Shades of gray. Or blue. Whatever.

So last weekend, I tackled the flower boxes. The flowers are somewhat still alive, so I thought I'd move on to a bigger project. Painting. Inside. Holy. Balls.

Like everyone else in the world (and on Pinterest), I'm on a gray kick. I adore it. I know it's a fad, but it's classic too. Plus, we won't live here forever. Gray now. Something else with a new house maybe. Who knows. I may carry gray over to a new house too. I'm a risk taker like that.

So gray. I've spend countless minutes at Lowes searching for the perfect shade of gray. Not too dark, but dark enough to not look like a big dingy ugly wall. While there buying paint yesterday, I switched colors at the last minute. I thought the other would be too blue, so I went with a darker, greener shade. Guess what? It's still effing blue. Shit.

As you can see from the first picture, the house is currently a lovely shade of buttercup-ish yellow/beige/crap. I hate it. The ENTIRE effing house is this color. Omg. I'm drowning in this shitty shade of paint. It seems like a rental house. It's not. But technically, Bob hasn't really been here for the last 4 years because of his job. Now that I'm here, shit is changing. Quick. And Bob's on board. Thank gawd.

So here's my progress so far. Only one coat. And it's a weird time of day. All the light is coming from the back. And it's a shit ton of light. But as you can see, it's still effing blue. Now that I'm thinking about it, painting our little archway may not have been the best idea. There's no direct sunlight. I probably should have painted a living room wall first, which is where I primarily want this color. Crap. Oh well. We'll see what Bob thinks when he gets home.

SJ Thursday.

Since I missed last week, you get two pics today. Mainly because I couldn't decide between them.

She's making ALL the men in her life proud with her golfing skills!

Jeggings? Omg. It's no secret one of the main reasons I want to have a baby is to dress them up. 

I hope mine can be as stylish as SJ in her JEGGINGS! Omg.

New career: Gardener Extraordinare.

So I decided to test the old brown thumb. Mine is DEF not green. I mean, obvs if my inside plants are suicide/dive bombing me. Right?

Bob has lived here for 4ish years. He has a long standing argument with the homeowners association about the window boxes. Per the agreement, they are supposed to maintain the front and back of the house/all landscaping. Bob thinks that includes the window boxes. The HOA does not. Soooo.

I HATED the way they looked. So I did something about it. I went to Lowes, found a nice worker lady, and begged her to tell me what to plant that a) the sun wouldn't fry and b) I wouldn't kill within a weeks time.

So here we go. Before and after. I planted these on Sunday afternoon, went to Chicago Monday, came home yesterday. They were already dead. I'm not posting dead pictures, because I'm still hopeful I can revive them. Wish us luck. And by us, I mean me. And the plants.

Before

 

After

Holy balls. It's Tuesday again.

So apparently I haven't been here all week. Yeah. It wasn't too bad of a week. I mean, our air conditioner died a-freaking-gain. Not happy. Bob and one of his super awesome friends fixed it. Something about a compressor/capacitor/something? It was working by the end of the day, so I don't care.

To celebrate the handyman skills of the boys, we went to dinner (Bob and I, Mat, the skillful a/c repairman, his wife Eliz, and their baby Ben). While there, the fire alarm in the restaurant went off. Guess what? They make you evacuate restaurants even if it's a false alarm. But no worries. We just moved outside to the 90+ degree patio. Yay.

Yesterday morning I went to Chicago to meet Bob. It seems like I've been gone for days, but in reality, it's been a few more than 24 hours. When we got his schedule for the month, we realized we'd be apart on our one year anniversary. (Our technical dating anniversary... today.) This time last year, I drove over to Memphis to hang out with him. And that was it. Done. And then it was more firmly cemented the following weekend when he came to Hometown with me. I remember biting my tongue to keep from telling him I was going to marry him. I mean, how crazy girl would that have been? Not very, apparently. He'd already come to that same conclusion on his own as well.

So anyway. Chicago. I went yesterday, we caught a Cubs game last night, and I came home today. Bob-less (but he hid a super sweet amazing happy anniversary card in my purse before I left, which I found while on the plane). He finished work yesterday morning and went back on another trip today. I'm so glad that boy busts his ass (especially since I STILL haven't started my efffing job yet). I miss him terribly, but I'm so glad and happy and proud to have such a hard working man. I lub him.

Cheerleader Zombie Hunter. Uh...

Have ya'll seen the commercials for Lollipop Chainsaw? Apparently it's some sort of new game. For some sort of game console. If it ain't N64, this girl doesn't give a good got damn.

So I had to use The Google to see what this Lollipop Chainsaw stuff was all about. To save you some time, I'll just tell ya'll what is says...

Via wikipedia, "It features Juliet Starling, a cheerleader zombie hunter fighting zombies in a fictional California high school." Oh and apparently while she's fighting zombies, she carries around the severed (yet still living) head of her boyfriend, Nick. Yeeeeeeah.

Riddle me this, batman: Who the balls are they targeting with this game? What demographic is going to play that? 16 year old female cheerleaders? Probably not. I remember being a 16 year old cheerleader, and I sure as hell wasn't interested in playing shit like that. MarioKart on N64? Hells yeah. But only if it was raining outside. On a Saturday. When no boys were around to flirt with.

So who then? If any of you peeps out there find this answer, please gawd let me know.

Mother Nature hates me.

So yesterday was interesting. Mother Nature had it IN for me.

As I was leaving our house to go run errands, a bug buzzed past me. I did a little bit of a dance on our front steps (our neighbors needed entertaining obvs) and then moved on. I assumed it just flew away. No harm. No foul.

I went on to Michaels to drop off some stuff to be framed. As I was standing there, I subconsciously ran my hand through my hair. And. I. Found. The. Bug. Oh. My. Gawd. So, right there in the middle of Michaels, I completely spazzed out. COMPLETELY. The framing lady and I then shared our stories of bugs, spiders, and crawly things. I joked that I needed to go home and take a shower, because I felt gross.

Fast forward about an hour. I was in the kitchen unloading the groceries I'd just purchased. I walked past the fridge and the potted plant that had been sitting on top, fell on my head. Uh, yeah. Thank the sweet lord it was a plastic pot. It had been some sort of tall-ish plant that I apparently needed to replant. It was a smidge lopsided. So it fell. On my head. Oh gah.

Yeah. Hopefully today will be better.

Daddy's girl.

To the coolest guy I've ever known, my Daddy. 

Happy Father's Day!

Word cheaters.

So now that I'm an itelephone user, I've started playing Words With Friends. I much prefer scrabble against the computer, but oh well. I've only played Bob and one other person so far. I let the itelephone work it's magic and produce a random opponent. Well. "Keith" cheated. A lot.

Now I'm not generally a sore loser. I know when my skills are outmatched. I accept it. I also know that "Keith" was cheating. Things started off even, then took an ugly turn. I like to think my scrabble skills are pretty amazing. WWF is not scrabble, but I still know me some good ol' words.

However, my 13 years of private school, 4 years of college, 2 years of graduate school, and 31 years of being did not prepare me for words like horal, zeins, yar (even despite it's regular Philadelphia Story reference), and intron. Now maybe "Keith" is some sort of super scientist and uses words like zeins and intron on a daily basis. However, I suspect he's a big fat cheater cheater pumpkin eater. Using those words, "Keith" won 427 to 277. Really? Wtf, over?

If "Keith" tries to play me in yet another game, I WILL find the space and letters to use the words "fuck" and "off" and "Keith" in some sort of succession.

For the record, blogger spellcheck doesn't recognize horal, zeins, yar, or intron.

So there, "KEITH."

Denim jeans and shaving things.

I'm bored. And when I'm bored, I think about random things that I overhear and/or see and/or realize.

For example, "denim jeans" is redundant. If you don't agree, look up the definitions. They're basically the same word. So why do people say denim jeans? What else would jeans be made of? Linen? I think not.

Also, I'd like to let you know that I royally suck at shaving my knees. No matter what razor, what shaving cream, or the condition of my skin, I still suck at it. I'd love to know the shaving secrets of other grown ups please. Because my knees look like those of a 14 year old girl. Not very hot at all.

On a similar note, I can't operate a weedeater either. That magical height above the grass where you're supposed to hover? I can't physically do that. I either smack the ground or do nothing at all.

So. Since I can't shave my knees or weedeat, I think I'll go get a pedicure.

SJ Thursday.

I very seriously think this could be a catalog ad. She's so damn cute.

Lafayette = Love.

Do ya'll watch True Blood? If you do, then you may keep reading. If not, then we're no longer friends. You may go now.

Last night I watched the season premier. I know, I know. A day or two late. Bob's still holding out on getting us HBO, so I had to watch at a friends house. The injustice of it all.

I have to say, there is one particular scene that stole my heart. Completely. And made me fall more in love with this guy than ever before.

This picture doesn't fully capture the fabulousness of his evil eye, but you get the idea. I big pink puffy heart Lafayette. Is this NOT the most perfect facial expression to say, "You get me, fucker?" I've already started practicing. I will use it. Soon.

Fabulousness personified.

3 down. 3 to go.

So I'm eating my way through Little Rock.

It started at Guadalajara. It's a mexican "grocery" complete with a bank of red phones. It's a bakery, a grocery store, and a lunch spot. Best quesadilla and torta you'll ever eat. I share my Guad love with one of my former employees. My plane landed Friday at 1130.  Within seconds, I sent Yason a text. "Guad?" "Yes, when?" "NOW BITCH." We get along fabulously. A mutual love of authentic mexican can bring anyone together.

Two hours later, it was Senor Tequila (aka-seeenyor takillya). No, I didn't eat food twice. Senor was for margaritas and queso. Guad is so authentic that they don't do queso. It's a hard compromise.

Yesterday, I had Tazikis. It's "greek" food. But really just lamb, chicken, and beef dishes, served with sides. I heart.

Today will be Bravo. Tomorrow will be Community Bakery. Tuesday will be Guadalajara again. You know, for the plane. If somewhere along the way I can fit in Arkansas Burger Company, you can bet YOUR ass we'll be adding those calories to MY ever-expanding ass.

No hate zone.

So in light of Bob's crazy schedule this month, I decided to make a last minute trip back to Little Rock. Mainly for a chicken torta. Yeah. Don't judge.

SJ Thursday

The cutest little blue devil you'll ever see!

Edibles.

So the bath salts/people eating has made it's way to Louisiana. (If you missed something vital, that's where I'm from- raised in North, but lived in South for 4 years). A guy in South Louisiana bit a chunk of someones face over the weekend. I think this makes 5 "attacks?" I'm too lazy to use The Google at the moment. There. You have homework. Let me know the tally.

I'm amazed at the things people will do to get high. There's a flower that is prevalent in New Orleans and around the Mississippi River. It's a native of South America, but grows in other sub-tropics, such as the excessively humid Louisiana.

Anyway, these flowers, Angel Trumpets, are highly poisonous. Right around the time I moved to New Orleans, there were three kids in Kenna-brah who decided to eat these flowers to get high. Instead of a pleasant weed-ish-like high, one of the kids thought his arm was a roast beef sandwich. And ate it.

Yep. I mean, at least people now are eating other people instead of themselves. Right?

New word.

Courtesy of my work orientation from this morning, I bring you...

Your word of the day: Longjeopardy.

Translation: The length or duration of life.

Uh. Yep.

Just like Jessie J. Do it like a dude.

In preparation for the new job I start tomorrow, I had to go have my fingerprints made at the sheriff's department. The fingerprint office shares a space with the handgun licensing bureau. There were all sorts of interesting people in there. ALL SORTS.

While sitting there waiting my turn, I happened to notice an inordinate amount of crotch grabbing going on. I guess I'm normally not around so many males in one space. Males who feel the need to adjust. In public.

Now I understand the need to, ahem, rearrange the stuff that's down there. But come on. Is it really necessary to grab it THAT much? You're not even playing baseball (or randomly wearing baseball pants). What if girls started doing that? Just reaching down there? Now I'll admit... when my thong puts me in an awkward position, I'll find a discreet corner and adjust. My former employees, I'm sad to say, were all too familiar with this display. Unfortunately enough for them.

But in public? In front of gawd and everyone? Like 6 times in 2 minutes? (Yep, I timed and counted.) Really? I don't get it. You're standing relatively still for that 2.5 minutes. That package down there isn't jostling around. It's not being moved around due to walking. You're not sitting and standing frequently. You're not playing baseball. You're just standing there. What is there to adjust?

I just don't get it.

Wings.

Bob and I had a date last night. Dinner and a mooovie. We saw Snow White and the Huntsman. It was, um, interesting? As Bob posted on facebook last night, I like True Blood, Twilight, and The Hunger Games, but I thought Snow White was a bit far-fetched. I know. When you word it like that, it does sound silly. But basically, I didn't enjoy Snow White. It was okay, but not a movie I'll ever watch again. It just didn't seem natural. The funny parts and quotes didn't fit where they put them. It seemed forced. The whole movie seemed forced. I'll even go so far as to say most things with Kristen Stewart seem forced. And yes, I'm still a Twilight fan. Jacob is hot.

After the mooovie, we went to our local bar. And by local, I mean it's 220 yards away from our house. Per Bob's golf range finder. This bar happens to be a wing joint. I typically get boneless wings, because I can't stand eating wings with bones. They're too messy. Part of the problem of going to a wing joint, even if I don't eat the wings, is that I have to see everyone else eating bony wings.

I've decided. There's nothing nastier than watching a big fat man suck on a chicken bone. Omg. Bleh.

Fleece whore.

So I'm not sure if I've told ya'll this or not, but Jack (the Kitty) is a total ass. And no, not just your run of the mill bad kitty. No. He's a pure and total asshole. He's anal about being touched. He likes to bite, for sport. And he will scream at you for no reason. Often.

In addition to these amazing qualities, he's also a big fan of the fleece blanket. He has his very own blanket (a recent replacement, because I accidentally threw his away while moving) that we keep spread out in his very own chair. He loves to make biscuits on the fabric (aka molest it) and will camp out on it for hours on end. He only moves when there is direct sunlight shining through the windows on to the floor (where he immediately goes to "sun") and when someone is walking down the stairs (so he can try to trip them).

The other night, I was being all snuggly with my own fleece blanket in my own chair. And what does this little shit do? Propels himself into my chair no fewer that 5 times. He has HIS OWN BLANKET. Wtf?

I told my Mom about it. You can't see her last response, but she said, "But that's my grand kitteh!" Whateves, Mama. He's a shit. And a fleece whore.

A decade.

I just realized today is mine and Bob's 10 year "anniversary."

10 years ago today he moved into the apartment next door to me. He became my best friend. And then he finally became my husband.

I can't wait to see what the next 10 years will hold!

Happy "anniversary" Bob!!

Prayers on planes.

So in our travels from Houston to Charlotte this week, our flight was delayed about an hour because of weather in North Carolina. Beryl came through, if you remember. Which scares the shit out of me. We've had several named storms already and it hasn't even been the "season" yet. I shudder to think of how vicious the remainder of the year will be. At least we don't live on the coast.

Anyhoodle, most people on our flight understood the situation. The weather was so bad they suspended inbound flights into Charlotte. Even before I was the wife of a pilot, I understood that things like this were for our own safety. Most people with common sense would. I appreciated the fact that we didn't have to fly through weather like that. Other people did too.

However, there were two people that did not understand this. They spoke English, although not very clearly. They understood English enough to groan when the gate agent made announcements concerning the further delay of the flight. But they showed their asses to the gate agents. Proclaimed they needed a translator and a refund. Yeah. It was fun to watch.

So guess who got to sit next to the woman on the flight? Yep. This girl. So thrilled. About 5 minutes into the flight, I realized she was talking. I was slipping in and out of a dramamine coma and wasn't super aware of what was going on. About 45 minutes later, she was still talking and I was sober enough to know it. She wasn't talking to her son in the row in front of us. She wasn't talking into a voice recorder. Thank gawd she wasn't talking on her phone. So what was she doing?

She was praying. Out loud. On a plane. For over an hour. Now I'm all for prayers on airplanes. Got it. I say one myself. SILENTLY. But for over an hour OUT LOUD? Really? And in Spanish no less. Save that rosary for another place please.

I realized then. On planes, I like other people's prayers the same way I like their children. Silent.