Made in Richmond

Dude fell asleep watching downloaded episodes of Star Trek: Voyager. I’m on the other side of the Mac Book wondering when he’s going to get his tuckus in the kitchen and make me my grilled cheese sandwich.

I take this many every single day.  I take them due to my desire to get my body ready to have kids.  Oh, and my crippling fear of cancer.

We had pot luck tonight. Sometimes we get a very well-balance meal at pot luck. Tonight was not one of those nights. All of the food was wonderful, but we had four, count ‘em four desserts: cookies, scones, brownies, and ice cream. Heaven for some but not heaven if you are trying to not be fat.

Let me explain that I was not born with the sweet tooth that plagues most of my family. However, I have had major cravings for all things sweet as of late. Tonight could have been a recipe for disaster, but thankfully Ross and I had made a trip to the farmer’s market at the William Byrd Community House on Tuesday. We picked up a carton of blueberries on a whim.

I had one cookie and it. was. amazing. Thankfully, I remembered the carton of salvation sitting in my fridge just as I was about to empty the contents of the cookie bag into my mouth. So, I chowed down on those. Almost all of those.

Granted, eating a ton of blueberries is better than eating a ton of cookies. But I still feel like I’m gonna die.

Learn more about the blueberry here, because clearly you have nothing better to do.

Ross and I have decided that it’s time to invest some money into fixing our home-crap-home if we ever hope to sell it.  A new fence is in the works and we spent time patching and repainting the ceiling in our upstairs bathroom (steam and paint from 1923 don’t so much like each other).  I’ll finally be painting the ceiling to the downstairs bathroom tomorrow - luckily that bathroom was once a closet so there’s not much surface area to cover.

We’re trying to figure out what the next project will be.  There’s plenty of things that need to be fixed that are beyond our skills (major carpentry, etc.), but I’m sure there are lots of little thing that will add value to our house without being a major undertaking.  Thoughts?

I just said these words to Ross:

“It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity.”

Let the good times roll.

I went in Barnes and Noble today to buy Middlesex (because sexuality issues are second only to Mormonism on my list of fascinating things) and I saw a lady in there who was probably pushing 80 years old.  She was wearing what looked to be black wool slacks paired with a cardigan over a collared shirt.  I, meanwhile, was wearing shorts.  Anyone who knows me understand that I must be on the verge of melting to do this.

I walked out of the store right behind her, fully expecting her to take off the sweater.  But, no.  SHE PUT ON A WINDBREAKER.  I’m assuming she did this to ward off the waves of steams billowing through the air just because it’s Richmond and that’s what we have here.  Or maybe old people have superior cooling mechanisms.  I wanted to ask her how she could stand it, but that would have meant quickening my pace to catch up with her and I just don’t do that when the temperature breaks 90 degrees.

At our last pot luck, I was loading up the dishwasher and the Jennifer Murphy was looking at me.   She then proceeded to tell me that I have a tiny rear end (she actually called it that).  She assured me that it was a good rear end, but nevertheless, it was tiny.  This was after her telling me (while we were eating at Taco Bell) that I’m getting narrower every time she sees me-did I mention that I LOVE the Jennifer Murphy?

As you may remember from previous entries, I am proud of being a fat-bottomed girl.  I mean, I did actually walk down the aisle at my sister’s wedding to that song.  Anyway, it was always something I took pride in.  Let me put it to you this way, if I had to be a street sign, I would choose “Dangerous Curves Ahead” and stand proudly.  That’s right.  I just said that.

Well, while at the gym today, I spotted myself in the mirror and realized that the Jennifer Murphy speaks the truth.  I got home, measured myself, and discovered that I have lost almost 2 1/2 inches from the area.  What was once round seems to be gone.  I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Friday: Ended my teaching career.  Cried a lot.  Took a nap.  Celebration dinner with in-laws.  Bed.

Saturday:  Planned the new fence with in-laws.  Lunch with in-laws.  Gym.  Celebrated James’s birthday.  Home.  Bed.

Sunday:  Loaves and Fishes.  Home.  Church.  Home.  Father’s Day dinner at P.F. Chang’s.  Home.  Puttering.  The dogs are wrestling on top of my feet.  Bed soon.

Ross and I often sit and wonder what song we could blare out of our speakers to get back at the damn teenagers who blast their hip hop music at all hours of the night (we also often get our dentures mixed up and gripe about the cost of milk these days). After much deliberation we decided that this song would be the best way to stick it to ‘em (just imagine it blasting at full volume with us playing the air guitar on the porch):

We just finished up our last day of school, my last day of school for for a long time.  I was fine saying goodbye to the kids.  You get kind of used to the fact that you probably won’t see the kids again.  However, it was very hard saying goodbye to my colleagues.  I’ve learned so much from all of them.  I will say that there was A LOT of ugly crying in the car on the way home.

Goodbye, Reams Elementary.  I love you!