Happy Fourth!

If you know me at all, you know that I love baked beans almost more than anything (mashed potatoes and chocolate pudding are right up there with them).

Note to self: Anytime you really need to clean your house after a rennovation, host a party.

Although the kitchen isn't 100% finished, it's close; close enough to have people over for brats, beer and beans. Beans, glorious beans.

And I cleaned like a banshee (do banshees clean?). I started to "reclaim" the rest of my house--finally. Things are going back to their right place. And I vacuumed. Oh did I vacuum. And as a courtesy to my guests, in the kitchen, I even vacuumed the cardboard. Yes, I'm that classy.

Look, ma! No hands!

I may not be talking to many of you as often. Not because we are in a fight, and not because I'm taking on a new house project that will completely consume my life, but because this week Washington state started enforcing hand cell phone usage whilst driving.

Drats.

I understand the reasoning behind the law, but I still find this very unfortunate. Before I got a cell phone (and I held out for quite some time), I always looked at those drivers yapping away with disdain. And then, I became one. It's not a habit of which I'm proud, but being stuck in traffic--some days for 30-40 minutes--provides the perfect opportunity to catch up with friends and family across the country. It makes me feel productive and I like that.

Note to self: Check into other driving laws to see if "cheque writing and driving" is also against the law.

Now, I could keep talking if I had a hands-free headset. But I don't have one, yet. And it will probably be a few weeks before I get one. But maybe I won't, maybe I can fight the urge to pick up the phone and call someone during the dead-air drive. It's been really tough the past couple of days. I've thought, "Hmmm, who haven't I talked to in a while?" Pick up the phone, remember the law, freak out, and throw the phone across the car--it wasn't in my hand, I swear, officer. Maybe it's like caffeine or another drug, it's an addiction I have to kick and the first 28 days are the most painful, but then life resumes itself and is even more peaceful and fulfilling than ever before.

Yeah, or maybe I just need to go pick up a headset.

Still scratching my head

A post in two parts, again.

Part I
(Which I had all worked out in my head this morning with the intent to post it tonight after work)

In the event you were wondering about the first grade teacher, well, after a few text message volleys, the ball was left with him to find a time to meet up. One week later, not a word out of him. Because in our last interaction he had mentioned that his schedule was up in the air with the end of school and everything that we should play meeting up by ear, and because I just wanted to know--it's not like I can't take a hint, but for crying out loud, I don't think I should have to, just be up front and honest--I sent the following text:

"Are we still playing it by ear, or is that code for not interested?"

It's been another week of radio silence, so I can only assume that I've cracked his code and that he really isn't interested. I'm just going to have to take that hint and like it. One more time, onward, ladies, onward.

Part II
(Which I promptly started to revise in my head this morning immediately after I thought about how this post would read)

Out of the blue incoming text message.

It reads: "Good morning to you. How about happy hour tonight?"

Are you freaking kidding me? Even after I sent the snatchiest of all text messages? Maybe the snatchiness was lost on him?

Well I said yes. So, tonight, after a few weeks of puzzlement about the entire series of interactions with the first grade teacher, I met up with him for a sunny patio happy hour. It was good. I think. Gosh, I don't know. We had good conversation, I think we were both fun and funny. But yet when we went to leave he was all like, "that was fun. I learned some new stuff."

Um, okay. Learned some new stuff. Yeah, okay.

He's heading to Thailand for a month on Saturday to do some mission work (see, he's not a bad guy), so I definitely won't see him again soon... but maybe never? I said that he had my number and if he wanted to meet up after Thailand and share some of his stories I'd be game.

Frankly, I've put in all the energy I can right now. He'll be gone for awhile and if he comes back and wants to meet up, then it's going to need to be on his energy dime.

So, don't be surprised if you hear about him again in the future--he has a tendency of surfacing just after I give up. In the meanwhile, don't fret. Little Ms. Notetaker is expecting plenty of fun dating stories to recount to the Internet. It's summer, and I'm bored with the kitchen, and may go back to online dating... just because I need more blog material. Funny because it's true.

Hit-and-slowly inch away

I was jolted awake this morning at 5:30 to the sound of screeching brakes, crumpling metal, and deflating tires. I sprang out of bed, fingers crossed that my car was not on the receiving end of that cacophony of destruction.

Huge sigh of relief, my car wasn't hit. But the two cars parked in front of mine were and the perp--as in perpetrating vehicle--was fleeing the scene, albeit rather slowly as his passenger tire was flattening by the millisecond.

Watching the scene transpire in slow-motion, I tried to wake myself up fully and think about what I should do.

Of all of the voices of morality in my life (parents, teachers, nuns, priests, Charles Barkley), one rang out above the crowd and nudged me, in my head, to call 9-1-1. Yeah, that one? Mm-hm, it was the Liberty Mutual insurance ad announcer person. For a minute, I weighed my options of calling or not calling and what ultimately made me reach for my phone was the replay of a commercial in my mind where the voice states, "every day, millions of people choose to do the right thing."

So a freaking insurance company ad campaign held my feet to the fire; I did the right thing. And because of that, they found the driver, and because of that the owners of the two cars may have some insurance relief (ooh... insurance! Holy cow! It just came full-circle right before my very eyes. Put a fork in me, I'm done).

Like buttah

This one's for all the do-it-themselvers out there.

Note to self: If a screw is ever giving you fits going into the wall, just head to your fridge for a little lubrication.

(And just so you know, there is not a single euphemism in that note, so get your mind right out of the gutter!)

I just had to let all of my faithful readers in on this fantastic little trick. All credit goes to the Commish, who was helping me install my pantry today. We were attaching the suspension rail to the wall the Man of Iron and I built, and it just kept getting stuck halfway.

Suddenly the Commish had an idea:

He lubed up the screw and it worked. Here it is with the spreadable butter nice and melty, oozing itself all over the rail--it's bleepin' HOT in Seattle.

(Oh, and I was trying to be all artsy-fartsy with the photo and thought this one came out, but it's still blurry. Drats. But you can still see the butter)

I'd say that's a win, right? Three cheers for the Commish--a few more tricks like this and I may have to start calling him MacGyver.

Who has the button?

Note to self: It all boils down to perspective.

Second grade field day. Shoe kick, water balloon toss, three-legged race. It was my first field day at my new school--my old school didn't have a field day, well, we had a "day at the park" which was where I had one of my most embarrassing moments in life, but that's another story.

One of the field day events was a race that had kids run down the field to a plastic bag filled with crazy old man clothes. I remember a tie, vest, sport coat, business socks, and big dress shoes. When my "heat" was up, competitive little me ran my little heart out down the field, but I had quite a time getting dressed, such a time that I ended up dead last. I have always hated losing. Hated it. And any loss is followed by me beating myself up for what I could-have-should-have done. But on that day, during that race, even though I was very last, very last by a long shot, I won a prize. One of the teachers running that station gave me a "You're looking at a winner!" button reserved for the person she thought was the best sport during the day. I remember she gave it to me because I was laughing so hard trying to run back in the over-sized shoes, pants, shirt, etc. and that instead of being upset that I was in last place, I had a huge grin on my face.

I remember that moment very clearly, but I can't remember why I wasn't beating myself up for coming in last. I'd like to think that it was because the situation was so ridiculous, how could anyone expect to be the "best" at running around in dad's old size 12 dress shoes? All you can do is laugh.

After last weekend's mini-series which ended in me promptly beating myself up, I had a fantastic talk with Coach A and it really got me thinking. Something that stuck with me from our little chat was my propensity toward the defeatist, beat yourself-up, self-critical view of things. And that maybe, just maybe it would be a good experiment for me to try and pick out the the positive wins in each situation.

And what does this have to do with elementary school field days? Well, maybe there are certain events that I am good at--like laying subway tile--and then maybe there are those events I'm not the "best" at, the ones that are like running around in dad's old clothes, say for instance going up to a stranger eating his dinner with a friend and chatting him up. Who is good at that? And instead of beating myself up for not talking to him, maybe I should be going after that elusive button, and just keep smiling and laughing, take the small victories, and stay in the race.

I'm going to try this new perspective on for size, because dear Internets, you're looking at a winner!

Wanting to be a Van Winkle

Exhausted. I'm exhausted this week. I've been working nearly non-stop on the kitchen. And when I've taken the time to stop, I've started posts in response to the saga I shared at the beginning of the week, but each night I find myself too tired to finish them and post.

In the event I'm losing you, have no fear, I'll be back to my regular posting self soon--as I'm really close to being finished with the kitchen. But I'm typing this with my eyes half closed and with sleep beckoning. Spell check and then it's bedtime.