
J: What did your friend have?
E: Tuna tacos...ohmygosh. Tuna tacos. How hilarious. They did not call them that at the restaurant. They called them Ahi tacos. With a special areola sauce.
J: Excuse me?
E: Aioli sauce. But we had a slip of the tongue and it became areola sauce...or nipple sauce. Tuna tacos and nipple sauce! Hold on I need to text her and let her know that her dinner tonight was hilarious.
J: And you are how old?
E: Looking up while texting - Apparently I am twelve. And a boy.

E: I told Jeremiah that you had tuna tacos with nipple sauce! I almost wet my pants.
Friend: How did we not catch that?
E: I continue to giggle as I think about how your dinner had all different lady bits in it.
F: I am nothing if not comprehensive in my dining.

Coworker: I kind of want to touch you. That shirt is fabulous.
E: You can touch me. I have been touching myself all day.

E: She shows symptoms of being a meth user.
C: I agree. It's like, "Hey, I've seen those teeth before!"

C: Venting to another coworker: Do you know how much time Emily and I spend together? A lot. Ten to twelve hours a day. I see her more than Jeremiah does. We're basically married.
E: It's true. I came home the other day and Jeremiah was like, "You look different..." He sees me so little that he notices all these little changes that he never noticed when he saw me all the time.
C: I think we are the job.
E: Thinking about this. Well, wait a minute. I feel a bit ripped off, though. I did not get a ring or cake or honeymoon out of either of these relationships. And we all know those are the three main reasons to get married...plus presents and a dress.

J: I am afraid I have some bad news...
J: Well, I caught Maddie in the act. She killed one of your ornaments.
E: Which ornament?
J: I don't really know. So far I have found a wing, a beak, and some stuffing. So it appears to be from the bird family.
E: Where?
J: It's everywhere. The carnage is everywhere.
E: But you can't tell which bird it is?
J: No. I am sorry. We may have to pull dental records. 

Today's text to Jeremiah:
E: Please don't forget to pick up our prescriptions. (At 12:01)
E: Oh, and a pizza. (12:02)
E: Also a pony. (12:03)

Have a great weekend, Friends! If you have any suggestions that may help minimize my snot, please let me know.



Yesterday, mid-way through my morning, I realized that I dreamed that I was having a very determined conversation with Jeremiah. Then I realized (with a certain amount of dread) that it might not have been a dream. You all know how much I like to talk in my sleep and have night terrors.

So I called Jeremiah.

E: By chance was I talking in my sleep last night?
J: Mmmm...Holy crap! Yes!
E: And my topic of conversation was...?
J: I have no clue. I was like, "WTF?!" (Except he actually said it.) You did not make any sense at all. And you would not stop talking.
E: Yeah, I woke up feeling so determined. Like I had tried to accomplish something fantastic in my sleep.
J: Well, you did not. I told you that you were not awake. Over and over again. Eventually you gave up.
E: I'm a quitter. Damn it.

So that made me laugh for awhile. Because my sleep is disrupted by Jeremiah's snoring on a regular basis. I am happy to return the interrupted sleep favor.

Also, you know what? I was getting into my car (I shall not be telling you where I was, but I certainly was not at work. No sir.) and this girl across the street was yelling at her son, who was maybe two. He was toddling his way towards the road and she was yelling, "Get your ass back here!" and when she caught him she asked him "What the hell were you thinking?".

First of all, please know that when I told you all to talk to your children, this is not the type of conversation to which I was referring.

Secondly, honey? Read a parenting book. That kid is not thinking ahead about dangers of the street. Plus, it will tell you not to swear at your toddler. Any parenting book. Give it a try.


Craptacular Day.

Let me tell you why today is sort of sucky.

1. My neighbor decided last night to leave his dog out. Barking nonstop. At about three. I am pretty sure I saw Jeremiah cry and throw a mini-tantrum as he called animal control. The situation was pretty bad. It lasted about an hour. Houses here are so close together that for the first few minutes of barking hell I actually thought the dog was IN THE BEDROOM. I was all, "What the effff? Did we get a new dog?"

2. I keep getting all these emails. And they are HILARIOUSLY degrading and condescending and passive aggressive. Hilarious in the sense that if I did not laugh, I would cry. I really wish I could share them with you all, because you seem like the type of people that could appreciate emails like that. But you know, ethics. Maybe I will forward them to myself so in the future I can look back and say, "Wow. That sucked."

3. I pulled a butt muscle while working out last night and it is slightly awkward walking around, rubbing my butt. Typically at work, other people are touching my butt. Naughty teachers.

4. I can't stop thinking of the emails. Maybe I just tell you about one of the situations? It makes me giggle just thinking about it. I'll get back to you.

5. I have been having horrible dreams. Three times within the last month I have dreamed of tornadoes. It is crazy, but my main concern is for the safety of my dogs and cats. Jeremiah can apparently take care of himself. Anyone who can analyze dreams for me, go right ahead. I am thinking the tornado signifies the disarray and chaos in my life right now. I also had a nightmare about my brother and ended up texting him and schooling him and then I was like, "Shit. That was a mom thing to do." Not very little sister-y of me.

6. I don't have a sixth thing, but I don't like odd numbers.


Thank You

This weekend when Jeremiah and I were at our local park, a huge amount of Veterans were gearing up for a 5k. There were men, women, young, and old. It was great to see them celebrated.

I am going to be honest. I don't think I ever thanked either of my grandpas for their service. And that makes me feel bad. They were in my thoughts as I watched the older gentlemen walk around the park.

In addition, I would like to send a belated thank you to Jeremiah's dad (thank you, Frank) and anyone else who has served our country.

I appreciate it.


Hello! My Name is Childless.

 This weekend I was reading on Facebook a friend whose children had been reprimanded by a stranger in public. I don't know the details, so I am not really writing about the incident. What I am writing about is something that I have not been able to let go of since I read the responses to her post yesterday.

Someone (Okay. It was her husband. I was not going to mention it, but it got pretty ugly and at this point I am so disappointed in everything that played out that I do not give poo.) had responded that the reprimander, an older woman, was "a bitter, old, childless woman". Anger coursed through me and it would not stop. Has not stop.

To use childless as an insult?

To suggest that anyone without children must be bitter? My life is less fulfilling than someone who has children? I don't even understand this.

Not every woman has to have children to feel complete. To suggest otherwise is ridiculous.

Not every woman should be a parent. There are plenty of examples of these women in the news. After my accidental "trip" on prescription meds, I doubt my own parenting abilities. I fear I am a little nutty.

In addition, what about the women who have had children and lost them? The women who want to have (or wanted to have) children but could not? To them I imagine that being called childless is a slap in the face. The cruelest of comments.

I responded politely but with an obvious dislike of using the word childless as an insult. The response? That I think too much and that obviously any woman that would reprimand children that were not hers in public could NOT have children of her own (I mean, OBVIOUSLY).

Because all you parents raise your children in the same way? Because parents take an oath to never speak up in public when another person's children misbehave? Was there a secret handshake involved? Man, I am NOT pissed about being childless, but I AM pissed that I missed the secret handshake. I LOVE secret handshakes.

 I responded just as politely as I had the first time but this time suggested that perhaps the woman had indeed raised children of her own, but simply did not agree with the parenting style that she was witnessing. Was she in the right? Maybe not. But again? You are still being insulting. And to assume that everyone thinks you are the most awesome parent and that you never make mistakes and everyone wants to parent just.like.you?

Is just wrong.

Regardless of how you look at it - calling someone bitter and childless is defensive and insulting. It's a shame that some of us can't just say "Whoops. I did not mean to offend anyone."

Instead the response back was this: Is calling someone dogless if they don't have a dog insulting?

No, and neither is just saying that someone without child is childless. It's an insult when you pair it with all those other words.

At this point, he decided that I was a bitter woman (I would like to point out that if Jeremiah EVER called any of my friends names or made insulting remarks it would get ugly. Not that he ever would.) and I was just jealous. And that I was what was wrong with the entire world - people that made everyone else walk on eggshells. It was a shame that this value of respecting other people's privacy was not taught anymore. I should not read her posts any more and next time her name pops up on my screen, I should just keep scrolling and mind my own business.

I responded by saying that if you post something on Facebook, you lose your right to tell me to mind my own business. And then I told him I would work on minding my own business though, if he would work on being less insulting and stop name calling. It was a shame that no one taught their children that anymore, I said, because it would make my job a lot easier. I also told him it was a shame that two adults could not disagree without one of them making it ugly.

And then I unfriended my friend. Because seriously? Even if a friend of mine was completely out of line (which I was not) and rude (again, I was not) I would still have Jeremiah lay off or delete the post. But she just let her husband call me jealous and bitter and everything else.

He also said he wished he had been there to give that woman a piece of her mind. Like, in the woman's room?  My thought to this (which I did not say) was, Can she (my friend) not stand up for herself? And why do you need to yell at a woman? Too afraid to stand up to a man who might beat the shit out of your wimpy ass? So you go after women instead? That right there is a tough guy. Oh, wait. I mean an asshole.


So he can have my friend from high school who apparently does NOT think too much and does not speak up for herself and her friends.

P.S. Edited to add: All the while he was attacking me, he and his wife posted about an adult bible study they were hosting at their house that weekend. That's really all I have to say about that. 



I had friends visit.

The other night, after working until a little after six (which was leaving early for me) I got to go to the airport to pick up my friend (and college roommate), Sara. We had not seen each other since a meeting in Chicago SIX YEARS ago.

Holy crap.

If that was not exciting enough, on the way home, we stopped and picked up my other college roommate and dear friend, Rachel. Plus her babies. She used to live here in Phoenix but moved back to Minnesota, so I had not seen her in a year.

I could have peed with excitement.

There are pictures that I took of the babies and a group shot of all of us, but I am not going to post those right now.

What I am going to share are pictures from our trip to Sedona.

Sedona is a few hours (depending on who is driving) north and west of Phoenix. It is wonderful. Jeremiah and I have gone up several times for hiking. This time we decided to try a Pink Jeep Tour. By this time, we'd already dropped Rachel and the kids off at her sister's house, so it was just the three of us.

Let me preface this, picture stealers, with a warning. Take my pictures? I will kick your butt. Or I will have Jeremiah do it. Or it's an empty threat but please don't take my pictures. It's rude.

 We stopped at a vista point. The sun was rising. I was driving. I seriously drove the whole time. This is impressive NOT because I dislike driving or because I am bad at it or anything like that. It is impressive because mountain driving scares the shit out of me.
 When we got out at the point, it was cold. For people that live in a city where the current temperature is about 85 and has not been below that since maybe March, it was much appreciated.  There was a better picture but somebody had trouble with auto-focus. Jeremiah.
Here is the view where you first see the mountains. You come around a corner and BOOM! gorgeous views everywhere. Seriously, it actually takes my breath away.

Here's the worst part of driving somewhere spectacular. You do not get to stare and marvel. So instead I was like, "Somebody say ooh and ahh! Say it now!" But not everyone was quite as expressive as I tend to be, and there was a lot of quiet marveling. I hope.
 We signed a form in case of accidental death and I whispered to Jeremiah: Oh, my god. Accidental death? What the hell?!

But then I signed and got our discounted price and then I mentally played the game "Who do I NOT want on the Jeep with me?" There were a couple of high maintenance soccer moms that I heard discussing soccer mom-ish stuff that I would have been cool with riding separate from and also a woman who, in my opinion, was treating her child horribly. And giving him juice. Because that is what you want on a two hour trip into the wild. A kid that needs to pee.

Even though I played silently and by myself, as we headed towards our Jeep, Jeremiah whispered that he had known I was playing. He even knew who I did not want on the Jeep. He's a sneaky guy, that Jeremiah.
 I took pictures of Sara, even though she said she hates having her picture taken and did I NOT remember that from college? I am going to say that no. I do not remember. And just keep taking pictures. So there, Sara.

 Way to photo bomb, Jeremiah.

 The guide posed us in these shots. I kind of dig them.

 Oh, and you know the mistletoe that people hang during the holidays? Apparently it is invasive and kills other plants by mimicking the host plant and then strangling it. So the above plants are BOTH mistletoe, but one was hanging on one tree (evergreen, I think) and the other mistletoe was hanging on something else. Strangling and killing both trees. Think about that the next time you kiss someone underneath it.
 Okay. So in this picture, there is a white line on the butte hundreds of feet up in the air. People actually BIKE THE LINE. I am not kidding. Watch this video.

Then from the biker's POV:

At first I was like, I don't think the guy is wearing a helmet. But in reality, if you fall, it probably does not matter if you are wearing one or not. You are already throwing caution to the wind.

 I went down the rest of this hill that does not look like a hill on my butt. Everyone was like, "You can do it." and they gave me much more credit than I deserved. They obviously do not know my gene pool (coughfallinginparkinglotinFrancecough) or that I recently got stuck in my mini fridge. So I slid down on my ass.
 And then we looked over the edge and I did not get very close. But it was close enough.
 We got to do some steep stuff in the Jeep.

 On the way out of Sedona we stopped to see the church in the side of the mountain. I forget what it is called and I am tired of recounting the trip so I am not looking it up. It is impressive and I like it mucho. It was designed by one of Frank Lloyd Wright's students, apparently.
 Our last stop before our pie stop was Montezuma's Castle, which is also built into the mountain but in this instance, hundreds of years ago. I kind of wanted to go in it. But you can't. Suck.
A creek goes right by the castle, which is part of the reason they built it there, according to the signs I read along the path.

That was our trip to Sedona. I had a great time and it was fun getting away from the city. Only at one point did I lose my cool driving, and that was because as the driver, NO ONE was helping me navigate the tourist laden streets of Sedona while I was going through NINE roundabouts (which I kicked ass at, by the way). Ahem.

I just told Jeremiah that I wrote this part and he was all, "That's real nice. All you remember is the bad stuff." I prefer to look at it as a celebration of me surviving mountain driving and only getting ticked ONE time. Baby steps. Because I mentioned all the wonderful things that happened on the trip and only one minor icky thing.

Oh, yeah. We stopped for pie at a place voted one of the top ten in the country - a little hole in the wall place about thirty minutes outside of Phoenix. It was pretty darn good. I wanted rhubarb but sadly it was not in the cards. So instead we got coconut cream, chocolate, and peach. Yum.

I also want to add this - it was incredible to see friends from so long ago. It was almost as if no time had passed at all. We were giggling and remembering the funny/stupid stuff we'd done ten years ago. And making new memories. Love it.


Oh, No He Didn't.

Have you missed me?

I have been super busy, plus my doctor called and told me that tests indicate that I am in fact sick. Again. Sonofabitch. So MORE antibiotics. At this point, everyone at the pharmacy knows me by name. The elderly, the pharmacists - we are all good friends.

Anyway, I do not have time to write because I am busy, but I wanted to let you know that I was called bitter (due to the fact that I am childless, of course) by a friend's husband.

So I gave you the end of the story. Wait until you hear the beginning. I was shaking, I was so pissed.

Happy Day, Friends!


Ding-a-Lings & More

First of all, the principal and assistant principal thought my email about the guillotine was hilarious. Not the point, but happy that I could do that for them. They forwarded the email to some guys that apparently know shit about ceiling noises and one of them came out and he could not figure it out so he sent his BFF out to look at it and he was like, "How long have you been hearing these noises?" I told him that I'd been hearing them since I moved in the room. He asked why I did not tell anyone. My response was "I thought it was just me."

Then I realized that made me sound a little crazy and I tried to cover for myself by laughing hysterically. Smooth, Emily.

Anyway, he told me that the loud noises were actually TOILET PIPES. Every time someone flushes, I know it. It is a little disgusting. Now every few seconds I am thinking about how someone is using the bathroom. He promised to see what he could do.

Speaking of falling into my mini-fridge (see how smoothly I transitioned there?), I think I know why I fell. Saturday I woke up with a horrible pain behind my right ear and ended up at Urgent Care. With an actual fever. The horrible doctor told me that I had fluid in both ears. I am thinking that ear fluid probably screws with the equilibrium, you know? So bad sinus infection. And ding-a-ling number one, because she really was an idiot.

Our next stop was the pharmacy, because she gave me a crap-ton of scripts. Let me tell you about my pharmacy. It is filled to the brim with elderly. There is an entire aisle dedicated to adult diapers. I am the youngest person to shop there by about thirty years. This will be important in the story. Sort of.

I stood there with my new prescriptions and my thermometer that I had to purchase in order to monitor my fever, and things then went downhill. The girl at the counter asked with a curled lip if I had a fever. No, honey. I always sweat like this when I am immobile.  Ding-a-ling number two, for making me feel bad about being sick.

I figured that while I was there, I would pick up a prescription that my Snuffy's Disease doctor had called in earlier in the week. One was to be mailed to me, one was to be picked up. Except that the one that was to be mailed he sent to the pharmacy, and the one that was supposed to be at the pharmacy was not there.

At my wit's end, I said of my doctor "He is SUCH a ding-a-ling!". The two hundred year old woman waiting in the endless line behind me steps up and starts rubbing my shoulder. "Honey?" She says to me, "They ALL are."

The end.

P.S. I had a "reaction" to the meds the doctor prescribed and spent the whole night wide awake filled with paranoia and a heart that I was sure was going to jump out of my chest. Like, I actually thought it was going to hop out. Jump across the floor. As my brother would say, I was nuttier than squirrel shit. The next morning I read the warnings on the scripts and they said if you were already a little crazy, you should not take these meds. And now I sit here wondering just how nutty I actually am.

P.P.S. I did not take those meds again, in case you were wondering. I decided to tough out the horrible pain without painkillers and the doctor phoned in a different antibiotic. I am feeling like myself (which according to the warnings, is only slightly sane) and waiting for the pain and sickies to go away. Send happy healthy thoughts my way, please.



Yesterday when I walked out of the bathroom my skirt was tucked into my undies.


What the hell is wrong with me?

So confess. Most embarrassing moment. I've had two within one week. Getting stuck in my mini-fridge and having my ass hang out (for just a brief moment). Someone tell a story so I can feel a bit better about myself.


I Know Why the Chicken Crossed the Road.

I spent last week at Grammar Camp.

Stop laughing. I really did.

If you are imagining a camp that focuses solely on grammar - you would be imagining correctly.

If you are imagining me so absolutely in my element that I was sad to leave at the end - you would be imagining correctly.

This is the second time I have been sent to Camp. I am not sure if it is compliment that I am being sent. They might just be trying to get rid of me. They know that I won't turn down the opportunity to increase my nerdiness.

Camp was held on the third floor of a building across town. While waiting for a session to start, I looked out a window on to a neighborhood across the parking lot. There were beautiful mature trees and lush landscaping. I was jealous. As I watched this neighborhood from my window, I SAW A CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD. I thought, "What the eff. Is this a joke?" No. Seriously. One single chicken. Crossing the road.

I just feel as though my life is complete. I have seen it all.

Also, any time someone starts the joke "Why did the chicken cross the road?", which is a joke that you hear a lot when you teach in an elementary school,  I can tell them that I have seen the chicken cross the road and I know what her goal was. I know her motivation.

The damn thing just wanted to get to the other side.

Anyone else feel that their life is complete? Seen something unbelievable?

p.s. One of my students gave me a picture upon my return. It is a picture of me looking a bit bottom-heavy but well-dressed (tell it like it is, sister) and I am yelling in all caps "I LOVE MY CLASS!" and I am smiling and I am CRYING. I did not notice the tears until after the girl left but now I am curious why I am so happy that blue tears fall freely down my face.

p.p.s. There is a noise that has been coming from my ceiling since I moved into this new room. It happens every few minutes. It sounds like a giant guillotine chopping off someone's head. It is honestly the most gruesome noise you can imagine. So I sent a note to the principal letting her know that they might have accidentally installed a guillotine on the roof above my room and that it was loud and distracting and perhaps it was not in the students' best interest to have an instrument of torture at an elementary school. Please would they look into moving it or silencing it?

I will let you know what she says. I bet she sends me away to camp again.


Well, I Got Stuck in My Mini-Fridge This Afternoon...

I worked a bit over twelve hours yesterday. I was deaf and speaking quite loudly by the time that I arrived home. Thankfully, they have switched Jeremiah's hours yet again, so I did not have to think about what to make for dinner when I rolled in at 7:45 pm.

That is because he had made dinner for me. Just in case you are having trouble inferring that detail. Jeremiah home early = Emily does not have to make dinner.

Jeremiah asked me how my day was and if anything interesting happened. This is always a good question because with kids, you never freaking know what can happen. And also? With me, you never freaking know what can happen.

So I responded with "Well, I got stuck in my fridge today at work."

And really? What do you say to that?

Jeremiah: How does that even happen?
Emily: Conferences start tomorrow and I was preparing things. During one of my many procrastination breaks, I leaned over in my wheelie chair and it slipped out from under me. Acting the whole thing out for him. My arm was in my fridge (which is on the floor, if you are trying to picture this) at the time reaching for a cookie, I mean, a carrot, and I fell on the front and top of the fridge. I trapped my arm in there. The fridge door closed on me. It was horrible.
Jeremiah: Well, that explains the bruise. He points to my arm, where there is a perfectly straight horizontal green line. I am guessing that is where the door of the fridge closed on your arm?
Emily: Oh...Yeah. Also? I really effed up my neck and shoulder.
Jeremiah: Shakes his head. Dinner is ready.

He did not seem too surprised by the incident.

At one point, I did think, Why me? But then I remembered my dad sailing down the dunes and wiping out and my mom sliding under the Jeep one icy morn and then I was like, Yeah, seems about right.


Dear "Guest" Teacher,

Thank you so much for coming into my room last week and deciding for me that all of my dry erase markers (which aren't cheap, by the way) were not "dark enough" and throwing them out. That was nice of you to show initiative.

I also want to thank you for giving my students free time at the end of the day when I specifically asked you AND my students to not have free time and to wait until Monday. It was not even in my plans. My students even told you they were not supposed to have it. But again, you showed initiative.

Lastly, thanks for NOT covering my duty at the end of the day. You were scheduled to be here until 3:20, but you did not want to do a duty that lasted until 2:45. So you left at 2:30. I mean, good for you. Leave work fifty minutes early.

Maybe it is because, as you mentioned repeatedly, you are a retired teacher and taught for twenty-eight years. I thought that I expressed the correct amount of respect and admiration. I could be wrong, though, because I tend to be socially awkward.

Here's the deal, though, honey.

YOU were a guest in MY room. I am the teacher. You said it yourself - you retired. It is now MY turn to make decisions and run a classroom. I would have never had the balls (excuse my language) to go into someone's classroom and do the stuff that you did. It would be like being invited to someone's house and throwing away their stuff or listening to a friend give direct instruction to their child/grandchild and then intervene, telling the child that they do not have to listen to their parents.


So thanks again for everything. You'll understand when I don't ask you back, right?

Hugs & Kisses,
Emily - The Teacher


FtVF - It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn.

I have a theme song this year. It is what gets me out the door in the morning on bad days. Jeremiah will actually play it to get me moving.  I sing the chorus to myself. I pump myself up by playing it in the car.

Here's the From the Vault part...
At Record Store Day in April, I picked up a Florence and the Machine single. I like to pick one album that I am not too sure of and check it out.

When we got home, I had Jeremiah put it on the record player (I refuse to touch the record player out of fear of breaking it.) and I immediately fell in love with the song.

It is captivating. It has never failed to release me from whatever funk I have fallen into. I dance, I sing, it's a beautiful thing, if only to me.  You know how Phoebe runs like a child on Friends? That's how I dance and sing to this. Completely free. Slightly possessed. 

If you are lucky enough to have already heard the song and/or you know Flo, then I welcome you to sing along. And dance. I won't judge you.

If you are already wanting more, here is my second favorite song. Not my anthem, but fun all the same. This song results in a lot of clapping if I am in the car and a lot of jumping if I am able to stand.

Dog Days are Over

Happy Friday, Friends.

Anyone else have an anthem? Please share.


If I Could, I Would Marry This Room. Just Saying.

Awhile ago I mentioned that I/we had been working on my studio. My Special Place. It is with a completely and utterly adoring heart that I share these updates with you. Sometimes, even though it is not even close to being finished, I just go up and sit in there. It is such a calming and happy space for me.

First update is the shelf. We actually have four that we acquired at the end of May. They were going to be thrown out. So instead, we stuck them in the back of the Forester. Two immediately were hung in their current condition out in the garage. The other two I sanded, primed, and painted white. One will go in a guest room and then one went in my room.There are little hooks that Jeremiah took off while I was fixing the shelves, so at some point those will be screwed back into their proper places.
It is directly above my gorgeous desk (which is not being shown due to the fact that it is a disaster and has not been organized yet). The shelf obviously is not filled yet. For awhile Maddie Vache slept in the bigger basket.
The next update is the lighting. Sadly, the three guest rooms are not hardwired for any ceiling lights. They all have one switched outlet. Any light that is to be hung must be swagged. For about three years, I have coveted this capiz chandy. Dreamed of it. Whispered to it every time I saw it at the store. For Christmas, Jeremiah's parents graciously provided the funds to get me the light of my dreams.
I can't even describe how much I love it, but I will try. When it lights up, it looks like shimmery gold.
If the AC is running, it almost sounds a bit like wind chimes. I love it.
The framed picture is a print that Jeremiah gave to me for my graduation present in December. I had seen the artist's work up north in a gallery and loved it. The girl is in the woods and is slightly whimsical looking. I identified with her. The wall to the right will be filled up with more art/posters/photographs.

Lastly. Holy crap. The Borders shelves. I purchased three (and fit all three of them in the back of Old Red). When we got them home, Jeremiah liked them so much he immediately bought one from me for his music stuff.

Two of them are going to go in my room. They are huge, reaching almost all the way to the ceiling. I need a foot stool to reach the top shelf. The process for sanding, priming, and painting is a long one. They are so big that only one can be done at a time. In addition, this one was done during the summer and the garage was easily one hundred twenty degrees while I was working on it. I think it took maybe five coats of paint? I am nothing if not a perfectionist. Totally worth all the work, though:
I have books grouped by genre so far, and I am sure to keep it that way, but the second book shelf will help immensely. I am almost out of room already and I still have books throughout the house.
So those are the updates. I seriously am so happy with it. I wish you a space that makes you as happy.

p.s. I have read two exceptional books lately. The first one is Her Fearful Symmetry, which I could not get out of my head when I was done. The second was Homer's Odyssey, which is about a woman who adopts a blind kitten named Homer. Incredible. I cried numerous times. Any one else reading anything good? I have been reading like crazy since I finished my degree.


It's Like a Chair, but Longer.

This summer, Jeremiah and I moved things around in the living room. The idea was, we have this sunny backyard with a beautiful pool and the window that faced out to the backyard was partially blocked by the couch.

After much debate and a little loud discussing (read: fighting), we moved the TV and the stand to the right of the window and the couch to the wall on which the TV used to be located. We also rearranged the desk area and have plans to relocate the shelves to be above the desk.

One problem that has plagued us since the beginning is that we never wanted the TV to be the focus - which is why things were open and the fireplace became the focal point. Now we have the window to look out and the fireplace. But the space did not feel defined. We were also left with the issue of not enough comfy seating. We had the couch and a few chairs. When we have company, though, we want them to feel as though they can lounge luxuriously, too.

We discussed purchasing a small loveseat (not a couch) to face directly across from the fireplace. It would help define the area AND AND AND offer that extra comfy seating for guests.

Saturday while strolling around Salvation Army (Am a total liar. I was giddily picking up books for twenty-five cents and gushing about a lamp that I wanted for seven bucks.), I found the perfect loveseat. Small. Big, movable back pillows. ALL slipcovered (and not some cheap after market thing). It was clean. Spotless, even. It was marked at $175. It was Saturday, though, which means 40% off. We were sold. When we got up to the register, it rang up at just under $70, and that included my lamp and books. The woman said that it was being additionally discounted. Whatevs. I am not about to question it.

There was some doubting as to whether it would go IN the Forester or ON the Forester, but Jeremiah's spatial giftedness won out and the doubtful Salvation Army worker and I had to eat our words.

The entire damn thing fit in the car. With the hatch closed.

We got it home, I immediately washed all the covers (By the way - underneath the covers? Spotless. Like new.) and set it up. We LOVE it.

 It has a texture to it, which is nice, because anything that can help hide spots (or fur) is a huge plus at our place.

We discussed it last night and decided that we have good couch karma. My first couch I bought at Salvation Army and sold it for a profit a few years later when a co-worker gave us her gently used leather sofa. We then bought a fun purple suede couch for the front room for only $250 at a consignment shop. And then we sealed the deal for about sixty with this little guy. Not bad.

Anyone else buy something fun this weekend? Anyone have a car that ceases to amaze them? Because my car is amazeballs.


Anyone Else Check the Color of Their Snot Each Time They Blow Their Nose? No? Just Me?

My brother came to visit again. It's so nice that we can both be adults and not punch the other one in the sternum causing almost instant death.

Oh, wait. ADAM.

I asked Jeremiah "Are you just going to let him do that to me?!" And then I thought, these are two completely passive guys. A fight could be either super interesting or one hundred percent dull. So I kicked my brother myself.

Honestly - It is nice having family come visit. I didn't even have to dip into my stash of Valium to get through the week. That? That is GROWTH, My Friends. Plus it is nice because my brother puts things into perspective for me. Having Jeremiah around me all the time makes me feel like a freak. He does not have to check the garage door nine times (in three sets) each night. He does not have a fear of other people using the same toilet. He does not worry the house will burn down constantly. In other words, he is fairly normal. While Adam does not have the exact same quirks (such a nice word to use instead of "weird ass issues"), he came from the same family and has his own special gifts (again, nice words) that he brings to the table.

Having brother around made me feel less freakish and more normalish.

Until Jeremiah started drinking more frequently (which, honestly, is still not a lot) due to his desire to "keep up" with our sober behavior (I don't know what that says about any of the people involved. What does it say when you have to be inebriated in order to understand someone else?). Apparently two of us were too much to handle. One child too many from the Z clan.

Then Adam left and the next day I got sick. I am not sure, but I am pretty sure that he is somehow responsible.

Shortly after becoming sick, I began a flare-up of my awesome disease and threatened Jeremiah that the moratorium on coughing on his toothbrush had ended because he was no longer on short term disability and therefore he was well enough to endure my horrible toothbrush experiments. At that point he suggested another I take another Valium (just kidding, people).

So now every time I blow my nose or cough crap up I check the color. Because when you have an immune system as screwed up as my immune system, a cold can turn into something much worse very quickly. And I go to the nurse daily for stethoscope checks on my lungs. So far, so good.

And I am sure that the nurse loves me.

Somewhere in the future of this blog, there may be a story about pickles. Because that was the turning point that got Jeremiah drinking like a fish.

Have a great weekend, Friends.  Any fun plans?


I Consider It a Good Day.

Last night after making the dinner almost entirely by myself (I do not mind doing this, I am just pointing it out), I refused to make dessert.

Jeremiah's sole option was Rice Krispie Treats.

I walked him through the steps and then left him to fend for himself in the kitchen.

As I am relaxing in the living room, I hear him mutter "I am not as good at this step as I thought I would be." I look in the kitchen and he is putting the cereal/marshmallow mixture onto a cookie sheet.

How can you screw up Rice Krispie treats? How can you not be good at that? Emptying a pot onto a flat surface? And also, how exactly would you excel at it? It's a fairly simple and straight forward process. I am guessing there is not too much of a learning curve going on here. You can either tip a pot over or you can't.

I laughed at him.

Today I did not get threatened by any students. I consider it a fantastic day.

Oh, and Friends? So much has been happening at the house. Shelves are up, bookshelves are painted, rugs are cleaned...I just have not had much luck with computers/computer memory/uploading shit onto the computers. So that's why you have not seen the progress of my happy place.

Also, I have company coming! My brother will be here in a week or so and I have two very dear college friends coming in October. I think I am winning the popularity contest. It used to be everyone visited Jeremiah. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

 I am excited because one of them is bringing her two babies, so technically I have FOUR visitors at ONE time! Plus, last time I got to hold her baby and I was all, "Jeremiah, this is how I would look if we had a baby and I held it. Except that this baby is cute and ours would probably look like a baby elephant." 


Dear Perverts,

I have been noticing a ton of people Googling very naughty things about husbands and wives and urine and landing on my blog. I get it. That's what I titled my post. Except my post was about the dedication to your partner within your relationship and thinking that tinkle is funny. Not kinky stuff.

The stuff for which you are searching? You will not find here. EVER. The stuff you are looking for made me blush. I did not even go searching. I just looked at the phrases you were Googling and I was horrified.

So go on with your life. I won't judge. At least, not any more than I already have. Feel free to glance through the posts. Leave a comment if you'd like.

I am going to go take a shower with boiling water, bleach, and a brillo pad.

(Air) Hugs & (Air) Kisses,


Jesus. The Dog, Not the Carpenter.

I should preface this by saying that here in Arizona, the name Jesus is quite common (pronounced "Hay/Suess" for those that sat next to me in French class. In Michigan.). Everyone and/or their brother is named Jesus here in Arizona.

One time I went out to eat and we spilled our waters and we could not find our waiter, but Jesus was there with a hand towel to help wipe things up. It's a very Jesus-y thing to do. Help those in need. Of a hand towel.

So imagine my surprise when on the first day of school, one of my students was telling me about her dog, Jesus, and she actually pronounced like a girl from MI would pronounce it - "Gee/Zuss".

"Jesus is so mean. He will bite you. He will bite your fingers like this." Demonstrates. "He will make you think that he is going to be nice but then NO. He is not nice."

And all I could think was, Wow. Totally not the behavior you would expect from the Son of God.


Friday's Highlight - Which I Forgot to Post

School started on Wednesday.

It's been rough.

This might be the year I take up drinking. Just kidding. I am more a Valium kind of girl. Less calories.

Not a lot of highlights right now.

On the way to bus duty, though, I ran into a very young student. Probably kinder or first grade. Didn't know her. That doesn't stop itty-bitties, though. They will talk to just about anyone.

Student: Do you think I am going to miss the bus?
Me: No. I don't think so.
S: Are you sure?
Me: You won't miss the bus. Promise. I have to go to the buses, too. So you will be fine.
S: So this one day, I went to a meadow.
Me: Really? That sounds like fun.
S: Oh, it was. I saw butterflies and beautiful flowers and even some tweety birds.
Me: Wow. Did the tweety birds sing?
S: Yes. It was beautiful.
Me: Do you know what we call birds that sing?
S: Shakes head
Me: Songbirds.
S: Oh, I saw butterflies, beautiful flowers, and the most amazing songbirds.

It made my day. Parents, talk with your children. Introduce them to things. Expand their vocabulary. Offer them experiences. You don't need money to do this. Promise.

Oh, and I was kidding about the Valium. Relax, people.


Don't Let It Go to Your Head, Jeremiah.

Time: End of May
Place: School
Why: Packing a shit ton of boxes

Emily: Packing/filling HUGE boxes with everything - packs of paper, textbooks, etc.
Jeremiah: What are you doing?
Emily: Um...I'm packing.
J: Did you ever think how heavy those boxes are going to be to move?
E: No. Because you are going to move them, Mr. Muscles.
J: I don't know if I can lift those boxes.
E: What? Why? Are you wimpy? Do you have saggy muscles?
J: Seriously? You're making fun of me?
E: If it's too much for you, I'll have students push the boxes on Monday.
J: USE SMALLER BOXES. They are easier to move.
E: NO. Because they get filled too quickly.
Jeremiah gives up, I gloat, filling my giant boxes with dictionaries, encyclopedias, and the like.

Time: Beginning of August
Place: School
Why: Unpacking a shit ton of boxes

Emily: Looks around at the huge boxes stacked in new classroom. No assistance to be had. Desperately tries to lift/move one to start unpacking new classroom. It's a negative. Almost has an accident straining so hard. Awe, crap.

Okay, so this ONE TIME, Jeremiah was right.


A Little Perspective, Brought to You by Goodwill

I would like to premise this by saying a few things. One, this really isn't my story to tell, but by being in a relationship with one who writes, I would say that you know that you are forfeiting your story-telling rights. Two, as my mom told me when I told her this story, "Sometimes I think things happen for a reason." and this totally did. Fate.

Jeremiah and I were waiting in line at Goodwill. He had vinyl and I had books. We were buying separately, so when the lane next to us opened up, I shooed Jeremiah over as "The next person in line! That's you! Go!".

When he got there, the young guy that was checking him out noticed the long scar going from Jeremiah's ear to mid-scalp. Checkout guy asked Jeremiah how he got the scar. Jeremiah told him. Turns out that the guy had had the same surgery for a tumor removal. What are the odds?

And then he said:

"What did you have to relearn?"

Jeremiah's reply was that he had not had to relearn how to do anything.

This guy had to relearn everything. EVERYTHING. He could not even walk.

What a humbling experience. For someone (sorry, Jeremiah) who has been so impatient with the healing process and so eager to be back to his presurgery state, I think it puts things in perspective.

Jeremiah was able to bike for the first time yesterday. 

We are so lucky.


Who Can It Be Knockin' On My Door?

The police came to our house this morning. While I was still upstairs resting/sleeping. My first thought was, "Damn it. What the hell did Jeremiah do?" Which is redonk, because Jeremiah is like, a boy scout. But we all have our pasts, and you just never know*.

My second thought was, "I need to put on pants." as currently I was donning a t-shirt that I have had since I was 12 (If you were to think that means it has a lot of holes, you would be correct. A large piece of Swiss cheese would have offered more coverage.).

And on an aside, when I was in Vegas last week (Vegas, Baby!), a co-worker said she would be stopping by my room every morning and I was all, "If it takes me awhile to answer, don't be alarmed, I am just putting on pants." Then it occurred to me that this co-worker did not really know me that well, and it was probably more information that she wanted. And also? She might not stop by for fear of catching me without pants. And then I could wipe out on the tile floor in the bathroom and hit my head and DIE and no one would know.

Seriously, I can't be the only person who puts on their pants right before they head out, can I? I get my top half ready (hair, make-up, shirt) and THEN I put on pants. If I had nicer thighs and hips I might just forgo the pants altogether. Such a pain.

Anyway, the police came to the door this morning.

After I got over the fear of not having on pants and wondering what secret life Jeremiah might be leading, I got curious.

Me: Well???
J: They wanted to know about the neighbors.
Me: Smokey Smokersons? Those would be the creepy neighbors with the hound.
J: No, the house across the street. They were wondering about the cars parked and if there was a woman there and blah blah blah blah...So I told them blah blah blah blah...
Me: Silence for a bit. Jeremiah?
J: Yeah?
Me: You realize that you gave them wrong information? The neighbors you just told them about moved out over a year ago. They don't even live there anymore.
J: Shit.  So that's not the same truck?
Me: No.
J:Maybe I should go tell them what you told me.
Me: You think?

He came back in and told me that he told the police "That the one with the memory told me I was wrong, here's what is really happening at that house..." and the police told him that MY version of the neighbors matched another witness's/neighbor's story.

Now I am super curious about what is going on up in this neighborhood. Tell you what. We make every effort to be neighborly to two of the most normal neighbors on the street. Stick together. My new motto.

*At some point, I may share with you the time bounty hunters came to the house in the middle of the night with all sorts of weapons and scaring me almost to death. Having your house closed in on? Not a great feeling. I thought Jeremiah was at fault that time, too. He was not. And he loves the amount of trust I place in him.


Thank You, Netflix

It isn't too often that I feel the need to express my gratitude to a large company, especially to a company that has raised its prices significantly out of pure greed.

But here goes.

Netflix, I just want to thank you for categorizing the movie "Ghost" in the Thriller category, when it most obviously should be placed in Romance. That way, when Jeremiah asked what movie we were getting, I was able to be like, "Oh, we are getting Ghost. Haven't you seen it?" He had not. "You will LOVE it." I said. "It is the absolute best romantic movie, oops, I mean, the best thriller movie."

And then Jeremiah was like, "Wait a minute..." when we were watching it.

So thank you.

Hugs & Kisses,

p.s. Dear Friends, two things. One, Jeremiah admitted at the end that it wasn't too bad. I was like, duh. I mean, Whoopi, Demi, and Patrick?! Classic. Two,  As I write this my weird neighbor (who was upset because his yard got wet) is using a leaf blower to clean off his patio. There are no leaves. Or anything. Just the ashes from his cigarettes. At this rate, Jeremiah and I will die of second-hand smoke as he is out there all the time and the wind always blows it into our yard.

p.p.s. Favorite Movie?? I will go first. And probably last. I could watch Grosse Point Blank a trillion times. "You know, I guess it's true what they say. You can never go home again...But I guess you can shop there." Ooh, or you could just put your favorite movie QUOTE.


Because No One Puts Baby in the Corner

Not to upstage Jeremiah or anything, but late on Friday night I was admitted to the emergency room. As I was not able to drive and Jeremiah is on strict orders not to drive, I am going to say that we flew to the ER. Or rode horseback. Which sounds more realistic?

My joints/muscles were flamed up and I was in excruciating pain. Nothing was helping. Not a bath, not gentle massage, not heat. Nothing. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit. The only thing I could do was pace. And cry. And there was some screaming mixed with snot-filled sinuses, which I am sure was a treat.

So we went to the ER using our wings/horses. It is really close to our house, and suburbia is quite quiet at one thirty in the morning. So our horses encountered minimal traffic.

I was almost immediately given a bed, even though they were packed. This did not matter because I could not sit down and spent my time standing and pacing the room until they made me lie down to get an IV.

At this point, they told me that I would be getting morphine, something for nausea, and valium. And then I started to cry, because I HATE drugs of any kind and they scare me. Plus, the nurse could not find any veins (typical) and ended up using the inside of my arm, half way up. Very painful, Friends. So I was snot crying about the pain, stress, sleeplessness, and the fear of the morphine.

Then after, I felt a little better. Still in pain, but not crying because my back was touching the bed. Also not pain free enough to be considered okay, so I got my second dose of morphine. At this point, I cared a little less. Also at this point, conversations became a bit more interesting.

Me: Ooh, Roseanne is on! I love this show!
J: Okay...
Me: I love John Goodman.
J: Quizzical look in my direction
Me: He's bringing sexy back, Jeremiah.
J: Really? Should I gain a hundred pounds?
Me: Well, no. But you would look GOOD in that flannel shirt. And with some curly hair. At this point in the conversation, I may have growled a little. This is an argument we have had for years. I think Jeremiah should bring back the cowboy look. I don't know if it's because he grew up on a farm or what, but I think he could rock the boots, hat, and plaid/flannel shirt. I never win this argument. 
Nurse: How are we doing in here?
J: Oh, I think the morphine is kicking in.

And also this, about an hour into the stay:
J: Shit. This chair is really uncomfortable.
Me: Oh, really?
J: Yeah.
Me: Yeah? You let me know when you sleep in one of those chairs for THREE WHOLE DAYS while watching someone you love in the aftermath of a craniotomy, then we will talk.

I am home now and feeling better, but not too psyched about the fact that I have had such a serious episode, because my doctor has helped me manage it so well, it worries me that something like this managed to sneak through the meds.

Diseases suck.

So how was your weekend?

p.s. My nurse looked like Jane Lynch and was almost as funny. That could be the morphine talking, but I really do think she was funny.

p.p.s. I have added a picture of my bruise so you can feel my pain.
This is where they shot the morphine into me. Or, as we now know it, the truth serum. After Roseanne ended, Three's Company came on and I announced to Jeremiah that young John Ritter was hot.


Why I Hate Dunkin Donuts

Dear Dunkin Donuts,
In my entire adult life, I have stopped by twice. Both times have been sucky. And you know what they say (well, everyone except George W. knows this saying): Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

And seriously. Shame on me.

First of all, it is important to note that Jeremiah and I are not doughnut people. We were heading out of town two years ago and wanted to get doughnuts, as that is one of the few times we treat ourselves to them - on a trip.

So we stopped and went in to your store/restaurant(?)/business/coffee shop (what the hell do you call Dunkin Donuts?). It was still early - maybe eight or so - and almost all of your wire baskets that are SUPPOSED to hold doughnuts are empty. Apparently, you ran out.

How do you run out of doughnuts? You are a doughnut shop. It is your entire business, besides the coffee. It'd be like a pizza place running out of dough. McDonald's running out of fries.

Fast forward to Wednesday. I took Jeremiah out to celebrate the start of birthday week. We passed a Dunkin Donuts and thought we would give you another shot.

We were the only ones in there. We stood back from the register so you would see that we were not ready to order.

Guy 1: Hey Guys! Welcome! Can I take your order?
Us: Still looking thanks.
Guy1: Well, let me know when you are ready! My name is Gus!

What when wrong here? Anyone? Okay, I'll go. You do NOT address your customers as "Hey Guys". You just don't. Especially when one of them is a GIRL. I learned the proper way to address customers when I worked with people and food, you should, too.

Thirty seconds later:
Girl: Hi! Welcome! Can I help you?
Us: Still looking, thanks.
Girl: Well, I will be helping you when you are ready.

Then she proceeds to stand in front of the doughnuts. And ask us several more times if we are ready. This prompted Jeremiah, who is VERY hard to annoy, to say, "No, because we are trying to see the doughnuts and you are standing directly in front of them."

Then another guy asks to take our order (seriously, Dunkin Donuts, are you working on commission? You have WAY to many people working.).

All within maybe one minute. We probably would have ordered faster if we hadn't been interrupted every ten seconds. And if you see that someone else has asked us, why the hell are you asking, too?

We place our order, I go to pay, and the girl taking our order has already forgotten what we ordered and couldn't fill it.


And then, we get our frozen drinks and there is no whippy cream on top. Jeremiah points out that they are supposed to have whippy on top, and the guy says...

Wait for it...

They ran out.

Again, you are a doughnut and COFFEE shop. You have this drink advertised all over your establishment. Everywhere are pictures of this new drink you want your customers to try. And then you can't freaking make it correctly because you ran out of the ingredients needed to make it?

Just so you know, Starbucks NEVER runs out of whippy. Neither does McDonald's for that matter.

Stupid Dunkin Donuts. We will never be coming back. Never.

Hugs & Kisses,



I've got some stories still to share regarding Jeremiah and the hospital stay, but I have not really felt like revisiting that yet - I am sure that you understand.

Here is what we've been doing around the house:
  • Cleaning/Straightening up
  • Sanding the bookcases/Preparing them to be sanded (removing hooks, staples, etc.). Roles have been reversed with this, and I am doing the sanding, which means it is going slow and steady. Too much with the sander and it triggers my muscle/joint problem.
  • Trying new recipes - I made French toast stuffed with Biscoff and served with strawberries for Jeremiah on Sunday. We *might* get brave enough to try the spaghetti squash that came in our basket. Then again, maybe not. Also on the agenda - smashed potatoes.
  • A shit ton of laundry. I had not done any colored laundry since before school let out. I finally did it over the weekend. We almost had to revert to bathing suit underwear. Or go without. Jeremiah.
  •  I have been reading like crazy. 
  • Swimming
And here is what is on the goals list:
  • Laundromat to wash the larger rugs (then I can put the rug down in my room)
  • Buying at least one new rug for the kitchen
  • Maybe a rug for under the table in the dining nook?
  •  Priming & painting the shelves.
  • Hanging shelves, moving the bookshelves upstairs.
  • Tear apart my bathroom (it will be a half-gut, meaning I can still shower in there during the remodel but not tinkle) for the remodel (there will be several posts on this)
  • Paint picture frames, finish picture shelves & wall gallery.
  • Buy cover for chair in my room.
 Jeremiah is doing well. He still has some pain, but most of the bruising is gone. He is able to swim with me daily, but he can't submerge his head in the pool. He can't get too much sun either, so he is bringing back the bandanna. We just make sure he wears neutral colors when we go out.

What's everyone else up to lately?


Jeremiah, Part 2: Why You Should ALWAYS Listen to Your Girlfriend

I am going to preface this story by saying that I know that sometimes I may take things lightly and joke, but believe me, I have not taken this lightly at all. Humor and writing are my coping mechanisms. As a friend pointed out in the midst of my breakdown in the neuro waiting room (while I was blasting all the people who were laughing, playing games, and eating because they weren't having breakdowns), we all handle our stress/grief/nerves in different ways.

Jeremiah's whole story starts back in 2007. That's when I first noticed that his eye was protruding a bit.

Oops, actually it starts back when Jeremiah was four or so and blinded by a wiffle ball that his brother threw. Not as in, he lost some sight, but as in, only shadows in the left eye.

So back to 2007 - I noticed that the right eye was bulging. As we had only been dating for about a year, I approached this as gently as possible. He didn't seem concerned. While in Michigan, an acquaintance noticed it and mentioned it to Jeremiah's mom. Still he was not concerned. After much nagging and about a year, in 2008ish he went to a regular physician and an eye doctor. Both told him he was fine. No tests, nothing. And apparently two shitty-ass doctors trump the girlfriend with no medical degree.

In the past year or so, I noticed that it seemed to be getting worse. I convinced him to see my eye doctors (who are fantastic, by the way) and they immediately were concerned (as any GOOD doctor should be). They sent him to another doctor. This doctor ordered MRIs and CAT scans, but when all was said and done, was not comfortable diagnosing or working on it. So on to another doctor - an ENT who worked in the orbital lobe. This guy said it was bone, but also that because it was heading towards Jeremiah's frontal lobe, HE was not comfortable working on it.

The tumor. You can see that it has almost completely blocked the optic nerves.

So we got sent to a fancy brain surgeon. He is supposedly so good that people come from all over the country to have him work on them and also doctors from all over come to observe. This guy seemed confident that he could do it. Surgery was scheduled.

Meanwhile, there were a few concerns. One - if they did not operate, the tumor (which was in his good eye socket) could completely cut off the optic nerve, making Jeremiah blind in both eyes.
Two - if they DID operate, they could accidentally do something to the optic nerves, and he could be completely blind.

So you can imagine, there was a lot of stress and concerns. Jeremiah made me practice walking him around with his eyes closed.

Day of surgery arrives.

I found Maddie in my overnight bag. She was not allowed to come with us.
Jeremiah's vitals and everything were perfect. They wheeled him away to surgery. About four hours later, he was done. The doctors came to speak with me and told me that he was resting, in a lot of pain, and that the surgery had gone very well. In the future, they might have to go back in if it grows back, but that hopefully they would be able to go in through the nose this time, as it is smaller and more manageable.

In ICU, Jeremiah had to spend only one night. He was allergic to the first pain killer that they gave him, but once they switched it, he rested comfortably. They wanted to send him home the next day (I flipped out. Who goes home one day after a craniotomy?) but agreed to keep him another night, but this time in a regular room on the neuro floor, with a regular door (not a glass wall with people staring in) and a lot less restrictions. His vitals this entire time were perfect - better than mine, for sure, and a lot of that is due to the biking. I never in my life have been so happy to have washed all his stretchy bike pants - if that's what it takes to keep his vitals excellent, I will wash those stretchy pants the rest of my life.

He did excellent the second night, and by noon the following day, we were on our way home.

Since we have been home he has been slowly getting his strength back. He is moving around, listening to music, we have been taking short walks, etc.

That's it for Part 2. But let this be a lesson to you all - The girlfriend is ALWAYS right.