Tag, I'm It!

Getting "tagged" on a blog is similar to a chain e-mail, but lots more fun. You read your friend's blog and find out that they got tagged. They answer a series of questions, and tag more people who then also answer the same questions, posting the answers on their blog. Then they tag a few more people, and on it goes. I'm one of the cool (okay, dorky) kids. I got tagged! In response to a delightfully jaded and funny blog that I frequent, here are my answers:

Four jobs I've had:
1. Professional petsitter with Furry Godmothers (Like how I make it sound all official with the word "professional"?)
2. Marketing Assistant with Zach Scott Theatre
3. SEC Licensed Mutual Fund Client Services Rep (Hated it, am so bored by money.)
4. Communications and Advertising Technician for Texas Medical Liability Trust (Was as painfully boring as it sounds.)

Four movies I can watch over and over again:
1. Singles
2. Groundhog Day
3. Spirited Away
4. Party Girl (starring my hero, Parker Posey)

Four places I have lived:
1. Alexandria, LA
2. Birmingham, AL
3. Cross Lanes, WV
4. Plano, TX

Four TV shows I watch:
1. Ugly Betty
2. Psych
3. Monk
4. The Office (Loved the BBC version. Love the American version.)

Four places I've been on vacation:
1. Quebec City
2. Tulum / Akumal, Mexico
3. New York City
4. Los Angeles

Four favorite foods:
1. migas taco from Taco Express on South Lamar
2. swedish fish (gummy candy)
3. Concord pears
4. lentil soup

Four websites I visit: (blogs)
1. Jensational
2. Planet Lu
3. The Holmes
4. BLaneyOG

Four people I'm tagging:
1. Kate D.
2. Chad (You can post your answers here.)
3. Christina Wilkins (Will give you a chance to finally update your blog!)
4. Ed Toutant (To see if you're reading, Ed.)

If you got tagged by me, you can post answers in your own blog, post answers in the comment section of this blog or email answers to me. Have fun!

Chad Poisoned Us!

Sunday night Chad offered to make dinner. He made salads with salmon fillets on top. I have to admit that I wasn't digging the salad, because it didn't taste good -- kind of bitter. I figured that I put the wrong dressing on the salad, or that I am too accustomed to restaurant cooking, and that's why it tasted weird to me. I ate the salad anyway because my nice husband went to the trouble to make a healthy dinner for the two of us.

Monday morning rolled around and I awoke feeling weird. I had a slight headache and felt hungry but also a little nauseous. I had a Luna Bar and a Diet Coke (breakfast of champions!) thinking that the combination would provide vitamins and caffeine without too much tummy trouble. By lunchtime, I felt weak and a bit shaky. I reached for a ready-made falafel wrap, and the sight of the lettuce on my intended lunch sent me running for the bathroom. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that Chad and I were both ill. Both repulsed by the mere thought of lettuce or salad. Chad thinks that the food-poisoning culprit was lettuce that went a little long in crisper. I don't know for sure, but I won't be having any salads or salmon again for a while.

Chad continues to apologize profusely. I'm fairly confident that he wasn't trying to kill me since he got sick also. If he was up to no good, maybe he's learned his lesson that bad deeds typically backfire. Or maybe it was all an elaborate ruse to get me to cook more, fearing for our health and welfare.

My New Celebrity Crush

Hugh Dancy will be thrilled to know that he is my new celebrity crush. He ascended to the title after I saw him in the movie Evening. Isn't he dreamy? He's British, so you know he talks pretty. He looks a bit like my husband, which adds to the perceived attractiveness level (or PAL for short.) I'm looking forward to Mr. Dancy's next movie The Jane Austen Book Club.


My celebrity crush position has been vacant for several months now. Previous celebrity crush, Pete Wentz, fell from grace when he started dating Ashlee Simpson. They make a cute couple and I wish them much happiness. However, I feel that Pete's emo-rocker card should be revoked now that he dates a pop-tart like Ashlee. Pete also lost points when he got into a few highly publicized fist fights. I don't like men who resort to violence so quickly.

I think I've been watching too much television and seeing too many movies lately. When I met my friend, Tara, at the mall tonight to see Evening, I people-watched for a while as I waited for her. Members of the general public are not nearly as attractive looking as the stars of the small and large screens are. My perception is getting warped from looking at too many pretty people. I'm sure that every one of us would benefit from a professional hair and makeup crew, professional lighting, editing and a generous dose of film retouching!

Pretending to be Outdoorsy

I have terrible allergies, pale skin and a love of reading and watching movies. That's why I'm thankful for Claritin D with Flonase, Neutrogena oil-free sunblock, Book People and Regal Cinemas. Now that I have a house, there's a compulsion to take care of the house not just inside, but also outside. I'm not outdoorsy. I describe myself as "indoorsy." (My friend, Maggie, agrees with me that indoorsy should be a word, because it is quite descriptive of our shared interests.) Alas, sometimes one has to venture outside and make an effort to keep the yard looking nice.


There was a dead tree in our side yard that Good Morning Tree Service removed last Thursday. In its place, Chad helped me plant these Pride of Barbados plants. They're pretty with bright blooms and do very well in Austin.


The plants we put around the base of the deck back in June love all the rain we've had this summer.


I finally found a St. Francis statue that I like. It was 25% off at Shoal Creek Nursery. I love Shoal Creek Nursery. It's less than a mile from our house, has great native plant selections and friendly staff. Visit them at 2710 Hancock Drive in Austin.

An Insomniac's Revelations about the 10th Grade

Last night, I actually slept for six and a half hours. Tonight, I got up after trying for an hour (unsuccessfully) to go to sleep. And before you ask: I got up at a regular time this morning; I went to the gym today and did an extra strenuous workout thinking it would make me tired; and I didn't have any caffeine past 4:00 PM.

Here's a few random memories from 10th grade:

I dyed my hair from dirty blonde, or pool-blonde as my mom called it, to black for a theatre show in which I was supposed to look Italian. The black didn't take well over the blonde. After a few days, it faded to an army-green color. My Algebra II teacher sang "It's Not Easy Being Green" in her best Kermit the Frog voice to me each day when I entered her classroom.

Also in tenth grade I was awarded "thespian of the year" by my theatre teacher. If you go to Vines High School in Plano, Texas, there's a plaque with my name on it, along with about thirty other thespians. I'm fully aware of the nerd-factor.

I was a deacon's daughter and I dated the preacher's son for a while. The preacher's son was two years older than me. If we had ever actually kissed, it might have caused a major scandal.

I read "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand to impress a boy, but after reading it, I decided I didn't like the boy anymore. I decided that I wanted to marry an architect someday instead. Although I did date an architecture student in college, my husband is not an architect and that's fine.

I drove a few times without a license, and without a licensed driver in the car to help me. My dad said it was okay. Luckily, I never got pulled over by the police.

If I needed a mental-health day away from school, I'd plea my case to Mom, because she usually said yes.

I was allowed to start dating when I turned 16 in the tenth grade. Oddly, that was also the year that my parents decided I needed braces and got thee not to a nunnery, but to the orthodontist. Same thing.

I had big hair in the form of a double-piggy-back-spiral perm. I told everyone the curl was all natural. For the record, the wavy hair I have now is natural, you can ask my stylist, Monica at Maximum FX.

I ran with the drama kids (histrionic dorks) and some of the drill team babes. It made for a few awkward social outings before I realized that I should keep the two groups of friends separate. I like to think I'm the person who introduced the drill team girls to the music of New Order, but it was the brainchild of my drama class and drill tream pal, Jenny. She even did a choreographed routine to the song Bizarre Love Triangle. Very progressive, huh?

I tried to be a vegetarian, but after several months of not eating meat (no, not even fish) I broke down and ate half of a Monte Cristo sandwich from Bennigan's. Yuck.

Jet-lag Would Justify It

For numerous reasons, few of which I can remember now, because I'm so tired, I am having trouble sleeping lately. I envy my cats and their amazing ability to sleep for long stretches of time. When Sonic (pictured above) stretches out for his nap, he really stretches out. That's a long kitty.

Last night stretched fitfully into this morning with lots of stress dreams. You know what I mean, the dreams where you are working on something, or you are involved in a nerve-wracking task or some kind of stressful communication, or you are being chased, and sometimes you are simultaneously in your birthday suit. These stress dreams disrupt your sleep cycles when you jar awake trying to reorient yourself to the fact that it was only a dream, that you should be sleeping peacefully. You look at the clock and think, if I can fall asleep now, I'll get a good three hours of sleep. The pressure to get some quality sleep then gives you another stress dream and the whole night turns into one big toss and turn fest. I have a few nights like this every three or four months. I do not want to take sleep medication and develop a dependency on, then a resistance to, said sleep medication. I prefer to tough it out. I pretend I have jet-lag and get up at a usual time and stay up until a reasonable bedtime, but the past week has not been optimal snooze time. And I didn't earn the jet-lag by going anywhere fun.

Monk Marathon = Happy

A year ago today, Chad and I were working hard to whip this old house into shape. We had only two rooms painted and unpacked: the guest bedroom, which we lived / hid in the first six months here; and the living room / dining room, which we didn't spend much time in because we could see into the other rooms that weren't painted yet, full of unopened moving boxes. It was hot. We were, no doubt, covered in little speckles of paint and primer. I think we had hot water for showers and washing dishes at that point, but I can only really remember that the gas guy took several weeks to show up and actually turn on the gas for the gas hot water heater and gas stove after we moved into this house.

Last fourth of July, I distinctly recall begging Chad to take a break from painting and cool off with me. We positioned ourselves squarely under an air conditioning vent and sprawled out on the living room floor. I flipped on the TV for some brain candy, and found that the USA network was showing back-to-back episodes of Monk all day. Yay! I love this goofy mystery show about a detective who has obsessive compulsive disorder and a plethora of phobias. Chad and I watched an episode and half of Monk before we dragged ourselves back into whatever room we were working on at that time.

I set our digital recorder to record Monk anytime it came on TV. Whenever we took a break from working on the house for the rest of the summer, there was usually a recorded Monk to watch. I came to associate the theme song of Monk with happy times when I could set down the paintbrush or screwdriver for a while, temporarily ignoring the long list of chores. The Monk theme song would start. My eyes would glaze over slightly. My brain would bask in happy chemicals. My back would relax into the floor, for I was far too dirty to put my icky, paint-splattered self on the sofa. Watching episodes of Monk took me to my happy place.

This fourth of July holiday delivered another Monk marathon which our trusty digital recorder captured while we bustled around getting ready to have friends over for dinner -- a nice dinner in our completely painted, unpacked, cleaned and (for now) finished house. After a yummy dinner with good company, we headed out to watch fireworks. After the fireworks, it was time to come home to wash dishes and clean up the dinner debris. Before we started washing up, Chad asked if we could watch an episode of Monk. Heck, yeah! The Monk theme song started. My eyes glazed over slightly. My brain basked in happy chemicals. My back relaxed into the sofa, for I am no longer covered in last summer's constant layer of sweat, dust and paint. Happy times...

Summer Movies Under the Stars

There are a gazillion reasons to love living in Austin, and I just found one more: free Sunday night movies under the stars at The Belmont. Despite more predicted rain storms, the weather was perfect. The pesky mosquitoes stayed away. My dinner, a delicious Cedar Plank Salmon Salad, was great.

This week's showing was Stand by Me, based on Stephen King's novella "The Body" (from the book Different Seasons.) The story is about four friends and an adventure they shared when they were 12 years old.

Katie and Brian, two of the cutest newlyweds you've ever seen, joined me. Brian is a Stephen King fan who had never seen this flick, and he gave it a thumbs-up.

My 8th Grade Heart's Desire

I only lived in the tiny town of Cross Lanes, West Virginia for a little less than two years. While there, I attended 7th & 8th grade at Andrew Jackson Junior High. I loved living in Cross Lanes despite, or maybe because of, the tiny size of the place. I could tell you the name of every kid in my grade, and maybe even every kid in the school.

When Cross Lanes didn't have what I needed, I would take the public transportation bus into the thriving metropolis / state's capital city of Charleston to go to the mall with my BFF, Angie Hindle. I liked the historic buildings in Charleston. There was a cool, huge library in the city that smelled bookish. There was a movie theater downtown where I spent many weekends.

When I think about it, Austin is kind of like Charleston: abundant in natural beauty with a river through the center, a small-ish city that serves as the state capital, with a quirky and friendly populace, and a good arts scene with a low barrier to entry. Maybe I liked Austin so much when I moved here for college because it reminded me of the super-happy times I had in Charleston.

In 8th grade, a beautiful, exotic-looking boy caught my eye at school. He was a year older than me. The rumor was that he had been expelled from Charleston Catholic School, which gave him a dangerous allure. He had the perfect skater-boy hair and the skateboard to go with it. His name was Virgil Sadorra. Virgil and I had an on-again / off-again flirtation over the years (yes, even after I moved away to the very different town of Plano, Texas) that never amounted to anything. The last time we spoke was the summer before my sophomore year at the University of Texas. He was about to go to culinary school, having discovered a great affinity for cooking. He sent me a little troll doll in a chef's jacket, which was just the cutest gesture. He even talked about driving down to Austin to visit me, but he wanted to stay in my dorm room with me, and that was just way too scandalous to consider, so the visit never happened.

Friday Virgil's name came up when I was asked about old crushes. I googled him today. He owns three (!) hot restaurants in Charleston now: Cilantros - a tex-mex place, Delish - popular lunch spot and Vandalia Lounge - yum, mojitos. I grabbed this photo of Virgil with his son from Charleston photographer, Rick Lee's, blog. Awwww, so cute!

I'm really happy for Virgil. He did good. I'm also really happy with my life in Austin and really happy to have my sweet husband, Chad. Chad and I joke that we wouldn't have liked each other if we met back in grade school, so the timing was good that we met at college.

Thanks, Hillary (Bergman; not Clinton)

I was having a rotten day. So very rotten was my mood, that I thought I was going to start crying while driving home from the gym, when usually the gym makes me feel happy and high on endorphins. I'll spare you the stupid details of why I was feeling so low.

I got home and read the email pasted below from my awesome massage therapist, Hillary Bergman. It lifted my mood and actually made me laugh out loud and count myself lucky to have three cute, sweet, weird kitties.

To All Pet Owners

To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.

Dear Dogs and Cats:

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, and try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1 They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"nature.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: In many ways, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:

1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3. Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a "gazillion" dollars for college.

And finally,

11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.

Insomnia Leads to Lawn Improvement

During a bout of insomnia last week, I watched a gardening show at 5:00 in the morning, and got a bee in my bonnet. I measured and bought my project supplies. I informed Chad that I'd be spending the weekend crawling under the deck and that I could use his muscles for digging holes (those muscles shouldn't be just for show.)

I put down 288 square feet of weed black-out fabric using 74 earth staples (giant staples that hold the fabric down to the dirt) and covered it with 11 bags of mulch. I used the leftover paver-stones from our driveway for the edging. Chad helped me dig holes for 9 aztec grass plants along the sides of the deck and I put out 6 coneflower plants along the front of the deck. I moved the glow-in-the-dark gazing ball over, and tah-dah! The deck area looks better!

Oh yeah, I found 3 huge snails and one tiny grass snake in the plants from the nursery. All were relocated to the far corner of the backyard. None were harmed. I just need to find a St. Francis of Assisi statue that I like...

Wrestling: Soap Opera / Pot: Kettle

While watching a recorded TV show, my thumb was a tad slow to hit the fast-forward button when the commercials started. I saw a promo for the latest installment of the World Wrestling Entertainment show, and was transfixed by a limousine explosion! I watched the whole commercial which reported that Mr. McMahon, the chairman of WWE, was in the limo at the time of the explosion, but that WWE would soldier on with their wrestling matches. Purely from an anthropological standpoint, I decided I needed to go to the WWE website for more information. The site reported the "presumed death" of McMahon and built quite a story around the "presumed" incident. An exploding limo, federal investigation, no body, questions surrounding "presumed" victim's psychological condition, a possible conspiracy... sounds like a soap opera plot. Who wants to start the betting pool on when Mr. McMahon will rise from his "presumed" flaming death much like a mythical phoenix rising from the ashes.

Nancy Drew Was a Great Role Model

My mom came to town last week so she could finally see the house all finished. She oooooh-ed and aaaaah-ed over all the hard work Chad and I did on this house, saying she hardly recognized it. Yay! She also harped on her and my dad's initial impression of our house purchase, that we were crazy and might get divorced over the very bad decision to buy and fix-up such an old house in need of so much love. Boooo... Have a little faith in me, lady. I know what I'm doing most of the time, and I know when to call in the pros to help me.

Mom shared a ride to Shreveport with Chad and me so we could attend Grandpa Regan's memorial service. It was a lovely service despite the Shriner (yep, the dudes with the funny hats who help raise money for burn victims) tradition to play Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. It was hard to see my dad's family again for another funeral so soon (six and a half months) after Dad's funeral. I got sick for a few days, as if that physical sensation of grief came back for a little visit. I'm feeling better now.

Mom also brought my old Nancy Drew books to me! I can't wait to re-read them. I wish I had the whole collection of the original 56 novels, but will make due with the 13 that I saved from childhood. When I was in elementary school, I would take my allowance every week to the Parisian's department store in Birmingham and buy another hardback book from the Nancy Drew series. I also borrowed a lot of the books from the local library, which explains why I only own 13 of them. I was flipping through the books and found an old Garfield bookmark. Memories of being a precocious little bookworm flooded back. I loved to read the mysteries in which teenage Nancy was so empowered and fearless in her quest to solve the case. In an age before the term "girl-power" was in popular use, Nancy Drew embodied girl-power! I eventually graduated to reading Agatha Christie mysteries in middle school. By then my family was living in Cross Lanes, West Virginia. I would take the bus into Charleston to the mall and buy my mysteries at the dreary Walden Books, which was not nearly as posh as the Parisian's department store.

If I hadn't had Nancy Drew as a role model at such an important developmental phase, would I have dared to buy this old house and work so hard to make it our home? Who knows. Maybe watching too many episodes of Trading Spaces back in its heyday had a little something to do with it.

My Perfume? It's Lake Water

Chad and I went kayaking by moonlight on Town Lake last night. We both loved it. The scenery was beautiful along the tree-lined banks with the city skyline to the east and the huge, stunning homes of Westlake to the southwest. We journeyed from the rowing docks on Stratford to Red Bud Island, pausing for a lecture on the history of Austin lakes and dams and the moonlight towers before rowing back. As we got further away from the MoPac bridge with its traffic noise, the night was quiet with a nice breeze that made a few waves on the lake.

I'm signing up for next month's moonlight cruise too. Come with us! Sign up through UT Informal Classes.

Here's the course description from the Active Life category:
"Moonlight Kayak Trip on Town Lake -- Experience Town Lake like you haven't before: by the light of the full moon. Our guides will take revelers on a journey in hopes of seeing all kinds of wild night life and moon beams dancing on natural springs. You will feel a million miles away from Austin's hustle and bustle as you take pleasure in Town Lake at its most mysterious, by the light of the silvery moon. Our trip will be at a relaxed pace so both beginner and advanced paddlers alike will enjoy it. Show up 15 minutes early for a quick kayak lesson by Rowing Dock instructors."

It's appropriate that I would be out on the lake last night. My grandfather (Dad's dad) passed away yesterday morning. He was 94, so I have a real peace that it was his time to go. Grandpa Regan lived on Cross Lake in Shreveport, Louisiana. I learned to water ski and slalom with him on that lake. I loved going out in the boat. I was terrified of the snapping turtles and water moccasin snakes that I saw on many occasions, but braved the waters anyway. That's kind of like life. There's some scary stuff out there, but you brave it anyway and have some great experiences.

Angst - n. A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.

Remember how you didn't really feel comfortable in your own skin in high school? If you answered ,"no," then please slap yourself a few times. Done? Let's move on. For all of my dorky accomplishments in high school (such as collecting lots of trophies for speech and debate competitions, maintaining honor roll status, being the editor of the video yearbook) I never felt cool or popular or like people understood me. I had angst, and so did my music collection. There were lots of depressing ballads about how the singer had angst and felt that no one really understood them. Sensing a theme here?

Tonight, Chad and I went to the Morrissey concert at The Backyard. Morrissey is one of the pioneers, legends and stars of angst music, who moped his way onto the scene back in the 1980s. He's pushing fifty years old, but the man can still sing! He delivered an amazing show with lots of the old hits and some newer songs. The Backyard is a beautiful outdoor performance venue with a natural backdrop of trees and a great sound system. The night was cool with a light, barely perceptible drizzle falling. It felt good to be outside. It felt good to be at a Morrissey show. However, when I looked around at the crowd of my fellow concert goers, it did not feel good. I saw aging hipsters (yep, count me in with that lot.) I saw sunburned, drunk people who seem like they go to every show that plays at The Backyard, regardless of who it is, and regardless of their musical taste, or lack thereof. I saw a few dorky, high school or college-age kids with their asymmetric haircuts. I saw several audience members who looked to be about the same age as Morrissey and who sang along to every word. Overall, it made me feel uncomfortable in my own aging skin, but not caring so much whether people understand me.

Happy House-Anniversary to Us!

We closed on this cozy, old house one year ago today! It's been hard work. In short, Chad and I filled in 54 years worth of wall cracks, sanded and painted every wall, painted or covered every ceiling, painted all the interior trim work in every room, gutted and remodeled the bathroom, scrubbed and scoured every dirty nook and cranny, built and filled a storage shed, hired a guy to fix the underpinning, hired other guys to build the deck and hired other guys to install a driveway. 99% of the hard work happened in the first six months. I won't lie. It was rough. Nothing that I'm willing to repeat, EVER! The daily stress combined with the kitchen housing paint supplies for over four months, meant that I ate fast food for just about every meal. Despite all the sweaty hard work, I gained 15 pounds on my short 5'2" frame. UGH. I've lost 14 of those pounds now, a measurement of life getting back to normal.

I'm glad (words can't begin to describe how glad) that we didn't move to New York City when the offer came last February. I couldn't bear to leave this home that Chad and I worked so hard to make our own.

I have to give some thanks and pay some respect to the people who made it happen.

Chad, thank you so much for being the motivator when I was a cursing, crying heap nearly immobilized by the amount of work we had to do on this house. Your "one foot in front of the other" drive got us through a major amount of work in record time, and amazingly we still like each other.

Adam Stephens, Senior Mortgage Loan Officer for Capstar Lending, thank you for making the whole mortgage process such a cake-walk! You rock! Readers in the Austin area, call Adam at 512-459-2407 when you're in need of a mortgage.

Sarita and Karen Kuykendall of Wilson Goldrick Realty, thanks for your invaluable assistance in the house search and for not sending us on our way when you heard our ridiculously low price limit for the area of town in which we wanted that rare gem of a fixer-upper.

Thanks to all of our friends who suffered through seemingly endless house conversations... yawn. Thanks to all the friends who complimented the end product. Thanks to all the friends who have spent time with us here and helped us build some great memories.

My one regret is that my dad didn't get to see the house after the hard work was complete. He and my mom saw the house before we even closed on it, before we had done anything to it. I got the distinct feeling that they were going to send the nice little men in white jackets to haul me & Chad off to the funny farm. Dad lived long enough to see photos of about half of the interior work. Dad and I shared some laughs over projects gone awry. I think that he started to understand our vision for the house and why we bought the place we did.

Goodbye Gilmore Girls

Tonight was the final episode of the television series, The Gilmore Girls. I have followed this show from the first episode through the last, for seven seasons. This is real loyalty on my part as I have never followed a show from beginning to end that was on for more than one season. I did not even follow my beloved Buffy the Vampire Slayer through to the end because the quality of the story lines diminished greatly with time and with a change of networks to the point that I just didn't care anymore.

I remember the first episode of The Gilmore Girls was delayed due to the horrific events of 9/11. I wanted something on the TV that was sweet and uplifting after seeing, but not believing, the fall of the twin towers. My mind needed a happy place to take refuge, and as shallow as it sounds, The Gilmore Girls was that televised refuge.

I will miss this show, the story lines, the characters and the fictional town of Stars Hollow, Connecticut like I miss a friend who has moved cross-country. Sure, I can still watch the show in reruns, much like I can email or phone that long-distance friend, but it's not the same when you are no longer privy to the day to day news, when you're not there as lives unfold.

There are many reasons that I connected with this show, and it would be way too psychologically revealing to list them all here. I will sum it up with these three reasons:
1. Rory Gilmore and I have the same birthday which is October 8.
2. We both hate raisins with a passion, not even wanting to eat food that you have to pick the raisins out of, such as an otherwise yummy muffin, because said food has been tainted by raisin-ness.
3. We both had high school best friends who are Korean.

I know, the similarities give me chills too! It's like Amy Sherman-Palladino (the creator of The Gilmore Girls) heard about me!

I recorded the series finale of The Gilmore Girls to watch later, so that I could go out with some friends tonight. (See, I'm not a total TV-obsessed loser.) One of the friends has a sister who loves The Gilmore Girls even more than I do. The sister stayed home to watch the series finale as it was broadcast. This caused another friend who was seated next to me to roll her eyes and express dislike of the show. Gasp! Tread lightly on the subject of The Gilmore Girls, my friends, for this show will always have a soft spot in my heart.

I have to go find more kleenex now.

Homicidal Fairy Princess

My fellow Murder Mystery Players and I debuted a new show last night in honor of Mother's Day entitled "Death Plays the Market, the Mother of all Crashes." The show is set on October 29, 1929, the day of the great stock market crash.

From left to right:
Jeff Johannigman as Anthony Discenzo - mobster out for the accountant's blood
Me as Victoria Van de Voort - rich witch before the market crash, now just a poor witch
Phil Klickman as Vincent Van de Voort - Victoria's previously rich husband, now poor and charmless
Tracy Cathey as Shirley Hemlock Holmes - the show's detective and a mystery writer
Gary Dean Hamilton as Alouiscious Snee - embezzling accountant who gets shot when news of the market crash hits
Anna Maria Garcia as Mitzi O'Malley - rhymes with ditsy, Vincent's secretary / mistress

I loved my costume which weighed about five pounds with all of the intricate beading. Tracy was kind enough to loan me her grandmother's vintage dress and jacket, a tiara, a fan with which to whack people on the noggin or knuckles, a beaded handbag in which to carry the fake gun / murder weapon and some costume jewelry. She even did my hair up for me, with about a pound of bobbie pins and hairspray. She's so nice! Oh, and yeah, my character, Victoria Van de Voort, was the killer. I felt like a very fussy, homicidal fairy princess.

The audience was very receptive and laughed at our jokes. They all had fun trying to figure out whodunnit. Some of the family groups in the audience seemed happy to have the distraction of the dinner show versus the alternative of awkward / tense dinner conversation.

Goin' Forth and Bein' Fruitful

No, not me & Chad. I'm NOT pregnant, I repeat NOT pregnant. This past weekend Chad and I traveled to the Atlanta area to visit his family which is now a little larger. Welcome Everett! Baby Everett doesn't do many tricks yet, but his big brother, Foster, knows lots of cool stuff like walking, talking and even cleaning up his toys. Everyone in the room has to clap when Foster puts away a toy. Foster watches and knows if you don't clap. He stares impishly and expectantly until you make with that clapping.





The newest addition brings the count to four nephews and one niece. Hmmm... I wonder which one I can interest in Hello Kitty and all things Sanrio?

Marigold Gets a Bath, I Feel Bad for Her