Mouser

Our mouser died last month.

My husband does not like cats. Mister stated that we are not getting another cat. He even said his foot is down. When a husband says his foot is down a woman knows not to push the issue.

Sunday afternoon my husband was in the yard when a giant mouse ran across our yard and under the lounge window. Ran right past him! Mister came inside and got a sticky paper trap, put it outside our lounge window, and came in and told me he had the situation under control.

So we are in our jammies watching television when we hear squeaking and thumping under the window. My husband jumps up and tells me to grab the flashlight and follow him outside. He is carrying an axe.

As we run around the front yard chasing a mouse stuck to the sticky pad, me wearing a nightgown and carrying a flashlight and Mister wearing pajama pants and swinging an axe; he looks at me and says: “Maybe we should get a cat.”

Turn Signal

Recently my car broke down, as in completely stopped running, on the interstate when I was driving alone and 106 miles from home. Two weeks after that I was driving home from making groceries and experienced a blow-out on a rear tire. Both nerve-racking driving experiences involving waiting for a wrecker, but each trumped by my most recent white knuckle ride.

My car has a short in the electrical system that controls the blinkers. This means that sometimes the blinkers work, sometimes they don’t. I don’t really stress about whether or not the blinkers are working because the majority of the time I am driving around the small town I live in and I assume other drivers recognize my car and know where I am going.

Monday evening I was in driving through downtown Birmingham in rush-hour traffic when the blinkers quit working. I wasn’t sure of where I was going so I was making a lot of erratic last minute lane changes. In the interest of safety I decided to go old school with the turn signals and put the window down and stuck my arm straight out to signal left turn or out and up to signal right turn.

After pissing off a lot of my fellow drivers and receiving a few rude hand signals of theirs, it dawned on me that traffic hand signals may be lost knowledge.

Wash Day

This is great clothes drying weather.

That thought popped into my head as I stood on the deck drinking coffee this morning. Odd, I know. Who considers the weather conditions before throwing in a load of laundry?

I have been living the life of a reluctant Luddite this past month. First our air conditioning went out. Mister is very hot natured so we had a repairman out to fix that, ASAP.

The following week our water heater stopped working. Because we had spent so much of our 2011 home repair budget Mister decided he would replace the water heater on his day off. We had no hot water Tuesday evening and Mister’s next day off was Saturday. Not wanting to take a cold shower but not wanting to skip bathing for 5 days I went old school and heated water on the stove to pour into the bathtub. Saturday evening I stood in the shower so long I ran out of hot water and red wine.

The week after that our clothes dryer called it quits. Seriously?! This is not in the budget. We have a clothes line in the backyard for those days I am feeling particularly “green” and want to hang the towels out to dry, but hanging out every piece of laundry I wash is not practical for a woman that works full time. I can see me turning in a leave request to the state saying I need to go home because it is clouding up and I am worried it will rain on my whites.

We are now starting week 3 with no clothes dryer. Funny how quick you adjust. I didn’t know I was thinking about laundry when I stepped out back with my morning coffee.

Suggestions

What have I ordered through Amazon to make them think I want to dress my dog in a cheerleader outfit?

About once a week there is an email waiting for me from Amazon telling me of things I may like. You know how they are…I order an apron and cookbook as a gift and a few days later Amazon sends me an email with “suggestions” I may like of best seller cookbooks. Or I order a textbook on Asian Religions for a course I am taking and a few days later Amazon sends an email with “suggestions” featuring Buddha statues and lotus candles.

I have always been able to recognize the pattern before. But this week Amazon sent me a suggestion of a University of Alabama cheerleader outfit for my Chihuahua (with guaranteed Friday delivery). Seriously, what have I ordered to make them think I want to dress my dog as a cheerleader?!

Helicopter

Every profession has nicknames they use to label a type that is seen regularly. In college admissions we refer to parents who can’t let go as helicopter parents.

Sometimes the helicopter parent wants to choose their students courses, sometimes the helicopter parent wants to buddy up with the admissions staff, but today I met the ultimate helicopter parent:

A mom just called and stated that her son is a sophomore in high school and is thinking of attending here in the future. She asked if she could have the names and phone numbers of some of the professors that her son would have so that she could meet with the professors and ensure that they would not overwhelm her son with coursework that is over his head.

That poor guy must be sooo embarrassed…

Lose Weight = Loose Tights

The above equation occurred to me today as I tried to discreetly yank my tights back up.

This morning I put on a pair of tights that I haven’t worn in over a year. A person really doesn’t think about whether their tights fit or not. No one ever put on tights, looked in the mirror, and said: Wow, these tights fit great!

It wasn’t until I was at work that I realized my tights were no longer tight- they were loose. Really loose. Like sweat pants loose. And loose tights do not stay where you put them. The crotch of my tights was nowhere near where I meant it to be. And there was no way I could move gracefully with the crotch of my tights half-way to my knees. And there was no way to pull my tights back up without the entire lobby, the guys watching the security camera, and a hallway of co-workers seeing what I was doing. This was one very long day.

After pulling those tights back up all day you better believe they went in the trash when I got home. I embarrass myself enough already without being sabotaged by loose tights.

Over-packed and Underprepared

I used to be one of those people who could pack for a week at the beach using an overnight bag. I would pack maybe 2 outfits and 10 pairs of panties. Seriously, I figured as long as I had enough underwear to get me through, it didn’t matter if anyone saw me in the same outfit more than once. My thinking was: I am a tourist; I don’t know these people and will probably never see them again.

Believe it or not, Mister was the over-packer at our house. When we left for the weekend that man had clothes for any possible occasion along with him. We once went to a casual wedding in Florida and one of the ushers was unable to make the wedding, Mister said “Let me go to the car and change.” Another time we were on boat deep sea fishing and he rooted around in his bag and pulled out the Yellow Page Directory to look up a phone number. I can’t tell how many times he loaned me a coat or t-shirt when we are away from home.

In the beginning I would tease him about over-packing. I said if you leave home with a change of panties you are travelling. He would just laugh and say that it felt good to have his stuff with him when he was away from home.

Then I started asked him to put a pair of my shoes in his bag. That was the beginning of my over-packing. Before I knew it I needed one of those suitcases with wheels. We leave for 2 days and I need 3 outfits, 2 pair of shoes, accessories, and 3 pair of panties. I still say you need fresh panties every day.

I have now embraced over-packing.

We recently went out of town for a long weekend. I had my wheeled suitcase so filled I could barely zip it. Along with all of my clothes I also brought along a couple of outfits for my Chihuahua (you know, so we wouldn’t clash).

Imagine my horror the first evening when I opened my suitcase and realized I had packed NO UNDERWEAR!! I had 6 different outfits with me and not one change of panties. All of those clothes and I was washing my smalls in the sink each evening. Just because you over-pack doesn't mean you are travelling.

Snowed In 2011

Saturday: Snow is announced for Georgia. The news is teasing us with forecasts of 4 to 6 inches of snow. I don’t know who they think they are kidding, telling us to stock up on groceries, water, and firewood. I am not going to be one of those crazy women at Wal-Mart throwing milk and bread into my cart because we may be housebound for half a day.

Sunday AM: The meteorologists actually sound serious about the snow. Maybe I will cook a little something in case the power goes out tomorrow. It will be nice to have something good to eat while we sit around enjoying a day off work.

Sunday PM: I have a vat of potato soup cooking, a pork roast in the crock pot, one cake, a pan of cornbread, a pan of biscuits, and a quiche ready. Mister comes home and says he can’t find firewood anywhere and maybe we should go get some groceries that can be cooked on a camp-stove if we lose power. At Food Depot we find bare shelves and go home with the last 2 cans of spaghettios. You can’t get any Little Debbie’s for love or money.

Monday: This is great!! Six inches of snow and we still have electricity! This is the kind of snowstorm people talk of for decades, the most snow Georgia has received in the history of measuring snow. The view is breathtaking.

Mister and I sleep late, eat well, play Yahtzee, and wear our jammies all day. We put on our boots and walk out to the road to discover there is a sheet of ice covering the snow. There has been no traffic outside our house. We are truly snowed in.

Tuesday: Mister and I awake to the sound of spinning tires and sliding cars. It turns out that some people can’t take more than one day off from work and are trying to get out of the neighborhood. The key word is trying- they aren’t going anywhere. I wonder what makes a person who sees 6 cars in the ditch or sitting sideways in the road think they will be the one to make it through. The newscasters are saying that the roads are not passable and recommending people stay home.

We walk for miles through the snow. Everything looks foreign blanketed in white. We come home to potato soup and watch a movie. Being snowed in is like being on vacation.

Wednesday: Mister’s work calls to find out if he is coming in today. He tells them that we are still snowed in, that we are 65 miles west of Atlanta and there are no snow plows or sand trucks coming by our house.

The ice that covers the snow is really hard and slick. We pretend to ice-skate in the backyard and even our Manchester terrier, Boo, has learned to slide across the ice. Hot buttered rum is a cozy drink when we come in from the snow.

Thursday: Snowed in on my birthday. This has been the best birthday, snowed in together all week. No responsibilities and no guilt.

Honestly though, we are starting to get cabin fever. Mister goes out to try to get the car out and spends hours chipping away at the ice. We are going to be on a meat only diet before long. The only one who doesn’t seem to have claustrophobia is our Chihuahua, Nadine- she goes to the door, looks out, and turns around to reclaim her spot on the sofa.

We spend the evening drinking Crown and Coke and watching Smokey and the Bandit. Snowed in with the Snowman.

Friday: Mister makes it out of the driveway around 10AM. He calls to tell me that the roads clear up about 2 miles from our house but that I shouldn’t leave as the driving is treacherous around our home. I am SO ready to get out of this house, but I don’t know how to drive on ice and can’t afford to replace the car if I wreck it.

Around noon there is a news helicopter hovering over our house. I go out to see what is going on (cause I’m nosy that way). A firetruck has sliden off the hill and has the road blocked. The maintenance department shows up with gravel and sand and throws it out on the ice. A giant tow truck comes to help the firetruck.

I call Mister and tell him of the excitement outside. He tells me not to leave the house, that if I want anything from the store he will bring it home. I say “Sure, hog all the fun of going to the store.” He laughs and says “Pack a day bag. We are going somewhere warm tomorrow.”

Saturday and South Georgia. Spanish moss and sago palms. Walking down sandy dirt roads with Mister and the dogs I realize I am not made for snow.