Really, Nick, REALLY???

When I started this blog back in February (different blog site for those of you newbies - you can still visit those posts at approachingdirtythirty.myblogsite.com) I only promised that I would try to write every day. I never promised that my posts would be intellectual or funny or even entertaining. In fact, a lot of the time you've probably found them to be ranting, childish, silly, and maybe even boring. Whatever, that's all I've got, so deal with it. Or don't. But keep reading, because it might get better. But not tonight!

Tonight we watched Dear John, based on the book by good ole Nicholas Sparks. Yup, that's right, the same guy who wrote The Notebook, one of my most favorite movies. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm a sucker for a good love story. And throw Nick's name in there and it's guaranteed to be a good one. But Dear John....dear Lord! I'm still in angst over that story. This is a case where I didn't read the book first, because the movie almost never lives up to my experience with the book. But this, this made me want to cry as soon as the letter appeared. I happened to have the book at home (just hadn't read it yet), so I quickly opened it to the last chapter. Turns out the movie ending was WAY better than the book and much less heart wrenching. Come on, Nicholas Sparks, people (me) have come to expect happy endings from you - is that too much to ask????

And take Angelina Jolie out of movies, please. She makes me want to barf. Every single movie is the same - is she a spy or does she kick ass for a living? Hmmmm. (this isn't completely random - I just watched a preview of Salt).

Perfectionista

Practice makes perfect, right? All of my life I have striven for perfection. I've tried to be the perfect daughter, (the perfect sister is out - I was horrible!), the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect wife, the perfect employee, and the list goes on and on and on.

Well, trying to be perfect is a lot of work, and with it comes a tremendous amount of stress. This year, as I live through the last year of my twenties, I am realizing that perfect isn't so great. Every house project that we've started I've wanted to turn out perfect. When searching for a new car I wanted to find the perfect one. When dressing I have to have the perfect outfit, complete with accessories, shoes, and hairstyle. We've lived in our house for almost three years now, and I have yet to purchase curtains/window treatments because I haven't found the perfect ones. We haven't painted the rooms because I haven't decided on the perfect color. Our kitchen isn't finished yet because I can't make decisions. I procrastinate so that I can buy myself time to make the right, or perfect, choice. Aaaaahhhhh!

But this year I am learning to let go of the need to be perfect. There's no such thing as perfect, or at least it's what I keep telling myself so if you disagree don't share it with me or you'll ruin my mantra! I no longer want this weighted baggage that follows me around every day. I'm tired of being stressed out and irritated over simple things. I'm trying to adopt the mentality that life isn't about "things" anyway, it's about people and relationships. That's what I'm going to focus on. If the cabinet door has a spot on it where the polyurethane dripped or a piece of hair from the paintbrush attached itself, it is not the end of the world. Life goes on, and so will I. Things that seem perfect on the outside rarely are.

I'm taking a deep breath....and letting it all go...

Hidden Talent

I had writer's block the other night, so I did the only thing I could think of and turned on the television. After scanning all 200 channels I settled on the movie The Breakup with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston. I caught it right at the point where Vince is making fun of Jennifer's brother that sings in an a Capella group. There are so many jokes about how a Capella group members are weird and nerdy and maybe even gay, and maybe some are, but I went to Binghamton University where the a Capella groups are amazing (and very manly)!

I muted the television and did a quick YouTube search for two of my favorite BU groups: The Crosbys and The Pegs. I perused the song titles, clicked on the ones I remembered, and slipped back into the Binghamton days when my friends and I would clear our schedules to hear the a Capella groups at the Dollar Show. (The lecture hall building at Binghamton contains fourteen lecture halls. Students pile into several of the lecture halls and the university's a Capella groups rotate through each one). It was magic. I graduated from Binghamton eight years ago (eek!), but I'll never forget the talent showcased in those two groups in particular.

So, let's forget these television shows claiming they are looking for the next best singer or vocal group. Go to Binghamton (and other colleges and universities) and watch the talent unfold before you. There is REAL talent there. It isn't forced and it isn't fake. These people know how to entertain and they have fun doing it. They're also smart and can carry their own tune even when the people around them are singing a different one. They make their own sounds and music. If you've never experienced a real a Capella performance, click on the links below and witness the beauty of real talent. You can't pass up the opportunity.

Long live Binghamton a Capella! And long live real talent.

http://www.thepegs.net/ (click on videos to see actual performances)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkbQym5MM-w
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_slvE5WPvdc&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dq82ONuGhwY

http://www.thecrosbys.com/

What I think about while I exercise

Normally when I'm exercising at the gym it's on a piece of cardio equipment: Arc Trainer, Elliptical, Stair Stepper, Bike, or Treadmill. And in those cases I'm usually reading something, whether it be the most recent Fitness Magazine or a book from the library (don't worry, I wipe the books down with disinfectant wipes before returning them), or listening to my MP3 player. That's right, I have not yet succumbed to buying an iPOD. I figure my MP3 player works and it holds way more songs than I'll ever like, so what's the point?

Anyway, today I branched out of my normal exercise routine and joined a class called Group Ride, which is supposed to be like spinning but more geared toward an actual road bike ride. Until today I considered myself to be in pretty decent cardio shape. Five minutes into the class and I was huffing and puffing and probably could have blown a house down had there been one in front of me. I found myself looking at the clock at the change of every song. The minutes were creeping by. So what was I thinking about? Let's see, when will this class end?; why did I decide to do this?; I could be leisurely working out on the Arc Trainer right now; What if I pass out, do you think I'll hit my head?; Maybe I should pass out; I could die and this would be my last activity on this earth; I'm sweating an awful lot, can you sweat fat off?; How many calories am I burning?; How does my butt look from behind? And then I looked at the clock and only three minutes had passed. I'm serious. It was only after I hit the halfway point in the class (1/2 hour) that I started to get control of my breathing. Then it wasn't SOOOO bad. In fact, I think I might even go back for more this week (am I really typing this????).

Does this make me a masochist?

Mr. Ding-A-Ling is actually a woman

Our neighborhood has an ice cream truck that goes around once or twice a day. The first time I saw the name on the truck I laughed hysterically. Mr. Ding-A-Ling! I sent numerous picture messages to friends via my fantastic Samsung cell phone. We all had a good laugh. I always assumed the driver would be a man, which I have to admit creeped me out big-time (Ding-A-Ling and serving ice cream to little kids? You can't yell pedophile louder than that!) But to my surprise Mr. Ding-A-Ling's driver is a woman! I realized this as I pulled onto my street and passed the truck at the stop sign. Interesting fact.

Other interesting facts:
--> Whenever I drink wine little pains shoot through the sides of my jaw (not when I drink beer or other liquor, only wine). What is that about?

--> There is a new Green Grocery store in my town that sells all natural food and products. Today I found my pasta that I normally wait 15 minutes for at the farmer's market for the same cost. Score!

--> Every time I go to Target I end up with the same cashier. She is from Thailand and she is an absolute doll! The interesting thing here is that she remembers me every single time, AND she remembers our past conversations. Today she told me she thinks we knew each other in a past life and are just drawn to each other. So sweet :)

What is the point?

So if you've read my facebook status this evening, you already know that I am totally miffed that our barely two years old deck is not wearing as well as we anticipated it would. We bought Veranda composite decking in a beautiful light cedar color from Home Depot in 2008. I am not an impulsive person, actually quite the opposite, when it comes to large purchases, so please know that we spent months researching the best decking for our tri-level deck (that my husband designed).

The deck boards looked great when my husband first screwed them down (which was a process in itself - I probably cannot count on one hand how many drill bits were stripped!), but toward the end of that summer it started to get little black spots everywhere. Every few days I would get down to work with a toothbrush and a mild dish detergent/water mixture to remove the pesky spots. I know it sounds anal, but the decking wasn't cheap!! Rewind for a second to the moments before purchasing the decking. More than one Home Depot employee, along with the Veranda website, stated that the composite decking was virtually maintenance free but that it might need to be sprayed off with a regular garden hose at the beginning of spring each year. So we sprayed it off last year, and again this year. But that didn't remove or prevent green algae-like stains and black mildew(???) spots from covering the deck boards.

A few weeks ago I went to Home Depot to announce my grievance and get some advice, and I was told to buy this rather expensive composite deck cleaner that you have to apply with a mild to rough brush. Did I mention our deck is 500 square feet? But the directions clearly state that one must scrub, let sit for 15 minutes, but NOT allow the product to dry on the deck. Um, hello, it's SUMMER!!! So late this afternoon when the sun hid behind our pine tree I whipped up a mixture of cleanser and water and went to town on a set of stairs. While it removed most of the green algae stains, it did not really remove the black mildew stains. In my opinion it should look better than it does, but I guess I'll take it! My husband built this deck from scratch and I know he wants it to look perfect, or at least close. A lot of blood, sweat, and swears went into that deck, so we want it to look good for a long time! Here's to hoping Veranda gets back to me soon regarding the email I sent today :)

I guess my question for the night is: What is the point of buying the "best" product if it doesn't live up to its promise? Or is this just another example of the Walmart/warehouse effect?

Wah, wah, wah, SHUT UP!

Why do people like to complain? I spent an hour and a half at a training session this evening for a volunteer program, and almost 40 minutes of that session was taken up by complaints. And tattling. I almost couldn't believe it, and then I remembered that people are crazy, and many of them suck. Most of the complainers were over the age of 65 - I don't know what that means. I said a little prayer tonight that went something like this: Dear God, Please do not ever let me get to a point in my life where I complain about little things like how many points I should get for volunteering long hours, or how I deserve a prize for volunteering the most hours. No, I'm not kidding. That really did happen. More than once. Eventually I tuned out the whiners, but thought to myself, really? Is this the most exciting thing in their lives that they need to complain about it? But I guess I answered my own question. Anyway, note to self and everyone else out there: Remember what our mothers told us - Nobody likes a whiner! (A little side note - I actually have a line between the hallway marble floor and the tile at the entrance to my classroom called the "Whine Line". No whining allowed once you cross into my classroom! Now if only I could figure out a way to make that line portable...)

To dip or not to dip

There's nothing quite like a small vanilla and chocolate twist in a cone on a beautiful balmy summer evening. And there's certainly nothing like having an old summer job haunt your choice at the window.

For two glorious high school summers I had the privilege to work at our one traffic light town's ice cream stand, called Custer's Last Stand. (Personally I think it would have been funnier if the name had been Custard's Last Stand, but what do I know?) This was a very convenient job for me, especially since I did not have my driver's license for the first summer that I worked there. It was in walking distance from my house, and the other people working there were great. I really had a lot of fun! While working there, I learned how to make the perfect cone (it's all in the wrist), how to make shakes, egg cremes (the first time I had a customer request one I looked around for eggs!), banana splits, and sundaes. I also learned that scooping hard ice cream is an absolute pain in the rear end.

But the hardest things to do were dips. Yup, that's right, dipping the ice cream into the hot dip was challenging. There was an art to it that I eventually learned, but many ice cream tops ended up in the actual dip instead of remaining on the cone. The dip had to be the perfect consistency so as not to weigh the ice cream down and pull it off the cone, and the ice cream had to be really anchored into the base of the cone. Dipping was difficult, and I cringed each time a customer ordered one, but that isn't the reason I refuse to order one now that I'm on the other side of the counter! The dip comes hardened in a giant can and has to be scooped out and put into a warmer where it then melts into the dip that later hardens on each ice cream cone. Now, here's the part that prevents me from ever ordering dip again: the entire top third of the can is a layer of hardened fat, not unlike Crisco, while the bottom two thirds contains the flavor and color of the dip. In order to get a desirable consistency of dip that would harden without pulling the ice cream off the cone, we had to scoop a very generous portion of that fat into the dip. I'm being mild with the word 'generous'. There was a lot of fat in that dip. I have forever been ruined from having a dipped cone! Dippers beware - do you know what's in your dip????

Bon appetit!

Support Strippers

When the United States was attacked on September 11, 2001, there was an initial sentiment of sadness, grief, and astonishment caused by the horrible acts of terror. In the days, weeks and months that followed, there developed a sense of national closeness and kindness toward others that had previously been lacking. Then, when this neighborly sentiment wore off, people adopted a mentality of revenge, which seemed quite normal given the circumstances from 9/11/01. People put U.S. flags in their front yards and house windows and played Toby Keith just a little too loud.
Fast forward about a year and a half to March of 2003 when the U.S invaded Iraq. It was right about this time that I started noticing those ribbon magnets designed to stick to the back of cars, letting every other car behind you know that you supported the troops, or loved the U.S.A. It was a quiet yet meaningful way for people to express their feelings and national pride. Nearly everyone I knew with a car owned at least one, including myself. Until I went through the car wash a week later. Shortly after people got used to the war, other magnetic ribbons emerged. There were yellow ones to support cancer, pink ones to support breast cancer, red ones to support heart health, ones to support Jesus, ones to support individual sports (soccer, baseball, tennis, etc.), and the list goes on. It was getting a little out of control, in my opinion, and those ribbons can start to look tacky on a car when there are too many. Fast forward to today when I witnessed a new cause to support: strippers! That's right, folks. The nice, new car at the light in front of me had a bright green magnetic ribbon that read: SUPPORT STRIPPERS. Initially, I LOL'd, thinking it had to be a joke put there by someone who, like me, felt there are just too many organizations out there to support with a magnetic ribbon, so why not support strippers? Then, my smile faded as I realized maybe this was real. Could somebody really want to publicly announce their support for strippers? That thought can't be dismissed, because as much as we try to deny it, some people are that crazy!
Tomorrow I am making my own car magnet that says: "SUPPORT ME".

Voracious

Today was almost completely unproductive. Outside of two loads of laundry, vacuuming, a trip to the farmer's market, and watering the garden and new trees (o.k., that seems more productive when it's in print), I read ALL DAY LONG! I read one entire book and half of another, and I think I found a new favorite author. Her name is Susan Elizabeth Phillips and from the two books I've read of hers I would categorize them as chick lit. They are better than cheesy romance books because the plots are more modern, twisted, and believable, and don't make me wince with embarrassment. Part of me feels like a slug for having spent almost the entire day reading, but before anxiety sets in the other part of me remembers that it's summer which brings with it very little responsibility! So here I sit, hurrying through this blog to get back to my reading. My apologies! Signing off now...

Once Upon a Gym

Once upon a time there was a young woman, let's say in her late 20's, that belonged to a popular gym. The management of such gym was poor at best, with the staff and members alike being constantly mistreated and duped. The machines in this gym were not in the best shape. Frequent squeaking and a lack of fluid motions were commonly experienced by the gym members. At one point during this young woman's five year membership the air conditioning unit stopped working properly. After many complaints, industrial upright fans were placed around the perimeter of the workout areas. The gym members thought this would be a good temporary solution, until one summer turned into three. At the beginning of the third summer, the young woman walked into the gym only to be smacked in the face with a foul pungent odor similar to vomit. She contemplated walking back out the door until she saw a member of the staff and decided to inquire about the cause of the stench. To her delight, she was told that the stench was a result of the air conditioning unit being cleaned and prepped for use. Hooray!, she thought.
Fast forward to the hottest week of July of that same year, the fifth year of her gym membership. A letter came in the mail from the gym announcing the implementation of an annual fee to be paid within the month. The letter detailed that the fee would go toward upgrades and improvements to the gym, such as: carpeting in the locker room (the existing carpet was fine), new state of the art televisions (there were at least 20 working televisions in the gym already), and other minor improvements. The young woman put the letter down, closed her eyes, and recalled the gigantic potholes in the gym parking lot that were so large she could no longer maneuver around them. Why weren't those on the list of improvements in the letter? She also noticed that there was no mention of an air conditioning unit in the letter. Hmmm, she thought, I'll have to see about this.
A few days later the young woman went to the gym to work out. On her way to the locker room she ran into the manager whose name was at the bottom of the letter she had recently received. She diplomatically expressed her concerns regarding the letter and proposed improvements, and suggested that the air conditioner and potholes be moved to a higher priority. She was assured that there would be more information regarding the installation of a new air conditioner by the end of the week.
On Friday, the young woman returned to the gym and sought out the manager she had previously spoken with. Upon asking about the air conditioner, she was told that, "I am not the person responsible for the installation of the air conditioner, so I don't know what you want me to do." Well, she thought, isn't that nice?! She immediately mentioned that he should notify the owner about her complaint, and added that she would not pay the annual fee while the air conditioner was still not installed. She then went down on the floor to work out and found out from other members (friends) that not everybody received a letter detailing the annual fee charge about to take effect. After dressing, the young woman approached a gentleman at the front desk and asked when her contract was up. He was reluctant to look up this information for her, so she explained that she was thinking of leaving the gym because of the offensive letter. While the man at the desk sympathized with her, he could not help her. She took a copy of her contract and asked to see a manager, at which point she was told that they were gone for the day as was the owner. How convenient, she thought. Her next plan of action? A meeting with the owner to express her concerns over the letter in hopes that the annual fee will be reduced or eliminated? A call to the corporate office? Should she consider leaving and joining another gym? She could use your advice! What would you do?

Summer Trekking

Having the summer off is GREAT, and we sure are making the most of it! Today we went to a local state park called Fillmore Glen, where there is a stream that cascades into a beautiful waterfall, which is then damned to create a pool for people to swim. We bypassed the pool and opted for the gorge hike instead. You may be familiar with the infamous bumper stickers that say "Ithaca is GORGES". This park was not in Ithaca, but in Moravia - not far from Skaneateles. It was gorgeous, though! The hike was 1 1/2 miles, and there wasn't a single spot that I didn't think was not beautiful enough to capture on camera (too many negatives in that sentence probably!). We hiked to a point just short of the final destination and climbed down the embankment to sit on some flat rocks resting just above water level. My husband explored downstream a bit and even ventured into one of the naturally formed swimming holes. It was cold, but refreshing! Me, I stayed seated on my towel and read. The sound of the water flowing and rippling was almost enough to put me to sleep. I haven't felt that relaxed in a long time. Leave it to nature to find a way to calm my nerves and get my attention! In fact, I am so exhausted right at this moment that it's becoming difficult for me to construct complete sentences out of thoughts. If I keep still long enough and close my eyes I can still hear the faint sound of the rushing water. I bet this hike would be absolutely exquisite on an autumn day when the leaves are at peak changing color! I will post pictures tomorrow:)

Get out there and make the most of your summer! Then let me know what you did :)

Trivia is for birds

We had a really fun evening planned tonight and were getting ready to head out when Moe (our cat, for those of you who are just starting to follow this blog) slowed us down. I was pulling in the clothes from the line outside when out of the corner of my eye I saw Moe jump from the upper level deck to the lower level. I immediately turned my head to the very back of the yard, expecting to see another cat. There was nothing there! Moe then ran down the stairs to the grass and crept forward very slowly back toward the stairs. It was then that I saw a little chickadee perched on the third step, probably the same chickadee I'd been watching eat from the feeder earlier in the day. I was in mid-fold and things were moving very slowly. I dropped the shirt and lunged toward Moe, trying to scare the bird away. But I wasn't quick enough. Moe reached up and with one swift movement grabbed the little bird and scooped it into his mouth. I let out a little scream! When he turned around, all I could see were the tail feathers peeking out of his clamped mouth. I followed him to the middle of the yard and tried desperately to get him to release the little bird, which he finally did but then batted it with his paws so it couldn't get away. I think he just wanted to play with it. I've had no experience with this kind of thing, so I ran inside to pull my husband out of the shower. After throwing on a pair of shorts and grabbing some gloves, he followed me outside and was able to grab the bird from Moe's mouth. It was dead :( I almost cried. Meanwhile, at least half a dozen chickadees were flying all around us squawking something awful. I felt so bad for this little bird's family! It all happened so quickly! We marched to the back corner of the lot and gave the little bird a proper burial, taking care to release his or her little soul! Then Jay dragged Moe inside and put a bell on his collar! I will remove the bird feeders tomorrow in case those are the culprits...

Then we continued with our planned evening by meeting friends downtown at Clark's Ale House for Trivia Night! We did really well on the first round of questions, but not so well after that. We were pretty sure people were cheating by going on their cell phones for answers, and then we heard some guys at the table next to us debating economic responsibility versus communism. Okey dokey, then, maybe they weren't cheating! I am embarrassed to say that out of 25 teams we came in close to last. And we had smart people on our team, too, including a M.D/PhD student! I still want to believe people cheated...

Looking forward to the next trivia night! Who's in?????

The Feasting Season

I love books. I love to read and be entertained and whisked away to other worlds and alternate realities. I also love all things French, well, almost all things. This year especially I've been on a mission to read anything and everything that is set in France. Up until recently I've been pleased with my reading choices. This last book I picked up, however, is just not doing anything for me (except making me want to rip my hair out or tear the pages out). It is titled The Feasting Season by Nancy Coons, and follows the life of an American woman married to a die-hard British man while they live in an old house in the French countryside with their two young children and dog, Gerard. The woman is a writer specializing in history and is given the opportunity to go on an "adventure" to tell a story of France's history. She is assigned to work with a hippie French photographer and the rest of the story takes off from there. Or doesn't. I thought the novel was going to be about her travels and pieces of French history and culture all webbed into one magnificent French story that would leave me smiling and dreaming of my beloved France. Not. Even. Close. Yes, there are details of French cuisine and some culture, but mostly the novel focuses on the love affair that transpires between the woman and the photographer. Gag me, please. I love a good love story, but this is just trashy and reaching for something that isn't there. The writing is poor at best and is very difficult to trudge through. I feel like I am experiencing a continuous rainy day when I read this. But, as some of you know or would have guessed, there is something bred into me that prevents me from discontinuing a novel I have started. I must finish. So now you have to bear the brunt of my dissatisfaction with a novel that could have been truly great but fell short. Ah well, c'est la vie, non?

What I came home to

Well, well, well! I returned home yesterday from vacationing in Denver with my mother and brother (who will be stationed in Alaska for the next three years beginning soon) to find that my husband had cleaned the house, done laundry, mulched and landscaped the back yard, and had dinner waiting upon my arrival! He is awesome :) I also found that he had been diligently watering my vegetable garden so that my plants are now HUGE! I spent about an hour today weeding it and picking peas and beans, the earliest in the season I've ever been able to do that. They were deliciously sweet, by the way. There really is nothing like growing, picking, and eating your own veggies! I took some time to water the garden thoroughly, and then of course some clouds blew in and dropped some rain. My husband grilled a four cheese pizza and we coupled it with some Coronas and fresh garden beans and peas. Mmmmm mmmmmm! This was the perfect ending to a hot summer day! Long live summer!!!

Testing

Just testing this out to see if it is easier to use than the blog site I have been using. Try leaving a comment for me!