Closed for Business

I turned off the lights at 8:57.

When I get 17-year-olds claiming to be "candy collectors," I'm done.

I probably shouldn't have made fun of them. I'm totally gonna get egged tonight.

At least the cars are in the garage.

As I mentioned to Carla, I hate this "holiday." Dressing up is fun, sure, and handing out candy is usually even more fun, but ...I dunno. I miss the days when costumes took thought and planning. Last year Richard and I went as Olive Oyle and Popeye. If you know either of us, you know this was a VERY good costume, considering our perspective body-types.

A mask to make it look like you have a knife through your rubbery vampire head just doesn't trip my trigger. Especially when you're wearing your Roseville Hockey sweatshirt.

I will try to find a photo of our costumes from last year. They really were very good.
I also think it's worth mentioning that the best costumes tonight were Harry Potter and his Vampire friend. I wasn't convinced until they told me they were "Harry and Scary." They were only about ten. I thought they were pretty cute.

* * *

Boy...upon re-reading this, I sound pretty crotchety.

Next year I'll probably be the mean old lady who hands out peanut butter taffy and root beer barrels.

I guess that's still better than raisins.

In the Spirit of Things

I finally found my Halloween dish towels last night. I figure better late than never.

Richard and I also made caramel puff corn last night to get in the fall spirit. Actually, I made it and Richard morally supported me from the couch. Then I had to hide it from him to save myself some for tonight. Remember the Little Red Hen? Anyway...

This morning I decided to try to dress a little bit festive. I'm wearing my peachy-orange corduroy blouse (that I only wear once a year), black pants, and halloween socks. I think I look pretty cute. I thought for SURE that others would dress similarly--you know those appliqued sweaters with pumpkins or SOMETHING like that.

But no.

I'm officially Ugly Betty.

At least I didn't wear cat ears or something like that. Or paint my face. Oh, Lord, how humiliating would THAT have been?

Well, Happy Halloween, everybody. I'm expecting major trick or treating action tonight. I always like to see everybody's costumes.

Can you believe it's almost November? Seems like I was just complaining about changing my calendar to October... : )

Also, if you don't watch Ugly Betty, how can you not watch Ugly Betty?! It's totally one of my favorites.

Baby Shower

It's a girl!
Please join us to celebrate the birth of
Sophia Colette Nourse
Baby Shower Open House
Sunday, November 4, 2007
from 3-5pm
at Faith Community Church

Please let me know if you will be able to attend!

We hope to see you there!

Pinched

One of my co-workers noticed that I am walking stiffly.
I told her about the pain and seizing I've been having in my neck.
"I went to the chiropractor twice yesterday and I have another appointment today and tomorrow," I told her.
She said, "I used to get my neck adjusted all the time until I read an article in a magazine that said that if your adjustment isn't done carefully you can get a pinched nerve...which can kill you."
She looked at me, waiting to see how I would respond.
I waited a beat.
"I guess I'm willing to take that risk."
"Ok..." she said warningly. "I hope you feel better."

Do you ever have days, conversations, arguments. coworkers or friends with whom you just can't win?

ENFP, ISFJ, OREO

Mandi and I may not have a lot in common when it comes to personality, but we both think it's important to tell the world that it's midnight and we both want Oreos.

Still Got It

For one of Mandi's classes, she has to take the Myers-Briggs personality test.
So...we took it together tonight. Click here for a free link.
I thought that maybe I had changed in the couple of years I've been married but it appears that I'm even more of an ENFP than I thought.
Here are some pertinent quotes I found about my personality:
"ENFPs like to tell funny stories, especially about their friends. This penchant may be why many are attracted to journalism. I kid one of my ENFP friends that if I want the sixth fleet to know something, I'll just tell him."
This is the one that made Richard laugh out loud:
"Close enough is satisfactory to the ENFP..."
Oh, so true.
What is it about these personality tests that is so satisfying?
Is it my own vanity? I want to be affirmed by Mr. Myers and Mr. Briggs so badly that I'm willing to sit at a computer and take the test again despite the fact that I can feel my neck seizing up...just to confirm that what I thought was true: I'm an Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiver.
"[For the ENFP], nothing occurs which does not have some deep ethical significance, and this, coupled with their uncanny sense of the motivations of others, gives them a talent for seeing life as an exciting drama, pregnant with possibilities for both good and evil."
That's a lot to think about...
I think this post is almost done.
Close enough.

For the record, Mandi is ISFJ and Richard is ISTJ. : )
According to the Jung Marriage Test, Richard and I are an "unsatisfactory" match. Hmmm...
Mandi and I however would make a good couple. Go figure.
OH! You'll be glad to know that my P-ness is still very strong.

Aaahhhh...Ehhhh...Owww...

The chiropractor helped tremendously.
He spent quite a while with me and about half way through the appointment I felt my body relax and go, "Ahhhh."
I actually feel a little hungover from the pain. Sort of drowsy and dazed now that I'm not in as much pain anymore. He sent me home with a couple trial packets of bio freeze (which will stay at my desk since I'm getting the real deal from Cara tonight). I felt a lot better on my way back to work, but I can feel myself tensing up again. I'm at about a 3 or 4 for pain right now, though, which is a heckuvalot better than a 9!
Thanks for your prayers. I think they really helped. If it comes across your mind, please pray that we will be able to get this under control soon.
Word to the wise--biofreeze under your wedding band is slightly uncomfortable.

Perfect 10

At the risk of sounding like a whiner, my pain level is at a 9 this morning.
I'd say I reached a perfect 10 on Saturday night somewhere around 3am.
I made it through yesterday with ice packs and Tylenol. I have a chiropractor appointment at 11 today.
I think I really hit rock bottom standing in the shower last night crying.
A simple formula:
Intense neck pain + hormones + exhaustion = discouragement and uncontrollable weeping.
(I just fought the urge to write "= priceless," but the truth is that I'm not really in the mood for jokes.)
Please keep me in your prayers today. I'm trying not to be too discouraged about my neck (it's as if I've thrown out my back, but only my neck...make sense?), but. But, what if it's like this when the baby is born? What if I can't pick up my baby? What if I feel this way for the rest of my pregnancy? What if it NEVER goes away?
Anyhow, like I said, at the risk of sounding like a whiner, please keep me in your prayers today.

It is Finished!

Dad,
Congratulations on a job well done.
I am proud of you for the way you have always sought God in your professional life, and even more proud of you for your exciting future.
I pray that God will bring you many more great things.
I love you very much.
There is more to say, but words escape me. My heart swells with pride when I tell people about you.
Congratulations on your retirement.
Love,
Richard and Erin

p.s. GET OVER HERE, so we can celebrate!

Ish

To each her own, but again I say, ish.

If you are a guy, I really wouldn't click on the link. I know that now you will, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Last Meal

While I was waiting at the Chiropractor today (I got a new chiropractor!!! Yay!!!), I read an article in Time Magazine that asked all kinds of famous chefs what they would choose as their last meal.
Mine:
First course: Chop salad with plenty of blue cheese straight from France.
Secound course: Al dente pasta with a spicy cheese sauce of some sort (with blue or gorgonzola cheese as the base). It's gotta be good, though. No Olive Garden BS for my last meal. Nosiree.
Third course: More cheeses and of course, SAUSAGE. Spicy, smoked, maybe even breakfast. Once again--good stuff. No Jimmy Dean for my last meal. Send me Andoullie straight from Louisiana, thankyouverymuch.
Fourth course: McDonald's sausage McMuffin with egg and french fries.
Dessert: Potato chips. Plain.
If a midnight snack is an option for my last meal, it will obviously be Oreos and very, VERY cold Vitamin D milk.


Please note, I have thought long and hard about this list. It is in NO WAY determined by my pregnant cravings. Really. Well, maybe the Oreos. This meal also assumes that I have a bottomless stomach. This is imaginary. Roll with it.
Ha! Pun intended.

What would your last meal be?

Great American Novel

Here's something that will appear in my G.A.N. some day. I'm sure it will end up a lot more polished than this and may not even make its way into the movie, but it was a pretty touching moment for me.
This version has been shortened for blogging purposes.
**Please note, my senior creative writing professor made me swear that I would never write about my grandmothers again.
Oops.
Sorry, Allyson. I love 'em. ; )

- - -

Shortly after Richard and I got married, my great-uncle Charles died.
My dad, another Charles, and I escorted my blind grandmother, Shirley, to Minot, North Dakota by train to attend the funeral.
The ride there was uneventful and we slept the entire way. (Nothing compared to the ride home. Another blog, another time.)
Once we reached Minot, we went to the cousin's house to change clothes and get ready for the funeral which was only an hour or so later.
When we arrived at the church, I held Grandma Shirley's hand and escorted her through the premises. We located all the important rooms: ladies' room, sanctuary, family waiting / mourning room, library, etc.
Then she asked me to take her to see her brother.
Uncle Charles was laid out in his casket looking better than I had seen him in years. I described to her that his hair was very gray, that he was wearing a blue sportcoat with a maroon tie and his hands--those McClain hands--were folded on top of his abdomen.
"Where?" She said. "Where are his hands?"
"On his stomach."
"No, show me."
I took her hands and put them on her brothers.
It was that moment that she began to cry. Gasping, deep, silent sobs.
And then she stopped.
"That was the only time I've cried over him. My brother."

Birthday Cake

Happy Birthday to two of my favorite bloggers!

New mommy, Naomi, and blogging queen, Carla!

p.s. Carla for blogging queen!

p.p.s Kristi for blogging president!

Everybody Else

Have you had the thought, "I'm not like everybody else," outside of blogdom?
Could it be why we blog?
I would be willing to bet that the incidence of feeling unlike everybody else and blogging is relatively high.
I could be making myself intensely vulnerable for no reason, here...
If so, please disregard.

p.s. I'm an ENFP.

Dingbat

I begin this post by singing, "Don't park, don't park, don't park so close to me," a la Sting.
I once went shopping with my Grandma Jean (Nebraska Grandma) and she opened her car door into another car. She said, "I'm old. I can do this sort of thing."
Yeah, well.
I'm pregnant. I can do that sort of thing.
Last week I dinged the door of a pretty navy blue BMW, a black Audi and several other imports in our parking lot. I don't mean to. It just happens. Almost every day.
Seriously. Don't park next to me.

I haven't dinged anything yet today...not a bad way to start the week.

A Halloween-esque Haiku in honor of door dings:

The phantom dinger--
She comes by it nat'rally.
Park far, far away.

Pressure

Remember the cashmere Ralph Lauren sweaters?
Richard wore one of them to church today.
We had a little cashmere lesson on the way to church.
"Be really careful with that sweater. It's cashmere," I said.
"What does that mean?"
"It means it's nicer than anything we have or can afford," I conveniently forgot my purse collection. "And whatever you do--please--don't put it in the washing machine!"
"Are you serious? That's stupid."
"Yeah, but it's a gorgeous sweater."
"Well how do we wash it?"
"We DON'T! We dry clean it."
"Oh my gosh. This is a lot of pressure."


Hey, by the way, nobody ever claimed those sweaters. It's been almost a year. I'd say the statute of limitations on claiming them is up.

Don't try this at home.

Oh, wait. That IS my home.
Richard just sent me these photos from our garage.

That's definitely my little Volkswagon strewn all over the place.

Rich is replacing the timing belt. There was only a LITTLE concern about the fact that all the parts came labeled in German...

Three posts in one day. I should get to work so -V- doesn't get too upset with me.

Saff'ed my @$$

I'm hesitant to call my lips "cured," but the Safflower Oil really seems to be helping.
If anybody's keeping score:
Erin: 1, Universe: 4.
I'll tell you about those four some other time.

Also, to those about to rock, WE SALUTE YOU!

Oh, and, P-ness.

Bathroom Panic

Ok, I might be posting too many bathroom stories, but this one really cannot go untold.

This morning, I was standing in front of the humongous wall mirror in the bathroom here on the second floor. At that time of the morning there is usually a high amount of traffic, but today for some reason things were pretty slow.

I took my time applying my mascara and fixing my hair. (I know, I should be putting on makeup at home, but I say to you--at least I'm wearing makeup.)

When I entered the bathroom, I noticed two feet firmly planted in the deathly silent handicapped stall. I went about my business and didn't pay much attention until ten minutes later when they still had not moved.

This is when I started to panic.

"Oh, Lord," I thought. "She's dead. What the eff am I going to do if she's dead?"

I considered tapping on the door and asking if she was ok, but...come ON! How weird is that? Maybe she just wanted a little alone time and here I am, some freak, tapping on the door and interrupting her morning meditation. (I would be upset if I went in there for a little nap and got interrupted...not that I would EVER do that.) OR I might just tap on the door in time to save her life.

Immediately visions of me running, screaming from the bathroom; talking to the police behind yellow caution tape all red-faced and upset; and then heading home early for the day due to the shock flashed through my head.

Did she kill herself? Did she have a heart attack? Is she narcoleptic? Is she a man who walked in to the wrong bathroom and waiting for a chance to leave?

I was bracing myself for the worst when one of my friends came in. I hustled her outside and told her what was going on. She became very concerned and marched right into the bathroom to check out the firmly planted feet.

She looked at me and shrugged. Oh-so-helpful and reassuring.

By the time my friend had flushed the toilet, the handicapped toilet flushed.

I slammed my makeup back in my purse and ran for the door.

Blogworthy

If anyone in the bathroom with me this afternoon has a blog, I'm pretty sure I probably made it on to their posts for today.
Let me explain.

Last week, I had the joy of getting together with an old friend from my past. She heard about my lip troubles and reached out to me. She had two kinds of cream for me to try and a third as a recommendation. Unfortunately, none of them turned out to be safe for pregnancy, so yet again, I'm out of ideas. At least I WAS. (At any rate, it was AWESOME to see you, Kris!)

I read an article recently about Safflower Oil.

The article said that Safflower Oil is in many high-end and highly effective mosturizers--the kind you find at Saks Fifth Avenue, Barney's, and Macy's. It suggested using straight up Safflower Oil as a moisturizer and can be found in most grocery stores.

Can you see where I'm going here?

In a last-ditch effort to save my lips, I made the trek to Cub today over lunch (with another admin friend who is very interested in the outcome of my chapping) in search of Safflower Oil.

I found it alright. A whole gallon.

Did I let the sheer volume of oil stop me?

Oh no.

From Cub we walked to the Dollar Store (with my gallon of oil under my arm) to look for a small bottle or container so I could keep some of the miracle oil at my desk or in my purse, etc (I'm not too thrilled about putting a bottle of oil in my purse, so we may need to be a little more creative...). {Vonda, did I punctuate this sentence properly? The "etc." threw me off.} We seached literally for 15 minutes before I found a package of small bottles with tight enough seals to risk it.

Then we went back to work.

This is where my blogworthiness comes in.

Imagine what I must have looked like to the other women in the bathroom, pouring my gallon jug of Safflower Oil into smaller containers. Sure, I could have waited til I got home, but I'm starting to get desperate. Actually...I think I crossed over into Desperateville about three weeks ago when I smeared a piece of bacon all over my lips.

Anyway, if I had seen me, I would have blogged about me.

I'm just saying.

I'm trying the miracle oil momentarily.

I'll keep you all posted.

~~~~~~~~~~~

*Update*

This is the article I originally read about it!

The oil tastes...oily, but honestly seems to be helping. I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

Bad Grammar

Bad grammar makes me [sic].

Dear Kristi,

I'm sorry I called you an insensitive ass.
Among other things.
To co-workers.
And strangers.
Really sorry.
Love,
Sort of an Ass

Dear Kristi,

I forgive you.
You are my Numero Uno.
Please don't tell my child when it's born.
Love,
Your Numero Uno

p.s. I'd vote for you over Hilary any day.

Personality Test

Screw Myers Briggs.
Try the Oreo Personality Test.
1. Are you a regular or double stuf? Or 'other flavor'?
2. Milk?
3. If yes, are you a dunker?
4. Can you eat just one? Or one row at a time?
5. When you wake up in the middle of the night craving Milk's Favorite Cookie, do you:
a. Wait til you can run to the store, no big deal.
b. Wake up your spouse weeping and send him/her to the store immediately.
c. Eat something else.
6. How many Oreos are in a row?
7. If your friend has Oreos in his/her teeth, do you:
a. Run out and buy a pack of Oreos immediately.
b. Laugh to yourself--you've been there.
c. Do nothing.
d. Tell them.

I think your answers will be very telling.


Also, I'm an ENFP, if you're wondering.

HAHA--NO! I'm an OREO.
Oh, I kill myself.

Dear Kristi,

You are on my list.
The bottom of my list.
You know what you did.
Sincerely yours,
Your Numero DOS.

p.s. WE. ARE. IN. A FIGHT.
p.p.s. Or, as Micah Gray would say, "LMNOP! I am so mad at you!! LMNOP! You have made me angry! LMNOP! I am a PHILISTINE! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

M&M's

This weekend with the fam, we were discussing food.
Noonie and Aunt Lori don't like it when their food touches on their plate.
Naturally, this led to a discussion about M&M's. Apparently Lori and Mandi also separate their M&M's and eat them by color.
I remember taking road trips to Nebraska and my mom would put an M&M in her mouth and tell us what color it was. To this day, I still don't know HOW SHE KNEW!!!
Anyhow, after our M&M's discussion at the table, I thought to myself, "I'm glad I don't have any weird quirks like that."
So, today I'm eating Dark Chocolate Peanut M&M's, and sure enough, what am I doing?
I dumped them all out and am eating whichever color has the MOST in the pile. I work down the line from there.
I guess we're all a little weird.

They'll bring you down.

I was talking with my sister this morning about a frustrating situation when she said,
"They'll bring you down faster than you can bring them up."
I'll leave the rest of the context up to you.
Then, my daily calendar told me.
"To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor and immortality, he will give eternal life." Romans 2:7

Am I seeking glory and honor--or even goodness--in this frustrating situation?
Now I am.

Gr.

Dear Levis,

I would like to extend a literary handshake to the brilliant mind that came up with STRETCH JEANS.
Which bozo on your board of directors said, "I have a great idea! Let's make all of our jeans 98% cotton and 2% lycra from now on! We'll replace ALL of our jeans with stretchy jeans and make it impossible to find a regular pair of jeans anywhere!!!"? I'd like to meet him.
How do I know it's a "him?" It can't have been a woman. No self-respecting woman looks forward to having a "saggy butt" after two hours of wearing her jeans that fit fine this morning.
If I wanted my jeans to sag and fall down as I walk from the parking lot to work on my FIVE "Nice Jeans Days" out of the year, I would buy them that way.
Yes, I paid $25 to a charity for the priveledge of wearing jeans every Friday between now and Thanksgiving. Yes, this is something I greatly look forward to. Sad? Perhaps.
Not the point.
I want my $25 back. From you.
The joy of "Nice Jeans Days" is smeared all over the pavement like a dead raccoon because I have to pull my pants up all day. All day. A belt does not help. The pants stretch and sag AROUND the belt.
I want my $25 back, because that's at least what it cost me in pride for knowing that my boss saw my ass crack this morning when I reached under my desk to turn on my heater. Not because my jeans were inappropriately low. Oh, no. Because they fit at 7:30 this morning, and by 9, they were three sizes too big.
Thank you very much, Levis.
Please send the check to my home.
Sincerely pissed off and stretched out,
Erin

Prayer Request

My brother is meeting with a Navy recruiter today at 4:30 (right now!), and taking the ASVAB on Saturday.
This is the most exciting news since I heard about Eva Prathiba.
Please, if you are so moved, join me in praying that God's message would be revealed to McClain at his meeting today.
I love him so much--I just can't WAIT to see what God's plan for him is.

New Rule

I got an email from Richard today while I was gone at lunch.
It was one line:

"New Rule - no more eating with dishes..."

In a following email he suggested that someone should invent dish liners.
I will add this to my supersecret list of inventions that will make me very wealthy some day.
Yes, there really is a list. The only person who knows what's on it (besides cyberspace knowing about dish liners) is Lauren. This really could be the one secret she will never tell.

This post will self-destruct in five seconds.

Of Course

Of COURSE I'm wearing khaki pants today.

Of COURSE I spilled guacamole ALL over them.

I'm just saying.

A Blair Witch Christmas

One year for Christmas the fam went to Dauphin Island, Florida to "go somewhere" and celebrate Christmas.
If memory serves, it was our first Christmas "away from home" in Alabama and we were all probably feeling a little lonely. I'm thinking it would have been around 1998. Possibly Christmas of 1999, but I really can't remember. Either way, I was about seventeen.
We stayed at a cabin on the Air Force base down there, where Lauren, McClain and I stayed in one room together with a set of three bunk beds.
Mom and dad were INCREDIBLY sick that Christmas and spent most of the long weekend laying in their own twin beds (in the Master Suite, obviously), and the three of us played Tony Hawk (the first and best one!) for about 72 hours straight on McClain's Playstation.
It was at this time that The Blair Witch Project came out on video and I had recently watched it with a group of friends. Frankly, it scared the sh*t out of me. (Yes, I knew it wasn't real. I'm a HUGE wimp. The last horror movie I watched was the Ring.) I just don't do well with fear--a reaction to some of my spiritual gifts, I think, but that's a different conversation, and not really blog fodder.
Anyhow, I think at this point, it's time to describe the cabin. Please don't imagine a cozy little Northern Minnesota-esque cabin. Imagine a barracks, complete with pleather waiting-room style couches and a 17-inch television. I think there was a kitchen, but I don't remember it at ALL. The kitchen was NOT the highlight of the weekend, as it usually is for most holidays (for me, anyhow!).
Our first night there, all I could think about was the Blair Witch coming to get me. I thought for sure she would steal me away and make me stand facing the corner while she did whatever it was that she did.
I got myself so worked up that I woke my siblings and forced them to move two sets of beds to the middle of the room. Then I made them both sleep with me in our makeshift king-sized bed, with me in the middle, of course.
They were surprisingly compliant with my requests and slept with me all weekend.
Looking back now, of course, it's all pretty foolish, but a very fond memory.
I can't remember anything I got for Christmas that year or which restaurants we ate at. Go figure. : )

Just like mom used to make!

Four things nobody makes as good as Mom:
1. Chili
2. Potato Salad
3. Meatloaf
4. Chocolate chip cookies

Others?

Congratulations, Rankin Family!

Congratulations, Ed & Vonda!!
Praise God for your little Eva!

Midas Touch

What would the opposite be of the Midas Touch?
Because that's what I have.

A Song in Your...Heart?

WARNING: This post contains mildly graphic content.

This morning in the ladies room, I was in a stall next to a woman who hummed the entire time she tinkled.
Talk about keeping a song in your heart. That was one joyful woman.

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in Corporate America that I can't tell what's normal and what's weird anymore.

Just to confirm, humming while peeing is weird, right?

The Office

Yesterday I was talking with one of my co-workers when she said, "Are you growing your hair out?"
I said, "Yes! Do you like it?"
She said, "Um, yeah...it's ok."

This Little Light of Mine

On my mind today:
I went for Chinese food with my dad a couple of weeks ago. (It was a one-shot deal, and I can't stomach the thought of Chinese, once again.)
My fortune cookie said, "Your influence has a profound impact on others."
Sometimes I entertain the intensely self-serving thought that this might be true.
I'd much prefer to think that if it is true, it's the Holy Spirit shining through me.
I have the fortune hanging on my bulletin board behind my desk phone at work to remind myself not to "hide it under a bushel" or "let Satan blow it out."
Some days it's a lot easier than others.

Halloween Candy

There is ONE good thing about this part of the year--leading straight through til Easter.
The candy!
Somebody left me a bag of mixed candy (you know, one of those 5lb whompers that has 15 different kinds of candy?) and I've been eating myself sick on SweetTarts and Laffy Taffy all day.
Here are some gems from my taffy:
A. What does a pig put on his cut?
B. Why was the cat afraid of the tree?
C. What is a fish's favorite country?
D. Why is the baker so mean?

See comments for answers!

October

Many of you blogged
about how happy you were
that fall is coming.

Let me take the chance
to say just how much I HATE
this dead time of year.

I'm happy that you
think this is such a nice time,
let me stay in bed.