Queen's Birthday

My older sister goes by Queen.  It's more a title than a nickname. Her kingdom is populous and she rules with the poise and authority only natural born leaders possess. She's a loving Queen who won't hesitate to smite you if required. I love, respect, admire and fear her in equal proportion. 

For her birthday this year, we gave Queen a proper royal celebration. There was a formally informal dinner, the finest of store bought ice cream cake, the gift of fake breast enhancement and then there was dancing. Lots of dancing.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my sisters and I tried to take a picture together. Well, more than just a picture. We wanted to all like the picture. And when I say "all", I mean Knobby.

Knobby is my younger sister. Knobby cares very much about hair structure, single chin presentation, shoulder angle, and the reflective properties of skin. She had the final approval of the "hey look, we're sisters" picture. 

We started in the dining room.

Then Knobby decided the lighting was bad. So we moved to the kitchen.

... So. No "approved" picture. But I think we ended up with something much better. 

Happy Birthday Queen.

Knife free fun.

Manda's parents left this morning. It was an action packed week. *yawn* I'm still recovering from all the time spent in the car.

Our first stop was Tombstone, a historic western town about an hour southeast of Tucson. It took us roughly 3 hours of listening to country music to make the journey. Now I don't hate country music. In fact I usually enjoy it in small doses. Three hours was a little much but worth the pain. I did learn a few things.

Manda's dad loves country music. Loves it. I'm talking "shamelessly singing off-key at the top of your lungs" loves country music. It was adorable. And he actually has a decent voice. It was just those really high notes that made my ears bleed. Almost erased those images of him with the machete. Almost.

Manda's dad knows a lot of random facts about random things. Thanks to my blackberry we were able to investigate his random knowledge. As a group, we are now much smarter.

Tombstone was a hit. Manda's dad loved the old western town and the characters found throughout it.

After a quick three hour return trip to Phoenix for a night's sleep, we drove five hours up to the Hoover Dam the next morning. I tried to rebel against the country music. After all, I'd listened to 6 hours of it the day before. My protests succeeded for about an hour. But I was ultimately overruled by everyone else. Manda apparently had forgotten how much she just loves country music! :o)

Hoover dam was a hit as well. Manda's dad was impressed with the engineering feat but not the prices of the food. No he didn't like the prices at all.

From the Hoover dam we drove 3 hours to Williams, Arizona. Williams is found on the historic Route 66 which immediately earned it cool points with Manda's parents. I thought everyone had driven on  Route 66, but apparently if you're from po-dunk Alabama there's a good chance you haven't.

Williams is where the weather caught our attention. 39 degrees. Really? 32 degrees with wind chill. Really?! I knew it would be cooler, but that's down right winter weather!

Manda's dad again earned adorable points by continually talking about the weather difference between Phoenix and Williams. To quote: "15 degrees I could see, but a 40-50 degree difference?!" For us Arizonans, this difference is not only expected but welcomed. Northern Arizona is our haven from the heat.

The next morning we caught a historic train to the Grand Canyon. Again, Manda's dad was adorable. Apparently he likes trains.

For those of you who don't know, Manda's dad was in a motorcycle accident 3-4 weeks ago. His broken bones and road rash are still healing, so he's still taking life slowly and from a new perspective. He was an absolute delight on the train ride. It was like watching a kid experience something new for the first time.

Needless to say, the Grand Canyon was a huge hit. How could it not be? ... well, the bone chilling cold almost ruined it. We had to get creative to keep warm.

After touring the great state of Arizona from the southeast corner to the Northwest corner, we called our sight seeing adventures complete. Manda's parents are already compiling a list of things they want to see the next time they come.

And for those of you wondering, the machete never appeared. Although there were some points during the many hours of country karaoke that I wished it had!

Peace Out!

:o)

Scissors are Dangerous.

Remember the warning we received numerous times as children? Don't run with scissors. My opinion? The warning should have been more elaborate. Running with scissors isn't the only activity in which these seemingly innocuous objects are dangerous.

Manda's family came to visit this past weekend, so we spent most of last week cleaning the house. Part of cleaning the house included shredding all the junk mail in the office. Of course this includes those stupid fake credit cards they send with your name on them. These little bundles of joy won't go through my pansy shredder. This is where the scissors come in. They needed to be cut up. I was prepared for this task with my shiny new scissors.

Manda was manning the shredder and handing me the pieces of plastic as she discovered them. My job was simple. Hold the little bastards over the trash can and cut them up. Like I said simple.

Now. I wasn't a scissor virgin. I'd used them before. I would even go as far as to call myself an experienced scissor user. I know which finger goes in which hole. I even have decent forearm strength for those long cutting sessions. Not bragging. I'm just stating the facts.

Manda and I were engaging in polite but loud conversation over the grinding shredder. Everything was fine until my A.D.D. kicked in and I took a mental vacation. This lovely vacation was cut violently short when the scissors entered the end of my finger.

Now when I say "entered my finger", what I really mean is: they stopped in, said hello and then took part of my finger with them when they left.

I was shocked at the sensation, or pain if you will. I paused to ask myself, "did I just do what I think I did?". Yes I did. I didn't dare look at my finger. Everyone knows looking only increasing the pain. Instead I grabbed my hand and made a beeline for the bathroom. I yelled "damn it" continually.

Now Manda, having seen my face as the scissors stopped in to say hi, knew I'd hurt myself. This was only confirmed by my repetitive chanting of "damn it". Now we've been together long enough, that when one of us hurts ourselves, the other person doesn't freak out. It's more like "*sigh* what trouble did you manage to get yourself in now?". So, she called out to me a few times. When all I would say was "damn it", she decided to come check on me.

I had my hand under the running water. My head was on the front of the sink. I was still unable to look at what I did for fear my entire finger would be gone (a little dramatic I know, but that's what it felt like). At this point, I'd added a word to my two word vocabulary. I was now exclaiming "damn it. Ouch." I believe my foot was also tapping the floor rather vigorously.

After many attempts I finally allowed Manda to look at my finger. Her reaction didn't help matters. "Oh baby. That's bad." Gee. Thanks.

I finally mustered up the guts to lift my head from the sink and saw all the blood in the sink. Now, if I was queezy this is where I would have vomited and passed out. Outside of my period, I don't think I've ever bled this much.

An hour later, after many gallons of water, several feet of paper towels and Manda finding the missing piece of my finger in the trash, the bleeding slowed and we were able to wrap it in gauze.

Now, the next day I learned that not all gauze is created equal. While attempting to change the bandage I discovered the importance of the phrase "non stick". After an hour of soaking my finger in hot water and hydrogen peroxide, we were unable to remove the gauze from the wound. It had decided to become part of the healing process. I was left with only one option. I had to rip the gauze out of the end of my finger.

Yes. I cried. Yes. It bled. Yes. I said "damn it" a few dozen times.

We promptly went to Walgreens and purchased the appropriate non-stick gear.

So. This experience taught me a few things.

1. I need supervision when using scissors.

2. "damn it" is a great pain reliever.

3. "non-stick" is important for more than just pots and pans.

Peace Out.

:o)

PS. Because of the splint on my finger (the splint is to prevent me from continually re-opening the wound. I had a problem with this.), this took almost two hours to type. Talk about effort.

Remember Me?

Okay. So we've been really busy. Thanksgiving, traveling, learning to knit, Christmas, more traveling. Crazy busy. Probably similar to how your lives have been recently.

We'll fill in the gaps in the next couple of days. Until then I just wanted to wish everyone Happy Holidays. Oh and to leave with you with the following images.

The story behind these images is: Manda's mom gave us each a gift card to Gap for Christmas. We went shopping tonight. She instructed us to send her photos of what she bought us. Well. Here you go.

I am wearing a white undershirt, white collared dress shirt, jean jacket, and "wonkey heart" (per the receipt) boxer briefs. I don't normally wear my underwear on the outside of my clothes. But. Well. It was either put them on over my pants or take a photo of me in my underwear. I didn't think Manda's mom wanted that mental image. :o)

It's been mentioned that I have "fashion icon" tendencies. I display them here.  Don't hate.

Manda has on two different raglan baseball shirts, a brown long sleeve shirt around her waist, a black undershirt, followed by lucky four leaf clover boxer briefs covering navy khakis.

Thanks Carol!!

:o)

Top Ten: Reasons I love Manda

Manda and I have two anniversaries. Today is one of them. Four years ago today, we began.

So. Here are 10 reasons I love Manda. (Please forgive the cheesiness and possible sappiness that will follow)

1. Her southern accent. She can get away with saying anything she wants, as long as there is a drawl to it.

2. The girl can dance. And I don't mean on tables or around poles. Though I'd be OK with that. :o) She's got more rhythm in her pinky than I have in my whole body.

3. She is methodical to a fault. Brushing her teeth consists of 10 steps. Tucking in her shirt consists of two steps per layer. Washing her hands consists of 8 steps. And on. And on.

3 & 1/2. Her thumb nails. She keeps them longer than the rest. I don't know why she does this. I've never asked her. But I don't care why.

4. She is magnetic. I am drawn to her.

5. She makes me feel safe. And not because she keeps a gun on her nightstand. (though that helps)

5 & 1/2. Her face when she finds something genuinely amusing. It lights up. Her eyes twinkle.

6. She folds my laundry perfectly. When I fold clothes, they end up wrinkled. When she folds clothes, they don't. It's almost like a hidden talent.

7. She is honest. If I ask her "do these pants make me look fat?" She will tell me if they do. And because she says it in her cute southern accent, it doesn't offend me.

7 & 1/2. Her sense of self. She knows who she is. And she is proud of it.

8. She puts up with my infatuation with Ellen DeGeneres. Seriously. You have no idea how much patience this requires.

9. She is beautiful.

9 & 1/2. She is open. She is uncensored. She just is.

10. She has no sense of direction. None. Nadda. Zero. Getting phone calls that start with "how do I get home from

here

?"... Only she doesn't know where

here

is.

Happy anniversary Babe.

Peace Out.

Click. Forward.

As I mentioned before. I recently aged a year. Not that aging happens in one year chunks. I mean, we're constantly getting older. However, my age-ometer doesn't have decimal places. I don't have the digital model... It's an all or nothing thing. I'm either 27 or 28. Not 27.2834.

So. Yeah. I'm older. My birthday actually occurred while we were in Seattle. Exploring a new place with my favorite person in the world was a fun way to celebrate.

Initially, I thought this new year was no big thing. However, I'm beginning to think I smile too much... Last week I noticed smile lines on my face. Either they weren't there before or my eyesight is actually improving with age.

Other than the wrinkles, everything else seems to be in working order. My biceps are still so big. I am actually more comfortable in my wrinkling skin this year than last year. I guess the more skin wrinkles the more comfortable it is... The easier it is to smile and laugh.

People keep telling me that my thirties will be the best. That women only get better in their 30's... You might be wondering. Is it possible for me to get ANY better? Is there any room for improvement? Yes. Just ask Manda. :o) Good thing she loves all of me. Including my wrinkles.

Peace Out.