An Old Venetian Night

According to Biceps, I went to bed last night at 9pm. What am I, 90 years old? My parents have been in town and they are party animals. On one occasion, my parents hung out with brother and sister-in-law till the wee hours of the morning. I saw the clock strike pumpkin hour and couldn’t keep the eyelids open.

Needless to say, I was pooped when they left. Or, I’m just getting old.

I dreamt of our trip to Venice throughout my nine hours of sleep. I swear that my dream had the appropriate smells of the sea, baking bread, pasta and old stone in it.

I wandered back through the narrow streets, hand-in-hand with Biceps. We ate at familiar restaurants and enjoyed glasses of red house wine.

While we were in Venice (in real life), we enjoyed overcast days-great for being a tourist (lesser people on the street), not so great for being a photographer (flat colors). But even in my dream, it didn’t matter as we grabbed hot espressos and enjoyed the coolness of the day.

I don’t smoke, but it seemed appropriate as all the Venetians do while drinking their coffee. However, one cigarette was enough for me. Yuck.

One of my favorite things about Venice were their ancient bricked garages-no cars, just boats. In my dream, Biceps and I zoomed around the open sea with awesome sunglasses and super fancy white outfits.

At the end of my dream, before the cat woke me up, Biceps and I sat in the plaza eating spaghetti, drinking red wine and feeding the pigeons the bread from our table.

When I woke up this morning, I grabbed my computer and snuck out of the room. Biceps slept while I planned our next trip overseas, starting in Germany, winding our way to the south, north, east and west. With airfare just over 1k a piece-why not?! I carry that kind of chump change in my wallet.

Hah. I guess my dreams will suffice for now.

Love (and my Living Room) is a Battlefield

Tomorrow is the big day. The Garage Sale day. I’m not only looking to make a few extra bucks, I love purging my home of all things unnecessary. (I told you earlier how pickles were not even off limits.)

Here’s part of my craigslist ad and I had fun with it, so there, stick-in-muds!:

Easy to find due to my awesome signage-in between Harvard and Yale, north of 15th turn onto Richmond and there you’ll find my Large, organized garage sale with prices clearly marked and everything displayed for your easy viewing pleasure. No awkward, “How much is this?”, no digging, no cockroaches, no cobwebs. Just a clean, simple sale for a girl trying to make ends meet. Even if you don’t want to buy something, but for once want a pleasurable garage sale experience, come on by.

I’d love to see you there! If you don’t come, well, then I’ll miss you. (Email if you have questions, but try to weed out the stupid ones.)

I’ve already had two stupid questions. I thought I distinctly said, “no stupid ones”. Hm….

However, the organized side of me is freaking out a little. This is my living room.

MY living room. It looks like the remnants of a house raid gone awry. And yes, those are gigantic cardboard flowers.

There is a merchandise setup in the middle of the room with hundreds of clothing items hanging from it. Maxwell has spent his time removing each one from the hanger when I’m not looking. He’s been “spanked” several times, however, this does not deter.

Boxes are piled on top of boxes and the cats have had a hey-day climbing through, around and into anything they can get their little furry paws on. I found Bianca cuddled in between a pair of shoes in all of her furry glory. Lint rollers have been a necessity.

I cannot wait for my home to return to normal, to clean up the “battlefield”, so to speak. And to earn an extra few greenbacks. And maybe a treat for all my hard work (hint, hint Biceps…).

Wish me luck!

The “Oh, Crap!” Stage in Life

Dear Readers:
We are in the “Oh, Crap!” stage of life right now. When I look at the outside circumstances, I’m not sure how it’s all going to work out. I have so many irons in the fires and hats on my head, that my brain is a constant whirlwind that’s seemingly never productive.

And this is how I feel. (Brace yourself for a very disturbing and unflattering photo of yours truly.)

I find myself doing this a lot-silently, of course, so as not to scare the kittens. However, I try to remind myself of the blessings that I don’t deserve and for some reason, that I’ve received.

I live in an amazing country, I have a roof over my head and am married to my best friend. So what if everything is changing once again, just when I got used to the way it worked? Wah.

I suppose that’s called life. And I suppose I should just get used to it.
I mean, we haven’t had a house blow up yet this year, so we’re doing pretty good. Right?

A Baby’s World

Yes, Biceps and I have been married 11+ years. Yes, we live in midwest Oklahoma. No, we don’t have five ankle biters-yet.

And, to oppose the rumors swirling around these hard to deny facts of sans babydom-yes, I do like a clean house and fresh clothes without spit-up, poop or Lord-knows-what on them. And, I like to be on time, all the time.

But, that in no way, shape or form would ever overrun the decision to have a baby, or two. Or three. I’m ready for the mess. I will embrace the chaos and try to remain sane.

When this little guy comes to visit for a few hours and we both go through the emotions of elation, hunger, gas and then finally, a total breakdown, I’ve realized-this too shall pass.

(No pun intended on the gas portion of the sentence. Ok, maybe a little pun intended.)

I’ve seen my friend’s kids grow up all too quickly–to the point that I don’t recognize them immediately. “When did she start wearing a bra?”
“Who’s that boy smooching on her-I’ll kill him!”
“Is it really legal for her to be driving?”
“What’s with the dang Justin Bieber hairdo? I can’t see his beautiful, blue eyes.”
(All real thoughts from my weirdo brain.)

This little nephew of mine came into this world as a tiny newborn protected behind a shield of glass, but has transitioned into a smiling, crawling, fuzzy headed little dude that loves to sit in front of a fan or enjoy his Uncle Bicep’s crazy, fast pony rides.
(In my opinion they are crazy, fast pony rides. This does not reflect the opinions of others-namely, Biceps.)

Before too long, this little guy will hopefully be calling me Aunt Tabetta, throwing temper tantrums about taking naps and getting potty trained.

And hopefully, I can be there for most of those moments. And maybe throw one of my own little guys into the mix, just to keep things lively during our weekly Family nights. Or maybe two. Or three.

Who knows? I do live in Oklahoma-the land of encouraged repeated reproductivity. I’d better get busy.
No pun intended.