The surprises never cease to…well…surprise me…

Last night, Trevor came home with a card for me.

I was SUPER excited about it. After all, living with him for the past week has proven “tricky”. In my mind, thoughts of sappy, romantic cards were reigning supreme. The kind of card where Trevor would apologize for putting a dirty plunger in the kitchen sink, or promise to work with me to correct our (apparent) communication problem. Maybe even something sweet and simple like:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I may be an idiot,
But I still love you.

The potential for cheese-ball, Hallmark love was great, and I ripped into the envelope with a heightened sense of anticipation (thinking: He loves me! He really LOVES me!).

Here is what was waiting for me on the inside:

Front Cover - “Farting is an art form…”

Inside - “…Happy Belated Birthday, Rembrandt.”

Here’s your sign…

Last night, while Trevor was reading on the couch, I told him four related (but completely separate) things:

1. I was going to bed early.


2. I was not going to show before bed, like I normally do.


3. I was going to wake up early and go to the gym.


4. I would shower when I got back home.

Now, because Trevor was reading while I told him all of this information, I repeated it twice before turning in for the night. My hope was that he would somehow absorb it all, and not be confused (or surprised) by any of it.

Futile, I know.

How is that boys can look like they are listening carefully and processing information (nodding and saying, “Uh huh” and “Okay” in all the right places), and yet somehow not be paying attention at all? It completely fascinates me.

Anyway, on with the story:

So, I go to bed and sleep blissfully undisturbed for almost an hour before Trevor opens the door and stumbles in. Apparently confused by the lack of light or movement in room, Trevor exclaims, “Oh! Are you sleeping?”

Now, because I think the answer to this question is obvious, I decide not to respond. That is until I hear Trevor ask again, “So? Are you? Sleeping?”

In my head I have all sorts of witty answers to this question, like: “No. I just decided to lie on my bed in the dark and count shadows on the wall” and “Sleeping? No! The power just blinked off in this room, and I was trying to feel my way out when you walked in”! Of course, all I actually said was, “YES! SLEEPING! GO AWAY!”

Trevor’s response: “Oh. Sorry. So, uh, are you going to shower tonight?”

Me: "..."

Trevor: "Well?"

Me: “Are you kidding?”

Trevor: “What?”

Me: “No. No shower tonight. Going to work out first thing in the morning.”

Trevor: “Oh.”

Cut to this morning: I woke up and started getting ready for the gym. Trevor, who was also getting up at the same time, turned to me and asked, “You headed for the shower?”

Again, in my head, sarcastic-me snaps back, “Yeah. Headed for the shower. Just let me finish putting on my running shoes and I’ll race you there!” Naturally, all I really said was, “I’m going to the gym this morning, remember?”

Trevor’s response: “Oh. Right. So, are you going to shower first?”

Me: “Uh, no. I tend to shower after the gym. Call me crazy.”

Trevor: “Jeez! Okay! I get the point!”

Me: “Obviously.”

Seriously, why do I waste my breath articulating anything at all?

Maybe next time I'll make Trevor a “stupid sign” like in Bill Engvall’s comedy routines. Then, when Trevor says something like, “Are you sleeping,” I can simply hand him the sign, roll over and go back to bed.

Sigh. Stupid boys...

Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.

Red Creek Trail...

For our second hike, Trevor and I decided on a well worn track along a small stream called Red Creek. The trail follows the creek upstream to its source on top of Missionary Ridge. Although places were fairly steep, the hike itself wasn’t difficult. In fact, the most challenging part of this hike was following the trial. The 2002 fire burned this section of Missionary Ridge pretty badly, and the new tree growth has completely swallowed the path in places.

As we neared the top of Missionary Ridge, the trail completely disappeared. Using my GPS and the map in the hiking book, Trevor and I tried to relocate the trail on the far side of a section of new growth. This included walking in a dry river bed for awhile, which made me very nervous as the thunder - so distant for most of the hike - had become louder and much more ominous (Note: From the start, Trevor and I had to contend with the sounds of distant thunder. It was sunny and the prevailing wind seemed to be blowing the pop-up summer storms away from us, so we decided to keep going). My primary concern was the treat of flash flooding – something Trevor dismissed as paranoia on my part. However, not two minutes after leaving the river bed, a wall of red water come barreling down the ravine where we had just been standing. I was still reeling at the sight of the flash flood, when the skies above us opened up and all hell broke loose.

Not since my camp counselor days as a teenager in the Pecos wilderness of New Mexico, have I been caught in an electrical storm on top of a mountain. Just incase you were wondering, it is not a lot of fun. Moving quickly, Trevor and I sought out the relative safety of the tree line. Once there, we hunkered down with the dogs and waited for the storm to end. Lightening flashed all around us, and the thunder was deafening. Then, as if the driving rain wasn’t enough, it started to hail. It was a great time, let me tell you.

The storm only lasted about twenty minutes, so it wasn’t long before Trevor and I were on the move again. We didn’t go far, however, before we realized that we were on the wrong side of the aforementioned flash flood ravine. Unfortunately, the raging water was too high for us to consider crossing to the other side, so we decided to cut our losses and head back down to the car.

Now for the pictures:

On the way up…

Before the flash flood, I had been standing in the ravine next to that tree…

Raging water…

Just incase you didn’t believe me about the hail…

Trevor and his doggie, Alley Cat…

Red Creek…

Red Creek…

Red Creek…

My mountain man…

Just in case you’ve ever wondered why Trevor and I haven’t gotten married…

For the next two weeks Trevor and I will be living together. That is, if he is allowed to live that long.

Let me explain.

This morning, Trevor got up and - as part of his morning ritual - decided to “drop the kids off at the pool” (i.e. Trevor for “taking a poo”). Normally, this would not warrant mentioning because when nature calls, nature calls. However, Trevor’s ability to think and reason before 7 AM is (apparently) severely limited. Thus, left to himself, things went from bad to worse. Quickly.

It all started when, due to some sort of logistical error, Trevor dropped Larry, Curly and Mo off at the pool instead of just a few kiddos. As a result, the toilet backed up.

Now, to be fair, the plumbing at my house is 85 years old, so it doesn’t take the mother of all movements to keep things from going down the way they should. In fact, it happens so frequently that I have strategically placed plungers next to both toilets in my house, and adjusted the water level in the tank so every clog does not result in an overflow. Trevor knows all of this because he has:

1. Been to my house.


2. Used by toilet before.


3. Helped me deal with previous toilet back ups.


4. Stopped up my toilet in the past.

So, it would stand to reason that Trevor, after clogging a toilet in MY house, would know how to proceed. Instead, the following occurred:

• Trevor woke me up when he couldn’t find the plunger (which was RIGHT NEXT TO THE TOILET AS ALWAYS!!).



• After using said plunger, Trevor proceeded to take the dripping, disgusting thing to the kitchen to rinse it off IN THE KITCHEN SINK! Drops of “poo water” were left on the kitchen counter as well as the floor between the kitchen and bathroom.



• About this time, I asked Trevor if he fixed the toilet (I was still in bed and unaware of the Kitchen Sink Incident). He said he had.



• I then inquired whether or not he had rinsed off the plunger before putting it back in its “house” next to the toilet. He said he had, but he’d do it again just to be sure.



• That was when I heard Trevor turn on the bathroom sink.



• Convinced Trevor must be doing something other than what I thought he was doing, I yelled, “You’re not rinsing the plunger in the bathroom sink, are you?!”



• Trevor said he was.



• I jumped out of bed screaming, “Trevor, NO!” It was too late.



• Trevor asked where he was supposed to rinse the plunger, if not in the sink. I told him, A) the toilet post-flush with bleach; B) the bathtub next to the toilet (before scrubbing tub with bleach).



• I watched as Trevor moved the dripping plunger into the bathtub from the sink. Made mental note that bathmat now needed washing.



• Nervously, I asked Trevor where he rinsed the plunger the first time. Almost fainted when I learned about the kitchen sink.



• Inquired whether or not Trevor was in the habit of putting used plungers in his kitchen sink. Trevor’s response: “No. That’s gross.” Uhmmmm, yeah. My thoughts exactly.



• Thought about asking Trevor about the logic behind rinsing the plunger in MY kitchen sink, if he wouldn’t rinse it in HIS OWN kitchen sink. Decided against it. I was obviously NOT dealing with a rational human being.



• Told Trevor that I expected him to bleach and scrub the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink, the bathtub and the offending toilet before he left for work.



• Went back to bed.



• Seriously questioned Trevor’s upbringing.



• Got up when it occurred to me that Trevor would need a sponge (and – considering his current state of mind – would have NO idea where to find one).



• Entered bathroom to discover Trevor scrubbing the sink with blue toilet bowl cleaner and the brush I use to wash dishes.



• Screamed, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Trevor’s response: “What?! It has bleach in it!”



• Pointed out that it was toilet bowl cleaner, and should therefore be used ONLY in a toilet. Mentioned that the brush should be thrown away after Trevor was done cleaning the bathroom as it would no longer be suitable for dishwashing.



• Was in the process of getting Trevor Clorox Cleanup, Lysol Wipes and a sponge from the kitchen when I realized my feet were wet. Further inspection revealed the “poo water trail” from Trevor’s trips to and from the kitchen sink with dirty plunger.



• Screamed.



• Handed cleaning supplies to Trevor. Ordered him to sanitize everything before he left for work or I’d kill him.



• Considered killing him anyway.



• Washed feet with soap and water.



• Went back to bed.

See what I am dealing with people?! Insanity! AND TREVOR HAS ONLY BEEN LIVING WITH ME FOR 48 HOURS SO FAR! He won’t be able to move into his new apartment for another 12 DAYS!

AGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

Forbay Lake...

This was the first hike Trevor and I decided to go on. We had only been in Durango for about a day at this point, and were still getting acclimated. Plus, we wanted to see how the dogs would do off leash (it was Haskell and Alley’s first time in Colorado).

Since it was our first time out, Trevor and I opted for a short three mile walk to a place called Forbay Lake. It isn’t the most spectacular of hikes, but is pleasant and easy (you only gain about 350 feet in altitude overall). Other than the mosquitoes, it was a great way to start the vacation.

Here are some of the pictures:

Forbay Lake Trial Head...

Trevor on the trail with the dogs...

Trevor on the trail with the dogs...

Haskell drinking from a puddle...

Happy Haskell...

Gypsy Kitty: The Pack Dog...

Forbay Lake...

Forbay Lake...

Haviland Lake...

Haviland Lake...

Haviland Lake...

Haviland Lake...

Haviland Lake and the road back to civilization...

I missed my calling...

I was finally able to get a repairman over this afternoon to see about my broken fridge and freezer. This was much, much, much more difficult than it should have been. Apparently, Maytag repairmen are extremely busy individuals (despite the TV advertisements that imply otherwise).

Anyway, the visit lasted about seven minutes and went something like this:

Maytag Repairman: “So, what seems to be the problem here?”

Me: “Well, the freezer and fridge are no longer freezing and refrigerating. I think it might be the compressor, but I honestly don’t know much about major appliances.”

[Pause as the Maytag Repairman pulls the fridge/freezer unit out from the wall and sticks his hand inside a panel located on the back of the machine. This whole process takes less than twenty three seconds.]

Maytag Repairman: “Yep. The compressor is shot.”

Me: “Can you fix it?”

Maytag Repairman: “I can, but it isn’t worth the money to do so. This is a bad model. Best you cut your losses and invest in a new one.”

Me: “Oh.”

[Pause as I watch the Maytag Repairman whip out a stack of papers from the bag he is carrying.]

Maytag Repairman: “Okay. Well, let’s see here…that will be $74.86.”

In other words, I told him what was wrong with my fridge and he charged $75 for confirming it (not fixing it, mind you. Just confirming the problem).

I’m obviously in the wrong line of work.

I miss Colorado...

And the curse of the bad karma continues…

This morning I managed to lock myself out of my house.

The weird thing was that I had my purse and cell phone. My house and car keys just weren’t with them. So, there I was: standing next to my car, all dressed and ready for work, but with no way of getting there. And the situation only became more complicated as I realized the following:

- My landlord (who happens to also be my aunt) is out of town.

- Trevor’s key was given to RR while I was in Colorado (so she could check in on the house and water my plants). RR doesn’t actually live in Dallas anymore. It was kind of convenient for her to stop by every now and again while I was in Colorado, but only because she was working as an intern at an undisclosed location not far from where I live. Said internship, however, ended last week. RR and JLR are currently on vacation, and I seriously doubt either one of them would enjoy driving all the way to Dallas to deliver my stupid key.

- I never gave a key to my next door neighbors (the ones I refer to as the Toolsons) because I've already had their oldest grandchild, Jet, crawl out from the underside of Trevor's car and found him playing in the bushes in my backyard (unbeknownst to the parents and grandparents, of course, who didn’t even realize Jet was missing. The scariest thing is that I’m not even 100% sure how he got back there. Jet is only two and not tall enough to unlatch the backyard gate). If the Toolsons had a key, who knows where else I would find their babies?! I shudder at the thought.

- I can’t remember if I ever gave a key to my mother. If I did it was two years ago, and I might have borrowed it back when my aunt had a lot of work done to the house last summer.

- I always meant to give a key to my sister, but always thought I’d wait until after all the work at the house was complete. I was going to re-key the locks until it was suggested that we replace the doors with new ones (I live in an old house in a historic district. The front and back doors are original to the house, but aren’t in very good condition. However, the City of Dallas has a tendency to block improvements that involve replacing something original to the structure with something new or modern. So, it has been suggested that we look into refurbished doors from the same time period, as the City would be more likely to approve an “old door swap” rather than the construction of a new door). Since the door problem currently remains unresolved, I’ve never gotten around to re-keying anything. Much less, giving people (like my sister) a key to my place.

So, not having a lot of options (and not being awake enough to consider anything like locksmith – at least not yet), I called one of my coworkers and asked her to pick me up on her way into the office. She was running late, though, so I had to sit on my front porch for about half an hour or so before she arrived. Now, I’m sure I smell like a used gym sock and I’m suffering from “sticky armpit syndrome”. Ug.

At least I made it to work, although I’m not sure how I’ll ever leave it now that I am here. After all, my car is locked up back at home with my house keys. Sigh. What a pickle.

Little Pearls of Wisdom from The Weather Channel…

Tonight (thanks to Tropical Depression Alvin or Aaron or whatever it is called) several electrical storms developed over the Dallas area. Taken by surprise with the suddenly violent weather, Trevor decided to turn on the Weather Channel. The following is the advice they offered:

1. “And a word of advice to everyone out there: Don’t confuse your car with a boat because you will float away.”

2. “Do not handle live electrical wires in extremely wet areas.”

I can only assume that handling live electrical wires in moderately wet areas is perfectly okay, but don’t take my word for it.

In response to Lia…

Yes. I’m back.

I got back on Sunday afternoon, but haven’t posted anything for three reasons (or as Lia would put it: “excuses”):

1. Looking at my pictures makes me sad I’m back in Dallas and my two week vacation is over.

2. Going back to work after being gone for two weeks really sucks. I’m starting to wonder whether or not I’ll ever get caught up.

3. My bad karma has returned to taunt me. I’m starting to think it is somehow unique to Dallas. Since I’ve been back I’ve had (1) a prayer book open directly to page 666 during a funeral; (2) my refrigerator and freezer stop cooling and freezing (but not until after I went to the store to “restock”); and (3) an ingrown hair develop on my right big toe (gross AND painful. A double whammy).

Anyway, between feeling sorry for myself, working late, cleaning out the fridge and freezer AND trying to preplan outfits that don’t include shoes that hurt my big toe, there hasn’t been a lot of time to blog. Rest assured, though: I have a lot to say and many pictures to upload. I just need a couple of days to slow down, catch my breath and recover from the shock of the past four days.

In the meantime, if you haven’t seen it already, I’d like to recommend the movie STARDUST. Trevor, The Turd and I saw it on Sunday, and we were all pleasantly surprised. It is like THE PRINCESS BRIDE, only better (I know, I know. I didn’t think such a thing was possible either). I especially enjoyed Robert De Niro’s character and seeing Michelle Pfeiffer all old and decrepit (hee!). Anyway, it’s definitely worth the time and money to see it (especially if it is a hundred and fifty degrees outside like it is here in stupid Dallas).

Stay cool, my babies!