Monthly Archives: July 2007

Jul31

Rar

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Rar

You know how some days just start out kind of wrong? This one seems to be like that.

Last night I painted my nine toenails a deep, dark red (to match the reddish/bloody stump that won’t wash off on my bald baby toe) and somehow in the night I smudged the polish. Not a really bad smudge, just the side of my right big toe, but it’s still demoralizing. (When you only have nine toenails, it seems to be a bigger deal when one of the nails gets smudged. At least I feel like it is.)

And then I stepped on the inside hem of my pants with my heel. I ripped out the hem and have been stepping/tripping on it all day long.

Oh, and yesterday the neighbors moved out. (Who moves on a Monday?!) I don’t think much of anything in that apartment was packed, either, because I got a good look inside about 5:30 and it was looking pretty disorganized.

They were still going strong at 11:30. I know this because I had almost fallen asleep, you know, teetering on that fragile precipice, when somebody dropped something outside and they started yelling back and forth (very loudly) about who was going to go back and pick it up.

We haven’t heard the neighbors (any of them) in the 7 months we’ve lived in this apartment. And I was in very ill humor at that moment and very nearly went outside and yelled at them. (Of course, I’d have taken Henry with me for protection.)

We’re praying that whoever moves in is:
a.) quiet
b.) not a smoker
c.) not creepy

So that’s my gripe list for the day; I think I need an attitude adjustment. Anyone volunteering?

Jul31

In Which I Wonder If I Have A Shellfish Allergy

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In Which I Wonder If I Have A Shellfish Allergy

Things seem to be calming down. Joey’s family was here for the weekend and, while we didn’t do most of the exciting things that we had planned to do, a good time was had by all. (Even the brothers-in-law, I’d wager.)

On Friday night we grilled out at Joey’s uncle Ken’s house. We (mostly they) were re-shingling his roof and so everyone went over to hang out and assess the job before we started on Saturday morning. (Actually only FIL#1 and Ken did that, but whatever.)

Tom grilled these tasty shrimp wrapped in bacons. Oh man, they were great. I ate about six of them, I think, because I was really starved.

About twenty minutes later, my chest started tightening up. I was feeling really dizzy and out of breath, so I sat on the couch and played with the kids instead of scampering around with the boys.

By 9:00, I was still having trouble breathing. I took a large, labored breath and said, “Gosh, I wonder if I have a shellfish allergy. This is really weird, I’ve never felt like this before.”

Nobody said anything, so I figured I was just fine.

When I tried to fall asleep at 11:30 I still felt really uncomfortable. Thinking maybe it was just a high pollen day and it was asthma, I went out and got my inhaler. I felt decidedly un-better after doing that. So I prayed a lot and tried to fall asleep.

I felt much better in the morning, so I completely forgot about the incident.

Yesterday before Joey’s parents left we had lunch at Pei Wei which is this great Asian diner down the street from my office. Joey ordered lettuce wraps and Kevin ordered crab won-tons to have as our appetizer; I’m not sure that FIL#1 was very happy with either of them for doing that. (Costs lots of $$, you know.)

I ate one lettuce wrap and one crab won-ton and both were exceptionally tasty.

Everyone left at noon and I went back up to my office to do what I do best: work. However, I was having a really difficult time breathing and I was severely dizzy. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I couldn’t get enough oxygen to save my life. (Well, you know what I mean.)

By 2:00 I was seriously annoyed. I called my doctor because I thought something must be wrong with me. The nurse concurred and told me to come in for a blood test on Thursday and then an appointment on Friday.

Every time I go to the doctor they draw my blood. I hate that; it’s MY blood. So on Friday I guess I’ll find out if I have to quit eating shrimp, crab, and clam chowder.

I love clam chowder.

Jul29

The Decroded Toe Saga Ends

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The Decroded Toe Saga Ends

Guess what, guess what!!!!!

My decroded toenail has FINALLY FALLEN OFF! (Well, it didn’t really fall off, but it’s off now, whatever way you look at it.)

If you have missed previous posts about said toenail, you can read about it here, here, here, here, and here. (Or you could just do a label search for “decroded toe; that might be easier.) It’s fascinating.

Anyway, yesterday we were doing Ken’s roof. It was hot, horrible and altogether unpleasant, but Joey wanted me to help him because his “morale was low”. (His mom said it was just because he wanted me to get up there with my short shorts on, which was probably more accurate.)

I threw shingles at the boys for three hours before Deanine and Nancy (my mother in law) took me to Cosco with them. I was really wilty because of how hot and sweaty I had been previously, so I mostly just wandered around the aisles and looked for samples while they shopped.

The weirdest sample I got was a hunk of Parmesan cheese…all by itself. Parmesan is not a flavor I’m going to choose to eat all by itself again. It’s good on salad, but not when it’s the only thing in my mouth. Ugh.

So after we went to Cosco we headed back to swim and loaf around for the evening. I swammed around for probably half an hour, until I started getting raisin fingers. (Swimming is great, but as soon as the fingers get wrinkly, it’s time to get out.)

I’m not sure if it was the water, the tennis shoes I wore up on the roof all day, or what it was, but something Very Strange had happened to my decroded toenail. It’s so disgusting I’m really not going to try to explain it to you, either. Just know that my toenail was looking longer than normal because some things had come apart on it.

But it was still attached.

I made my mother in law take a picture of it (probably against her will, it was really disgusting) and I’ll attempt to post it later, when I get it. I then decided that I was going to pull off the toenail.
“I’m going to watch!” Joey said, and zoomed over to sit next to me.

“Eww.” He said, when he saw what it was doing.

“I know, it’s disgusting,” I said, slooooowly pulling the nail away. There was no feeling at all, but it was still creeping me out. “AAAAUGH, I can’t do it. It’s so gross!”

Fortunately for me, there were three nurses present. One of them went to get some tweezers. She sat down in front of me and poked around the toenail for awhile. Then she said, “It’s only slightly attached by a little bit of skin. I’m going to pull on three — ready?”
I nodded.

“One, two–” She pulled on two, not three.

I jumped.

There was no pain, which was great. She held the toenail in the tweezers and got up to go throw it away.

“WAIT!” I stopped her. “I, um, need that still.”

“You need this?” She gestured to the nasty, oozy toenail she was holding.

“Yes…Ineedtomailittothekid,” I mumbled. “Can I have a baggie?”

She looked at me Very Oddly (and, frankly, I don’t blame her) and fetched a baggie from the kitchen. I deposited the disgusting blackness into it and happily put it in my purse. Then I decided to look at my toe again.

“It’s bald!” I crowed, happily. It was so nice to have that hulky black thing off my foot.


Later that evening I was sitting, looking at my toe when I had a very pleasant revelation.

“Joey! My toe looks sort of like Grandpa Richardson’s fingers!”

“What?” He was not following me.

“The ones that got caught in the saw? I always thought they were super cool because they were shorter than the others. A couple of them grew back partial nails and they looked exactly like my toenail. So I may never have a normal toenail again, but that’s fine because it’s my Grandpa Richardson toe.”

So I happily fell asleep thinking about my grandpa tuning pianos and playing The Piano Tuning Song (which, he always told me, was the only song he knew so it was the only one he could play for me) with his special hands.

Jul27

The "Pastor’s Wife" Problem

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The "Pastor’s Wife" Problem

Sometimes I wonder if they ever flunk guys in seminary because their wives will make lousy pastors wives. This is a Major Concern for me because in just three short years I too will be a pastors wife. Yie. They do not seem to have a class at DTS for spiffying up your wife, but I have a sneaking suspicion that’s what Spiritual Formation really is. (You know, like if your wife skips a lot then they’ll give you an F- and kick you out o’ seminary.)

My several items on my laundry list of concerns are:

  • I am really short and usually wind up looking like one of the junior highers.
  • I make Joey late for church. A lot.
  • I have this automatic shutdown that occurs pretty much at 9:45 p.m. (thanks a lot, Pops, I inherited it from you), so Joey has to watch me really carefully so he can get me home the minute I start looking comatose.
  • I get grouchy. In public even!
  • I cannot play the piano. (This one may actually be the deal breaker for some churches, too.)
  • I have Advance Notice Disorder, a common Laird condition, which makes it very difficult, may I even say hazardous, for me to change plans at the last minute. It also makes me neurotic about having things nailed down two months prior to an event.

Poor Joey. Let’s just hope I don’t get him kicked out of seminary.

Jul26

Refried Beans

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Refried Beans

Joey and I went out to lunch with Alan and Missy (one of our pastors and his wife) to Chuy’s. It’s at McKinney and Knox, in case you’re wondering, and it was really tasty.

I was ginormously hungry, but Joey and I determined it would be best to split something. Decision making isn’t my strong point, so I just had him pick something. (It was the #1 combo, actually, but I have no idea what it was. Still don’t.)

Alan and Joey were discussing technological-type things involving videos and a bunch of stuff that Missy and I don’t understand, so we ate chips with ranch and talked about things that were interesting.

Then came the food.

It was a huge, steaming plate covered with all sorts of tasty things. The refried beans were steaming and the enchiladas looked enticing. (Everything else on the plate looked good too, we just didn’t know what it was.)

We commenced eating our food. I angled myself in such a way that I could get eat the refried beans and Joey wouldn’t be tempted to complain about how disgusting they were.

That was an hour ago.

I am now feeling very, very full.

The Uncomfortability Factor was Very High, so I went to the kitchen to mix myself up one of my Sprite cocktails (non-alcoholic, of course), heavy on the lime this time. Alas, it only served to make my stomach feel more pressurized and more plumper.

I’m not really sure what I’m going to do now, but I’ll probably make it. We did have a nice time at lunch, though, discussing Important Church Business.

Thanks, NHBC! :)

Jul26

The Mysterious Blue Earmuffs

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The Mysterious Blue Earmuffs

Last night I was organizing my closet. (Because I wanted to.) I was looking for a place to put one of my silk plants when I noticed a blue fuzzy object sitting way up high on my Willow Tree Nativity boxes.

It was an old, nappy pair of cobalt blue furry earmuffs. You know, the kind you had in third grade when they used to make you stand outside at recess because it was too cold to play but not cold enough that they’d let you back inside? Yeah, that kind.

(Except mine were probably pink.)

At any rate, I haven’t had, or seen, any earmuffs like that in ages. Certainly not since we’ve lived in Texas. They were kind of creeping me out.

“Joey, did you put some furry blue earmuffs in the closet?”

“Eh?” He asked from the living room.

“Come here for a second,” I asked, standing with one hand on my hip and the silk plant in the other, staring up at the earmuffs. (Which were up too high for me to reach, I might add.)

“Up there.” I pointed.

“Oh, no, I don’t know what those are,” he said, and went back to the living room.

The annoying, creepy earmuffs were still up in the closet. I set the plant down and jumped as high as I could, barely catching the edge of the earmuff on the end of my finger and swiping them off the box they were perched on.

“Eww.” I said, examining them. They were truly well worn, and disgusting.

I took them out to Joey and dangled them in front of his face. “How do you think these got on top of the box in our closet?

“I have no idea.” He said.

“Who has been here recently that would have put them there. Jamie? Charpie?” I began listing names. He was reading a book and therefore not really paying much attention to me.

I took the earmuffs over to the trash and threw them away.

So, the question is, HOW DID THEY GET IN MY CLOSET?! Did someone put them there to creep me out? If so, please step forward and identify yourself.

Or do I just have earmuff amnesia? Perhaps I’ve had those my entire life and moved them to Texas because they were sentimental…

If that’s the case, they’re in the trash now.

Jul25

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So if you’re wondering what’s going on in Dallas today, a gas station downtown exploded into flame about 9:45 a.m.

I heard a large bang then subsequent smaller bangs, but didn’t think much of it until someone looked out the window.

“Oh….my word!” She said. We slowly trickled over to the window to see what she was talking about.

About a mile away, fireballs from a gas station over by the Trinity Mills Floodplain (the one with the Longhorns; my favorite gas station!) were shooting halfway up Reunion Tower. (For those of you who don’t know how high that is, it’s several hundred feet.)

Every time a fireball shot into the air we heard a loud bang!; the building shook and our windows rattled in a rather alarming way.

We stood, transfixed, as we watched the fire erupt into the sky and inky black smoke form a tall column. There was no wind, which was good, because I’m sure the explosions would have been much more dangerous if the flames had been blown around.

“I hope no one was hurt,” I said.

There hasn’t been a casualty report yet that I’ve seen, but I did see a number of burned out cars in the live video that was up on dallasmorningnews.com. And I’m sure some of the Longhorns next to it were hurt, poor things. That fire had to be extremely hot.

Somebody said something about acetylene gas, but I don’t know what that is.

We just got a report that they’re evacuating buildings within a half mile of the blast, but my building is about a mile away. So for right now, at least, I’m staying put. Traffic would be a disaster anyway, two of the major freeways are closed because of the heat, smoke and debris.

Certainly an interesting thing to see, but really a sad one when you think about the people who probably died in the explosion.

Jul25

Joey’s Bad Idea

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Joey’s Bad Idea

Joey was really tired last night. We were just about asleep when he asked, “When Henry dies and we have to get a new dog, what color should we get?”

Such a morbid question.

“I think black. I like the black ones,” I said.

“No…because then when it gets old it’ll turn gray,” Joey mumbled, and tossed around trying to get comfortable. “Let’s get a mostly brown and white one. Because then the brown will turn to light brown, and the white will stay white!”

Genius, pure genius. He was definitely on to something. (And definitely tired.)

“But I still like the black ones, they’re cute,” I maintained.

There was a pause. Then a manly giggle. Then:

“I have an even better idea!” Joey exclaimed, sleepily, sitting up a little bit. “We’ll name it after one of your ex boyfriends and every time I see it I’ll kick it!”

I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. He was obviously at that point of sleepiness where he is beyond all logical thought.

“No!” I half laughed, half demanded, “Because then I’d feel sorry for the poor dog, you kicking it all the time.”

“Maybe…” Joey mumbled.

So here’s what’s not going to happen. Henry’s hopefully going to be around for awhile, so we shouldn’t have to worry about picking out a new dog (which apparently has to be male), coloring and all, and naming it after Someone We Don’t Speak Of any time soon.

We can all breathe a great sigh of relief.

Or, at least, Henry can. Poor Henry.

Jul24

Mom, Don’t Read This Lest You Become Sad

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Mom, Don’t Read This Lest You Become Sad

Disclaimer: I do not condone or watch The Simpsons, henceforth referred to as “Bad TV Show”, and will not see the movie.

However.

Eleven 7-11s in this country have been converted into Kwik E Marts (some convenience store from the Bad TV Show, I guess) as advertising for the upcoming Bad TV Show Movie. They painted them orange, changed the signs, and turned the Slurpee machines into a Squishee machines.

Fairly amazing.

Turns out, one of the 11 converted stores is 1.6 miles from our apartment. We happened to drive by it on Friday and I commented on how ugly the sign was and “Who would name their store Kwik E Mart anyway?”

A few minutes later Joey said, “Hey, that’s one of those converted 7-11s for the Bad TV Show Movie! We have to stop there on the way back.”

We forgot to stop.

Last night after dinner Joey said, “Let’s go to the Kwik E Mart for Squishees.”

And so we did.

While I have never watched the Bad TV Show, the novelty of having one the eleven converted stores in the entire US so close to my house was enough to count me in.

The parking lot was jammed full of people. There were cars parked at strange angles blocking the fire lane and, pretty much, the entire driveway. Joey let me out so I could take a picture, which about three other people were doing. I took one on my cell phone (since the camera’s still stolen) and wasn’t watching where I was going. I tripped when I was walking across the graded dirt in the vacant lot next door and wound up getting a lot of it in my sandal; this was very annoying.

There was a Bank of Springfield sign on the side of the building.

Joey giggled and pointed. “Look it says Bank of Springfield.”

“What’s Springfield?” I asked, thinking it was a real place. Turns out it’s not, it seems to be the locale of the Bad TV Show.

Joey finally found a place to park and we got out and waded through the mass of people inside the Kwik E Mart. We finally reached the Squishee machine and were faced with the dilemma of what flavor of Squishee to get.

We settled on Jolly Rancher Watermelon, which was very tasty.

While I was dealing with a perpetually overflowing Squishee, Joey decided he’d better get in line. My Squishee finally quit overflowing and I joined him, quite sticky in the fingers. There was a case of pink frosted doughnuts with green and yellow sparkles. Joey was eying them with a greedy look in his eye.

Suddenly; “Let’s get some doughnuts too,” Joey said, reaching into the case and grabbing two.

He didn’t really need to twist my arm, I’m a Big Fan of doughnuts. We bought our items and happily walked out of the store, slurping our Squishees.

“This is tasty,” I commented. Joey handed me my pink doughnut which I also began to munch.

“Why did they have pink doughnuts?” I asked.

“They’re the doughnuts from the show,” Joey replied.

He knows entirely too much about that Bad TV Show, if you ask me. Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t watch it.

Jul23

These are not my pants, whose pants are these anyway?

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These are not my pants, whose pants are these anyway?

There was a pair of black polyester pants hanging, on a hangar, from a tree very near the spot where I found Joey’s brown t-shirt on the ground. They were ugly and had white cat fur on them, so I just left them where I found them.

I think someone may be baiting me. You know, hang out the pants and set up a camera to determine who the perp that swiped the brown t-shirt was.

(Again, I maintain that it was litter.)

But seriously, one cannot help but wonder when one sees a black pair of pants hanging from a tree branch, swaying softly in the breeze.