Payback

Can you imagine for a second how defeated I feel after blowing the third tire in four months?

Last time, I bemoaned the fact that apparently I looked like someone who is perfectly capable of changing her own tire. Only one person stopped, and it was a lady to offer me her cell phone. (Thank you again, lady!) This time, I think I was more irritated.

When this happened in February, my phone was out of area, and I think that was my main problem. I texted my brother (two and a half hours away) and asked him to call my dad (at work) just to see if it would be possible to get some help. I didn't get an answer (see above, re: phone not working) and decided I'd have to take it upon myself to change the tire. And I did, and I felt pretty damn good about it for the rest of the week. My dad was proud of me, it was nice.

Earlier today, I had barely pulled off to the side of the road and gotten the spare out of the trunk (again, my phone is not working) before an older couple in a truck pulled over and the man (I'm going to call him Walter) took the what-do-you-call-it out of my hands and knelt down to take over. Of course I appreciate their help. What I don't appreciate is their assumption that I needed their help. Now, I'm plenty lazy. I'm sure I would have let anybody who offered take over while I stood back and watched. It was Bessie's (I'm going to call her Bessie) constant comments on how, "You really need a big strong man for this kind of job!" and "It's good to have a man around to do this kind of hard work!" really chafed me. Just because I have a vagina and a set of bosoms does not mean that I am incompetent.

Of COURSE I thanked the couple many times for stopping. And I probably smiled in her direction as she made belittling comments, because they were helping me, taking time out of their day to help and do the right thing. And Bessie kept going on and on about how someone (Oh, excuse me. Some MAN.) had helped her one time and she'd tried to pay him (at this point, I believe I was hoping they weren't expecting me to offer them money) but he told her that someone helped his wife once and he was just paying it back. (If it sounds like a country song, well, it is.)

She laughed as they were headed to their truck, telling me not to forget to pay it back someday. I wonder what's funny about that?

Memories

The streetsweeper was cleaning my street when I woke up this morning, and it reminded me of being a little girl. I have the clearest memories of running to the door when I was three(?) and standing behind the screen and waving. It was thrilling when they'd wave back at me. I used to get so excited on Fridays, garbage days.

One of the best things about living at home is having old memories right at hand.

In kinda freaky news, Mom had a dream yesterday that I had a baby. A baby with long dark hair, and I was taking her to work. Silly dream-me. Mom says this is the third or fourth time she's dreamt of me having babies. And then last night, I dreamt I was walking through a grocery store with a stranger and he had two babies with him and I told him I wanted one of his babies. He told me I should get a baby from his brother.

Yeah, weird. Anyway, I think Mom's got a long wait ahead of her.

Good Deed

Last night was crazy.

There was this guy at the bar who was all over my brother. He was very drunk. He said, "How've you been?" six hundred and fourty-three times. He said, "Yeah, I work out every day," thirty-six times. It was awkward. Especially when his girlfriend threatened us. I am too old for this crap.

At the end of the night as we were leaving, we saw him wandering the empty parking lot with not a soul in sight. He was trying the doors on random cars. I don't know what he was hoping to accomplish, but it was not going to happen.

We herded him into the car and started driving in the direction of his town. (Yes, he lives two towns over.) In the thirty minutes it took to get there, we asked him where he lived, if we could see his driver's license, if he could tell us his address... to no avail. It was like talking to a wall. A wall that said "Yeah" occasionally.

Finally, my brother got the brilliant idea for me (I was in the backseat with the guy) to rummage around in his pocket to find his wallet. I was less than a fan of this option, but it seemed we had little choice, so I took one for the team. I asked first, of course. He looked me up and down and said, "Yeah."

Great.

So I reach in and can't feel anything wallet-y. I'm really being careful, so it was very disturbing when he moaned at me. I grabbed his cell phone and got out of there pretty quickly after that. Brother called his girlfriend (who had left him at the bar, remember?) and she gave us "directions". No actual street names were mentioned. "Turn left at the lit-up barn with all the silos." That sort of directions. We were not going to get any help from him.

When we made it there, the door was locked and he couldn't find the right key, so (once again) brother took over and tried them, one by one. Eventually he got the door open, and pushed him inside. He stood there looking at my brother as if he was going to follow us back out, so Robby locked the door and shut him in.

Then we went to Hardee's.

He's probably got quite the headache today.

Happy Monday!

Tomorrow is a long day.

I think I'm going to call it a night a little early.

Last night at the bar, the DJ played a song that one of the middle-aged ladies with poofy bangs and mom jeans really liked. I know because after the DJ stopped playing, she found it on the jukebox and played it seven times in a row.

What song was it? This song. I shit you not.

Have a good week!

(eta: The song is "Low" by some hip hop dude. In case you have a sluggish connection or they take down the video in the future.)

Nephew Meeting Day

That's the official title for today. From henceforth, all second Saturdays of the eleventh month shall be known as Nephew Meeting Day.

Can you tell I'm excited? I'm bringing my camera, so I can share him with you guys. I'm so excited. I'm so excited.

So when I took the dog out this morning, as every morning, I didn't even put shoes on my feet, just wrangled him out there and gave him his food and stumbled back into the house. Except this time, I'd somehow managed to lock the door on my way out. Don't ask me how it happened, it just did.

I tried the front door too, but that one was locked as well. (Bruce, you taught me well. Remind me to thank you. Ahem.) So I was faced with some options. There's the stuck-up lawyer across the street (no thank you), the strangers with the loud mentally disabled guy I went to school with kiddy-corner (um, I'd rather not), and the hot neighbor*. I of course chose the hot neighbor.

(My neighbor is alarmingly hot. Lisa (of Lisa and Todd) and I have been watching her all summer long. One time we were driving to the house having a great conversation and we passed her and there was silence, because we were both checking her out. She is pretty, but most of all she's got a fantastic booty and she's always walking down our road for excercise while reading her book. Oh, and on top of it all, she's from a foreign country and has a very interesting accent. We've been speculating on her and discussing her for months now.)

I knocked on the door, not really expecting anyone to answer (did I mention this was at 8:30?), but she came right to the door. Not in sweat pants, like I was, but in actual jeans-and-sweater clothes she was going to wear for the day. She tells me that yes, of course I can use her phone, so I call my mom. (She's got the spare key, and will be with me in a few minutes.) As I hang up the phone, HN offers me a cappuccino. Yeah, I know. I accept, and she offers me toast. I try to say no, but she's just too hospitable. I can't resist.

After a few minutes, I introduce myself, "Oh, by the way, I'm Sarah." She laughs, "Oh, I know that." I look confused, we haven't actually met before, I'm sure I'd remember. She says, "I used to work with your friend at Walmart... Todd."

Lisa is going to die.

My Sister

I've had this blog for three years now, and I keep forgetting to tell you all the story of my sister. It's a big story for me, and I always wanted to wait until I could tell it just right, but I'm not sure there is a "just right" way. And it deserves to be told, it's important.

So! In the spring of 2001, I found out I have a sister. My mom gave her up for adoption before I was born. Then she met my dad, they got married, and they started our family. Mom didn't tell me about her daughter, because she never knew if she'd try to contact her. She didn't want me to always wonder about her. Well, in 2001, Mom didn't have to wonder anymore. She got in contact with her, and wanted to meet us. We met her. Her name is Rachel. She's due to have a baby around Labor Day.

I went through a lot of weird stuff when I found out. I wished I had known. I went through some crazy bad times, some lonely times when I was in school, and I know I would have felt better had I been able to think about my sister being out there somewhere. Even if I'd never met her, it would have been possible, and that would have been cool.

I do understand why Mom didn't tell us, though, because it was painful for her and she wanted to spare us some of that pain. I'm happy that she made the choice she did, mostly because I'm not sure I'd be here if she'd have kept the baby.

Sometimes I think it screwed me up in the head a little bit. I think it messed me up a little bit to think I was the first child when I really wasn't. I think it had a bearing on the way I turned out. None of this is Rachel's fault, but for a while, I resented her.

Needless to say, I'm a big proponant of honesty with children. Creativity and imagination are wonderful, and I won't ever quash them, but honesty is important. I'm not talking about abolishing Santa Claus, but definitely acknowledging the Rachels.

Where to Start?

Oh, I know! How about with the "secret" that I failed to post in my last attempt? I think it involved homemade pizza sauce, and the addition of paprika. Our second pizza (the one with paprika in the sauce) was better than the first, at any rate, but it might have been the cheese. That fancy mooot-zerella might be cool and authentic, but my tastes in cheese run more along the lines of a Wisconsin Cheddar. So that's what I added.

I put three coats of lotion on my face today. The winter has been dry indeed.

I had an interesting conversation with Hannah last weekend. Here is her part of the conversation:

Wow! You have big boobies! Those are for feeding babies.

You should have some babies.

Maybe you're too young to have babies.

Can you have babies?

Are you still having... [voice drops to stage whisper] The Blood?

True Confessions! Five AM version!

Do you know those magazines they sell called "True Confessions!"? They come out with a new one on a regular basis, and it's like Penthouse letters for women. They're meant to be little titillating stories for housewives to read when they're in between doing the dishes and perhaps making the loaves of bread from scratch for the next week. I used to buy them when I was ten, because I thought they were slightly naughty. They weren't. But I didn't know that.

Huck woke me up this morning at four fifty-eight in his standard manner*, and before I could get him outside (like as soon as I woke up), I smelled something foul. Now, Huck is slightly gassy, so that didn't necessarily mean anything, but I thought I'd turn the light on and look just to make sure. Guess what I found in the standard location?

If you guessed a few really stinky turds, you win!

I took him outside anyway, just to make doubly sure he had it all out of his system, and he made only a half-hearted attempt at a squat. Really it was more for my benefit. The point of waking me up was the same reason all those women write into those "True Confessions" magazines at the grocery stores. Sometimes, you've just got to tell someone, that's all. Then you feel better.

*Lightly jump on bed, lick Mama on nose, whine. Repeat with increasing frequency of whine until effective.

Still Sick, Possibly Worse

Yes, I understand that this might be called for, considering I posted about being sick early in the day on Saturday and then posted at two-something in the morning on Sunday after having been out at a bar, but honestly, I thought I'd outwitted the sick. Seriously.

On Friday afternoon while I was at work, Stu got sick. It was actually sort of scary at the time, because he went from feeling just fine to having a scratchy throat to watery eyes to swaying when he tried to stand to puking in the sink in a matter of an hour or so. The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to keep him awake, and I eventually abandoned that effort and decided to keep him alive instead. Have you ever been so sick that you can't really talk, all you can muster up is a moan? That's how sick Stu was. If he'd have left, we would have had to close down for the day, and he wasn't going to let that happen. We should probably have gone home.

Anyway, at the beginning of the onslaught I took an Airborne(TM) from our stock of freebies, and for a while on Saturday while Bruce got sick, I was still ok. I wasn't ready to believe it until the day was over, but the worst had come and gone for him and I was still going strong (if a tiny bit under-the-weather). Then yesterday it all hit me like a ton of bricks around seven in the evening. I'd call in sick to work today, but Stu still isn't feeling better and it would mean leaving him there by himself. Instead I'll go in for a few hours.

Dud, I am Not

When my little brother (aged 21) called me up this evening to complain that his friends had abandoned their ideas of going out in favor of poker, I had the utmost sympathy. There used to be a time when that would happen to me almost weekly. It wasn't for the same reasons (abusive partner vs. poker addiction), but it ended the same way. I understand the plight of the wanting-to-go-out-and-not-able. I brought him out, and there were people there he was familiar with.

They sang karaoke, I sang karaoke (believe me, you don't wish you were there), and we all drank to our hearts' content. It was beautiful.

Mike says Bruce needs to call him, because he likes him. That's the end of my story.

Reasonably Settled

Lisa and I went to Appleton today to window shop. Normally, I'm an impatient window-shopper - I'd rather go when I have both the money and an exact idea of what I want, so I don't have to spend much time wandering around the mall. Today was different; I was pretty content looking around, despite my lack of money to spend.

We ended up only spending money on one thing at the mall - some Gloria Jeans. Gotta love four-dollar coffee. At least, you'd better, if you're willing to spend the money. I was, and it was a damned good iced vanilla latte.

It was nice to spend some time with Lisa, just Lisa, for a change. She recently bought a house, and has been stewing about with worry over that for quite a while. It's put a completely understandable damper on her devil-may-care side. Turns out that when you're trying to close on a house, you're really not interested in gossiping about boys.

We didn't gossip much about boys, surprisingly enough. We talked more about our parents and worries we have about them, and about the things we want "next". I really want a house, and she's going to get married sometime soon. We were a little shocked at how few things we really wanted at the mall, until we got to a store called World Market. I guess that nowadays we're just more interested in home decor and fancy cooking utensils than we are in clothes. We spent some money on Christmas gift ideas at Hobby Lobby, and some pet toys at Petco. Lisa bought a book on Reflexology at Barnes and Noble. We talked about how much we both need nice bookmarks, and how much nicer they would be to use in place of the receipts we both have marking our places currently, and decided against spending the money.

It sounds crazy, but I think we're growing up. Finally.

Hey Mr. Postman

Does anyone else think it'd be kind of cool to be a mailman? (Is mailperson more proper?) It seems like it would be fun.

Our mailman is very nice. We used to have this jerk of a mailman who would taunt my parents' dog, Augie. He knew that Augie didn't like having people come to the door, and he would start whistling for him two houses down, just to see Augie freak out when he got to the door. It was sort of a game to him, I guess. Of course it meant that Augie never got comfortable with the new mailman after the old one switched routes. He never got used to anyone coming to the door.

A few weeks ago, the mailman had a certified letter for Bruce. We assumed our pizza-man positions - I holding the dog a few feet from the door, Bruce taking care of business at the door - and when the mailman saw Huck, he smiled, "Looks like that one's going to like me a little better than the last one."

I'm glad that someone besides us remembers Augie.

That Special Feeling

Really, there's nothing like having your own computer and sitting at it every day. I'm sure that you internet buffs realized this, but it has been a minor revelation to me tonight, as I finally retreated to my hole (the basement) and sat down in "my" chair. It's actually my parents' chair. It feels so nice. This is where I write my ideas down to share with you all. This is where I find the time to be inspired by random things on random websites. This is where the magic happens.

Don't worry, I'll make it happen more often. I didn't realize how much I missed it until now.

I quit smoking two days ago. Since then, I've had four cigarettes. It doesn't sound like a huge accomplishment to a lot of people, but for me it is. It's monumental.

In other news, I believe Linus is starting to become a food snob. He was clawing and chewing at the bag before his bowl was empty. Everyone hates a food snob.

Huck slept in bed with us last night, until about 7:30 AM, when it started getting light outside, and he decided that the time had come to fidget and lick my face and generally be very put out that we weren't waking up yet. Then he got put in his kennel until about 11:00, when I woke up.

The end.

Man, I need to do this more often. I can feel my brain emptying. Thanks for reading.

Overdrawn

You know what? As far as I'm concerned, all banks suck big donkey balls. :)

The only one worth two shakes in my experience isn't an actual bank, it's a credit union. They're the only financial institution that hasn't tried to drive me into bankruptcy with their overdraft fees. (Because, get this, your card doesn't work if you don't have the money.)

That's a whole lot different from the other banks I've belonged at (TCF, Wells Fargo, US Bank, just to name a few) who seem to go out of their way not to notify you of overdrafts, in the hopes that you'll continue to make them.

It's not a perfect system, but they seem a little less drooly at the thought of my blood. And hey, that's good enough for me! At least until it becomes en vogue again to bury my money in a coffee can in the backyard, that is.

I hear baking soda brushed on each side of the bills will keep them well-preserved.

Road trips

Last Friday, we drove 25 miles to the city that our cable and high-speed Internet comes from, to deliver a payment to their main office. The town in 4,000 people, and I have no idea why a giant cable company would choose a tiny town to base out of.

Today, we're driving 30 miles to make a deposit at our bank. Our bank which hates us. Our bank which we're starting to hate back. Of the 9,000 banks in this town (one per person, you know), most of them are banks that only have three small branches in the upper half of this upper state, and no one else in the world has ever heard of them. 4,499 of them are banks which are slightly bigger, and have approximately twenty branches in northeastern Wisconsin, and ten in the southern part of the state. There's even one in Illinois! In Rockford! That's across the border! And, if you're following my math, that leaves one bank left. It's Bank of America. We don't use Bank of America.

So we're taking another road trip.

This Week: Redneck Week

Monday, Lisa and I went to the demolition derby at the Shawano County Fair. That's how much of a redneck I am this week. I also loved it. I had a lot to learn, this being my first demo. For example, when the cars are ready to go, they start out by backing up into the other cars. Kind of scary, if you ask me.

 

And then, of course, they all smoosh each other to pieces, and there's schrapnel everywhere, and somehow it's all very loud and cool and people turn into heros. My favorite moment was in one of the eight heats when one guy was getting bullied out of the ring by two other cars, and he totally fought back and pushed them both back into the ring. He overpowered two cars. It was pretty spectacular. I was going to climb down the stands and offer to be his woman and have his babies. Then I remembered that a) I'm married and Bruce is pretty cool too, and b) I'm probably not redneck enough for him, considering this is my first demolition derby.

To prove that Lisa and I were there, I have a picture of us in the stands.

Miller Brewing

Hi!

Last weekend we went to see my brother in Milwaukee. While we were there, we stopped at the place he was staying to pick up the stuff he had to move. (Hello, moody Tivoing dishwashing obsessive! Thanks for letting Robby stay!) We put the stuff into the car and moved it to the house of the girl who went to Europe with him last winter. (Hello, crazy centipede-capturing, picturesque-computer-owning guy! Roommate to my brother's friend!) It was fab. The guy with the centipede, though? I hate centipedes. Peter is a whack-job for keeping one in a jar like that. It was very nasty.

Then we all went on the Miller brewery tour. It was great. First of all, they're not like the Busch people - they totally understand that the reason people go on the tour is to drink beer. They don't take themselves too seriously - while they were all about the "In 18-something, Frederick Miller did something" references, they stopped themselves short of going into his family heritage in favor of more humorous references to the "Champagne of Beers". It was very worth-while. I recommend it.

We got to see lots of things, including the place where they package the brew. They would have been packaging the brew when we went through, but they weren't, because it was the day they do repairs:



Then we saw the warehouse, where they store about 500,000 cases of beer every day. (This is convenient, the tourguide told us, because Chicago consumes aproximately 40% of that beer every single day.) It was awe-inspiring:



Then we went to drink beer. I got a good picture of Bruce and Robby:


*Edited to show a non-fuzzy picture of the two of them.

And one of me and Robby, too:



Let's please not forget the moment when Robby totally abandoned all thoughts of comfort to lay front-down on the pavement to get the best picture ever in front of a Miller High Life bus:



Then we drank a couple of more beers. I can tell you without a doubt that after this weekend, everyone who's been aching for more pictures of my gorgeous brother will get them. We're going to dress up as pirates on Saturday. Doesn't that sound exciting? I thought so.

Pills

A few nights ago, Bruce moved my computer into the basement of the house. It's preeeetty awesome, because this way I can be online while he's online and no one gets their eyes clawed out. The day after that, though, I started wheezing.

I'm not so sure it has anything to do with the locale of the computer, but I typically like to find anything possible that could be the cause of my feeling shitty rather than believe that I'm actually ill in some way. Right now, I'm leaning towards allergies.

Last night I took two (generic) benedryl before bedtime, and although it dried out all of my orafices so much that it felt like I was sleeping in an infomercial dehydrator, I'm feeling a little better this morning. Although cranky. Taking (generic) benedryl at night always makes me cranky, but I've used it before when I had to get up early and I wasn't falling asleep like I should. It's the same thing they put in Tylenol PM, so it's not like it's not proven to work. Last night it had the added benefit of making me pass out and sleep hard (when I wasn't having strange dreams about waking up in a sand storm, that is). I've also been taking (generic) Claritin during the day, and it's going to start working any day now, but Benedryl is stronger by far, and if I take it at night (because I know it's going to make me pass out), it boosts up the (generic) Claritin.

During the height of my cough, I took a few Walgreens-brand "mucus relief", which contained a cough suppressant and an expectorant.

There are also the vitamins we have been taking. Whenever B and I get low on our food, or we're too poor to be eating right, and we start craving things like cucumber and salavating over the thought of fresh carrots, I know we need to be getting a few more vitamins in our diets, and I bring out the ol' vitamins. I get a (generic) diet-aid multi-vitamin, and Bruce gets a (generic) One-A-Day Essential, and we both take a vitamin E and a B-complex vitamin (which I also try to remember to make us take after a night of drinking).

Two days ago when I noticed my throat hurting like hell and my wheeze, I took a few ibuprophen to help with the inflamation in my throat. It really cut back on the swelling that was making it hard to breathe, and it took away some of the swallowing-granules-of-glass feeling I was having.

So! Lets add them up, shall we? I take (1) multivitamin, (2) vitamin E, (3) B-complex, (4) (generic) Claritin, (6) two ibuprophen, (8) two (generic) Benedryl, and (9) one "mucus relief" (grossest name ever) for my cough.

Who needs to eat?

Happy Birthday to Me

So far our plan is to wait for Todd to get off of work (either four, five, or six o'clock, we're not entirely sure) and then go to the View, where I will get free drinks. Free drinks!

Last night I got free drinks, too, but that's cause this one guy at the bar thought I was pretty and needed beers bought for me on my Birthday Eve. He was nice, and although I don't think he was too thrilled by the idea of hanging out with my husband and I, I did offer. I'm not sure he was looking for a new best friend, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Considering the amount of Free Beer (not to mention the dollar beers) I drank last night, the thought of tonight's Free Beer is making me slightly ill. Now that I'm old (26, for those of you keeping track) I can't be doing the go-out-every-night-of-the-week thing. Nor the start-drinking-before-you-stop-being-drunk-from-the-night-before thing. That one's hard to master, and I think that after you let it go, it's gone for good. But poor Bruce hasn't been away from the house for any extended period of time in over a week, and I think he needs the fresh air.

And hey, Free Drinks! Who would turn that down?

Our Neighbor, Our Bartender

That's right, the duplex directly to the north of us (as opposed to the duplex directly to the east of us, or the rental-house to the southeast of us) has recently gained an upstairs occupant. My first clue was the truck parked in the driveway. The downstairs people have a minivan and a small old white chevy of some sort. My mom's first clue was the guy laying under the truck. She thought he was dead. Bruce noticed that he was gone a few hours later, and we decided that it was either an elaborate plot to make someone disappear, or that he was too drunk to get in his truck to sleep.

So this morning I was really happy to see that my new neighbor is the really nice girl who tends our favorite bar in town. She was unloading some stuff from the bed of her truck, and I welcomed her to the neighborhood (Her: "I'm your new neighbor!" Me: "Great! Cool!" I'm such a dork.) and very gracefully asked her who it was that was sleeping under her truck the other night? Because my mom thought they were dead.

Actually, she didn't know where the guy had been, just that they'd been drinking until around seven in the morning that day, and her friend got all snakey around five and disappeared for about an hour. When he reappeared, he had gravel all up and down his arm and embedded in his forehead, and he was about to pass out. She gave him some blankets (no furniture yet, this guy was supposed to help her move) and tried to brush off most of the gravel, and then he slept. He left later that morning without a word and hasn't talked to her since.

So that's the story of the guy who was sleeping (or maybe dead) under the truck the other morning. I'm so happy she moved in. I'm so happy that it's a party girl, and not an unhappy drunken couple who's making each other miserable all the time. I'm glad it's her because she's very nice and fun and she's not a mobster making people disappear.