That day I almost used a chainsaw...

Yes, I bought a pole chainsaw. Or, as I prefer to call it: a chainsaw on a stick.

Yes, I brought said chainsaw home, fully assembled it and read the instructions cover to cover.

But did I ever use it?

That would be a great, big NO!

Why?

I developed a healthy fear of my new purchase after reading the chapter dedicated to “chainsaw kickback”.

To be fair, I didn’t take the chainsaw back right away. I let the mental images fully mature for a good 15 minutes first: me accidentally cutting off my arm, severing some major blood vessel, etc. But what finally did it was the thought of Trevor returning home with dinner to discover his new wife dead in the backyard with a chainsaw embedded in her skull.

So, yeah. The chainsaw was returned less than ninety minutes after I purchased it.

And when the nice lady at the Home Depot counter asked me why I was returning a fully assembled, perfectly good, unused chainsaw on a stick? Yeah, I totally lied and told her that it wasn’t what my husband wanted.

Funny how karma catches up with you, though.

The limb I intended to fell with the chainsaw, was instead sawed down by hand. It took me over an hour. And when the limb was finally felled, it was too heavy for Trevor (now home) and me to carry to the curb. So, we had to cut the thick branch into four or five smaller pieces. By hand. At dusk. As a thunderstorm rolled in and the mosquitoes swarmed all around us.

It was miserable.

Not unsurprisingly, my new fear of chainsaw kickback was a source of great irritation to Trevor. And, as a result, my tree trimming privileges have been revoked. The next time a limb needs to come down, the professional tree trimmers will be called to do the job.

I wish I could say I was upset. But, yeah, totally not. Because honestly, I'm still completely terrified of chainsaws.

My boyz...

It is important to note that Haskell actually left his bed - voluntarily - to snuggle next to Trevor on the floor. Apparently, his doggie bed can't compete with the warmth found next to Trevor-the-hot box.

Trevor on eating more than me on Thanksgiving...

Trevor: “No. I am a man. A hunk of a man. And you should worship me.”

(Please note: I have never had any intention of trying to out eat my husband. Ever.)

Happy Thanksgiving (sunset), Dallas!

Thanksgiving walks are short and can only occur during half time
(or until mommy sees a pretty sunset)...

Too much turkey and a Thanksgiving tradition is born...

My first Thanksgiving as a married lady, and my new husband is passed out and snoring loudly on the couch with the Cowboy’s game blasting in the background.

I have a feeling that I will see a repeat of this scenario for many, many years to come.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Trevor and I started our day with the annual Turkey Trot.

The Start Line

Haskell was there.

So was Gypsy Kitty.

Alley, however, was not. She spent the morning thinking about the consquences of digging four holes in the dog run.

There were runners.

And walkers.

And everything between.

Always good to start a day of feasting with a brisk, early morning walk through downtown.

Speaking of eating...

...guess what we ate?

Three guesses...

One...

...Two...

Yum.

HAPPY TURKEY DAY, EVERYONE!

Much needed time off...

Trevor just referred to me as his "Country Club Wife" because the bulk of my activities over the past two days have included:

• Sleeping in.



• Working out.



• Having lunch with friends.



• Shopping.



• Going in for a mani/pedi.



• Getting a facial.



• Running all the errands I normally don't have time for while working (getting the wedding dress heir-loomed, registering for Thursday’s Turkey Trot, picking up the wedding photos from the videographer, etc.)



• Walking the dogs before the sun sets and it gets too dark/cold.



• Catching up on my Dateline mysteries (although, to be fair, I've only watched ONE).

Thank goodness for having enough comp time to turn a four day weekend into an entire week of vacation!

Why I need a vacation...

I hit my head on a door earlier today.

Correction: I opened a door into my face WITH BLOODY CONVICTION earlier today.

You are a special kind of tired when your body moves an object towards itself, and your own freaking head forgets to get out of the way.

Sigh.

Bring on Thanksgiving!

Why I limit my exposure to horror films...

Every so often I find myself unable to sleep, because I am trying – desperately – to come up with a realistic action plan incase of a zombie attack.

Mostly, I find myself primarily concerned over the type of zombie attack. If, say, it is a zombie attack similar to the one in 28 Days Later, I know I only need to find a safe place with access to enough food and fresh water to survive for a month.

However, in the event of a zombie attack similar to the 2004 version of Dawn of the Dead, I’m not sure what I’d do. Zombies of this type won’t die, and I am still haunted by the decapitated head floating in the box in the ocean. When the box was opened, the zombified head was still thrashing around violently and trying to bite the survivors. So, assuming you could make it to some sort of deserted island in the middle of the ocean, who could say that a Dawn of the Dead zombie wouldn’t – carried aimlessly by tides and currents – eventually wind up on YOUR island? I’m sure there isn’t an island remote enough for castaway survivors of this kind of zombie attack to ever feel completely secure. Especially, if you’ve ever watched the documentary on the Discovery Channel that explains how coconut trees and other small plants and animals found their way to the oh-so remote Hawaiian Island chain gazillions of years ago. I don’t know about you, but I’d never feel safe if there was even a teeny tiny chance that a zombie might fall out of the sky one day thanks to some distant typhoon over the Philippians.

It also concerns me that it might not be immediately obvious WHICH kind of zombie attack I am dealing with. And – with so many different types of potential zombies out there – how does one adequately prepare for an attack?

Again, I lose sleep over stuff like this!

Did I mention that I have put more thought into survival plans involving zombies than I have for fire, flood or tornados? Trevor finds that alarming. I, however, am used to planning for worst case scenarios. And, quite frankly, what could possibly be worse than an attack of the undead?

The family obsession with fake farming...

Picasso Farms

A Facebook message from my mother:

I may need you to take care of my farm while I'm out of town...I don't think running a farm with "dial-up" will work! Would you be willing to milk the cows and collect the eggs, harvest the fruit and sheer the sheep? Feed the cats yams? Collect horse hair? OMG! I could let the fields be fallow...??

Awesome.

Oh, the woes of a newly married woman...

After multiple nights nearly FREEZING to death in my own bedroom, the summer quilt that has adorned our bed for the past six months is back in the linen closet for the winter. A brand new, thick, snuggly comforter has taken its place.

Trevor, a.k.a. “The Human Oven”, tried to convince me that it was too early for such a dramatic bedclothes overhaul. I ended up making the switch this afternoon before he arrived home from work.

HAHA! Take that!

I am just excited about the prospect of (finally) sleeping without shivering.

Farmville: less like a game and more like a obsession...

Grammy Pammy on why she thought her Farmville cats yielded YAMS instead of YARN:

“See, if you spell yarn...the ‘r’ and the ‘n’ could merge and be an ‘m’.”

Why I love Oral History...

A quote from an oral history I participated in a couple of years ago:

Bob: ...He was a sweet guy. He just...he graduated from a law school that was peripheral to say the least and Joe was the kind of guy that was everybody’s friend. But he wasn’t about to be…one of my dogs is trying to screw the other (looking out the window and laughing)...okay where were we...you asked me about Joe...

A public service announcement of sorts...

Because I still need new shoes, I found myself super-gluing my cute, strappy black sandals back together after an event this afternoon.

Now, to be fair, I went to DSW on Saturday with Trevor. I just didn’t buy anything. Why? Because after about 15 minutes, I got so overwhelmed that I had to leave the store. Even after I saw my favorite running shoes on super sale. Shoe shopping just really stresses me out. I just don’t get it. If it were up to me, I’d wear Birkenstocks, flip flops or sneakers every day of every week for the rest of my life.

Anyway, I’m super-gluing my shoes back together while talking to my coworker this afternoon…

(You see where this is going?)

…and the next thing I know, my fingers are firmly stuck to Nora’s desk.

I seriously always thought that super-gluing body parts to whatever was the stuff of sitcoms…not reality. But I am here to tell you that it definitely IS possible. As well as rather embarrassing.

So, yeah, I really need new shoes…

When nature attacks...

Bad Nature.

Last night, Haskell EXPLODED in through his doggie door with a look of terrified horror on his face. He was only on thee legs – hopping hurriedly towards us. The source of his fear was adhered to his back left paw. Panicking, he urgently presented his paw to Trevor – squeaking with urgency.

Help! Help!

The problem? A leaf had gotten stuck to his lower leg.

Trevor, laughing hysterically, watched as the leaf detached from Haskell’s paw and fell – rather anticlimactically – to the living room floor.

Please remember that this dog survived on the streets for eight months before I found him.

Poor Haskell.

A bad day for meetings. An even worse day for shoes...

Last Thursday, I woke up, worked out, showered and got dressed for the day. I had a meeting that afternoon, so I was wearing a dress. While finalizing my hair and makeup, I thought about what shoes would look good with my outfit and decided I would try my black boots. My black boots are about 10 years old, and the top comes to just below my knee. They are wonderfully broken in and marvelously comfortable.

However, after zipping them up, I decided that my beloved black boots were – sadly – the wrong choice for my dress. So, I unzipped the right one, slipped it off, and turned to remove the left one. But the zipper was stuck.

At first I didn’t panic. I gently tugged at the zipper in hopes of releasing whatever it was caught on. Then, I reached inside the boot and tried to pry the piece of leather that the zipper was stuck on out of the way. All to no avail. I was stuck.

It is important to mention that the boot incident occurred at 8:45 AM. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes for me to drive to work. So, at best, I was barely running on time. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me that much. The museum has flex time in place, and I had worked late the evening before. However, last Thursday I was scheduled to meet with my boss at 9:30 AM. And being stuck in my shoe was causing me to be later and later by the minute. Not to mention, trying to pry myself free of my boot was causing me to break a sweat on a day when I needed to look quasi professional.

After 10 minutes of pulling, tugging and cursing, my finger developed a blister and my thumb started to bleed. The boots were just fitted enough to my calf that pulling them off was also proving to be fruitless.

At 9 AM, I called my coworker and explained the situation. After she finally stopped laughing at me, she told me get in the car and drive to work. She’d help me get out of the boot once I arrived. This initially sounded like a plan. That is, until I tried one last time to wiggle my foot out of the boot, and managed to wedge my heal in a way that prohibited me from walking properly. Still, I tried to head back to my bedroom to gather up an extra pair of shoes (for once I escaped from the boot), and get on the road to work. On the way down the hall, though, I miss-stepped (compliments of no longer having my foot in the boot correctly) and heard a distinct ripping noise. The worn leather of my beloved boots was ripping away from the zipper where my heal was putting too much stress up near the ankle. I could now see my foot through a quarter sized hole. When I tried to use the extra space to my advantage, however, the rip got larger. Much larger. And that is when – figuring my 10 year old boots had lived a long, happy life – I tore the boot apart.

Never in my life have I been so happy to see my toes.

Not having time to mourn the loss of my favorite pair of boots, I quickly grabbed a black pair of high healed pumps and I dashed outside to my car. Once inside, I put the pumps on, and proceeded to drive to work. About 2/3rds of the way to the office, I moved my right foot from the gas to the break and felt the heal of my shoe crack. Yes, that’s right: CRACK! My second pair of shoes of the day had just broken. And now I was running late to a meeting and didn’t have the luxury of returning home for shoes number three.

Luckily, I had a pair of black flip flops in the backseat of my car, and I threw them on. My black pumps weren’t completely broken, but the heal on the right was definitely too unstable to use. I figured I’d get through my meeting with my boss in my flippies, and head home to change out shoes on my lunch break.

To get to my museum, I have to cross DART tracks. I was about to do so, when the arm came down and the blinking lights indicated that a train was on its way. So, I braked to wait. Sure enough, a DART train was soon crossing in front of me. However, the arm didn’t move after the trained had passed. At first, I wasn’t worried. I figured another train was coming from the opposite direction. Except I waited and waited and there was no train. The arm was just stuck in the down position. And – because I am exceptionally lucky – I was completely surrounded on all sides by other cars stuck in the same situation behind the broken DART arm. Turning around was not an option.

It took almost half an hour for the DART cops to arrive and start redirecting traffic. By then, I had already called the office to tell them that I was now stuck literally feet from the museum entrance.

At least, as my coworker pointed out, I was free from the confines of my own boot. Ha, ha…thanks.

Needless to say, last Thursday was a LONG day. Even before it ever really got started.

Even worse? I now have to go shoe shopping. Ug. Definitely an activity I avoid (hence the reason why most of my shoes are slowly falling apart at the seams).

My dad...

I had to drive to central Texas early on Friday morning.

My dad also drove to central Texas on Friday. But in the early afternoon.

Outside of the small town of Hamilton, my father thought he saw my car broken down on the side of the road.

He didn’t stop, but called to let me know that he was thinking about me and hoped I was okay.

Luckily, it wasn’t my car.

Another reason why I hate Monday...

This morning I had to honk THREE TIMES at a lady stopped at a stop sign in front of me. There was no reason why she was stopped (beyond the obvious stop sign, of course), except for the fact that she was using the pause in driving to put on her lipstick and mascara. Why she couldn’t pull over and/or park during this activity (or, heaven forbid, put on her makeup BEFORE getting in her car) is beyond me. So is the reason why she didn’t immediately start driving again after the first “friendly” honk from another motorist waiting to go through the intersection. Instead, she continued applying her makeup while I waited (some what) impatiently behind her. And when she finally started moving again? Yeah, she totally flicked me off.

B*tch.

For no reason other than it makes me laugh. Every time.

Deer watching: Like bird watching, but different...

Halloween at Auntie Mimi's House...

Halloween 2009 was spent visiting Auntie Mimi. There were no costumes (much to Haskell's chagrin), but I did get to see trick-or-treaters on the Lampasas Square. And there were not one, not two, but THREE meals at Eve’s last weekend, which thrilled me to no end (Note: Eve’s is my FAVORITE central Texas restaurant).

Plus, I got to wander around Mimi’s backyard with my camera. The light was beautiful, even if the doggies kept getting in the way.