When Heather Comes to Town

I've decided (because I'm lazy) that anyone who visits me in Southy will be a guest author on lada land. I conveniently made this decision this week because Heather happens to be in town. So, without further ado, here's Heather. - lada's on vacation

So I just finished taking step 2 of my board exams, which, for those who don't speak to me regularly, is something that I am ecstatic to have behind me. I had a week off before having to jump back into work, so I decided to come visit my best friend in the whole world, lada. I had not seen the new house yet, and really, who needs a reason to visit your BFF? We had lots of relaxation planned with plenty of fun activities in between.

We went to Charleston on Tuesday because I may be moving there next year for work. It started out with lunch at a cute restaurant on Isle of Palms called Poe's (one of the best Bloody Marys I've had), then we walked the beach and took some pictures. On the way back into Charleston proper, we crossed the amazingly cool new bridge.

We then headed to the complex of hospitals to check out where I may be spending the next few years of my life. The day was ours after that, so we browsed through a tourist book to see what interesting things the city had to offer. We saw an add for an artist that makes bottle cap mosaics, but unfortunately the book only gave what area of town it was in and a phone number. Not wanting to drive around for hours to find this potentially cool gallery, I called the number listed in the book. Here's how the conversation went:

Woman: Hello?
Me:Hi, I was calling to get your address.
Woman: (after some silence) Ummm, who is this?
Me: Heather.
Woman: (more silence)
Me: Is this the bottle cap mosaic place?
Woman: Oh, yes!! I'm sorry, I thought you were trying to find my address to send me stuff in the mail.
Me: No, my friend and I saw your ad in a book and we wanted to take a look.
Woman: OK, I am located at (address I can't remember). Please tap on the window and I'll let you in (um, what?). I'll be here for another hour and a half.

Ok, so seriously, at this point I'm thinking that this is some woman who let's people into her house to look at her art/kill them. Weird. Strangers walking around your house and they probably won't buy anything anyway. So lada and I start heading that way to see how sketchy the area/house was. The streets kept getting more and more questionable, so we decided to skip the cool bottle cap art (sorry woman - I hope you didn't wait around for us).

Next stop - driving around the ever-so-cute King St, which has many boutiques and other lovely places. We parked the car, walked around for a while, then went to a super nice hotel with a well known spot on the roof where you can have a drink and take in the city from above. We were enjoying our drinks when we overheard some guys behind us saying things that were less than becoming to the cute waitresses. So we try to ignore them while laughing at them, when, oh my god, they noticed us. "Hey, hey you at the bar. Hey! Yo! Yo!!" At this point lada turns around; we see that they are in fact dirty old men, and they ask her name. She replies:

lada: that's ok, "yo yo" is just fine.
guys: you must be cool if you will answer to yo yo.

So the guys continue to say "yo, yo!" until we just can't take it anymore, especially now that he's no longer saying yo in the way that was cool 10 years ago, but he is calling lada yo-yo, like the toy. Cheers to dirty old drunk guys trying to get away from their wives.

The day was pretty uneventful after that. We had a fabulous dinner (mmm, sushi) then drove home.

Quote of the day - Russ: Umm. . . Heather, did Harley eat one of your expensive shirts?

-Everyone loves a visit from Woody

Firsts

The other day someone asked me if I remembered the first CD I bought. How could you forget? I know all my firsts:

Record - Cabbage Patch Kids

Cassette Tape - Crash Test Dummies

CD - Boyz II Men (all though we've come, to the eeend ooof the rooaad)

MP3 - David Bowie

Concert - Sheryl Crow

Time I went backstage - Weezer (Rivers is a tool)

A boy told me he loved me - Dave Mathews Band

I got an autograph - Daybirds

I got a job - Alanis Morissette

I broke someone's heart - Pink Floyd

I had my heart broken - Jude

I discovered music my parents didn't like - Violent Femmes

I discovered my parents had good taste in music - Beatles/Steely Dan

I smoked pot - 311 (hugs not drugs)

I hallucinated - Phish (yes Tim, I am a walking cliché) (Oh, and hugs not drugs)

I cried at a concert - Travis

I went to Europe - Shampoo

I sang karaoke - Otis Redding (Those whistles at the end are tough)

And last, but definitely not least

I got laid - Third Eye Blind

If you're ever on Jeopardy: 39% of people interviewed for a poll, admitted that they snoop in their host's medicine cabinets

- lada sees your face inside her coffee cup - she thinks of you and drinks it up

Why I Shroud Myself in Mystery

The computer is up and running again - sorry for the slight delay. (Unfortunately my iTunes got wiped in the process, so I have to reload every CD. I would curse, but it is still early in the day.)

Oh, boy - are you ready for this story?

Last Thursday Morning - 11:45 AM
I am upstairs in the office ironing sheets. (Yes, I iron my sheets.) I had just finished with the top sheet and draped it over the banister at the top of the stairs so I could start working on the wrinkles in the fitted sheet. Which is exactly what I was doing while on the phone with my dad. . .

Daddy: Happy anniversary
lada: Thanks!
Daddy: What are you doing?
lada: Ironing sheets
Daddy: You iron your sheets?
lada: You know how the edges fold over and get all wrinkly? I hate that. So, I iron them. Does that make me weird?
Daddy: Not necessarily. Do you iron them everyday?
lada: Ah! No, I'm no that OCD.

. . . when the doorbell rings. I glance out the window and see a white van in the driveway. My dad offers to let me go so I can answer the door, but I never answer the door if I don't know who it is - most especially when I am in pajamas. Besides, it is only the Direct TV guy who is annoying because this is not the first time he has appeared at my door unexpectedly. He can come back later.

SIDEBAR: A couple weeks ago when our Direct TV was being set up, the installers accidentally left behind one of their tools. They stopped by the house a couple days later unannounced and since we were not home, one of them called and left us a message saying he was "standing outside waiting for his tool," could we please answer the door? They were gone by the time we got home - that day.

The guy rings the doorbell a second time. The dogs are going ballistic. Then he knocks. I comment to my dad how this guys is persistent - "two rings and a knock, he'll probably call next" - and sure enough, a few moments later the call waiting beeps. Dad again offers to let me go, but if I answer the phone the guy will know I am home; so I ignore it. Finally, the van leaves and a few minutes later I finish up the loving phone call.

For some odd reason the dogs are still barking like mad, so I walk out of the office onto the landing to see what is agitating them. I look over the banister, down to the foyer and see through the mini-window next to the front door a man. Well, to be more specific I see the top of the hat that he is wearing. The Direct TV guy appears to be sitting next to my front door! I dart back into the safety of the office to assess my situation - meaning I pace around and get all worked up.

This idiot shows up unannounced to my house and thinks he is just going to chill on my porch until I get home!? He actually sent away his partner in the van and is just going to wait for what could be hours and hours!? Should I just open the door and say I was in the shower the whole time? Should I call him back from my cell and pretend like I am out of town? Should I call the police?

I decide to try and get a better look at the fellow. I steal a hasty glance out the office window but can't see anything. I leave the room again and lucky for me, the sheet hanging over the banister provides a waist high barrier for me to hide behind. So, down on my hands and knees, I crawl across the landing to the bedroom on the other side of the house. (You're picturing this, right?) I try peeking out the window but still can't get the right angle to see onto the front porch. I scan the streets of the neighborhood instead, expecting to see the white van camped out up the street doing long range surveillance. But, since the van is nowhere to be seen, I decide I am up against amateurs.

I crawl back across the hall and weigh my options. There is no way this guy is going to flush me out. I have a book, I have my phone, I have a bathroom. I will just sit up here until Russ gets home in about six hours. It will be a long wait, but worse for him sitting outside. That will show Mr. Direct TV.

I use my phone to check my email (PC was still fried at this point) and send a couple text messages. The dogs alternate between sitting quietly in with me and pacing the landing barking at the intruder. It has been forty minutes and I am starting to wish I had eaten breakfast because now it is time for lunch and I can't get to the kitchen without going downstairs and walking right past the window he is gaurding. This is going to be a long day.

I eventually get tired of phone Tetris and decide to sneak out and get another look at the enemy. I crawl back out on the landing and get down on my belly, straight commando style. I take hold of the sheet as close to the floor as possible and pull it back an eyeball measure. There he is (the top of his hat). It is kind of moving up around, as though he is bouncing on his heels. Suddenly the hat starts to turn around, like he can sense me staring at the back of his head.

It turns and I see written across the top "Happy Anniversary"

I realize it is a balloon.

I run downstairs and open the front door to find a beautiful flower arrangement my parents sent us with a heart shaped helium balloon floating above it.

I am an idiot.

Held hostage by flowers.

Long story short
Thanks everyone for the anniversary wishes. Russ says after three years, he has finally figured out one wife. So, he is ready for polygamy if anyone wants to volunteer.

Quote of the day - Matt R: If I were a plumber. . . I would find me a man and treat him so good his pipes would never leak. But I am not a plumber so I will sing my song and with that I will be happy. If only I knew what that was. But I am drunk.

- a lada is worth a thousand words

Happy Anniversary (Leather)

Just a couple quick things because my computer is on the fritz and is currently being dissected.

Thanks for the reminder
I forgot! I have to tell you what happened to me when I read Haunted!
Basically, nothing.
To be fair it was nasty. I didn't enjoy the description of a starving group of writers eating soup made from a microwaved fetus, or detailed account of a stomach rupturing, or what I will only refer to as "Guts." I winced a fair amount and shook my head, but I did managed to finish the book without fainting, vomiting or dying as my horoscope had foretold. What was interesting though, the edition of the book I had picked up has an afterword from Chuck describing what he calls "The 'Guts' Effect" - over the course of his book tour for Haunted, a total of 73 audience members fainted during his reading of the first short story. (Apparently I am too hardened to have been affected - must be all those gory videogames and movies I watched in my youth.)
What is remarkable is that everyone I have discussed this with is dying to read the book. What kind of sick, gluttons are you? I know what I'm buying everyone for Christmas.

Two things about the NFL:
1. The first week and I am already annoyed with sports broadcasters making up words. The worst I heard last weekend: "trickeration"

2. Fantasy football is taking the fun out of football. No one has a team anymore, you guys just have players. When you are cheering for players on both teams just to make big plays and don't care about who freaking wins and loses - you suck. My friend said, if it weren't for Fantasy, he probably wouldn't watch football anymore. All that sounded like to me was "I'm a crappy fan." (Oh and Karen - The name of CAGE's team is "Level 12 Trolls".)

My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas
My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Napalm
My Vain Enemy Milked Japanese Snakes Until Noon
Mistaken Vegetarian Eats Meat? Just Spit Under Napkin (can't take credit for that one)
Musical Violins Earn Money Jamming Songs Until Nightfall
Miss Vermont Entertains Men Jumping Straight-Up Naked
My Very Erotic Mother Just Showed Us Nipple (not mine either)
My Very Evil Master Joined Satan, Urging Necrophilia
Mnemonics Vary, Each More Jarringly Stupid/Unpleasant/Nefarious

Pluto is no longer a planet but you can still use this to see your age in Pluto years.

If you're ever on Jeopardy: Any number, squared, is equal to one more than the multiplied numbers on either side of it -- 4x6 is 24, 5² is 25.

- Lethargic Adults Drink Alcohol

Grossed Out Yet? (T.M.I.)

I am not allergic to anything - not shellfish, pollen, cats, peanuts, latex, milk, mold - nothing. No runny nose or watery eyes, no sinus headaches or sneezing, no congestion or wheezing. Never. Not once in my life.
That being said, I'm having one hell of an allergic reaction. God only knows what I did/ate/swam in/inhaled/touched, but holy crap I look like I belong in a carnival. I'm talking tiny red bumps everywhere (arms, legs, stomach, back, neck). The kind of bumps that ITCH LIKE A MOFO. I called Heather.

lada: I'm dying. I have a nasty, bumpy thing all over me
Head: Are the bumps in a line?
lada: Not really, they are haphazardly everywhere
Head: Are they blisters?
lada: Eh, they're bumpy
Head: But are they blisters?
lada: They're not, not blisters. If they were in a line would that mean I have AIDS?
Head: No. Are they red?
lada: Yes
Head: Are they on your palms?
lada: No, but they are everywhere else.
Head: Hmmm...well, I can't really tell you much without being able to see the rash.

Eight years of higher education and all the girl can tell me is that I should take Benadryl.
The rest of my day (Tuesday) went like this:
- got mad at Russ because he wouldn't come anywhere near me
- tried to keep the dogs from licking the hydrocortisone cream off my arms
- took a long nap in the afternoon because the Benadryl knocked me out

When I finally went to bed (late, due to the long afternoon nap), Russ rolled over just long enough to make sure I was wearing long sleeve pajamas, lest I accidentally brush against him in the night.

The next morning (Wednesday) everything was worse! I remembered Heather's comment about needing to see what it looked like before being able to diagnose, so I whipped out my camera and took some bad ass pictures that looked like they belonged in a text book for kids to "ewww" over. (Would you fearless readers care to see the pictures? Yes? Why? I look nasty.)
Heather got the pics and called me:

lada: Am I dying?
Head: No, but I can't really tell much from the pictures. My camera phone sucks.
lada: Could you see the bumps?
Head: Yes
lada: . . .
Head: I'm not sure. Did you take Benadryl?

I popped another couple and sat down to watch a movie. Halfway through:

Russ: My stomach itches
lada: Is it bumpy?
Russ: I don't know, maybe. . .
I got up and looked at his perfectly smooth (although hairy) stomach
lada: There aren't any bumps! Do you see this? (waving my arm in front of his face) These are bumps!
Russ: Eww, get away from me.
lada: You're just trying to steal my thunder! You're not sick - I'm the one that's dying! Quit trying to get attention!
Russ: Whatever. You're not special just because you have bumps.
lada: You're not special because you don't have bumps.
Russ: Leper. My throat hurts.
lada: Quite, you

Long story short - I'm on day four and the bumps are much less ominous now. All should be well by the weekend. Sooo. . . does anyone want to snuggle?

If you're ever on Jeopardy: In Chinese, the KFC slogan "finger-lickin good" came out as "eat your fingers off".

- lada sure plays a mean pinball

Please Pass the Keg

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