For sale: Cat

7-year-old calico in desperate need of a home. Calicos are, by nature, a birth defect, but don't let that sway you. Just because she hisses at everyone (except the 2 that feed her), bites the 2 that feed her (lovingly, of course), continuously misses the litter box, and coughs up hairballs on new carpeting, she really is a devil sweet cat.

When the children go to bed, she comes out of hiding to sleep around your neck like an expensive (and warm) fur stoll.  Not sure if this is meant to suffocate her victim or not, but, if it is, she's not very good at it, so not to worry.

Additionally, she likes to talk. She meows to tell you her food dish is empty. She meows to tell you her litter box needs cleaning. She meows to tell you there's another cat outside. She meows in her sleep (which sounds like barking and makes the children laugh). She meows to tell you it's 6:30 am. And if the meow doesn't wake you up, a friendly nip to your ear sure will.

In cases such as this, she's really telling you she likes to fly. When she bites you out of a sound sleep, she's telling you she wants to be thrown like a football towards the bathroom. When she jumps onto the counter, she's telling you she wants to be tossed into the family room. She almost always lands on her feet.

If interested, please comment below. I can duct tape her to a milk crate and ship her off today.

Opa!

So, this weekend is the Greek Heritage Festival at my church. I look forward to this festival every year. And, by the time it's over, I tell myself, if I never have another gryo, domade(h) or loukoumade(h) the rest of the year, I'll be okay. But then there's another festival the next month at the church across town and I overdose again on loukoumades. They're fried dough in honey, can you blame me?

I've been attending these festivals my entire life. When we were young, we would spend all day and night there. They had arcade games available for kids to play, so during the year (well, not with the sole purpose of the festival), I would hoard keep quarters in a bag to take with me to the festival.

Looking back, I have no idea where my parents were. Or why they weren't more concerned about where we were (which, I might add, I continue to point out to my mother when she yells at us for not watching our children every second. She denies everything.). I don't think we even gathered together for meals. We just knew to be at the car when it was over and that was good enough for everyone.

As I got older, when arcade games weren't much of a draw for me, I found other things of interest. At the flea market, where one person's trash is another's treasure, I found some darling summer plates one year. Or the jewelry counter, where my BFF and I would buy at least one new ring a year. (Interestingly enough, people would mistake my BFF for the Greek [she's Italian] and me for the non-Greek. And I've been attending this church my entire life. How do they not know me?! We've joked about this in my family for years. Everyone knows my 3 siblings, my cousins, my dog [if we ever had one], but no one remembers me. Yeah. Hilarious.)

And now that I'm, you know, old and responsible, I am asked to (read: guilted into) work the festival. I prefer to work the drive-thru. It reminds me of my days working as a gyro flipper. Plus, I work hard... and no one has to see me. Perfect. (This may be the reason no one at church knows who I am, but that's neither here nor there.)

But the dancing was, and still is, the main attraction for me. When I was 15 or so, my cousin's cousin taught me all the Greek dances she knew. She was a great teacher, too. She broke down each dance into sections and I had no trouble learning the steps as we danced around the pool table in our basement. I try each year to teach my brother the hardest dance, but I just can't do it as well as she did. I guess "Do what I do" isn't much help. Or maybe he's not as good a student as I was, yo. Yeah, that's it. Every year, my BFF would refuse to learn the steps, but insisted on dancing with me anyway. She's a good sport.

So, the festival is upon us. I will spend the next 3 days eating, drinking and, overall, being merry. And on Sunday, I will throw the last loukoumade in the garbage and say, "Never again."

Until next month.

Feeding old people is easy

About 3 weeks ago, my father-in-law called. This was the gist of the conversation:

"Hey, it's Dad. Aunt Daphne [his sister] will be in town blahblahblah. You'll have us over for dinner. Great. See ya."

I adore my FIL, so I was okay with him offering up our house for dinner. Truthfully, I enjoy having people over. And my FIL said he'd buy the food, so, really, it was going to be easy-peasy. And I didn't give it another thought.

Until this past Saturday.

Holy sheet, people are coming to our house?! Our house is not ready for company!

We've been in this house just over 3 years now. We did a lot of work on the house in the beginning. Our house was a pastel, um, pit paradise (?) when we first moved in. Every room was either pink or peach. They had carpeting in the BATHROOM. Blech. Who thinks that's sanitary?

First thing we did? Ripped up that teal-colored carpeting in our bedroom and master bath. Put in nice, normal, clean (or at least able to be cleaned easily) tile in the bathroom and a nice neutral (read: not teal) carpet in our bedroom. And, 2 years ago, we redid the basement. We've painted other rooms, including our 2-story pink foyer and peach upstairs hallway and installed new carpeting up the stairs and in our family room this past winter. So, things have been getting done. Slowly.

The problem is that, most days, I have no motivation to decorate my house. Drives my mother crazy. Most of my motivation comes from new people visiting our home. I mean, they can't possibly see our pink hallway. What will they think of us? So, the aunt and uncle visit gave me some motivation.

My mother? Ecstatic. We went shopping as soon as I mentioned decorating. It was almost as if she'd been waiting for this phone call for months. She (and about 15 decorating magazines) picked me up and off we went.

The room that gives me the most trouble is our living room. For one, we don't need one. We didn't have one in our old house, I don't need one now. But, we have this room and, currently, that room is used for... crap. It houses the extra chairs from our dining room table and our buffet. For months, we had a broken TV sitting on the floor in that room. And it's the first room people see when they walk in. I can't stand it. So, my mother and I set out to fix that, among other little things. (I ended up buying nothing and stealing borrowing things my mother isn't currently using in her home. Woohoo!)

I was feeling particularly gung ho this home improvement cycle. I was, with paint and paint brush in hand, ready to cover up scuff marks on all the walls in our family room. I wanted to paint the shelving in our downstairs bathroom. I wanted to remove the stupid extra mattresses just lying on the floor in our guest bedroom (sorry, Tim and Erin, Vidas and Tracie - the kids no longer have a bed to sleep on. I'll buy an air mattress for your next visit). I wanted to pull up carpeting and lay hardwood floors in the dining room.

Eh, 2 out of 3 3 out of 4 ain't bad.

Problem with painting the family room is what I thought was the paint for the family room was actually paint from the foyer (it said foyer on it, but I thought the foyer and family room were the same color). But then I remembered I made the foyer a shade lighter than the family room (why, I have no idea, but whatever). Or, rather, I remembered that after I painted the scuff marks. Our family room looked like a crack house painter lived here. So, my awesome husband set off for Home Depot early this morning, came home with the correct paint and I painted over the mess I made yesterday. With that done, and the stolen borrowed articles from my mother strategically placed throughout the house, we were ready for company.

So, my FIL showed up with his sister and brother-in-law. I thought we hadn't see them since our wedding, but they reminded us they were here 3 years ago, right after we moved in. Oh. They had already been here? So, why the hello was I working so hard when they had already seen our house? Damn.

Well, I suppose motivation is motivation. Strike while the iron's hot and all that. And the house does look better. So, I guess there's that.

And dinner? Consisted of this:

• 5:00: they arrived (and dropped the news they'd already been here)
• 6:15: dinner (excellent steak, potatoes, corn on the cob, salad)
• 7:45: out the door (is it an old age thing? they mentioned not being able to see past a certain time of day. if this were my family, we'd have been opening a 5th bottle of wine with no intention of leaving before 10:00)
• 8:15: dishes washed (nice thing about the grill - not a lot of dishes. this included my crystal wine glasses [which they used, so i guess they're not that old])
• 8:45: procrastinators (those would be my children. 2-year-old: "Hold on a second. Not ready yet.") in bed
• 8:50: The Bachelorette (yay! bad tv! and able to fast forward through ALL commercials!)

By the way, The Bachelorette? When Kasey sang? Had to be the funniest, the most cover-my-face-I'm-so-embarrassed-for-him thing I'd ever seen on this show. I rewound it so I could enjoy it one more time. The second time he sang? I got pissed. Dude, stop singing. And why does he keep saying "protect and guard her heart?" Is he the heart police?

Idiot.

Also? I hate The Weatherman. Oh wait, the "amber alert" comment was kinda funny.

And... did Ali just say, "Supposebly?"

The show is awesomely terrible. How many guys can they get on one show to play the guitar? This show was better when it was called Star Search. I love Chris Harrison, but he's no Ed McMahon.

And now I can go to bed, knowing The Weatherman is gone, all my dishes are cleaned and put away, and my house is a little better decorated today than it was yesterday.

Or at least the wall color matches.

Old people can come to my house for dinner any time they want.

No-No-Notorious!

So, last night, my husband and I watched the much overlooked and underhyped movie, Notorious. It's the story of the rise (and fall) of Christopher Wallace, aka Biggie Smalls, aka The Notorious B.I.G., aka the guy who became famous just for rapping to other people's already made up songs.

I'm not saying I don't like his music. Much of my college career was spent dancing and singing along to him and 2Pac, LL Cool J and Ice Cube, and many others. Can you just picture 4-5 white girls rollin' in a 1989 Mercury Topaz, rapping with the best of them? To this day, I can't help myself. When a song comes on, I have to sing. Just ask my co-worker. He was highly amused to watch a 30-something-year-old (sidenote: I bet if I watched thirtysomething nowadays, it would make sense) mother rapping in her minivan.

My roommate in college was as big a fan of hip hop and R&B as I was. We used to joke she was from the ghetto (P-Ville, holla!), whenever she'd get her ghetto fabulous self in a tizzy. Not to mention she had no money and used to live on a small barrel of pickles she'd get from her dad when she went home to visit. We went dancing every Thursday, Friday and Saturday in our tank tops, baggie jeans and kicks. It was a good great time.

So, anyway, here I was with my husband, watching this movie, and, of course, singing along. I felt like I was in my 20s again. Too bad my girls weren't here to sing along with me. I learned a lot about Biggie, too. That he had an affair with Lil' Kim? That he only knew his wife a week before they got married? This was all interesting stuff.

Or not. Really, I just wanted the music.

And then, I had a dream last night that I was part of the East Coast-West Coast feud. Although, I can't remember which side I was on. And honestly, thinking about it, I still can't decide. 2Pac had the better lyrics, but I danced more to Biggie.

Oh, if only they would've listened to Rodney King and just gotten along. That would've made for one great album.

Birthday Week... um, the rest of the week

So, the rest of Birthday Week can be summed up like this:

Purple glitter toes. Alcohol. Happy hour. Alcohol. Cookouts. Alcohol. Pool. No alcohol. Birthday cake.

Day 3 included getting a pedicure with a good friend. I love pretty much anything that involves pampering. Massages? Awesome. Facials? It's like two services in one, which is awesome x2.

Pedicures, in particular, are great because you get to sit in these massage chairs with an alcoholic beverage in one hand, magazine in the other, while soaking your feet in a whirlpool bath. I hate feet (except my own and my children's), so I don't know how those women work on other people's day in and day out, but whatever. The girl who did my friend's pedicure had these great purple toes. I'm usually a hot pink kind of girl in the summer, but I really liked her color. So, here I am with purple glitter toes.

Additionally, Day 3 reminded me I'm getting older (since, obviously, the birthday itself wasn't). I received a text from our babysitter that my 5-year-old lost his first tooth. WTF? Isn't he still getting his baby teeth? How is he old enough to lose them? I knew he had a loose tooth, but I thought it'd stay in there until he was at least 7.

What?  That's not how it works?  Oh.

A few weeks ago, my mother had brought over a tooth fairy pillow for us to use for the tooth. As soon as I saw it, I remembered putting my own teeth in there. And, um, it still had a tooth in the pocket, which was kind of gross. My mother took the tooth home with her, which is even grosser. What was she going to do with it? (I can just picture my mother furiously grasping at anything to keep us young - a strand of hair, a baby tooth... and, what? Putting it all in a scrapbook? Seriously, what was she going to do with this tooth?)

Anyway, that night, we put the tooth in the pocket of the pillow and, lucky for me... I must interrupt here -- for those who still believe in the Tooth Fairy, because he's real - he really is, but... please skip this paragraph. Thanks. -- lucky for me he didn't want to put the pillow under his pillow. I was concerned about how I was going to get at the tooth without waking him. Instead, he put the pillow on his dresser, which was so much easier for me (er, for the Tooth Fairy) to access. And what did he get for the tooth? FIVE dollars!

In my defense, a friend told me that the first tooth is special, so pay a premium for it, but have the rest at a normal price (I think I got a quarter for each of my teeth). But, then I had another friend tell me the first tooth will set the precedent and the child will expect the same for all his (24) teeth. Of course, I was told that AFTER I had already given the $5... rats. And my son told me his friend was given a wallet for his teeth. I kind of doubt that happened, but he's been asking for a wallet ever since. Maybe for tooth #24... to hold his 5x23... $115(!).

The rest of the week/end was filled with alcohol and happy hours and cookouts and time at the pool. My 2-year-old, who wouldn't go near the water last year, is now afraid of nothing. He jumped in, whether someone was there to catch him or not. He swallowed half the pool's chlorine (which is most likely what made him throw up later - it was either that or the fact he shoved an entire peanut butter and jelly sandwich into his mouth at once and then freaked because he couldn't swallow, or, uh, breathe. Um, hello?).

And birthday cake. Not sure this is known about me, but I love dessert. I'd give you my kidney for a good piece of cake. Well, it'd have to be a pretty damn good piece of cake. And we'd have to be a match and all...

Anyway, birthday week is done and over. And now I'm back to cleaning bathrooms. Good times, good times.

Season finales - say it ain't so

So, I've been fairly blah about my favorite TV shows this year. I still watch regularly and am sometimes treated to a good episode.  Maybe I'm just getting tired of TV (I did not just say that). And now that May sweeps are over and shows are over (nooooo!), I can finally give my opinions on the shows I watch.

Overall, while some shows weren't that great this year, I am pleased with the season finales.

Grey's Anatomy
No finale will ever be like the one where Denny died. Not because of Denny, but because of the little tryst between Mer and Der. H.O.T. But, this season finale was pretty good. Lead characters getting shot? That's good stuff, people. My husband and I were sitting here all, "What the what?!" every few minutes. You'd think I'd get used to people getting abruptly and brutally shot for no reason. Although, I suppose it's a good thing that I didn't.

House
House and Cuddy kiss! Again! And House's speech to his patient about how he wished he had amputated his leg? Awesomely sad. And Thirteen is taking a leave of absence? The Good News Fairy made a visit to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital this year!

The Good Wife
My sister will kill me for saying this, but I just don't like Chris Noth. So, any time a woman picks any other man in the world over him, I'm happy. And Alicia almost almost picks Will in the finale cliffhanger! And really, who wouldn't pick Josh Charles over Chris Noth? He's Knox Overstreet, for crying out loud. Just about the coolest name ever invented.

American Idol
Simon's last episode. Depending who they pick to replace him, I have a feeling this was my last episode, too. My husband doesn't understand my interest in this show, but I don't think it could've been expressed better than in the finale episode.

I like to sing. Probably not a great singer, but I sang in choir in middle school, high school and even took a singing class in college. (We were all required to take some elective class.) I wasn't an artist, I didn't play an instrument. But, I could hold a note. Needless to say, I wasn't one of those glee club kids, although I can appreciate Glee. Singing in the car is still one of my favorite things to do, after all.

Anyway, so for these kids? To sing with some popular performers (granted, from the 70's and 80's)? That is (some version of) a dream. How great would it be to sing with Bret Michaels for the evening (you know, before his successful career in reality TV)? Or Janet (Miss Jackson, if you're nasty) Jackson?? I couldn't even imagine what it would be like to harmonize (I love to harmonize) with Sarah McLachlan? My sister and I used to harmonize to Sarah (I'd take the high, she'd take the low) at our porch parties. There are many pictures of us with beer in one hand, cigarette (What? How did that word get in there?) in the other, singing at the top of our lungs. Fun stuff.

But what I tried to explain to my husband is that, for a singer, the finale episode of AI is the dream. Of course, the dream is to sing with these people while they're in their prime, but... I like to watch anyway and be happy for these kids to get to prance around on stage with... um, Hall and Oates (who, by the way, looks really weird without the big, bushy mustache) or Chicago or any of the rest of them.

The only sad part is to see the careers of so many fall to such a low that they have to go on American Idol. I am sure more than half of those people in the audience don't even know who the people on stage are. I mean, Michael McDonald, really? And, let's face it, those performers can't really perform like they used to. A few months ago, we watched a special about Woodstock, where Joe Cocker performed. The man could screech sing. Now? Not so much.

But anyway. It's still a great thing to be able to perform with someone you sang along to on the (oldies/easy listening) radio.

And, now I have nothing to watch on TV.

I guess there's always The Bachelorette and Wipeout.

I should probably stick to reading.

Birthday Week: Day 2

So, Day 2 of Birthday Week.

Why isn't it mandatory for every company to give their employees vacation the week of their birthdays? My brother just accepted a job where they give you the day off. I think that's great. Don't all companies know I we expect some sort of special treatment on the day we were born?

To make matters worse, I have my annual review on my actual birthday. It's scheduled for only a half hour. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. How long does it take to say, "You're fired," really? But, surely they wouldn't fire me on my birthday, right? Maybe they think I'm so awesome and don't have anything to talk to me about except my (substantial) raise?

It's my party, I can fantasize if I want to.

But, I don't want to think about that. I'm already nervous enough.

I've been battling the good with the bad when it comes to my birthday for years. When I was younger, there were 5 or so years where someone we knew died on or near my birthday. Talk about a reality check.

Life and death. Yin and yang.

Ditching school on my 18th birthday with a friend who shared the same birthday? Good.

My roommates getting me a stripper for my 21st birthday? Bad. Funny? Sure. But, hairy baaaad.

Good thing about your birthday - the police tend to not give you tickets on your birthday
Bad thing about your birthday - spending the afternoon at the DMV
Good thing - yellow cake with chocolate frosting
Bad thing - not getting carded when you buy a 6-pack
Good thing - you typically get out of doing things you don't want to do
Bad thing - using the saying, "In my day..."
Good thing - yellow cake with chocolate frosting

So, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...

And now I have that song in my head. Bad.