Rocky Road

Last night I thought it would be fun to head over to Baskin-Robbin for their .31 cent cone night. Weeeeeeeee.

Only problem, the rest of the planet had the same idea. Spying the line around the block, I decided to take the girls to another ice cream parlor. I saw a man getting into his car, so I turned on my signal and planned to take his space.

He approaches my car and warns me that my headlights are off. It's technically dusk, but I appreciate the warning and flip them on. I tell the girls that they can go ahead and go inside to get in line. The guy still hasn't started his car, so I pick up my phone an scan my twitter feed. Pretty soon he approaches the car again:

He: Are those yours?

Me: (confused) Those children?

He: Yes!

Me: Yes, those are my children.

He: And you told them to go stand behind my car?

Me: No, I told them they could go inside the ice cream store.

He: Well you must be smoking the crack.

Me: (pause) You are a nice man.

Arghh! I hate to have issues with people. In the retelling you'd think the man was elderly. But I guess he just acts that way? Maybe he has incredibly poor eyesight? It irritates me that he called it "the" crack. It irritates me that he was driving a new Mini Cooper, because up until then I have favorable feelings towards the brand. It irritates me that it's still bothering me a day later. Arghh!!

Her Again

Last night I had the opportunity to meet up with BOSSY again and many other people on her (No)Book Tour. As promised there were name tags, wine, a videographer and food. Surprisingly there was a baby, people from far way places and an odd statue/fountain of a woman holding a washing machine over her head.

The Worst Idea I've Ever Had

I want to go to Greece for my 40th Birthday.

The way things are moving, it doesn't look like it's going to happen. So the other night I took a little look-see at Active.com to see what athletic events they have scheduled for December the 12th. There's a triathlon in Puerto Rico and there's the White Rock Marathon.

Of course I don't want to run a marathon, but more so, I don't really want to turn 40. Well I should say I really don't want to turn 40 feeling bad about my body, my career and the fact that I'm not in Greece. Committing to run this Marathon on my birthday would solve a few objectives:

I'd have to get in better shape if I trained and ran.

I'd have something to do on my birthday.

I have many friends and family in the Texas.

I'd always be able to say: I ran a marathon on my 40th birthday.

But all that seems kind of boring and common place and a bit like settling.

So I thought a plan where in I device a support team of friends and family to run the marathon relay style with me. Awwww - yeah! Off the top of my head here's few candidates for the relay team:

Stef

Brian

Erik

Markie

Hazel

Lemaitre

Gail

April

Then I thought, why not get a celebrity support team? Then I went to Kayak and looked up airfare to Athens.

Breaking A Leg & The Bank

I encouraged the girls to try out for our local children's theatre Spring production. Even though they have NO acting experience and Lula barely makes the age cutoff, I was pretty sure they would be awarded the lead roles after their audition.

I happily accepted when they were cast as part of the "ensemble". (Happily accepted like the Toddlers & Tiaras moms do when their kids fail to make the final crowning.)

After the first rehearsal, I was given the lists of parent responsibilities. The parent responsibilities included:

Tuition *cough, cough, choke, gag, gasp, cough*

30 Volunteer Hours

Retaining a sponsor

Selling Tickets (to our friends and family v. just at a booth or window)

Here's the kicker - I have to work the snack bar as part of my volunteer hours and today I found out that in addition to taking the money and making change I'm supposed to provide HOMEMADE BAKE SALE ITEMS to sell as well. I have THREE snack bar shifts.

Cakeballs.

Potty Talk

Yesterday, I threw up a post about Erik, his marathon and toilet paper. TOILET PAPER. Then in a moment of clarity, I realized – One doesn't get a Rachel Unchitel size payout by talking about bathroom business AND I wish someone would pay me to keep my mouth shut. So I took it down.

It's been hard keeping my head on straight this week. We still haven't heard about the house. I'm walking a fine line between remaining optimistic and not jinxing myself. While I was working on the Toilet Paper Post (not an April Fools joke, mind you) I came across a draft of a post I'd written a few years ago that also talked about the toilet. And I realized that I forgot to include the picture of the bathroom in the last post about the house we want. So here you go:

The Old Post

A few weeks ago, Erik told me he accidentally flushed a bottle of the girls floride down the toilet. The order of events went like this: business, flush, knock bottle into bowl, whooossshhhhhh!, bottle gone. He said it so matter of factly, that it would seem as if this was indeed an everyday occurance and quite normal. I think I was out of town. Something that assinine would never occur on my watch.

The bottle of floride is big. Bigger than travel toothpaste. Smaller than contact lense solution. Since this unfortunate knock off, we've been asking everyone to please use the toilet in our bedroom. Or to try to go elsewhere, seriously.

After several attempts of scheduling, the plumbers are finally here. I can hear them in the other room. They are big men. One is sitting on the edge of the tub and the other runs back and forth retriving tools from the truck. The one sitting, reminds me of people who use the motorized carts at Walmart in Kansas. He has a toothpick in his mouth.

(I can only assume I didn't publish because I couldn't figure out an ending. I do remember, we had to replace the toilet.)

The Bathroom