(Okay...in absolutely no order at all. Don't believe me when I reference "today" because it probably wasn't today at all, it was probably yesterday. Or, today.)
*Every Friday night we try to do something for "Family Night." This almost always involves going out to eat because quite frankly, coming up with something to eat every night of the week, then making it, then cleaning up after it, gets really old pretty damn quick. So, off we went to the Outback Steakhouse. It's the best cheap steak money can buy.
As we were all sitting and chit chatting, our waiter walked up with our tray of drinks and as he passed behind me, dumped said tray of drinks straight down my back. I maintained remarkable calm as iced tea, Diet Coke and and a small army of ice cubes slid down my back and then down my pants. There's nothing quite like sitting with a wet t-shirt in a pool of beverages while ice cubes melt in your thong underwear. Typically when I'm in a wet t-shirt, I'm in some kind of contest with the possibility of at least winning a prize.
I spent the rest of the evening in wet pants. The manager was kind enough (scared enough?) to give me a dry t-shirt to wear. I noticed as I walked across the restaurant that all of the bus boys were wearing the same t-shirt. For a brief moment, I seriously considered clearing some plates and collecting the tip money. I spent a lot the evening reassuring our waiter that I was fine and that I was not upset. He tried to make it up to me by giving me a dessert, "on the house." Quite frankly, this was a much better experience than getting cracked in the back of the head with a three foot long pepper grinder at a restaurant a few years ago. Ow.
I don't get people who flip out when things like this happen to them. What's the point? I mean, the guy didn't walk up to me and purposely throw the drinks at me and call me Fatty or anything. If that would have been the case, I would have walked away with more than a free t-shirt and brownie. I would have made him pay for my booze!
*An old friend from high school...we'll call him M, contacted me through Facebook. Or, I contacted him. I can't remember. Anyhoo, the other day he told me that he'd read my blog from first post to last and that it was like crack. "Once I started, I couldn't stop and when I finished, I had a wicked headache." *sniffle* Isn't that touching?! So, I went to respond to a message from him on Facebook yesterday and BAM! He wasn't there. What the hell?! Wherever you are, M...thanks for reading my blog. And...I miss your wise ass e-mails.
*Today Mr. Right and I dragged (and I mean this almost literally. Snotty and Grumpy were none too happy about going) to Phoenix to a champagne brunch at the United Cerebral Palsy Foundation of Central Arizona. This was kind of a swanky little affair put on by UCP for the purpose of thanking those who have helped raise money for their center. Mr. Right is majorly involved in fundraising for them through his company and we wanted the kids to see what it is that he spends some of his time doing and what we as a family will be contributing to regularly. They were bored to tears. Ungrateful little dwarfs. I however, not only got to see where our money has been going (and I'm glad it's going there), but also had two lovely mimosas and got possibly the most stupid looking sunburn you've ever seen in your life.
After the champagne brunch, I slept all the way home which was an hour long drive. I walked through our door, somehow managed to get up the stairs, and sprawled out on the bed. I slept for three hours. I guess that muscle relaxer I took last night for my bum shoulder hadn't quite worn off yet. Between it and the champagne, lights out. I can't even remember the last time I took a nap in the middle of the day though! I should really do that more often! (Yeah...right.)
*Mr. Right played in a softball tournament for his office on Friday. My little Alex and I went to cheer him on. These were Alex's cheers: "Go Daddy, go Daddy, go Daddy, go!!" and "You're the best daddy EVER!!" About thirty minutes into the game, our little cheerleader was giving Daddy Advil for the muscle he'd just pulled in his leg. Daddy is not in very good shape. Daddy is now hobbling around like an old man and Mommy is going to tease him relentlessly to pay him back for constantly telling her how old and crippled she is.
*I've had dreams about my cockatiel, Darwin, for the past two nights now. I have no idea what's up with that. I think he's causing me to be really insecure. I baby this bird like...well...a baby. He has a freakin' palace of a cage with every little toy and dish imaginable. I love him and kiss him and hold him and I cater to him like he's a king. I change his water inside and outside of the cage three times a day or so and make sure he always has fresh food and Cheerios. He should LOVE me! But, as soon as Darwin hears Mr. Right's voice or sees him, he goes nuts. He runs to the side of his perch and sticks his head feathers straight up and waits for Mr. Right to come into sight. Then when he sees Mr. Right, he looks like he has the jitters and he paces nervously until Mr. Right acknowledges him. He will also only whistle in return to Mr. Right. He will carry on an entire conversation in Birdish with Mr. Right and looks at me like I'm a complete moron when I try to whistle to him. I try really hard not to take it personally, but I think it's really getting to me. Another small creature in my house who completely ignores me. Yeah, like I need that.
*Today in his hunt for lunch, Mr. Right opened the refrigerator, pulled out a dish and thrust it in front of my face. "Do you think this is still good?" I looked at him and said, "I dunno. Does it smell good?" He replied, "I don't know if it smells good! Just tell me yes or no!" This is a pretty common exchange in my house. Everyone who lives here is under the impression that I possess a 7th sense that they do not. They think that I can immediately ascertain whether or not leftover macaroni and cheese has expired just by looking at it. I think I'm going to get one of those magic 8 balls from the toy store and roll it in secret every time I'm asked if food has expired. I'll just let the 8 ball answer for me. "Honey...does this chicken look like it will kill me?" I'll roll the magic 8 ball and say mysteriously..."Signs point to yes..."
*Every Friday night we try to do something for "Family Night." This almost always involves going out to eat because quite frankly, coming up with something to eat every night of the week, then making it, then cleaning up after it, gets really old pretty damn quick. So, off we went to the Outback Steakhouse. It's the best cheap steak money can buy.
As we were all sitting and chit chatting, our waiter walked up with our tray of drinks and as he passed behind me, dumped said tray of drinks straight down my back. I maintained remarkable calm as iced tea, Diet Coke and and a small army of ice cubes slid down my back and then down my pants. There's nothing quite like sitting with a wet t-shirt in a pool of beverages while ice cubes melt in your thong underwear. Typically when I'm in a wet t-shirt, I'm in some kind of contest with the possibility of at least winning a prize.
I spent the rest of the evening in wet pants. The manager was kind enough (scared enough?) to give me a dry t-shirt to wear. I noticed as I walked across the restaurant that all of the bus boys were wearing the same t-shirt. For a brief moment, I seriously considered clearing some plates and collecting the tip money. I spent a lot the evening reassuring our waiter that I was fine and that I was not upset. He tried to make it up to me by giving me a dessert, "on the house." Quite frankly, this was a much better experience than getting cracked in the back of the head with a three foot long pepper grinder at a restaurant a few years ago. Ow.
I don't get people who flip out when things like this happen to them. What's the point? I mean, the guy didn't walk up to me and purposely throw the drinks at me and call me Fatty or anything. If that would have been the case, I would have walked away with more than a free t-shirt and brownie. I would have made him pay for my booze!
*An old friend from high school...we'll call him M, contacted me through Facebook. Or, I contacted him. I can't remember. Anyhoo, the other day he told me that he'd read my blog from first post to last and that it was like crack. "Once I started, I couldn't stop and when I finished, I had a wicked headache." *sniffle* Isn't that touching?! So, I went to respond to a message from him on Facebook yesterday and BAM! He wasn't there. What the hell?! Wherever you are, M...thanks for reading my blog. And...I miss your wise ass e-mails.
*Today Mr. Right and I dragged (and I mean this almost literally. Snotty and Grumpy were none too happy about going) to Phoenix to a champagne brunch at the United Cerebral Palsy Foundation of Central Arizona. This was kind of a swanky little affair put on by UCP for the purpose of thanking those who have helped raise money for their center. Mr. Right is majorly involved in fundraising for them through his company and we wanted the kids to see what it is that he spends some of his time doing and what we as a family will be contributing to regularly. They were bored to tears. Ungrateful little dwarfs. I however, not only got to see where our money has been going (and I'm glad it's going there), but also had two lovely mimosas and got possibly the most stupid looking sunburn you've ever seen in your life.
After the champagne brunch, I slept all the way home which was an hour long drive. I walked through our door, somehow managed to get up the stairs, and sprawled out on the bed. I slept for three hours. I guess that muscle relaxer I took last night for my bum shoulder hadn't quite worn off yet. Between it and the champagne, lights out. I can't even remember the last time I took a nap in the middle of the day though! I should really do that more often! (Yeah...right.)
*Mr. Right played in a softball tournament for his office on Friday. My little Alex and I went to cheer him on. These were Alex's cheers: "Go Daddy, go Daddy, go Daddy, go!!" and "You're the best daddy EVER!!" About thirty minutes into the game, our little cheerleader was giving Daddy Advil for the muscle he'd just pulled in his leg. Daddy is not in very good shape. Daddy is now hobbling around like an old man and Mommy is going to tease him relentlessly to pay him back for constantly telling her how old and crippled she is.
*I've had dreams about my cockatiel, Darwin, for the past two nights now. I have no idea what's up with that. I think he's causing me to be really insecure. I baby this bird like...well...a baby. He has a freakin' palace of a cage with every little toy and dish imaginable. I love him and kiss him and hold him and I cater to him like he's a king. I change his water inside and outside of the cage three times a day or so and make sure he always has fresh food and Cheerios. He should LOVE me! But, as soon as Darwin hears Mr. Right's voice or sees him, he goes nuts. He runs to the side of his perch and sticks his head feathers straight up and waits for Mr. Right to come into sight. Then when he sees Mr. Right, he looks like he has the jitters and he paces nervously until Mr. Right acknowledges him. He will also only whistle in return to Mr. Right. He will carry on an entire conversation in Birdish with Mr. Right and looks at me like I'm a complete moron when I try to whistle to him. I try really hard not to take it personally, but I think it's really getting to me. Another small creature in my house who completely ignores me. Yeah, like I need that.
*Today in his hunt for lunch, Mr. Right opened the refrigerator, pulled out a dish and thrust it in front of my face. "Do you think this is still good?" I looked at him and said, "I dunno. Does it smell good?" He replied, "I don't know if it smells good! Just tell me yes or no!" This is a pretty common exchange in my house. Everyone who lives here is under the impression that I possess a 7th sense that they do not. They think that I can immediately ascertain whether or not leftover macaroni and cheese has expired just by looking at it. I think I'm going to get one of those magic 8 balls from the toy store and roll it in secret every time I'm asked if food has expired. I'll just let the 8 ball answer for me. "Honey...does this chicken look like it will kill me?" I'll roll the magic 8 ball and say mysteriously..."Signs point to yes..."
12 comments:
That exchange you mentioned is fueled by a familial trait...we Warners are perpetually mistrustful of food in the fridge. Especially meat and dairy and we all hate to have to be the one to smell it.
Love this post, Amy!
It's true, Wendy. If there is any question at all about the milk, I will trick one my children into drinking it before I will even smell it. Go ahead, call me a bad mother.
Wendy & Amy - What horrific food related incident happened to you as children?!
Leftovers have a very short lifespan in our house. They're either eaten by the next day or I throw them out within three. Yet, Eric must think there's a secret death-by-leftovers plot against him because this questioning occurs quite regularly.
This cracks me up. You have a great way with words, Amy. I won't eat leftovers or drink milk. I wasn't aware it was this widespread throughout the family though. I thought I was the only one who was that nuts.
I don't generally eat my leftovers, and I never drink milk if it's within a day or two of the expiration date.
(Still thinking that you all have some tragic leftover story lurking in your past...)
leftovers typically only occurred in our house when dinner was gross enough not to be consumed entirely! Mom made some strange stuff sometimes, and we were/are rotten kids! If it was a left-over then concern crept in because we were sure it was something gross. If it was not good enough to be entirely consumed during meal time - it sure aint good enough to eat as a left over. Hence - I also do not eat leftovers - and probably why most of us are "large" people. Its a protective-strong will survive instinct I think. Very strong in us Warners!
How MANY Warners are there??
And do they all have this way with birds? That actually sounded like my daughters behaved when Daddy came home. Must be a male thing we can`t make up.
I always eat leftovers, you can give me yours. As I was born in poor times it is out of the question for me to throw any food away! And hey, a day in the fridge! Don`t be such Ninnies, you Warners!
Angela -
There is an entire gaggle of Warners! Mr. Right is one of seven siblings...none of which will eat leftovers evidently! My mother taught me to be creative with leftovers as we were chronically poor. Leftover mashed potatoes? Potato pancakes!! Leftover spaghetti? Throw some yummy cheese on top and bake it for a few minutes! Now I'm hungry.
Seven siblings? Wow. They should be happy to HAVE some leftovers! And yes, I am clearly with ýou: Noodles and cheese, potato pancakes, Arme Ritter (poor knights) from bread, or, oh yes, bread pudding with strawberry juice. Between you and me, I bet we`d never go hungry!
I would react simply because ice cold drinks make me jump up and shout. Yikes! You must have nerves of steel.
Just found your blog through "blog stalking". Sorry. But I love it. Good to know there are more like us out there everyday!!!! Thanks.
Post a Comment