As you may know, I have crazy vivid dreams. Last night, I had another one, involved a tiny Kroger, looking for some grocery item and being in a weird, long house with lots of apartments, TVs with static and a flipped breakers. Anyways, I was trying to turn the power on and I flipped some breakers (in the dream) and it made a loud noise. I contacted the landlord but then I woke up. Once I woke up, I wasn't sure if the loud noise was only in my dream or had actually happened. So I tried to lay as still as humanly possible and listen, in case someone had broken in to my house. I kept hearing noises (which were probably normal, every night noises but seemed way scarier) so I finally convinced myself to very quietly reach for my glasses (so I could identify the intruder), put them on, pick up my phone (to contact the police, obvii) and my pepper spray (yes, I sleep with it by the bed). Side note: It's extremely difficult to fling open a door in a manner meant to startle intruder when one is carrying things in both hands.
So armed, I did a thorough inspection of my whole house but was still pretty frightened, even though my dog hadn't moved during this whole escapade and so far as I could tell, nothing was amiss. I tried to convince myself that no one would break into a house that was clearly occupied and advertised a security system when there are a lot of empty, for sale or for rent houses around me (it's summer in a college town, after all). No go. I then decided to leave several lights on, both inside and outside, to further discourage intruders and locked myself in the bedroom. While trying to fall back asleep, I decided it was time to look into something a little more threatening that pepper spray.
I do have a birthday coming up and it's legal for me to shoot someone in my own home if they're not supposed to be there. I don't even have to warn them. But I really think I'd be more likely to pull the trigger on a stun gun and proceed with duct taping an intruder to a chair (Wikipedia was not clear on the legalities of this so I'd probably check with the 9-1-1 operator before proceeding) than putting a bullet in a living person. Plus, that's quite a lot of mess the clean up and makes an awful racket. Although the pink Taser is super cute, I think that red sends more of a Stop or I'll Shoot! message.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
What's in a Name?
Mine has eight letters, two repeats. It looks like it should have three syllables but when you say it, it's just two. I've never considered it to be very difficult to spell, say or hear. But since moving here... well, maybe they just do things differently.
But maybe people in Texas aren't named Margaret very often. Because they don't seem to understand what I'm saying. Like the hostess above (also, why do I have the most trouble with hostesses??), she was totally confused about what I was saying. And another hostess when the BF and I were checking in for a delicious breakfast (but I don't go there anymore because of this situation and also because people wear pajamas there. Pajamas are for bed, y'all. Get it together.), asked for my name and when I replied "Margaret," she looked at me and incredulously, and very loudly, asked, "MARKER?!" No lady. My name is NOT Marker. It's Margaret. So then most of the lobby is looking at me and probably thinking the same thing as the hostess, "who names their child Marker?!" While markers are a fun and colorful writing implement, it's not my name.
Anyways, my boyfriend rescued the situation (i.e. stopped me from loudly telling her that she should listen up and do her job because it's not that hard, all you have to do is listen for names and what does that say about you that you can't even get my simple name right, etc.) by calmly giving his name instead. The pancakes and coffee were good but between the pajamas and my new name, I'd written it off.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
My Not-So Green Thumb
Until I moved here, I didn't have living things, beside me, guests and the occasional bug, in my apartments. I lived on campus for six years (no, that is not a typo) so we weren't allowed to have anything but fish. Well, now that I'm thinking about it, I did briefly have a fish in Charleston that I won in some sort of carnival game but he jumped out of the bowl. Sad day. Anyways, other than that ill fated attempt at life, I didn't have pets or plants in my home. There are both in my parents' home and throughout my memories, we had multiple pets. We still do. Moving on...
When I (finally) moved off campus and came here, I was super excited to experience home ownership. I bought a little condo with a little yard and couldn't wait to get some plants and a little dog. Dog: check. She's a tough cookie. After surviving life on a farm with long hair, two car run-ins (or over-s, I suppose), a coyote attack and a horse kick, life with me is a breeze. She's almost seven years old now so she's fine with a morning walk, sleeping in her chair all day, afternoon walk, dinner and an evening walk. Very low maintenance. One would think that after mastering the art of dog care, I could manage to keep a plant alive.
One would be wrong.
I've gone through several plants, indoor and outdoor, and have not managed to keep anything alive for more than two months. Some of the plants that have met an untimely end when matched with my "green" thumb include, but are not limited to: cilantro, rosemary, basil, parsley, thyme, dill, and various flowers. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong. I have since given up on my gardening, stacked my pots to one side and closed the potting soil (even though I have a cute trowel, gloves and knee pad). The only thing I've managed to partially maintain would be the grass that was already established in my mini-backyard. In the interest of full blog disclosure, however, I'll say that there a) is a sprinkler system on a timer and controlled by the HOA and b) brown spots in the yard.
So, imagine my surprise when I went out the check on the progress of the brown spots and discovered two non-grass plants happily growing in my yard and receiving no help from me at all. I was almost mad about it but then I figured, hey, I have a pumpkin vine and a basil plant so whatevs. Where did I get a pumpkin vine? Why, from pumpkin carving, of course! My wonderful friend from grad school, Jessica, hosted a pumpkin carving both years we were in Athens. When I moved here, I shamelessly pilfered the idea and we had a ton of fun. If you've ever carved a pumpkin, you know they're messy so clearly some seeds ended up landing, and thriving, in my yard. I kindly weedeated (or weed-ate? I'm not sure. My yard's too small for an actual mower) around it. The basil? No clue. Maybe some of it jumped out of the pot I had it sitting in. Maybe it just sensed my desire for fresh basil. Who cares? It's there now and I pulled the weeds (which are actually the grass that's supposed to be growing in the yard) around it but have not watered it because I'm so clearly not a gardener.
When I (finally) moved off campus and came here, I was super excited to experience home ownership. I bought a little condo with a little yard and couldn't wait to get some plants and a little dog. Dog: check. She's a tough cookie. After surviving life on a farm with long hair, two car run-ins (or over-s, I suppose), a coyote attack and a horse kick, life with me is a breeze. She's almost seven years old now so she's fine with a morning walk, sleeping in her chair all day, afternoon walk, dinner and an evening walk. Very low maintenance. One would think that after mastering the art of dog care, I could manage to keep a plant alive.
One would be wrong.
I've gone through several plants, indoor and outdoor, and have not managed to keep anything alive for more than two months. Some of the plants that have met an untimely end when matched with my "green" thumb include, but are not limited to: cilantro, rosemary, basil, parsley, thyme, dill, and various flowers. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong. I have since given up on my gardening, stacked my pots to one side and closed the potting soil (even though I have a cute trowel, gloves and knee pad). The only thing I've managed to partially maintain would be the grass that was already established in my mini-backyard. In the interest of full blog disclosure, however, I'll say that there a) is a sprinkler system on a timer and controlled by the HOA and b) brown spots in the yard.
So, imagine my surprise when I went out the check on the progress of the brown spots and discovered two non-grass plants happily growing in my yard and receiving no help from me at all. I was almost mad about it but then I figured, hey, I have a pumpkin vine and a basil plant so whatevs. Where did I get a pumpkin vine? Why, from pumpkin carving, of course! My wonderful friend from grad school, Jessica, hosted a pumpkin carving both years we were in Athens. When I moved here, I shamelessly pilfered the idea and we had a ton of fun. If you've ever carved a pumpkin, you know they're messy so clearly some seeds ended up landing, and thriving, in my yard. I kindly weedeated (or weed-ate? I'm not sure. My yard's too small for an actual mower) around it. The basil? No clue. Maybe some of it jumped out of the pot I had it sitting in. Maybe it just sensed my desire for fresh basil. Who cares? It's there now and I pulled the weeds (which are actually the grass that's supposed to be growing in the yard) around it but have not watered it because I'm so clearly not a gardener.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I have weird dreams.
If you know me at all, you know I have really weird and very detailed dreams. Last night I had three. First off, I dreamed that I was at my wedding reception and my mother had been in charge of ordering the liquor. {Side note: If you are in any way familiar with my family, you will know that this is A BIG DEAL, as we enjoy an adult beverage.} She'd ordered it (from a place called Whiskey Charlie's. Does that place actually exist?) but it wasn't scheduled to be delivered until midnight. NOT OK. All of my guests were leaving and I was not as distressed in my dream as I would have been in real life. I was trying to convince someone to give us some alcohol and my rationale was to loudly annouce "I JUST GOT MARRIED!" He looked at me, standing there barefoot in jeans and a t shirt, shook his head and left. End dream.
My next dream was really more of a short story, again featuring my wedding. {Side note 2: I swear I'm not a crazy wedding girl! My boyfriend has three weddings coming up in the next two months. That's all. Promise.}I was at my wedding reception and for some reason, all the attention was not on me and the groom (who was not visible, FYI). Why? Because a friend from work, M., brought John Stamos as her date. Also, M. is already married, and not to John Stamos.
In the next one, I wake up in my bunk bed on the third story of an old historic house one morning. I hear lots of party-sounding racket and I look out my window. One of my roommates has had an all night party and there are people and beer cans and trash strewn all about the front porch and yard area. I am NOT OK with this and wonder how I managed to sleep through such a rager. I stomp down the hallway and wake up another roommate (R. a collegue from work who is married with kids and certainly doesn't sleep in a bunk bed). She is much less concerned about the aforementioned party. I nonetheless stomp downstairs and begin yelling at people to leave immediately. I unplug three separate boomboxes and then yell and the partying roommate, "you cannot live here anymore!!" People wander off. I go inside. I wake up.
My brain is weird. I know.
My next dream was really more of a short story, again featuring my wedding. {Side note 2: I swear I'm not a crazy wedding girl! My boyfriend has three weddings coming up in the next two months. That's all. Promise.}I was at my wedding reception and for some reason, all the attention was not on me and the groom (who was not visible, FYI). Why? Because a friend from work, M., brought John Stamos as her date. Also, M. is already married, and not to John Stamos.
In the next one, I wake up in my bunk bed on the third story of an old historic house one morning. I hear lots of party-sounding racket and I look out my window. One of my roommates has had an all night party and there are people and beer cans and trash strewn all about the front porch and yard area. I am NOT OK with this and wonder how I managed to sleep through such a rager. I stomp down the hallway and wake up another roommate (R. a collegue from work who is married with kids and certainly doesn't sleep in a bunk bed). She is much less concerned about the aforementioned party. I nonetheless stomp downstairs and begin yelling at people to leave immediately. I unplug three separate boomboxes and then yell and the partying roommate, "you cannot live here anymore!!" People wander off. I go inside. I wake up.
My brain is weird. I know.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Sno Cone Summer
When I was younger, we would get sno cones (usually grape, as that's my favorite flavor) at ball parks and, well, basically only ball parks. It was crushed ice in a little paper cone (you know, the kind that are really hard to hold on to because it's, well, cone shaped) with flavor stuff pouring on top. Sometimes you could get two flavors, one on each side. It wasn't really that big of a deal, just something cold to munch on while you were sweating outside. It is a completely different story here.
Last weekend, the BF and I drove west to visit his parents. During the drive, we go through lots of tiny towns (some of my favorites being Mound, TX and Flat, TX because they're right next to each other and I think that's funny). The populations are usually small numbers like 5, 684 (Cameron), 2, 588 (Early), 861 (Flat), and 360 (Blackwell). It doesn't matter how small the town is, there is almost always a sno cone stand. There are several (like 5) in my area alone. And they will have crazy long lines. People will sweat out in the heat for 30 minutes, waiting on a sno cone (i.e. a cup of ice with flavor) to cool off when realistically they could have just gone inside to the AC. But no. They have to have a sno cone.
I haven't had one yet. I'm not sure if it'll be the sno cone style I'm used to (crushed ice) or the shaved ice style. I hear they're delicious though and come in tons of flavors. Plus, as with many things in Texas, they're bigger. They come in Styrofoam cups. The big kind too, not the tiny baby coffee cup ones. And you eat with with a spoon instead of shoving your face into a pile of sugary ice and hoping for the best. I think I'll try one soon.
Last weekend, the BF and I drove west to visit his parents. During the drive, we go through lots of tiny towns (some of my favorites being Mound, TX and Flat, TX because they're right next to each other and I think that's funny). The populations are usually small numbers like 5, 684 (Cameron), 2, 588 (Early), 861 (Flat), and 360 (Blackwell). It doesn't matter how small the town is, there is almost always a sno cone stand. There are several (like 5) in my area alone. And they will have crazy long lines. People will sweat out in the heat for 30 minutes, waiting on a sno cone (i.e. a cup of ice with flavor) to cool off when realistically they could have just gone inside to the AC. But no. They have to have a sno cone.
I haven't had one yet. I'm not sure if it'll be the sno cone style I'm used to (crushed ice) or the shaved ice style. I hear they're delicious though and come in tons of flavors. Plus, as with many things in Texas, they're bigger. They come in Styrofoam cups. The big kind too, not the tiny baby coffee cup ones. And you eat with with a spoon instead of shoving your face into a pile of sugary ice and hoping for the best. I think I'll try one soon.
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