Give Me That.....

Something bad happened last night. All though much worse happens each night all over the world,  this was the epitome of bad for the little suburban town my school is located in. The local McDonald's was robbed at gun point. 

A masked and armed woman walked through the drive-thru and shoved her pistol in the clerk's face demanding money. Needless to say, this was news around town. At ten years old, my students are just beginning to slightly pay attention to the news they overhear their parents listening to. 

This morning one boy in class made a point to come ask me if I had heard about the robbery. I mean a robbery in town is big enough news. Plus, it happened at McDonald's; one of these prepubescent kids' favorite place. A place they go quite often. It hit close to home for them. 

One of my oh so lovable kids, we will call him, Billy, then proceeded to shout out, "Why would they rob McDonald's? Did they ask for cheeseburgers or something?"

Wow! Kids are oblivious! I explained to little Billy that they did not rob McDonald's for cheeseburgers, but for the money they had inside the restaurant. It was a total surprise to him. Never had it crossed his mind. He literally thought that the robber would have gone up and, just like the fishy, say, "Give me that Filet of Fish, Give me that Fish!" Looking for food rather than money. 

I attributed this total lack of reality to innocence. These kids, Billy certainly included, think of robbery in the simplest terms. They picture people stealing candy from the super market, a magazine from Wal-Mart, and the most serious, a video game from FYI. To them, that is major robbery. I agree, it is robbery and it is wrong, but certainly not major robbery. Money isn't necessarily an issue at the age of ten. So it escapes them. 

Anyways, I enjoy my job. The kids never cease to amaze me in so many ways. Speaking of amazing, it was 74 and sunny in Cleveland today. Forty-five and raining here. Sunday, I am on my way to the Tropic of Cleveland! It couldn't come faster! 

A Small Fire

I must say, it is still bothering me that I didn't get to spend Jeff's 30th birthday with him. I know to him it is just another day. My birthday is to me as well. But, I would have rather been there with him to celebrate. Even if our celebration was simply dinner, dessert, and time together.

Last year, that is pretty much what it was. Dinner and dessert with friends, and just time together. Dinner was the interesting part. Meeting with our friends who are always late, Jeff and I essentially made a bet of how late they would actually be. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, these were our guessing. A few minutes before the fifteen marker, we got a message that they would be another ten minutes. Oh well, we had enough time to make an educated decision on the delicious menu.

Here, we were at one of our favorite Italian restaurants, part of the reason we decided to spend Jeff's birthday there. When our good company arrived, we had a delicious meal. Our meal certainly proved our fandom of this place.

The enjoyment and pleasure ended with the dinner. As we were walking out of the restaurant, we were wholly planning on eating there again, soon. We began to slightly panic as we saw a stack of paper menus hanging over a lit candle. They were just starting to go up in flames. The thought struck that maybe we wouldn't be able to return as the restaurant was going to burn down. 

Rather than just standing and watching, as I was, Jeff took action. He blew out the candle and grabbed the paper, blowing it out quickly. He put out the fire! He saved the restaurant! I felt he deserved some sort of hero status for his quick actions.

I was sure he was going to get it, along with free meals for life when the hostess came over to see what was going on. She would be so pleased with Jeff, right? Wrong. As we explained what had just happened, she basically looked at us as if we had been trying to start the fire, not put it out. Come on, lady. Really? Do we look like the type of people who would do that?

Absolutely not! Maybe it's good we weren't together for Jeff's birthday. Last year was arson, who knows what this year could have brought! 

An America's Funniest Home Videos Moment

I have always thought of Shea as a gentle giant. When he is around smaller dogs he just lowers his head and lets them sniff him. Any time he has been around children, which hasn't happened all that often, he is extremely careful and solemn. Not the crazy boy I have grown to love and expect.

So, when we went to the park today and young boy came trotting over, I expected Shea to be kind and gentle. In the past, knowing that he would eventually get bored with the kid and move on, essentially ignoring him. He did that for a while. But, something caught Shea's attention. Something, I don't know what, that made it impossible for him to ignore that little boy.

With the steady rain that fell throughout the day, puddles were abound. This was the scene:

Shea at the Park

Can you believe my baby boy did that? That poor kid. Luckily he wasn't hurt. He actually found it quite funny. He is hoping that this video will win some money on America's Funniest Home Videos. Kids his age like that show. 

Only, he will never win. He will never because it is not a real video of Shea. Jeff sent me this because of the dog's striking resemblance to Shea. Jeff sent this a few days ago. I have had it up on my screen watching it over and over ever since. Just thought I'd share the entertainment. 

30

Today Jeff turned 30. Yup, 30. A big birthday right? He would beg to differ. To him, it's no big deal. As I said on my birthday, for us, birthday's really aren't our thing.

All day, even though birthday's are no big deal, I wished I was with Jeff. Thinking back seven years ago now, a dating couple, I remember going out to breakfast to celebrate Jeff's birthday before he left for a road trip to the Final Four. And while I enjoyed every minute of it back then in 2003, I now, married in 2010, am jealous of the time we got to spend back then.

Rather than sulk with envy of my 20 year old self, I went shopping. Retail therapy helps everything, short term anyways. While out, I noticed that I had ventured over the birthday cards. Flipping through them, trying to find one with maybe a dog or something funny, I stopped at the sight of the special cards for 30 year olds. And it hit me, holy crap, Jeff is 30. Wow. That's big!

I enjoyed reading the cards aimed at thirty year olds. "Thirty just means the fun part of your life is over." "There's no need to torture yourself for turning thirty, life will do it." And, possibly my favorite had a bikini clad island girl wishing the reader a happy birthday and the well wishes of the island, "may your tree always stand up and your coconuts never drop." 

I don't find any of these to be true, but I do find them funny. I decided not to get any of them, as I traditionally make Jeff a birthday card myself. And, I did not plan on changing that. 

In hopes of "treating" my husband to something on his special day, I suggested we get ice cream together. Together meaning not at the same place, but on the same day, around the same time. So Shea could help Jeff celebrate, we went and got our ice cream from a small local place. 

 

And while it certainly wasn't the same as the dinner and dessert we would surely have treated ourselves to in celebration of Jeff's birthday, we have to take what we can get. 

In one week Shea and I will be out in Cleveland. One week. Certainly not too late to celebrate a birthday or two! 

Elite Eight

The coldest morning in a long time, I decided to run a race. My Under Armor kept me slightly warmer than if I had been running nude. But, the thought of finishing and getting into my warm car was motivating enough to finish in third place.

I'm not one to celebrate the mediocrity of a bronze medal, but I am one to be elated by great tickets to the Elite Eight game tonight in Syracuse. My father and I will be heading out soon to meet some people for lunch and then watch West Virginia and Kentucky fight it out for a spot in the Final Four.

I am excited to be back in the Dome. It has been quite some time. I used to run to the big bubble every morning when I was in grad school there, and hit up all the men's basketball games. It's a shame Jonathan won't be there with me like the good old days. And of course, Jeff would make for some good company too!

An Ivy Leaguer

Today was school spirit or college team day. Of course, I was planning on donning some Syracuse gear. That is, until they sh*t the bed last night. Whenever a team ranked number one in a region loses before the final four, it is considered and upset. A disappointment. Personally, I was not plan on wearing gear for a team that disappointed.

On top of that, Syracuse has a huge following in our area. So, I knew a lot of people would have SU stuff on. I like to be different, so I put out my feelers. And what I found was pretty different. I found a Cornell jersey.

Now, you are probably saying to yourself, Cornell lost last night too. Yes, they did. But, they were a 12 seed in the sweet sixteen. They didn't disappoint, they surprised! Even with the loss, people are still high on what Cornell was able to accomplish. So, I wore the big red all day today. I say big red, because the jersey I was handed was a 2xl. I tied it up at the hip and walked around with my head held high.

I must have been sending off a proud aura, as nearly everyone I passed in the hallway today asked me the same question.

"Did you go to Cornell?" Seriously? Do I look like I went to Cornell? I'm actually a fairly intelligent person, but my perception is that I come across even more dumb than I really am. For people to even perceive for a split second that I am an Ivy Leaguer is preposterous! However, I did greatly enjoy the idea. I did not humor it, only laughed and said, no.

Anyways, all of you Syracuse fans out there don't be upset. I did still have Syracuse on along with the Cornell jersey.

And, I will always have them in my heart. That is why Jeff and I will name a future daughter Sarah Cuse. Right, Jeff?

A Little Charring

In regards for a great, fast, and productive week, I decided to bake cookies for my class. The plan is to give them the cookies at their earned free time on Friday afternoon. Something we so fittingly call "Fun Friday." Clever, right?

I picked up the ingredients I needed, assembled them, and popped them in the oven at about 9:30. The directions I had suggests letting them cook anywhere from 9-13 minutes. Being the safety first kind of person that I am, I went up stairs and kept my eye on the clock. I would be downstairs once nine minutes had passed. I knew the cookies wouldn't be done yet, but I like to be able to keep an eye on them for the last two or three minutes. After about six minutes, I began to get a whiff of burning cookies. Odd, I thought. It's only been six minutes. These things usually take at least 11 minutes.

I quickly went downstairs and was not happy with what I found. A complete batch of burnt cookies. Some certainly worse than others, but several bad enough to not feed a class of 10-year olds.

And those were the salvageable ones! 

The thing that baffled me most about the whole event was not that the cookies burnt to a crisp in just six minutes, but that my uncle was sitting in the kitchen. I smelled the burning all the way upstairs. He was sitting in the room! He didn't call me, he didn't check on them, he didn't do anything but sit there. 

The few cookies that were deemed edible, I put aside in a tupperware container. I told my uncle they were all his. 

He thought it was a crying shame that my cookies didn't come out the way I wanted them. He felt bad for the kids. However, he wasted no time expressing his joy for the fact that he got the remaining cookies, declaring, "Looks like I am the winner!" 

Yes, the winner. I always thought Jeff was the winner, but apparently I have been wrong! 

Birthday Text

Today is my mother's birthday. Since she is in Florida and doesn't have to get up early for work, I did not call her on my drive in this morning as I would normally do. I waited. 


When my students got back from lunch, we had a measly five minutes before we had to go to art class. It is always a struggle to find a good, useful activity to complete in five minutes. So, today, rather than trying I gather the kids on the ground in front of me. I dialed my mother, threw the phone on speaker, and cued the kids as soon as she picked up. The kids very melodically, as all 10-year olds do, belted out happy birthday to my mother. They added a few cha-cha-cha's to spice it up. Once they finished, I hung up without another word. 

I sent Jeff an email to remind him of my mother's birthday. He remembered anyways. When I spoke to my mother later in the day she was thrilled about two things. One, the kids angelic voices screaming happy birthday through the phone quote on quote "made her day." Yea, she is in Florida and that is what made her day! She was also very excited that she got a text message from a specific area code. No, I was not aware that my mother knew how to use texting, apparently she does. The number happened to have the same area code as Jeff's cell phone. Rightfully so, she assumed it was her son-in-law wishing her a happy birthday and hoping that she was enjoying her time in Florida. A perfect example of a text Jeff might send her, if Jeff had any idea she knew how to text. 

Using deductive reasoning, because I am very good at that sort of thing, I have concluded that the message was from my my cousin who lives in that same area code Jeff's phone number is registered in. When I spoke to Jeff, I let him know he was off the hook. He did not need to call my mother for she already thinks he texted her. 

Wake Up Call

My parents are in Florida. With this comes the panic of my grandmother. With panic, comes phone calls. Lots and lots of phone calls. Phone calls to me and Nick, because, obviously we are unable to take care of ourselves without our parents help.

How will we eat? How will we sleep? How will we wipe our butts? How will we ever survive without our parents being home? News flash! Both of us are on the verge of thirty! I don't even live with my parents when they are home. Somehow, I eat, sleep, and wipe my butt on my own everyday without them. Nick, on the other hand, I'm not so sure. Whether he can actually survive or not, he should be able to by now. He should at least try! So, my grandmother's constant hounding is only holding him back.

Luckily for Nick, he left for a business trip yesterday. Unlucky for me, Grandma's level of panic has increased tenfold. My ring tone is my favorite song on the radio right now, Hey Soul Sister by Train. I never thought I could get sick of hearing it. My grandma has taught me that I can! I hear the song and I start to cringe as I look at my phone.

Hey Soul Sister

Don't answer, right? Well, that would work, but I am the only one around. What if she really does need me? I fear that when she calls she may really need me and I won't be there. If anything happened I could never live with myself. I do love her, ya know!

Anyways, back to Nick. So, my grandma's helpless little grandson is in Virginia all by himself for two weeks. After convincing my grandmother not to worry too much, I got a phone call from my brother. He was doing well, so far, three hours into his trip. Still high on the confidence I had just exuded to my grandmother about Nick being there and being able to take care of himself, he dropped a bombshell. 

"Can you call me in the morning to wake me up?"

What? Are you serious? Use an alarm clock!! The real problem, my mother wakes Nick up in the morning. I was his fall back. I guess I could do this for him, even though I think by 29 he should know how to use an alarm clock.

So, when I did call Nick this morning, he answered with a groggy, "Hello." I told him to get up and to not fall back to sleep. He hung up on me. Hopefully, he made it where he needed to go on time! 

Not a Cop Out....Just the Truth

Simply put, I miss my husband. There is nothing more to say. 

A Week of Scum

The scumbag that I am is really looking forward to this week. With the excitement of March Madness and the young children at our school who don't necessarily comprehend the whole idea of it, we have set up our own version of madness. Madness to kids is completely different than the madness that consumes adults when they watch basketball game after basketball game after basketball game. The madness set up for the kids involves crazy and whacky outfits worn throughout the week. 

Tomorrow just happens to be crazy sock day. Lucky for me, I have a lot of crazy socks. I actually have such a plethora of ridiculous socks that I am having trouble deciding which to wear. But, either way, in order for them to show, I will need to wear jeans to work. Don't you agree? 

Tuesday is hat day, Wednesday is outrageous outfit day, Thursday is inside out day, and Friday is school spirit/college day. If you ask me, looking at that line-up, Tuesday is the only day that wearing dress clothes is suitable. Outrageous outfit seems like a day for pajama type pants. I know, I personally cannot wear nice clothes inside out. And, if I am going to show team spirit, which will be directed toward Syracuse, I will have to go all out! That means I will not only need to wear some SU gear on the top, but I'll need to throw on a pair of orange and blue shorts. 

Jeff has all the Syracuse gear you can imagine. I keep picturing myself going into his closet room and grabbing what I want to show my team spirit, forgetting my access to everything Jeff is limited right now. While that is depressing and team spirit day reminds me of that, I am still very excited to wear comfortable clothes to work almost every day this week! 

Muddied Up

The first day of spring fittingly brought upon spring-like weather. The sun shone and a light breeze blew through the 70 degree air. With spring, we know we will get April showers and May flowers. We also get thawing and mud here in upstate New York.

Shea is a very handsome yellow lab. He draws a lot of attention for his proportional face and his coat. Most yellow labs are yellow. Shea is white. Very white. People gush over his whiteness. He is not albino (I looked it up), just a rare beauty I guess.

I too, love Shea's white coat. But it is definitely a detriment come spring. For one of Shea's favorite things to do is rolling around in the mud. He wouldn't necessarily be any cleaner if he was a chocolate or black lab, but he certainly wouldn't look as dirty. Even if he was the shade of yellow the majority of yellow labs are, he wouldn't look as dirty after rolling around in the mud.

I try to bring him places that have limited amounts of mud. But, like a dog can always find bacon, Shea can always find mud. 

Once he finds it, there is no doubt he will lay in it, roll in it, and drink it up. 

After massive scrubbing and drying, there is one positive aspect of all of Shea dirtiness. By the time he is dry and dirtless, he is tired beyond all belief. 

Madness

Local favorite, Siena was slated to play at 2:30 this afternoon. A number 13 seed, Siena has been getting some national attention in hopes of upsetting number 4 Purdue. Being as school gets out at 3:00, I made plans with a few to head to a local bar to catch the remainder of the game and maybe grab a drink.

With a combination of a late start, TV stoppage, and scooting out of school as quickly as possible, I didn't miss too much of the game. The Saints were up a few points and took a lead into half time.

The local establishment was one I haven't been to in quite some time. I was at least in college the last time I had been there. It has changed a bit. Not necessarily the bar area or the atmosphere, but part of the decor. The televisions. Being as flat screen HDTV were just starting a rise to popularity in 2004, the multiple flat screens propped up on the walls was an excellent addition. TVs on every wall, facing in all directions. It was so nice.

I could turn and talk to the person to my left, and bam, there's the game. I could turn and talk to the person on my right, and bam, there's the game. It was a very advantageous way to watch a game with a group of people. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, minus Siena losing, that I am heading back to meet some people for the Syracuse/Vermont game tonight. I will wear orange for Jeff and drink a beer or two for him. I have a feeling I will like the outcome of this game!

27

I am not big on birthdays. I could care less when it is my birthday, which just so happens to be today. I care so little that the man I live with, my uncle did not know it was my birthday. When I walked in the door with this beautiful gift Jeff sent me:

my uncle as asked why he sent it. Then, I had to tell him it was my birthday.

I have no negative connotations with birthdays, I just don't care. Plus, with 27 years behind me now, each year is just an inch closer to gray hair, hearing loss, and a hunch back.

Without Jeff here, I didn't feel like making birthday plans. So, I went with my typical Thursday schedule. With a meeting after school, that left a little time to play with Shea, and then to basketball. Fittingly, I hit shots and played well. That is all need for a happy birthday. A fantastic birthday would include spending time with my husband. But, hey, fruit is an excellent replacement!

Poots

My brother, Nick, and I were somewhat obsessed with Michael Jackson in the late eighties. We could be found at some point, almost daily, watching Moonwalker. Yes, we were a little dorky, but starting at a young age, we knew good music when we heard it.

With our extreme fandom, you can imagine our excitement when we were visiting Epic Center in Orlando and stumbled upon the Captain E-O show.

For those of you unfortunate few who may not know, Captain E-O was a 3-D movie exhibit starring Michael Jackson. 

While watching this amazing spectacle, Nick being eight, and myself six, we grew an instant love for the odd looking furry character. 

To our child ears, we interpreted his name to be "Poots," when it was really Hoots. I am guessing that is what we heard because at that age we were somewhat fixated on flatulence. Except, my father also heard it as Poots. After the movie, we laughed and laughed about the name Poots. How silly it was to name a character a word that refers to farting. Nick and my father immediately decided this was a wonderful new nickname for me. I wasn't a farter by any means, in fact, the two of them were gas houses, but somehow I got the name. The only thing fitting about it was that I wore my Captain E-O shirt as often as possible.

So, as simply as that, I became affectionately known as Poots to my father. This was not a big problem until I got a little older. I outgrew my t-shirt, my love for Captain E-O faded, but the nickname stuck. 

This became unfortunate one night as I was hanging out with my brother's cool friends. Being two years older than me, they were, at the time, in eighth grade and I in sixth. We were sitting on the front porch just shooting the sh*t. At this point, I didn't have a crush on any of these boys, but loved hanging out with them. And, nothing was better than walking down the hall of the middle school and having them talk to me. The problem came when my father decided I was too young to be sitting out on the porch at whatever late hour it was. 

When he came out, and in front of everyone declared, "come on, Poots, time to come in," I almost died of embarrassment. Long after I went inside, red-faced, I could hear the boys howling, "POOOOOOOOTS!" Needless to say, those hallway run-ins weren't so good anymore. The halls echoed the name for all to hear. Throughout all my days of knowing and seeing those boys, the nickname stuck. 

So, why am I telling you this? It's a fair question. Tonight, I went to play basketball with a new group of people. I had heard through a random grapevine that some people play on Wednesday nights at my school. Being the bold person that I am, I just showed up expecting whoever these people were to let me play. As I walked into the gym with all of that confidence built up inside, the shout of "POOOOOOOOTS" brought me right back down. I actually may have twitched as all of those memories came back to me. When I was able to get ahold of myself, I looked up to see all of Nick's friends ready to play basketball. 

The good thing: they let me play. They know that I am capable of holding my own, so there was no initiation process. I was immediately accepted. The negative: every once in a while I hear something along the lines of "shoot it Poots" in the middle of a game. Luckily it doesn't throw my shot off too much!

Business in the Front...

On my lunch break (I can't say hour, because it is 50 minutes) I ran to the bank. Not the way you run to the bank. I literally, ran to the bank. I brought a bag with some sweats in it and ran, with my two feet, to the bank.

Being as the bank is a little less than a mile away from my school, I took the long route in order to get a better run in. It felt wonderful to be moving midday in the 60 degree weather that is gracing us. So, when I got to the bank, I wasn't quite sweating profusely, but I was certainly glistening. It was apparent that the mullet-haired man in front of me noticed this when he turned around and glanced in my direction.

"You look like you've been working out," he said. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I explained to him that I was just running to the bank. He giggled a little and continued the conversation by asking about my running habits and enlightening me with his. It was a delightful conversation really. As he finished his transactions and I went up to handle mine, I noticed that he was standing back, flipping through the gigantic wad of cash he had just received. I figured he was just counting it to make sure he had been given the right amount. With a wad that big, you would want to double check! 

Well, I was wrong. He was waiting for yours truly. Somehow, this man thought it was a good idea to wait for me and walk out with me as though we have been friends for the past 15 years, when the reality is, I had seen him for the first time 15 seconds ago. He proceeded to introduce himself, inquire about my name, and tell me that I was awfully cute. All the while, he was continually flipping through that same large wad of money, as if subliminally telling me that he was rich. 

Trying to subtly get the point across that I was neither interested in rolling around in his money or running my fingers through the greasy party in the back hair he had going on, I opened the door with my hand clearly visible. Like so:

Surprisingly, he caught on. Well, not before asking, "is that a ring." A simple "yes it is" did the trick. Thank you, Jeff, for my rings. They saved me from the creepy man. On a plus note, I ran back to work extra fast! 

And the Madness....

Selection Sunday has come and gone. The brackets are out and the madness has begun. Oh how I love the madness. As do the majority of normal people. Besides the actual madness associated with the games, I love to listen to the outrageous comments and opinions of the uninformed come this time of year. 

There are people who want to give off the aura that they know what they are talking about. They feel the best way to do this is to defend the number one seeds and why one of them will win it all. They base it strictly on the selection committee's picks, no reasoning of their own. 

Then, there are the unreasonable newbies. Being in upstate New York and knowing nothing, they will choose Siena to win it all. Now, I love my hometown Siena Saints, but I am somewhat realistic. I hear how this is a sweet 16 team. I hope they are. But, I will have them win one game and leave it at that. If they win a second, I will be thrilled to have that loss on my sheet. I mean, they do have the "Good Nun" on their side!

It is very similar to people choosing Vermont to upset Syracuse because, well, Vermont beat Syracuse in 2005. Guess what? It's not 2005! Not going to happen. Or, the people who choose teams based on non-basketball reasons. "I chose New Mexico because I like Lobos." What the heck is a lobo? Or, "I picked Maryland because I like the color red." So does Rainman. Where did that get him in life? 

Without a doubt, March Madness is here and fully entertaining. Some people cannot participate as actively as others. But, those are the same people who actually get to go be a part of the festivities of the final four. So, I won't feel too much pity. 

Not Quite Walking on Water

Cats have nine lives. I wonder how many dogs have. I'd like to know because Shea has certainly used many of his already. Today being one of those days.

As temperatures here have been fairly warm during the day and hover around freezing at night, bodies of water are thawing. One pond on my parents property has completely thawed and is full of strictly water. The other pond had a layer of ice left. As with anything that melts, the ice was thicker in some places than others. This past week, when Jeff was here, we talked about being very careful around the ice. We talked to Shea about it and scolded him every time he went near the ponds. It didn't stop him though. He figured it out each time, going only a foot or less from the shore. I mean, really, he is scared of his own shadow. Cracking ice should terrify him!

Key word, should! The talks, the near falls, did not phase our dog. Not Shea. For today, he decided to trot out on to the half thawed pond.

When he stepped in and the ice below him began to crack, I thought there was no way he would go further. I was wrong. All the while he was moving, the ice held him. But once he stopped and looked at me, wagging his tail, the ice beneath him crumbled. He went down. Shea has never had his head under water and he was now bobbing. Looking extremely hopeless, he flailed in the water. He looked exactly like Babe Bennett did in Mr. Deeds when she fell through the ice. 

Shea wasn't strong enough to swim through the thin layer of ice and I could see panic setting in. Needless to say, I wasn't Joe Cool either. I did what I had to do. I crashed through the ice, chest-deep in freezing cold water and carried my baby boy to land. I wasn't cold until I climbed out of the pond, weighed down by my water-logged layers of clothing. By the time I was standing up, my fetch-feigned dog was heading back into the water to retrieve his tennis ball. I could have killed him. Luckily, my fat ass had cleared a path big enough for him to swim through. 

Needless to say, Shea has been banished from the backyard until all remnants of ice are gone from the water. Without hesitation, there is not much I wouldn't to for my dog. I can only hope that dogs have more than the nine lives cats average. I also hope that when Jeff reads this, no I didn't tell him about it yet, he allows me to keep temporary custody of Shea. Please! Look, he is okay:

Dirt Ball

I have come to the discovery that I am a dirt ball. It didn't strike me before. My parents actually nicknamed me dirt ball as a child. Didn't sink in. A friend commented on the constant wearing of sweatpants. Didn't sink in. But, the other day, it hit me out of the blue.

A friend told me about a race her and her boyfriend were going to do. It's called Muddy Buddies. Basically, you run and bike, with a partner, through a mud laden course. What are you thinking? Gross? My first thought was awesome! 

Muddy Buddies Website

Jeff had no desire to be my muddy buddy. He can not figure out how anyone would find this race appealing. Thus, the discovery of my dirt ballness. 

In my on defense I do bath daily. Actually, I average two showers a day. So please, do not mistake me being a dirt ball with me actually being dirty. Two completely different things! I have also passed on this trait to my dog, if that is possible. He is very much like me. Hyper active, good looking, and dirt ballish. 

I keep telling you Jeff is a lucky guy!

A Sixth Sense

After a good part of the week spent with my husband, Jeff left this morning. I knew it was coming. He had mentioned it earlier in the week. He had a game to watch in Pittsburgh tonight. 

Shea, on the hand, was not clearly told when Jeff would be leaving. I mean, why would he be. He is a dog! The funny thing though, Shea knew. I hear a lot about dogs have a sixth sense. I like to think of it as a fifth sense because I am not so sure how their sense of taste really is. I have tried dog treats. Not all that appetizing. Being the ice cream lover that I am, I took a lick of Shea's Frosty Paws. Not good. I can't say that I have ever drank out of the toilet, but can't imagine that it is the best tasting water around. 

Back to the point, Shea sensed Jeff was leaving. How could we tell? Shea became very clingy. He wouldn't leave Jeff's side. In fact, this morning, after I brought Shea out for a run, he ran upstairs and this is how I found him. 

Sweet, right? It is, but at the same time, it is so sad. It was Shea's way of trying to get Jeff to stay with him forever. If I thought it were going to work, I would sit on Jeff too. For the remainder of the morning, Shea followed Jeff around. Up and down the stairs. From the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen. Jeff's little furry tumor. 

Shea's plan, unfortunately, didn't work. As life would have it, Jeff had to leave. Although I hate having to go back to what has become my "normal" life, I am dealing with it ok. This trip was an unexpected pleasure, and a visit to Jeff is in the future. My mood may not be as heightened as it was this whole week, but it is not bad. Shea's is bad. He is coming across as very mopey and depressed. I know he is just sad his favorite guy has left. He doesn't understand that he will see him again in a few weeks.

Poor Shea and his sixth sense! 

Broom Closet

Jeff and I met friends out to not only catch up, but to help celebrate a birthday. We went to a local burrito bar called Bombers. Here, those celebrating their birthday are gifted with a super-sized margarita.

The margarita well exceded the size of Beth's head. It was something her and her fiance should not have finished on their own, hence the four straws in it. But, they did. More power to them.

So, in the spirit of Beth's birthday, her margarita, and Jeff's final day here in New York, I decided to test my alcohol consumption skills. Mind you, all tolerance was lost around the age of 22. My limit has fallen to, not a two beer queer but, a one beer queer. No lie. One and a half at most. Tonight, to honor the multiple occasions, I decided to push my limits to two. Risky business!

I was feeling a little goofy but perfectly in control. Then, I had to use the bathroom. As I stood up and walked, I could feel it. I thanked my lucky stars that I made it to the bathroom without falling, tripping, or stumbling. Now, as I get ready for bed, I am even more thankful that I am here, home, and not lost in a broom closet somewhere. 

The Bombers Broom Closet

Isn't it more apparent each day that Jeff is a lucky guy?

Jeff Screams for Ice Cream!

Jeff would definitely admit to anyone that he likes food. Well, let me give him the credit he deserves here. He likes good food (this, explaining why he doesn't necessarily like my cooking).

There are many things that we can call Jeff's favorite. His loves range from chicken parm, pizza, and gnocchi, to chicken wings, ribs, and anything that combines peanut butter and chocolate. I agree with some of the list, while I can easily live without some others. But, I must say, you'd be hard pressed to find something that Jeff doesn't necessarily like. It may not be a favorite, or his top choice on the menu, but it takes a lot for him to not like something.

Me, on the other hand, I have a long list of foods I do not like. Call me picky. I will mostly agree. The one thing Jeff and I agree on is that pickles are by far the most disgusting food out there. Keep them away from us! 

Jeff will also argue that ice cream is a cringe-worthy to him. When he first told me this, I could not believe that I had fallen in love with the only person in the entire world to hate ice cream. Me, a self-admitting ice cream lover, should not be exposed to the negativity Jeff feels for this wonderful frozen food. This whole scenario was wrong, I had a bad feeling about it. 

It isn't that my love for Jeff isn't real. That is. It is that Jeff's hatred for ice cream is a far cry from the truth. People who hate ice cream to not crave it on a regular basis the way Jeff does. They do not go out of their way to get it three nights in a row the way Jeff has these past three nights. He is a closet ice cream lover!

Two nights we stopped at Stewarts so that Jeff could get a chocolate peanut butter milkshake. One night, Friendly's for a chocolate peanut butter cup friend-z. Makes me wonder, where will we go for ice cream tomorrow night?