Following my latest blog, I noticed that all of my topics seem to follow a similar theme: sleep. I do enjoy catching my fair share of Zzzz's, but perhaps if I think of a new topic, my insomnia will subside. Let's find out...
Today, while Bella was watching a movie and Gigi was napping (shoot! there is that sleep thing again...) my phone rang. It was sitting next to me on the couch and began ringing and vibrating violently against the leather cushion. I scrambled to silence it so that it wouldn't wake up the Gig and instead sent it crashing into the leg of the coffee table before finally landing on the floor. I swooped it up only to see an unidentified number being displayed. Shit. I hate those. It wasn't private, but I wasn't familiar with the arrangement of numbers flashing on my screen.
To answer? Or, not to answer? This 'twas the question and I was running out of time before it went to voicemail and I would risk never knowing the caller's identity. (P.S. I haaaaate when people don't leave messages. If you don't, chances are I just won't call you back. Sorry, but if it was important you would have notified me...) ANYWAY, I finally decide to put my big girl panties on and answer it.
Oh, its Kathy...of course. Oh. Wait. I don't actually know that many Kathys that would actually being calling me. Okay, now I'm intrigued while also frantic and silently ticking off my monthly bills in my head to make sure I didn't miss any payments. Kathy. Kathy, from National City. Oh, that's my bank, now she has my attention. Kathy is inquiring about whether I am currently travelling. Thanks Kathy, that's nice but as much as I would enjoy a vacay about now my location isn't changing anytime soon. Why??? I'm sorry, I visited how many gas stations in North Carolina yesterday? Nine? UM, NO.
Kathy is a lovely woman, but I'm not liking where our phone call is headed. Apparently, my check card number had been stolen from under my nose and this "individual," has been helping themselves to Pat's and my hard earned money. Once we verified that I had absolutely not, under any circumstances authorized these debits we began taking the necessary steps for future prevention. While going through the process of cancelling my card, my mind wandered to the character of this type of, "individual."
Obviously, we are not dealing with someone honest or kind. But, apparently, not smart either. I mean realllly, did they gas-up an entire fleet of vehicles? Was it a one-person attempt at alleviating gas prices for the community by filling up people's cars at my expense? Literally.
Personally, I am not very criminally-astute but I imagine that if I was going to steal someone's credit card and had only a few days to go unnoticed, I'm not going to be hanging out at the local 711. Nordstrom would probably be my first stop for clothes to pack my bags for the vacation that I would be funding shortly thereafter. I don't know about you but, right?!? Not that the amount of money in my checking account would be enough for a lavish get-away, but where is the creativity people?
I hate to judge this person, okay I really don't, but we are probably talking about some redneck from the hills who had to stock up on the latest Nascar travelmugs cigarette lighters, and a case of PBR. Or, twelve. What are those original Jeff Gordon mugs going for these days anywho? Guess we will see when the bill comes in.
Until then, I am forced to hold vigils over my checking account and fill out a form for every. single. mysterious. purchase. Thank YOU, Mr. (or Mrs.) Dishonest Asshole from North Carolina. I hope you gasssed up to your heart's desire, because Karma is a biatch.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
GIRLS' WEEKEND!
It feels late, but really, it is only 10 o'clock. I'm exhausted, but somehow, I can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it has something to do with the incessant purr-like snore that is drowning out my thoughts...or... it could be the arms and legs tangled around me. You're smart. If you read my previous blog, then you immediately think that my husband is keeping me awake.
But alas, the spider monkey is snoozing somewhere in Holiday Inn in Arkansas tonight. Instead, this morning began the 108 hours that I will be spending with my small friends, Bella and Gigi. Generally, we spend every day together, but we are embarking on our first official: "GIRLS' WEEKEND!" It is an extended sleepover of sorts. Like any normal, "girls' night," we gossiped about boys at school over our evening snack of sugar-free chocolate pudding. (Unfortunately for me and my diet endeavors, this meant a clementine, bummer). We swiped away the chocolate-staches and headed upstairs to get ready for bed.
Now, I've slept with my mini-chicks on several ocassions and albeit fun, it never works out very well for me. First, we tried having a sleepover at my house. Being the poor newly-weds that we are, my husband and I still have a double bed post-Ashley's college leftovers. This size bed does nothing for one's personal space, but when you try to cram a 26 year old, an 8 year old, and a 3 year old, it only intensifies that and creates the PG version of WWF. I spent most of that night with one foot on the floor to maintain my balance while playing referee to the small femmes fighting for space. STRIKE ONE.
The second attempt at a sleepover was more successful. It occurred during a semi-recent "business trip," to Florida. My bosses gave me, Bella, and Gigi full reign of the master bedroom ala king size bed. Sa-weet. Somehow, though, in the wee hours of the morning, the three of us were sharing one half of the bed and I was wearing a curled-up Gigi as a hat on my head. STRIKE TWO.
So, that brings us to tonight and the 3 nights following...we have been in bed for all of one hour and there is already a gray rain cloud hovering over my pillow just waiting to pour a healthy dose of STRIKE THREE all over me. Initially, I tried to make this a fun event. I told the girls of my golden secret for the most comfy bed ever. They listened intently as I told them that it is all in the pillows and then they scampered away to collect every pillow upstairs. We made the crown in which I swear by as a solo-sleeper and I prepared to get them settled in. They loved it!
I turn off the lights, get a running start, and jump right into bed with them! I might as well have hit a slab of concrete. What the hell good is a king sized bed if it is made of c-e-m-e-n-t??? I mean reallllly. I do not believe in these, "Tempurpedic matresses." Sorry to be harsh, but I want to sink right in, not wake up feeling battered and bruised. The icing on the cake, or rather: the last slather of wet-cement on the slab, was the matching tempurpedic pillow. Awesome. Whatever, I can deal with this. So, I lay down and by the time everyone has found their niche, the crown of pillows is absolved and thrown haphazardly on the floor. (Remember the hazard part of that, because I'm sure in the middle of the night, they will become just that and I will trip over them and break an ankle. A later blog, I am sure).
As we lay there, I realize how utterly drained I am physically from the fieldtrip we had taken to my bootcamp earlier that evening. Maannn, I can't wait to be asleep! Yea, not so much. There is non-stop giggling and chatting that I quickly put the kabosh on, given that it is a school night. After a few idle threats of sending them to sleep in the bathtub, the talking ceases and Bella is asleep within minutes.
My 3 year old buddy, Gigi has a different idea though. She is decidely not tired and so when my phone chimes a text message alert, her face is right next to mine, "eagerly inquiring about who is typing to us." Obviously, sending SOS's out to my friends isn't going to work so I flip my phone over and try a new tactic to wear her down.
I close my eyes and pretend that I have already fallen asleep. Shortly thereafter, I feel a poking into my cheek, right where my crater-sized dimple normally sits. I open my eyes and she is RIGHT there, nose-to-nose checking to see when I open my eyes. It was hard not to laugh, so I kiss her nose and tell her to lay back down. She does and next time I peek open my eyes to check, she is RIGHT there again, nose-to-nose. There was no preliminary poking this time, she skipped the niceties and went right for intimidation.
Okay, time to get tougher. I close my eyes and flip on my side. She can't inspect my sinus cavity now that my shoulder has formed a wall between us, but its only seconds later before I hear her tiny whisper. I lay silent to hear what she is saying, convinced that she is putting a hex on me. She is reciting her numbers, so I open my eyes only to see the time projected from the clock onto the ceiling. Greeaat, a tempurpedic bed AND a crazy outer-space clock. I flip over to face her and inform her of the real time and that its getting suuuper late for little ladies to be awake and she is staring past me, transfixed on the clock.
Its a good thing I knew the clock was there, because the way she was staring was kind of creepy-kids-have-a-sixth-sense kind of thing and I did not come this weekend equipped to vanquish spirits or exorcise demons. Needless to say, at 10 o'clock, on the dot, I heard her breathing become steady and slow. The arm that she had cupping my ear had gone limp and eventually curled itself under her cheek.
I quietly crept out of bed, suddenly wide-awake, and tip-toed to the next room to facebook stalk, catch up on my celebrity gossip, and blog. As the minutes have worn on, my fatigue has returned but I am fearful about the state in which I will find the bed when I return. Covers will have been stolen, legs kicking mercilessly for space, and my once vacated spot will have been overcome by tiny dreaming angels.
Its all worth it and I'm absolutely sure that is exactly what I will be thinking when 6:15 rolls around and my alarm is blaring in my ear. Oh well, atleast I know I won't be late for work!
Oh, P.S. Who cheats on Sandra Bullock?! I mean really, does Jesse James think he can do better than her?? Pssh....
But alas, the spider monkey is snoozing somewhere in Holiday Inn in Arkansas tonight. Instead, this morning began the 108 hours that I will be spending with my small friends, Bella and Gigi. Generally, we spend every day together, but we are embarking on our first official: "GIRLS' WEEKEND!" It is an extended sleepover of sorts. Like any normal, "girls' night," we gossiped about boys at school over our evening snack of sugar-free chocolate pudding. (Unfortunately for me and my diet endeavors, this meant a clementine, bummer). We swiped away the chocolate-staches and headed upstairs to get ready for bed.
Now, I've slept with my mini-chicks on several ocassions and albeit fun, it never works out very well for me. First, we tried having a sleepover at my house. Being the poor newly-weds that we are, my husband and I still have a double bed post-Ashley's college leftovers. This size bed does nothing for one's personal space, but when you try to cram a 26 year old, an 8 year old, and a 3 year old, it only intensifies that and creates the PG version of WWF. I spent most of that night with one foot on the floor to maintain my balance while playing referee to the small femmes fighting for space. STRIKE ONE.
The second attempt at a sleepover was more successful. It occurred during a semi-recent "business trip," to Florida. My bosses gave me, Bella, and Gigi full reign of the master bedroom ala king size bed. Sa-weet. Somehow, though, in the wee hours of the morning, the three of us were sharing one half of the bed and I was wearing a curled-up Gigi as a hat on my head. STRIKE TWO.
So, that brings us to tonight and the 3 nights following...we have been in bed for all of one hour and there is already a gray rain cloud hovering over my pillow just waiting to pour a healthy dose of STRIKE THREE all over me. Initially, I tried to make this a fun event. I told the girls of my golden secret for the most comfy bed ever. They listened intently as I told them that it is all in the pillows and then they scampered away to collect every pillow upstairs. We made the crown in which I swear by as a solo-sleeper and I prepared to get them settled in. They loved it!
I turn off the lights, get a running start, and jump right into bed with them! I might as well have hit a slab of concrete. What the hell good is a king sized bed if it is made of c-e-m-e-n-t??? I mean reallllly. I do not believe in these, "Tempurpedic matresses." Sorry to be harsh, but I want to sink right in, not wake up feeling battered and bruised. The icing on the cake, or rather: the last slather of wet-cement on the slab, was the matching tempurpedic pillow. Awesome. Whatever, I can deal with this. So, I lay down and by the time everyone has found their niche, the crown of pillows is absolved and thrown haphazardly on the floor. (Remember the hazard part of that, because I'm sure in the middle of the night, they will become just that and I will trip over them and break an ankle. A later blog, I am sure).
As we lay there, I realize how utterly drained I am physically from the fieldtrip we had taken to my bootcamp earlier that evening. Maannn, I can't wait to be asleep! Yea, not so much. There is non-stop giggling and chatting that I quickly put the kabosh on, given that it is a school night. After a few idle threats of sending them to sleep in the bathtub, the talking ceases and Bella is asleep within minutes.
My 3 year old buddy, Gigi has a different idea though. She is decidely not tired and so when my phone chimes a text message alert, her face is right next to mine, "eagerly inquiring about who is typing to us." Obviously, sending SOS's out to my friends isn't going to work so I flip my phone over and try a new tactic to wear her down.
I close my eyes and pretend that I have already fallen asleep. Shortly thereafter, I feel a poking into my cheek, right where my crater-sized dimple normally sits. I open my eyes and she is RIGHT there, nose-to-nose checking to see when I open my eyes. It was hard not to laugh, so I kiss her nose and tell her to lay back down. She does and next time I peek open my eyes to check, she is RIGHT there again, nose-to-nose. There was no preliminary poking this time, she skipped the niceties and went right for intimidation.
Okay, time to get tougher. I close my eyes and flip on my side. She can't inspect my sinus cavity now that my shoulder has formed a wall between us, but its only seconds later before I hear her tiny whisper. I lay silent to hear what she is saying, convinced that she is putting a hex on me. She is reciting her numbers, so I open my eyes only to see the time projected from the clock onto the ceiling. Greeaat, a tempurpedic bed AND a crazy outer-space clock. I flip over to face her and inform her of the real time and that its getting suuuper late for little ladies to be awake and she is staring past me, transfixed on the clock.
Its a good thing I knew the clock was there, because the way she was staring was kind of creepy-kids-have-a-sixth-sense kind of thing and I did not come this weekend equipped to vanquish spirits or exorcise demons. Needless to say, at 10 o'clock, on the dot, I heard her breathing become steady and slow. The arm that she had cupping my ear had gone limp and eventually curled itself under her cheek.
I quietly crept out of bed, suddenly wide-awake, and tip-toed to the next room to facebook stalk, catch up on my celebrity gossip, and blog. As the minutes have worn on, my fatigue has returned but I am fearful about the state in which I will find the bed when I return. Covers will have been stolen, legs kicking mercilessly for space, and my once vacated spot will have been overcome by tiny dreaming angels.
Its all worth it and I'm absolutely sure that is exactly what I will be thinking when 6:15 rolls around and my alarm is blaring in my ear. Oh well, atleast I know I won't be late for work!
Oh, P.S. Who cheats on Sandra Bullock?! I mean really, does Jesse James think he can do better than her?? Pssh....
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