It’s been a busy little while in my world.
We left Miami on August 9, everything packed, itinerary in hand. We had wanted to take a leisurely four days, but my car was going to be dropped off on Thursday morning so we really had to get up at the ass crack to make it at a reasonable time.
We didn’t even make it out of Miami-Dade county before we saw one crash and one almost crash on I-95. It wasn’t even raining! Madness. We made it safely to Jacksonville more or less just in time to eat and go to bed. Hooray for staying at my mom’s house to see her before we took off and not having to pay for a hotel for one night.
Tuesday we got a somewhat leisurely start (leisurely for us, I suppose…still on the road before 9) to our first hotel in Nashville, TN. Not much of interest between FL and TN but our hotel was really nice.
Wednesday took us from TN to Kansas City, KS. Another sleeper drive and a decent hotel. While we were in KS, I ate for the first time at Steak ‘n Shake. Almost a crime to eat there for the first time considering the amount of time I spent in Sandpiper. Granted, it’s just fast food, but it wasn’t awful. No leisurely rise and shine for us on Thursday morning, though.
We had my car shipped to Colorado because I didn’t think it could make the drive and it was actually cheaper than getting the U-Haul thing to haul the car behind the truck. Our shipper had a schedule, as truckers do, and as it was, he was delaying our delivery. (Thank goodness for my Cuban driver and my Cuban husband making friends.) In order to not throw the driver’s schedule off, we promised to be in Denver by noon. That’s right, KS to CO, arriving by noon. Even with the time zone changes, we had to leave KS at 3am. Ouch.
Know what’s in KS? Yup, nothing. Well, except huge farms of wind turbines. Know what else? I don’t care what anyone says, an entire field of those things is CREEPY! I can see one or two together and it doesn’t bother me, but entire fields of them just made me want to jump out of the car and run around screaming with my hands over my ears. Either I’m insane or I’m very sensitive to whatever madness is secretly behind the wind machines. CONSPIRACY THEORY! This photo, taken with my phone, doesn’t even really capture the creepy or how many turbines were out there, but here ya go.
We arrived in Denver in record time only to find out that the truck driver had some trouble and wouldn’t arrive until Friday. With time on our hands, we went to pick up the h use keys for our first viewing of the house. Good pick on our part.
It took just under forever for our furniture to arrive, but my ire towards the moving company is for another post.
The house is now almost all ready for visitors. Next post…the house…now with furniture!
Does not include me.
I am a sucker. I have a very bad tendency to want to try new products and infomercials are my worst enemy. After Lovey and I got done laughing at the infomercial for Hip Hop Abs, I surely went ahead and ordered it. At least it’s not just sitting on the shelf though. I am doing it and it does work as long as you do it. Have I lost any weight? About a pound, but the inches that have come off are way better than the pounds anyways.
So, I have the most luggage ever in the depository under my eyes. It doesn’t matter how much sleep I get or how much water I drink, I always look like I’m either high, almost asleep, or in dire need of sleep. Of course, makeup does wonders, but I’m too lazy for that and I haven’t made it to the store to check out the right shade in the mineral makeup yet. Dermatologist is the next step, but in reality, I don’t think I care enough to go. I’m not picking up any boys or starting up a modeling career since I’m too short.
Well, if there’s a new product out, I’m gonna give it a try. Vanity sneaks out every now and again and I want to be the most beautiful girl in Miami that has her real lips/boobs/hips/ass/hair/fingernails. Wait, according to Lovey, I already am. Whatever. I figured if Oil of Olay came out with something that would put away the suitcases, I’d give it a shot.
And there it is. The eye derma-pod. They stuck some creme in a little pouch that you open by squeezing it and it magically comes out on the sponge at the end. Spread evenly on upper lids and underneath eyes and massage in for one minute per eye. Contains 24 derma-pods, best results if used thrice weekly for 8 weeks. Yup. 8 weeks.
But I’m game. I figure it might help. I have less than two weeks left and I’m slowly finding out that Olay just doesn’t work for everyone. I’m not posting any before and/or after pictures, mainly because I didn’t take any but I’m seriously not seeing any difference here people. No, I take that back, I’m not seeing any positive difference. Is the skin underneath my eyes different from the rest of my face now? Yes, it is, but it looks like, to me, that all this has accomplished is making the wonderful lines under my eyes even freaking deeper! Now there’s just a place for makeup to hide!! Aaargh!
Olay has less than two weeks to change my mind on this, but I just don’t see it happening. Maybe this only works for people who only THINK they have bags under their eyes, not people who actually have them.
The year is 1990. The location: Happy Valley, PA, otherwise known as the home of Penn State University. Our main character is sixteen years young, away from home for the first time, somewhat naive in the workings of the military, and generally a nervous wreck.
It’s official. I am a member of the Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corp (AFROTC). Today is the first day of many days of sheer torture. There is a war going on, and in my naivety, I worry that somehow, I might get sent overseas to fight for our country. Yes, that’s right, I think that the 16 year-old college freshman who has no military training is going to be sent to war. I told you I was naive.
I’ve received my uniform and been given brief instructions on how to care for it. On some people, it looks good. Me, I just look like a stewardess. I think it’s because I’m short and dressed in navy blue from head to toe. By the way, why isn’t there a color called Air Force blue for the AF to wear? I don’t think the navy even wears blue.
History has never been interesting to me, so when I found out that I had to take a class weekly about the history of the Air Force, I was less than thrilled. Nevertheless, I suffer through because it is only one day a week. That day of the week is long indeed for I have to wear my uniform all day. Yes, all day. To every class, to lunch, to dinner. And it’s uncomfortable. And I haven’t quite gotten used to whom I need to salute and whom I can just say hi to. Every exchange with a fellow ROTC-er is awkward to say the least, whether it be Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines.
I must admit that I love a challenge and I will certainly cut off my nose to spite my face. That is how I ended up pledging the drill team. Someone mentioned it and I believe, immediately thereafter said something to the effect of ‘it wouldn’t be for me’. Well, right there, the gauntlet was laid down. Little did I know what I was in for.
The first week didn’t seem so bad. Sure there were extra things to attend and tidbits to learn, but it would be worth it, right? Sure. Unfortunately, things didn’t stay so bright and cheery. You don’t just join the drill team, you pledge it, as in a fraternity or sorority. And just like a frat or sorority, there’s hazing and plenty of it. We were given bright yellow “manuals” that could be seen from a mile away full of sometimes useless information. And these little factoids were the enemy. Any current member of the drill team could stop a pledge at any time to quiz us on said material. If that weren’t enough, we were not allowed to use contractions in speaking and we had to make sure that we would always see the DTM (drill team members) before they saw us so that we could “greet” them. If a DTM saw you first, they could and would dole out demerits to be marked down in your manual. You could work them off, but it was easier just not to get them. Oh, did I mention that when we were in any of the many cafeterias (where you could always find at least one DTM), we had to ask for permission to eat before sitting down to actually eat. This led to several of us losing a few pounds as we would just avoid the dining rooms.
Nothing curdles the blood like hearing “PLEDGE! TAKE ONE!” from across the quad. The DTM were sneaky bastards. I swear they popped out of dark corners like ninjas. Some of them were just jerks. There was one DTM, we’ll call him GR who was just ridiculously cocky about lording his DT membership over us, the lowly pledges. Once, he was walking across the quad with a female friend and he happened to see a pledge before the pledge say him. Apparently, he thought it would be funny to have his lady friend just repeat his name over and over to alert the pledge of his presence. Okay, the pledge was me. I’m stubborn. I ignored them both. I paid for it in push ups.
Were you aware that there’s no greater pleasure than a freshly polished ugly black shoe? You weren’t? That’s because shining shoes sucks. You’d best better believe that DTMs could see their vindictive faces in those shoes though. Those same vindictive faces that would get shoved into pledges unsuspecting faces. Better not flinch. Your entire body had better stay as rigid as an overly-starched shirt. Kind of like the ones we wore.
Outside of learning such gems as “The Ballad of Snoopy”, we also picked up “High Flight” and every verse of “The Star-Spangled Banner”. And eventually, since we were pledging the Drill Team, we got to throw some rifles around. The hand-batterer rifle of choice was the Remington M1903 Springfield rifle. They weren’t so heavy and they were actually pretty fun to spin, even to throw. Catching, well, that’s a different story.
There were 12 of us, we called ourselves the dirty dozen. Original, no? I’d be hard-pressed to name all twelve now. 9 guys and 3 girls. Typically, when it came drill time, the guys worked together as did the girls. This is where the problems came in. For being as small as I was – I don’t think I’d hit 100 pounds yet – I was a tough cookie. The other two girls were bigger than me, but not always so tough. It really was only a problem when it was time to throw something called a single back. Let me backtrack. A ‘single to yourself’ is rather self-explanatory. You take your rifle and chuck it up into the air, making sure that it makes one rotation, and then you catch it. Done and done. A single back, on the other hand, is where one person stands approximately 8 feet in front of the victim catcher and then tosses the rifle backwards, blindly at that, making one rotation for the person behind to catch. The bottom line is that my fellow female pledges couldn’t make that throw. And guess what? Don’t even think about moving. You’d better catch it, no matter what, or you could count on some extra push-ups after practice. That’s how I ended up with bruised and bloodied knuckles, not to mention a hand that refused to function properly since all of its fingers had been bent into ridiculous positions.
With so much drama in the ROTC, it’s kinda hard being, well, a pledge. It was demanding, even grueling at times, but overall, I suppose it was worth it. I made some great friends (that I no longer keep in touch with), learned some nifty stuff (it’s amazing what you can make your body do), and best of all, I got an idea for the Vox 5 word challenge!
Every weeknight at 7:30, we sit down for dinner and we watch Jeopardy. Typically, my daughter gets mad because my boyfriend and I are fountains of useless knowledge and when she knows the answer, she can’t get it out faster than we do. If you know Jeopardy, you know that sometimes they have kids, or college kids, and sometimes, celebs. We hate celebrity Jeopardy. Sure it’s great that they’re playing for charity, but more often than not, the questions are outrageously simple. I watch Jeopardy for the brain workout and that’s the same reason I don’t watch Wheel of Fortune.
Well, I don’t remember what the category was, but the clue went a little something like this:
Andrew Jackson, when on his deathbed, said he would see his slaves in this place.
Right? Simple? Heaven. Nice guy that AJ. Not so nice two gals and one guy sitting in our living room because I shout out, “That great cotton field in the sky!” I think at that point, my daughter swallowed a mouthful of pasta without chewing. Being who we are, we can’t let it go with just that. Lovey chips in with, “See all those puffy clouds up there? You’ll still be picking!” At this point, Kiddie is nearly in tears and we all have a great giggle.
It was funny! Really! We’ll be there all week.