When I was a kid, I seriously thought there would be tons and tons of screwing-around time.

I am sad to say that I was mistaken.

I don't know why I had that idea. My parents didn't have that much free time, what with work and dealing with two little monsters, running around creating havoc at all times and in all places, so I guess I must have gotten that idea from TV.

They never show all the little things adults have to do on TV. I think I should sue.

I will sue TV. All of it. My lawsuit shall be for willful inflicting of damage onto my brain and insidey parts because they made me think being a grown-up was going to be all rollerskating and watching TV and eating sandwiches.

It is not.

Therefore, they owe me one kajillion dollars for emotional distress, another kajillion for intestinal distress, and a book of coupons for free Whoppers, because I haven't had one of those in a while but I'm kind of feeling like I want one right now.

That'll show you, Mr. Drummond. With your casual dress shirt and slacks. Or Mr. Belvedere, with your apron that never really got dirty and your hands which looked suspiciously smooth.

Mrs. Garrett, too. With her bouffant hairdo and sassy attitude.

You guys made me think this was going to be a piece of cake. I'm here to inform you that it is not, so I'm suing you. All of you.

Not the actors, though. They were just being their awesome actor selves.

I've written a letter to Santa, explaining the whole situation. I'm hoping he takes pity on me and grants me a ton of time where I can just watch some TV and eat ice cream right out of the carton. 

He can do that, you know. He's magic. That's why the debate on his skin color is ridiculous. He can turn into a chameleon if he wants. For crying out loud, he can visit the whole world in one night, he has flying reindeer and he can squeeze his ginormous butt down a chimney (not to mention the fact that he hasn't had a heart attack). He's magic. He doesn't look the same to everybody. Just accept it and move on.

So watch out, TV. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm pretty sure all of my problems are your fault, so I'm totally taking you to court for that two kajillion dollars and book of Whopper coupons. I won't settle for less. 

Well, maybe I will. It depends on how hungry I get. I might settle for just the Whoppers. But, no Whoppers, no deal.

(Photo from http://www.thecriticalcondition.com/2009/05/08/link/)

So when did we all get so sensitive and, frankly, annoying? Right now, my Facebook feed is chock-full of people who are mad at other people for having opinions and stating them. 

Seriously. It's like everyone is mad at everyone else. It's Christmastime, for crying out loud. Shouldn't we all be celebrating our similarities and trying to be kinder to our fellow human beings?

Sheesh. I feel like we need a referee.

I decided to spell it out for all of you, since I'm always right about everything. Here you are:  OPINIONS ARE NOT FACTS.

There you go.

They're not. They're what a person feels like about any particular given thing, and whether or not that person is right is irrelevant. He or she is allowed to feel however he or she likes about any given topic.

This does not mean his or her feelings are not stupid. It just means that I really want to support his or her right to speak his or her mind (or lack thereof), because if he or she is limited, I can be, too. If someone tries to stifle my fart jokes, I could die. That would also be lame because I'm sure your opinions are super great. I'm also not referring to people who use their opinions to make laws. Those kinds of opinions are dangerous and should be stopped. I don't want anyone else making my choices illegal if they aren't affecting anyone but me. I call shenanigans on that. Not cool. 

So let's all learn a trick to get through the holidays, because we all know we're going to get an earful of some old guy's ramblings about why the (insert name of some group of people) are not as good as the (insert name of another group of people). It's called, "smile, nod, and walk away."

Yep, it's as easy as it sounds. Smile, nod, and walk away. Just because you don't agree with him doesn't mean you have to smack him. And we all know yelling back is completely ineffective with some people. Just, let him have his stupid, ridiculous opinion. There may be some people that just weren't meant to be friends with other people, especially if they can't overlook differences and love and support each other. (Wow, I went all hippie there for a minute. Peace, my brothers and sisters. Anyway…)

After smiling, nodding, and walking away, go find a group of awesome people and make fun of the old guy. In addition, one can always try to feel better by remembering that we live in a day and time where we can still speak our minds, and that's a pretty gosh darn amazing thing.

That's the true Christmas spirit. Well, that, and vodka.

Well, it's almost here. The big day.

Wait, I don't mean Christmas. I mean the day where we rip out the nastiness that is my kitchen counter and replace it with new, clean Formica.

Ah, Formica.

So we bought this house four years ago with the idea that we were going to add on a big room to the back and remodel the kitchen and bathrooms. Check one bathroom off that list.

To be fair, it's a beautiful bathroom, and we did it for (relatively) little money. My husband ripped out all of the pink tile that covered the walls by the tub, replaced it with some really nice brown glass tiles, put in a new window and made a beautiful windowsill (he's pretty much the windowsill master, for reals) and put a new piece of Formica on the old vanity and painted it, and the did a nice glass tile backsplash. So, yeah. That got done.

The rest of our plans have just sort of been floating in the atmosphere, along with my plans to weigh 150 pounds and my husband's plans to run a marathon.

Hahahaha…okay, neither of those are real plans. If you know us, you know how ridiculous they are.

Anyway, December 26th is the day we will start on the kitchen. We need new cabinets and stuff, but we decided to just do a little face-lift, since we both have a few days off and we had a bit of money set aside to do something from our growing list of house projects. Also, we're both really not into granite countertops.

Don't mock my Formica. That stuff holds up really well, if you're careful, and for the money I think it's a much better deal. I think we'd do a wood butcher-block counter, maybe, but I can't see the point in putting something that fancy onto my craptastic old cabinets. I really hate them. I really, really do. However, we don't have time or money right now, so we're going for the Formica. To give you an accurate picture of our current situation, think of white, grainy, 60s-style marble. Then, imagine that image on Formica. Then, imagine that Formica after 48 years of scratches, burns and stains.

That's my kitchen.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not unfamiliar with bleach. Me and bleach are BFFs. There is not enough bleach in the world to make these things sanitary. There's just not. I don't care what anyone says. So I never, ever put anything edible directly onto the counter, unless it's getting washed and cooked before it goes into somebody's mouth.

Really. 

And I think four years of that is enough. Not to mention the ugly. And it is ugly. A special kind of ugly that makes all other countertops, even the ones in my sister's kitchen (which is significantly older than mine) look sparkly and nice. It's like the ugliest of all the ugly 60s kitchens. We painted the cupboards white when we moved in, because the woman who lived here before, bless her heart, had done a light whitewash over the pine cabinets and then stenciled flowers and checkerboard patterns and Bible verses all over the doors.

Nothing against the Bible up in here, but whoa. It was like the Amish Country Store threw up in my kitchen. Or maybe exploded is a better word. I'm not sure. Anyhow, the lovely white, pink and blue color scheme was not really to my liking, so that had to go. A picture, you say? You'd like to see what that looked like? Can I do that?

Yes, yes I can.

This is the photo they had on the realtor's website. I saved it, because, well, when your kitchen has a "before" picture like that, it sort of makes you feel all proud inside. Also, it's much less scary to do renovations when you realize that the only way it could possibly be any worse is if it looked like this but was dirty.

And in my house that is not going to happen. So I'm not scared at all.

This is what it looks like now, significantly better, but still…those countertops make me puke.

So watch out for the "after" photos, because I'm pretty sure I won't be able to handle the excitement and my brain may explode.

But not all over my kitchen, because that would be gross.

So, we have a cockatiel. His name is Bruce, and he is 13 years old. Actually, he was my husband's before we got married and has lived with him, my parents, and both of us at various times in his life. He's a pretty happy traveler, but if he's unhappy with where you put him, he will scream non-stop, even if he's covered, until you re-locate his cage.

Right now, he's in the room where the computer and the treadmill are. It's warmer in there, and we spend a lot of time in there, so he seems to like it, but he comes out to wherever we are when he feels like it. 

Anyway, he's never been much of a talker. He imitates sounds, but only annoying ones. For instance, he does a mean imitation of the howling whiny bark that our cocker spaniel, Maddy, used to do. Which is kind of neat, because even though she's been gone for a few years, her, "someone is going to break in and hurt you and/or steal my toys" alert bark lives on.

He also knows a little whistle, and, most importantly, The Andy Griffith Show theme song, which he can do correctly, and then he gets way too excited and does this whole "Fantasia on Andy" type of thing. It's super creative.

When he's really happy (which is less often as he gets older and it's winter, because he is usually grumpier and sleepier in the winter) he will make these little clicking, cooing noise at me and tuck his head down and try to get me to come play.

This morning, however, I came in and sat down at the computer, and he did all of these things in a row, and then abruptly stopped. His eyes got all wide and he made a new sound that I haven't heard before. It took me like five minutes before I could figure it out (I have no life and, also, I'm pretty familiar with this guy…he hasn't made a new sound in ages), but when I did, I felt all proud inside.

My bird has now added the sound of the bathroom fan to his repertoire. Fantastic.

I've decided that, this year, I'm going to turn all of those Christmas songs I hate into a fun game wherein you can either win glory or one of those arm burn things you used to get when you were a kid. Or maybe that was just me. Really, though, I just want to see if I can find a game I can win, since the, "Nope. Still Johnny Mathis." game is killing me this year (the minute you hear a song that is being sung by Johnny Mathis, you have to be the first person to say that phrase, although that game has no penalty, so it's less interesting).

Anyway, the rules are pretty simple, even though I've only gotten around to figuring out two artist/phrase combinations; still, I think they're pretty fun. If you hear a Josh Groban Christmas song, you have to yell out, "Hells Yeah!" Doesn't matter where you are, you have to do it. If you hear a Celine Dion Christmas song, you have to yell out, "Yeaaaahhhh, boyeeeeee!" (like Flava Flav). Again, doesn't matter where you are. If you're with a friend and one of you neglects to say the right thing when the right person is singing, you get an arm burn (basically, the other person takes your arm in both hands and sort of wrings it out, like a towel…sounds super fun, doesn't it?).

The stakes are high, but if you win, you get to look like an idiot in front of everyone around you. And isn't that what we all long for?

You're welcome. Merry Christmas.

Well, the performance I was stressing out about for the last month happened last night. It went…okay. I suppose I am going to have to accept that certain things are just going to be harder now, but I still don't like it. For me, a good performance can include mess-ups, but when there's a problem that's out of my control, it bothers me, so I worry at it, and then it becomes a major issue. Thus, the massive jaw lock. Which, once started, I can't relax for at least a few minutes. Lame.

However, my husband did buy me two magnificent pink doughnuts for my breakfast, which helps a lot. Did I mention he also bought me a pair of shoes? Because, heck yes, he did. He's pretty good at cheering me up.

This morning starts off Hell Week, wherein I will be doing three jobs at the office instead of just the regular two. Which is lame, but I will get a bigger paycheck, which is most definitely not lame, especially at Christmastime. 

Fortunately, because of Thanksgiving, I had four days off in which I was able to do a lot of the things on my extremely large, ongoing to-do list. I got a batch of caramel apple jam made, made my Christmas cookies and some for my Mom, cleaned my house, put up my tree, did my laundry and finished crocheting a scarf. And had two rehearsals and a performance. Oh, and I exercised EVERY SINGLE DAY but one and I had a couple of days of incredibly good practice, which proved that it is possible for me to sing without the jaw lock. It's just really hard and takes a lot of effort and is not something I can do every single time. Yet.

I didn't really sleep too much, but we did watch the first Christmas movie of the season AND we watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (yeah, we like westerns…deal).

So, it was a good Thanksgiving weekend. Now to get Hell Week over with, so I can move on to more fun things. Like another performance. 

I thrive on stress. This disturbs me, but not enough to do anything about it. I'm going to channel my inner Dwight Schrute.

The most frustrating part about the holidays, for me, is allowing myself to let go a little, but not too much. I have never been good at moderation, especially when it comes to my two nemeses: Work and Food.

Work seems as though it would be easier, as one can leave it behind at the office and go home. There's a slight problem with that, though, as I do half of my work from home, and my home is also part of what I work on. I can't go to bed if there's too much junk lying around, waiting to be picked up, and I have a hard time leaving dishes in the sink (although I have relaxed quite a bit on that one…I have a deep sink and I can pretend they're not there). I also have had trouble sleeping for the last week just because I'm going to be taking over some other people's duties while they're away and I worry that I'm going to forget to do all of that and screw everything up. Aaaand the Christmas singing stuff is about to go down and I'm still struggling with the new jaw tightness that makes everything a hundred times harder. Sigh.

Did I mention that I hate change? because, yeah, I do. I really, really do.

Anyway, when I get stressed out, I tend to relax with my diet a little bit, but that usually means I allow myself to eat candy as a meal replacement. It's got milk in it, right? That means it falls under the "dairy" category and is therefore healthy. Raisins? Got some fruit in there, too. I'm all set. If it has peanut butter, it's so freaking healthy I almost don't want to have it, but I guess I can suck it up and get my protein on.

Yeah, Reese's Pieces and Raisinets encompass three of the four food groups. What of it?

So, how to work a little harder to get stuff done, and how to relax my eating a little so I can have some treats but not gain weight? I just don't know. I always overdo. Here is a great example: Once, a long, long time ago, I had a cold. My voice teacher told me I should try to cough as little as possible, because I was getting ready for a performance and I wanted to be as kind to my cords as possible. So I didn't cough, even though I needed to. I ended up with pneumonia, because the fluid collected in there because I was bound and determined not to cough, so I didn't. At all.

Good job, me.

So I guess maybe if I focus on just being balanced and letting some things go a little, I will feel better about the whole thing. Maybe. Although, technically, that would be change and I am still pretty uncomfortable with anything that involves not being in my little happy place.

So, maybe a little more Reese's action and a little less work. A little. Like, maybe I won't go in on Christmas Day or New Year's Day this year. Maybe.

I'll do my best. To not do my best. Wait a minute…what? Because, really, the lesson I learned today is that I should cough and eat Reese's Pieces.

Mmmmm. Reese's Pieces. Okay, I'm happy now.

Why do people get so snippy about filling out a health form when they come into my office? Sometimes I feel like I'm telling them that, in addition to getting their teeth cleaned, we are also forcing them to have a colonoscopy and it will be done in full view of the parking lot so everyone who would like to can watch and see their guts.

For reals.

For instance, let's say there's a guy. Let's say he hasn't filled out a new form in, oh, five years. So I'll hand him the form, which will take up approximately two minutes of his time (if he's a slow writer). He will then look at me as though I have just murdered several kittens, sigh heavily, and ask if he has to fill it out. I will then say that we just need to know if he has any allergies or is on any medications, just in case the doctor needs to prescribe something. He will then make a comment along the lines of, "Is this something I'll have to fill out every time?"

Seriously. Your questions just took more time than just filling out the stupid form.

Oh, and you really do want your doctor to know if you're allergic to something. You think you know what they're putting in your mouth, but sometimes things have funny ingredients of which you may not be aware. Of course, you can omit stuff, but when you get a big old rash on your face, don't come crying to me. I will not have any sympathy for you.

Also, come on. I get enough crap in the course of a day. Knock it off, sit down, and fill out your form. Geeeeeeeez.

Alrighty, I'm calling it: It's Christmastime!

Don't like it? Tough caca…I've had a rough year, so I'm going for it. I've decided that this year, I have to teach my cockatiel how to whistle Jingle Bells and I want to learn how to play Eye of the Tiger on my accordion. I realize that may not be a Christmas song in some houses, but I feel like it kind of relates to the way my family looks at Christmas.

When I was younger, I heard about holiday depression and I was like, "What? Family gatherings are stressful? What?" and then I saw how other families looked at Christmas, and I realized that my family doesn't do things normally.

Big shocker, there.

Here's the secret to our enjoyment of the season: We look at Christmas as a month-long celebration of our ability to act like idiots.

Yes, I know, it's a religious holiday, and I'm totally down with that. I loves me some Christmas Eve candlelight service, with all the quiet and solemnity and what-not. It's beautiful. Seriously.

Christmas, though (in my mind, at least), is two distinct holidays, and I don't think the non-religious aspect impedes my enjoyment of the religious aspect at all. In my opinion, the super fun idiocy of the non-religious part is what makes the religious part so meaningful.

We got the gift of being able to act like complete and total morons with our family, and that may just be the best gift of all. I love that.

Plus, not everybody enjoys going home at Christmastime, and that makes me even more aware of the awesomeness that goes on in our neck of the woods. For reals.

Gingerbread everything for the next six weeks. Bring it. That and this…fierce.

I think my favorite thing in the whole wide world is when a person tries to make another person look bad, so that the first person will look better in comparison. That is awesome, and I'll tell you why: Because, sometimes, it actually works.

So, a person will do her best to make it look like another person, perhaps even that person's friend, is craptastic, and the first person can then step up and look fabulous.

The only problem with this strategy is that every once in a while, the person to whom one does this will notice. That can be bad. Really, really bad.

Especially if the person to whom one does this is me, and I'm smarter than you.

Watch your back, lady. I sure as heck will be, from now on, and we will do this.

Yes, we will.

(As you may have guessed, I am being sarcastic. I do not enjoy, nor do I endorse, this kind of behavior. In actuality, I think it's poopy, and anyone who would do this to another person, let alone a friend, is a wiener.)

Sad clown.

Perhaps I'm a Facebook snob. I keep un-friending people who offend me. Today, I am un-friending another person, and I feel bad to do it, because she's always seemed like such a nice lady.

In person.

However, once she gets on the Facebook, she is a fountain of mis-information and bigotry. Now, I have a lot of friends from a lot of different walks of life, and I can totally respect other people's points of view, but when she is constantly pushing a certain agenda, and I know that she is home-schooling her kids so she can push that agenda on them, it bothers me.

When she constantly posts "articles" that are full of lies and mis-information (some of them are just urban legends, and with some of them you can tell she only read the blurb, because the information contained within the link doesn't say at all what she assumed it did and contradicts what she said about it on her page), it gets to be a little bit much.

It also bugs me a ton that she talks all the time about how intelligent she is, and how she wants her kids to be intelligent, too, and then she proves her lack of understanding of the English language on a daily basis. Massively. Ugh. Their, they're, there. Learn the difference. Also apostrophes. Jeepers.

So I will be un-friending her. I really hope that doesn't make me a snob. Actually, at this point, I don't care. She posted a link to an article yesterday that was about how dangerous vaccination is for children, and while I believe people have the right to choose (I'm all about personal freedom), I don't think one should use lies and political propaganda to discourage other people from making a different choice. The article she used to back up her statement was so full of crap, I couldn't believe a sane person would buy into any of it. As a matter of fact, a quick Google search pulled up a ton of articles stating that this particular article was a hoax. She then proceeds to say that people who give their daughters this particular vaccine are, in doing so, encouraging them to have pre-marital sex and get abortions.

Seriously.

It's a shot. Don't give it to your kids if you don't want to, but don't vilify others for having a different opinion. Geez. Grow some common sense in that vast, empty cranium of yours.

Well, maybe I am a snob. Oh, well. At least I'm a snob who knows how to use apostrophes good.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha! It's funny, but it feels so wrong.

Had to take a day to absorb the super fun times at the doctor's office. First of all, she didn't say anything about losing weight, so that totally screwed up my plans. I was all ready for it. Oh, well. Next year, lady. It's on. The bad news came in a sort of deceptive way, which didn't really sink in until I got all the way back home and thought about what it meant.

She looked at my blood tests and said everything was fine, except that my sluggish thyroid gland had become even more sluggish, so she wanted to up my dose. Which was not unexpected, and totally explains the lack of weight-loss, so that was cool. Then, I mentioned the comment my acupuncturist made about how the left side of my head, neck and throat (where I had the mastoiditis) felt different from the right side.

The doctor did her exam and then agreed with my acupuncturist. After looking in my ear, she dropped the bomb on me: All the pain and the swelling in my throat and jaw and the continued weird hearing in my left ear are from scar tissue from the infection. The swelling in my throat area is my lymph nodes, which were so affected by the infection that they are permanently enlarged and scarred.

Let's sum up, shall we? The pain will never go away, and the swelling (which is making singing a lot more difficult) is scar tissue, which is permanent.

Permanent.

Don't love that.

I'm glad it didn't hit in the office, because I'm pretty sure that would've led to more crying in public, and feelings are dumb so I try to keep mine to myself (except on here...love the anonymity of the inter-webs). Yesterday I allowed myself to take a day off from the dieting and exercise, and today I'll get back into it, but I really don't want to. Forever is a very long time to have to struggle to do things that were so automatic before.

The pain sucks, too, but to be honest, the singing is the thing that matters. I've been trying so hard to sing over the extreme jaw tightness and laryngeal issues, and to hear that it's never going away is quite disheartening.

I realize it could've been worse. I realize I should be thankful that I don't have any infection and I didn't get meningitis or have any brain damage, and I don't have cancer or any other life-threatening illnesses. I am thankful for that.

I really am.

But I'm still sad. 

And I know that will get better. But still...yuck. I need something to cheer me up. 

Ah, yes. Snapetastic. See how easy that was?

So, to digress a little bit from the Ireland posting, this morning is that dreaded morning that I live in fear of all year: My annual physical.

I would actually not do one every year, but I take a daily medication that requires yearly blood testing, and my doctor won't refill my prescription every year without me visiting her office. So I go.

And every year, I hear, "Have you thought about trying to lose some weight?" Or some variation of that statement. 

Every year, I also make a vow to myself: I will look shocked and horrified when she asks me that, and I will say something clever, like, "Are you serious? I thought I was slim."

All while keeping a straight face and not giggling.

Anyone who knew me in elementary school will tell you that this is the area where all my plans fell flat. I could plan shenanigans like nobody's business, but I could never stop the giggling. Still can't. I've learned, as an adult, to team up with someone else, and I'll come up with the idea and let them have all the fun. It's kind of lame, but works a lot better than laughing like an idiot and giving the game away.

Today, however, it's going to just be me and her, so that's not really an option. I thought about drawing funny pictures all over my abdomen with a marker, just so she could look at them and think, "What the hell is wrong with this lady?" I decided against it, though, as my doctor has the power to have me institutionalized (I think) and I'd rather not risk it.

No, I have no good comeback for, "Have you thought about trying to lose some weight?" As if she hasn't seen me a billion times and as if I haven't talked to her EVERY YEAR about why it's so hard for me to lose weight even when I'm really good. As if that isn't pretty much the thought that has consumed every waking hour of every day since I was eight.

Yeah, no, lady. I've never thought about trying to lose weight. Why? You think I should?

Ugh. THIS is the Barbie I should've played with as a kid…would've given me much more realistic expectations of what I'd look like as a grown-up (although with way less makeup and fewer chins).

Go, fat Barbie, go! You can tell she's not worried about losing weight, as she's completely cellulite-free and she's wearing fabulous shoes. So, still not realistic, but I bet her doctor doesn't ask her that asinine question. If she did, Barbie would probably tell her to go fly a kite (or some other variation of that type of saying).

Maybe that's what I should do. Tell my 120-lb. doctor to go fly a kite. Yeah.

Not going to happen, but at least I can dream.

Happy Halloween! I thought I'd do my second part today, you know, since you've been looking froward with such fervor to the next portion of my trip story.

We got to the airport in Boston and boarded our plane without any major hiccups. Actually, the flight over was very nice, but we noticed that the stewardesses were all wearing incredible amounts of makeup. Like, crazy crazy clown makeup. I felt like I was in an episode of Jersey Shore, but with Irish accents. Very bizarre, especially to someone like me who goes for the, "Why, no, I don't have time to worry about what you'll think of my looks" look.

Anyway, we arrived in Ireland the next morning and got to the car rental counter. Here comes the truly traumatic part of our trip:  The lady behind the counter informed us that, yes, we did pay for our rental car, but we also had to pay for insurance, or else put the ENTIRE VALUE of the car (over 5,000 euros) on hold on our car (and who travels with a card with that much open space on it? Not me…). So, we had to get the insurance or no rental car. Apparently, your credit card doesn't insure it, like it does in the States.

How bad can it be? Let's just say it was well over $500. Ouch. Didn't see that one coming….

Anyway, I was super proud of my husband right at that moment. He didn't freak out (I sure did) and said, "We'll just have to alter our plans a little bit." Then he just moved on. I, on the other hand, was crying and had decided I wanted to go home. Not my proudest moment.

Goodness, I'm glad one of us isn't a complete idiot.

So we went ahead and paid for the car on our credit card (what could we do?) and went down to the garage for our first experience with backwards driving.

We decided it was definitely them that are backwards, since the car was invented in America. Okay, maybe it wasn't. I think it was actually invented in France or China or something like that…anyhow, we're right on this one.

My husband, being a lefty, had absolutely no learning curve with the driving. I mean, none. He was really good at it. The only difference was that he tended to hug the left-hand side of the road, which meant that, at times, I was approximately two feet away (and sometimes less) from the hedges on the sides of most of the Irish country roads we drove on.

Keep in mind, these people drive like maniacs. Probably because they're used to the roads, but I wore out the imaginary brake on my side of the car. Holy crap. The roads there have no shoulder and everyone drives really fast. When the road is way too narrow for two cars, one of you has to drive into the hedges on the side, and just pray that you die a quick and painless death.

Seriously. I almost peed my pants every five minutes. Scary. Here's a picture:

Imagine going down this road, doing around 60 mph, with cars coming at you at a much higher rate of speed. Yeah.

So, anyway, we drove from the Dublin airport out to the countryside in Cavan county and stayed at our friends' adorable little cottage and got to meet their neighbor, who was super nice and helpful. Four days of relaxing and touring around the countryside and looking at castles. Not a bad first half of our trip.

Except the car rental stuff, which sucked. Big time.

Alright, alright. I haven't written in ages, but I had a very good reason: I went to Ireland! (Yeah, we don't talk about our trips until we get back because we're paranoid about break-ins. Deal with it.) 

Anyway, I thought I'd share some of our adventures with the world, as we had a fantastic time (as usual, because we're so awesome), and many, many bizarre things happened. I'll start with travel day one.

We flew to Boston, the airport from which our flight to Ireland would leave, but we had to fly in the night before because there was no way for me to get a flight to Boston and then have a few hours before the Ireland flight unless I did it the day before, and the flight from Boston to Ireland was far cheaper than from any other hub.

I am aware that Boston is a very expensive city; however, I was not aware that I wouldn't be able to find any good deals on hotels. I mean, I looked every day for two months before deciding on the hotel at which we stayed. For serious. This was not a last-minute decision. And it was still over $200. Yeah. Ouch.

Anyhow, we landed in Boston, collected our luggage, and waited outside for the shuttle. And waited. And waited. It took them around 45 minutes, which was not a good sign, considering that when I spoke to them on the phone I had been informed that their airport shuttle picked up every 15 minutes or so.

So we finally got to the hotel (around midnight), and checked into our room. Since we didn't really need to be at the airport until 2 p.m. the next day, I asked for a late check out. The lady at the desk informed me that it would cost $20.00. I thought, "No way, buddy…I've stayed at this chain before and they always do a free late checkout." So I said no. She then told me she could do it for $10.00. Classy. So I said no again, and we proceeded down the hall to our room. First off, it's one of those accessible rooms, which is fine, except that the bed is only about an inch off of the floor and the entire bathroom is one big shower, so I knew that, at some point, I was going to slip and fall because I'm just special that way. We decided to drop off our luggage and run across the street to the only open restaurant in the area and get something for dinner, which we hadn't had yet.

I decided to use the toilet before going, because I usually like to save wetting my pants in public for special occasions, like weddings and job interviews. I go, push down the flusher and…nothing.

The toilet doesn't flush. It's not clogged, it's broken.

So, on our way out the door, we informed the lady on duty that we had no working toilet and we'd like her to call someone to come fix it. She told us it would be about 20 minutes before she could get anyone, as it's the shuttle driver who fixes toilets and he's out on a call. We asked if it would be possible to just change rooms, and the front desk lady told us that the hotel was completely booked and there was no other room we could have. So we told her to call the guy, and we'd go get some food and let her know when we're back so the guy can come try to fix our toilet.

We go to the restaurant next door and pay way too much for a pizza, and sit and wait. Looking out the window, I saw the shuttle driver pull in and I told my husband that I'd run over and let the plumber into the room, since he was the one with the card to pay for the pizza, and then he could just come over.

Turns out, the guy who came to fix the toilet is an old (like in his 70s, at least) security guard with a horrible limp (which is a great thing for a security guard to have), and a plunger. I tried to explain that the toilet wasn't clogged, but she sent him with me down the hall anyway, and he plunged the heck out of the toilet and then said, "She's fixed!" and left.

I ran back across the street and met my husband and we walked back to the room with our pizza. After having the pizza, I had to pee again (I do that a lot). Toilet still didn't flush. ACK. So we decided to just use the lobby toilet, since a place to sleep is kind of important and we'd already paid for the room. My husband, however, is super smart and took the tank lid off and figured out a way for us to bypass the plusher and get the toilet to flush from inside the tank, so we did actually end up having a toilet to use, after all.

And all this after midnight.

We finished our pizza and sacked out. We wanted to complain but figured since we'd booked the same hotel on the way back and there's no way we could've gotten our money back and booked another one without a big hassle, we'd just stick with it and ask for a different room the next time.

Here's a picture of the offending toilet:

Next time, I'll share the tale of our flight to Ireland and our rent-a-car experience. Trust me, you won't want to miss it!

Alright, I realize that all of my posts lately have been about the government shutdown, but it's kind of a big deal in my house. I'll keep it brief.

Last week, someone that I know made the comment, "Maybe some people deserve to lose a paycheck or two." I just need to address that.

Who gets to decide who loses a paycheck? Who gets to decide who deserves that? You do? What are your qualifications, besides being a big-mouthed know-it-all who has no perspective and who hasn't done without anything one single day of her life?

I say, maybe we all live and let live, and screw you for deciding that my family deserves this any more than anyone else's. Maybe I think you deserve to lose a paycheck or two.

Like that?

Ah. There. Had to get it out.

Now it's safe for me to be among the general public again, because seriously...it was getting a little testy up in here.

Okay. Now that it's actually happened and I've calmed myself a bit, I've thought of ten ways our government officials can move past this, set aside their disagreements, and get some stuff done. Ready? Here goes:

10. They could all go home and make dinner for their moms. That would be thoughtful and nice, plus, their moms would probably appreciate it even more than usual because they've heard so much crap all week about how much everybody hates their kids. I realize some of these people are too old to have moms they can make dinner for, so those guys should probably go make dinner for someone else's mom. Same principle.

9. They should go to their rooms and sit in front of a mirror and do an self-affirmation statement, Stuart Smalley style. Maybe if they get to the "...smart enough..." part, they will feel empowered.

8. They should all get in a line and give each other back rubs à la high school choir. I think it's supposed to create a sense of community (even though all it made me think about was germs and how much I hate touching people I don't like).

7. They should get a big old TV and DVD player or Netflix or whatever and then watch "It's A Wonderful Life." They'll all have a good cry and be able to get down to work without those pesky pent-up emotions.

6. They should go to the mall and just have a big shopping day. It's therapeutic, and I think some of them haven't actually bought new clothes since the 80s and...it's time. It really, really is.

5. They must have a gym for them, right? They should all go work out. All those endorphins and whatnot....could be helpful.

4. They should rent a bus, and take a field trip to the local Animal Humane Association and spend a day petting puppies and kitties. Come on. So much cute.

3. Someone should string up a volleyball net and they should have a tournament. I have never actually done this myself, but I see it in tampon commercials all the time, and it usually does the trick.

2. Julie Andrews should pop in with her guitar. I mean, it saved the von Trapp family, so why not? 

1. The best way of all....the way that will save the day....my mom should go over there and make them all hug each other, say, "I love you," and hold hands until they've made up.

That one has a 100% success rating. Just ask my sister.

Today is going to be pretty awesome. I get to see my BFF, and I never, ever get to see him AND we get to have lunch instead of just a short coffee visit AND I get a voice lesson AND I don't have to go into the office.

So that's pretty sweet.

On the downside, the people we've elected to run our country have apparently decided that, instead of doing their jobs, they're going to be pissy with one another and waste MORE money and just screw around. I want to teach them a special lesson about a little thing I like to call "COMPROMISE."

Mostly, it entails giving up some of what you want, while others give up some of what they want so that everyone can have a little bit of what he or she wants. It's what we call a "win-win" situation. 

Buuuuuuuuuut no. They have to hold on tightly to their politics and refuse to give an inch, in order to avoid looking like their ding-a-lings are tiny.

Which they may or may not be. I don't know. Quite honestly, I don't care. I would just like to not have to worry about not being able to pay my bills and having my credit ruined and losing everything I have so that they can have principles.

I would love to be able to afford principles. Unfortunately, I have decided that I would rather, you know, live in a house, as opposed to a dumpster or an alleyway, and for those of us who fall below that crazy huge income level that politicians in D.C. have, we kind of have to learn to compromise in order to get by.

I really don't care, at this point, what they pass. I'm pretty sure they waved bye-bye to giving a crap about what their constituents want a long time ago. At this point, they could pass a law where we all have to find a healthcare buddy among our friends to do routine things like pap smears and prostate exams, and I would deal.

Maybe their paychecks should be on the line. Maybe their houses should be on the line. Maybe their jobs should be on the line.

Maybe we need to vote every single one of them out next term and get some new people in there, regardless of party. 

Maybe I should shut up and post an educational video.

Sounds good. Happy Tuesday.

Have you ever had chile rellenos? Not the kind of casserole that some people call chile rellenos, but real ones? Ones that look like this?

Yeah, I had THAT for dinner last night. Except that mine were all covered in MORE cheese (they're stuffed with it, too) and red chile. 

Yeah, I'm still excited about it? What of it? The most exciting part was that this morning was weigh-in morning, and instead of gaining another half-pound, I actually LOST a pound. All caps. That's right.

So, altogether, since I started the crazy "exercise-like-a-psycho-and-cut-calories" way of life two months ago, I've only lost five pounds, but I've also lost two inches off my waist, so I'm pretty happy about that.

What did I do differently this week? Well, my friends, I ATE MORE.

I ATE MORE.

Wow, that is a beautiful sentence. It wasn't my idea...someone else told me I might not be eating enough, and I read about it, but after last week's disappointment, I took the whole weekend off the diet (not the exercise part, just the food counting part) and then added 100 calories a day during the week.

How did that even work?

And then, the night before weigh-in, I went out and had that glorious deep-fried goodness you see up there. Geez Louise.

This morning is my favorite.

My husband shared something with me yesterday that makes me worry about the next generation just a little bit more than I already did:  The Katy Perry video where she has, ahem, "The Eye of the Tiger."

Rawr.

Anyhow, will someone please explain the appeal of this crap? It's horrible. I know all about horrible, because half the stuff I listen to is horrible, as well. This kind of horrible is worse. though, because no one seems to recognize that it's horrible. I actually saw a comment where the person wrote, "Katy Perry is GENIUS!!!" All caps and three, count them, three exclamation points.

No, Survivor were genius when they came out with their song. Katy Perry is an effective entertainer. Not genius. Yes, again with the entertainment value being put way above artistic value. I realize that it's pop and it's for fun, but the melody was so annoying it almost made my head blow up. I've heard some of her other songs and they don't bother me nearly as much, although I'm convinced that if she wasn't cute, there's no way she could've gotten famous. Her voice is so...hmm...bleh. Not good, not bad, highly computer-altered and straight. No character, no nothing.

Like Britney Spears' voice, except less baby-like and therefore less irritating overall. Also, the video had less boob than I was expecting, so that's good.

But still, she's no Survivor. THIS is Survivor. Enjoy it, and may your day be as fierce as their hair and their tight-crotched jeans. Rawr for reals.

Since when does having a good attitude about anything not make it better?

Well, really, since now.

I've been having a good attitude about this whole, "I'm fat, but I'm working on it." thing, but it's not working out too well. It's hard to go walk that walk of doom every day when I know that during the weeks I exercise I don't lose any more than the weeks I don't. Also, it's hard not to eat cake when I know that during the weeks I'm really careful and don't eat crap, I won't lose any more weight than during the weeks I go out and drink beer on Friday.

Wait...it's Friday...does that mean beer?

Sadly, probably, no. But at least it's Friday. I was all psyched for weigh-in this week because I killed it. I mean, KILLED it. I exercised every stinking day, even on performance days, and I was very careful with my food, coming in under my calorie target every day but one, and only exceeding that day by 200 calories, which I then offset with extra exercise.

Gained half a pound.

What. The. Hell. I keep thinking I should just give up and go eat an entire bag of Doritos, but I know I won't because if I'm just staying in this same little area even though I'm working so hard, I will end up gaining twenty pounds if I even look at the Doritos.

And maybe smell them a little.

And maybe lick the salty cheesy goodness off of one of them.

And then maybe drink a regular Mountain Dew (I know they're horrible, but for me they're the pinnacle of soda-like refreshment...I haven't had one in ages).

Mmmmmm. Bacon.

I think my thoughts about food are actually making me fatter. Oh, well. It's Friday....except I'm painting all weekend and working extra shifts all next week, so, yeah. 

Ugh.

Maybe the answer, for this weekend, at least, is a cheat day. Maybe that's more effective and then I'll have less calories all week. Or I'll try a new diet plan. I've done Atkins, and it worked, even though it was the only time in my life where the thought of food made me nauseous.

Or maybe I'll just decide that I don't care.

Totally going with that one. For right now. It's going to last approximately five minutes, but for those five minutes I'll feel so free and alive. Then I'll get back into frustrated mode.

Did I mention I think I may have issues? 

The thought of Doritos and a Mountain Dew, however, may just get me through today. 

I am not the most fashionable person in the world, but I do have some handy hints to help out those of you who may be even more sartorially-challenged than I happen to be. After the last week or so, I am convinced that the world needs even more of help than I've been giving it, so I've decided to just go ahead and shoot my mouth off. Or my keyboard. Whatever.

1. First of all, I've said it before and I will probably keep saying it until I die: Leggings are not for everyone. If people keep asking you where your pants are, you might want to invest in  a different type of leg-wear. The idea is to try not to look like you're smuggling a gallon of cottage cheese in your slacks.

Hahaha. Slacks.

2. If what you've spilled on your outfit looks and/or smells like barf, you're probably better off changing rather than going into the bathroom and trying to rinse it off and failing to do more than just smear it around and make it look like wetter barf. If changing isn't an option...well...make it an option. Or take that bad boy off in the bathroom and scrub. Because barf (or whatever that is) tends to make other people barf, and before you know it, we all have barf on our shirts, know what I'm saying?

3. Dressing in extra foofy stuff doesn't make you look more trendy and/or feminine. It just makes you look like an old lady. If extra frilly stuff was trendy, then it might work, but I haven't seen this kind of outfit in a while. Don't do it.

(I have to admit that my first reaction to this outfit is always going to be, "Wow! She's bitchin!" because when I was 10 this was who I wanted to be. I blame my mom for keeping me from true high-haired glory and never buying me a fringed jean jacket. Gee, thanks, mom.)

4. Visible underwear was never really acceptable. Don't do it.

5. Finally, if you're old enough to have signed up for AARP during the Reagan administration, you're too old to wear a miniskirt with no pantyhose or tights. I don't care if you work out, and I don't care how thin your legs are.  They look like a close-up road map of Manhattan, and no one needs to see that. And, really, no one needs to have to worry about a slight breeze popping up and treating us all to a showcase of your goods. Just, no.

No.

Thank you for listening. I hope you took notes. 

So it's been raining for ages now, an amount of rain I've never seen, and while we're not having the flooding of epic proportions seen in Colorado, my front yard does have two little ponds in it. We also have a few little tiny leaks, which freaks me out, but my husband doesn't seem too worried about it, so it's probably okay.

How does he know which stuff is okay and which stuff is really bad? For instance, last night we noticed water dripping into the chimney and down into the fireplace (a teeny little bit). How does he know that that's okay and we shouldn't call somebody? (Although, really, it wouldn't do any good...no one could go out on a roof in this.) This morning, there's a few little tiny drips coming from where the furnace and water heater vent into the roof. How is that okay?

So, yes, I've arrived at Crazy Town, and my husband's like, "No biggie. Just check the towels every hour or two." How did that happen? We usually worry together....it's like special bonding time for Type-A personalities. I'm kind of on my own on this one.

Alright. I'm sure it will be okay. It is Yom Kippur this evening, after all, and we all know that nothing bad ever happens on holidays. Right? RIGHT? 

Right.

Plus, there's cake in the fridge, so that can save the day if I need it to. I'll save it as a last resort. I could also make cookies, except I'm supposed to just relax all day before I sing at the temple. Yep. But, cookies. Just thinking about cookies has improved my mood dramatically....okay, all good now.

P.S. In the last 15 minutes, one of the ponds in the yard has grown substantially. If it doesn't stop raining soon, I may have a massive spaz attack.