veg4me

veg4radio

I've learned that I can accurately judge a town based on it's radio station selections and choice of dining establishments.

When the radio only plays country or rap and there's 4 McDonald's within walking distance, I'm probably not going to get a warm, fuzzy first impression. Hitting the drive-through while listening to someone croon about their lost puppy isn't high on my list of things I want to accomplish before I die.

I tried to keep an open mind as I was driving out of Wilmington, NC towards our next mailing address.

As I drove I called my mom in New York. I held back sobs as I said "Trailer home, church, furniture outlet, trailer home, church, porn shop inside trailer home, church, strip club inside a trailer home!!! Maaa, that's all there is! I don't want to move here !!!"

"I'm sure it will get better once you get into town"

I got into town and almost had to laugh. It didn't get better. It got worse. The town looked like it had been beaten up and then gone out and got a new haircut and some makeup to try to hide the bruises.

I'm mildly superstitious. On my flight to NC I found a shiny penny in my seat. "Find a penny pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck".

When I got to the entrance of the neighborhood where I was headed, there was a dead Border Collie on the side of the road. Stupid penny. I don't know any childhood rhymes about dead dogs, but bad radio stations, bad roadside attractions and road kill leave me feeling helpless. I parked in the neighborhood and called my mom back.

"I don't like it here at all. I want to leave and not come back"

"Well, you're not deciding if you like the town. You HAVE to move there. You're deciding if you like the house and you haven't even seen it. Drive over there and look at it and keep an open mind"

I saw the house. I did like it. Didn't love it. But I could tolerate it. There weren't any dead animals, there weren't any strippers. All I saw were a few people washing their cars and a handful of American flags flying on porches.

I bought the house, because as my mom said, I have to move there.

And I'll be taking my damn satellite radio receiver and my cookbooks.

veg4travel

I've been a mom since February of 1998.

In the spring of 2001 I spent 3 nights away from home while 5 months pregnant with our 2nd child. I'd been hospitalized with meningitis and was stuck with a nurse who never administered my morphine drip. A lengthy investigation ensued after my complaining and it was determined that she had been stealing the meds from the patients. What a relaxing time I had, laying there in the dark with the back of my brain feeling like it was going to burst.

In the fall of 2001 I spent 2 nights away from home to give birth to the 2nd child. Not exactly a relaxing time either, unless you count scheduled c-sections as "down time". Hospital food is bad enough, try explaining a vegetarian diet to an orderly who thinks Jello is a perfect post-birth treat.

In 2004 my husband and I traveled from VA to AZ on a 2 day long house hunting trip. It was the first time I had been away from home overnight without requiring hospitalization. I managed to look at 15 houses, go out to eat for every meal, including one really nice dinner and see a movie. I'll always remember the movie (Troy) because it was a 10 pm showing and the theater was filled with little kids.

Before I became a mom it would've annoyed me to have crying kids in a theater because I didn't like (or understand) children. However, I found myself sitting there feeling sorry for the kids because their parents were too stupid to realize that Brad Pitt in a loin cloth isn't entertaining to an overtired toddler. No amount of popcorn can make up for a blankie and a bedtime story.

Now, two years later I find myself leaving the kids once again for another house hunting trip. It's the first time that my husband has been home alone with both kids. Instead of feeling excited about the house I'm heading to NC to buy, I feel nervous and guilty.

Being home with the kids is a fantastic thing, but it's a double edged sword, because I'm hardly ever away from them (except when they're at school) so leaving them to purchase a home, makes me feel like the kind of mother who would bring her kids to see Troy.

veg4behr

Tomorrow night our realtor is coming to the house to talk with us about putting our house on the market.

To prepare for her arrival and critical eye, we purchased new hallway lights. The old hallway lights have irritated me since we signed the check at closing. I just never felt motivated to replace them. Now, however, we will be putting the house on the market and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone walk through my house and think, if even for a moment, that I chose those ugly, old brass lights with the fake candles.

So, we picked out new lights. When I say "we", I really mean "me" and my convincing telepathic powers. Mistah Checka stood and stared at the multitude of choices and pointed out ones he liked. All the while I was piercing his skull with a gaze that was fixed on these simple lights that were just as understated as I like when it comes to hallway lights. A moment later he chirped "Hey! How about these?" and I looked over his shoulder and nodded and smiled and said "Hey! Good choice!"

As old fixtures were removed and wires were spliced, we realized that the previous homeowners had not been overly thorough when it came to painting the hallway. They only painted around the old lights. The new lights were an inch less wide. Ugly lights left behind even more unslightly white rectangles. What they lacked in painting foresight they at least made up for in paint storage. Oh! The fun! Crawling around in the dark corners of the garage and uncovering 9 cans of paint, 3 of which come close to matching the hallway paint.

Was it 'Au Lait Ole', 'Cup of Cocoa' or 'Powdered Allspice'? I didn't know, but I couldn't tell by tasting them, so on the wall they went. Once we determined the correct color (Cup of Cocoa!) we repainted and installed the lights and then returned to the garage in hopes of finding a matching paint for the fireplace.

Mistah Checka brought out a gallon that he believed matched the fireplace.

Except it was exterior flat house paint and about 5 shades too pink.

Off to Home Depot he dashed to pick out a better color. One that was a little less Floridian trailer home.

He returned home with nothing but an armful of sample sheets and a dazed expression of a man who ventured into a realm in which he didn't belong. Paint samples and tampon choices, they're one and the same. Lucky for him, the Depot doesn't sell tampons.

With only 15 minutes left until the store closed, I bolted out of the barn on my stallion, turban affixed to my head, to purchase a quart of 'Arabian Nights'.

Now I just have to figure out a way to fix the red, dog hair covered couch before she shows up in 24 hours.

I'm thinking that the gallon of 'Salsa' paint should work just fine.

veg4newyear

Things have just been too chaotic around here.

I have so many things I want to talk about, but just can't find the time to put it all into different coherent posts.

Bad customer service.

Bad mothers.

Bad food.

And swinging (not the kind you do at the playground)

Where do I begin?