I'll take what I can get.

On Thursday night, we headed to a bar in Minneapolis to celebrate my sister's golden birthday.Upon arrival I handed the bouncer my ID.
Erin: Oh, I should tell you...my driver's license isn't completely accurate.
Bouncer [hesitant look of fear]: What? Why?
E: Well, I weigh less than what it says. I need to get a new one.
B: Really? How much less?
E: One pound.
B: Uh...congratulations?
E: THANK YOU!!!!! That's so nice of you to notice.

I'm not really the kind of girl who wears toe rings.

When we moved in to our house five years ago, I found this broken earring in the carpet. We had out-of-town company shortly after we moved in, so I have saved it all this time in case someone asked me if I found their sterling silver and sapphire earring.

Imagine my surprise when Shirley taught me the real purpose for this "earring."

I'm a Sidewalk Surfer

Aren't these shoes cute? I've wanted them for a couple of years now, and tonight the Des Crew headed out to go spend a gift card. Imagine my surprise when I found the last pair of these babies...one size too big. I took them to the customer service guy and he looked them up for me. He determined that there might be one pair left in Berkeley, California, but I would have to have the customer service desk call and confirm.
I took my little slip to the front desk and she called California. I admit, I was concerned that some California girl was already wearing my shoes, but I remained hopeful.
The call took over ten minutes during which we (yes, "we." I bonded with that CSR tonight!) got put on hold and transferred three times and I got sent back to the shoe department to grab the pair that was too big, and then the computer froze up, and everybody panicked because the store closed ten minutes ago, but in the end, the Berkeley store is sending my new shoes to Roseville early next week. I got the very last pair in the entire company. The whole country. Maybe even the whole world.

Misshapen

I am finally able to write about this without crying, cussing or grimacing (mostly).
Four to six weeks ago, I went to get my eyebrows threaded (if you don't know what that means, google it).
Now, let me just say that getting my eyebrows done is a pretty frivolous expense for me since I really don't have a lot of eyebrows to work with. Essentially, my eyebrows are clear. BUT, I can't see to do my own very well (because I am 70 years old), so it's nice to put my face in the hands of a professional.
So...like I said, four to six weeks ago, I went to get my eyebrows threaded. We had walked around the mall with some friends and stopped for a treat at McDonald's (for Shirley: a strawberry milkshake and for me: an iced coffee) on our way to the eyebrow threading place.
Upon arriving, I told Shirley not to spill her ice cream and please be quiet, we'll be done in a minute, right before I spilled most of my enormous iced coffee all over the floor.
The threading lady said, "There is a SIGN! No food allowed!"
I said, "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
She said, "There's a SIGN! You spilled your coffee on the floor!"
I said, "I'm so sorry!"
She said, "THERE'S A SIGN!"
I said, "I didn't see the sign! I'm so sorry!"
She said, "NO FOOD ALLOWED!"
I said, "Well, it's TOO LATE NOW! Do you want me to clean it up or WHAT?"
She then proceeded to hand me ONE paper towel.
From there, the details are hazy, but I distinctly remember her snatching the pink milkshake out of stunned Shirley's hand and setting it on a faraway counter.
And after that, I got in her chair and let her decimate my face.
I don't know why I did it, but I think I was just so embarrassed and startled that she would shriek at me the way she did that I just got in the chair to make it stop.
So for the last four to six weeks I have had to bear the shame of not seeing the NO FOOD ALLOWED sign and spilling my coffee on the floor ...in the middle of my face.

OPEN! SESAME!

I had to take this picture in my kitchen because the one I tried to take in the car in the dark in the Wal-Mart parking lot didn't turn out very well. I can honestly say, I don't even really like chocolate, but the chocolate I DO like and crave...well...ain't nothin' gonna stand in my way.

The checkout lady said it happens all the time.

Last night, Shirley and I went on an adventure to buy a snail for Fishmael's tank.
We had a great time looking at all the fishies, rats, mice, snakes and hamsters at the pet store.
We made our purchases and cruised back around to look at the fish one more time and Shirley promptly wet her pants.
One minute we were watching the eels dance and the next minute she was walking around like a little cowgirl.
I thought it might be a cold ride home for Shirley, but she cheerfully told me all about while sitting on a plastic bag and some paper towels, munching on a dog cookie.

The Big D: You do the math.

I take 20,000iu of vitamin D per day. (That may seem like a lot, but it works for me.)
I am almost out of my current bottle, so last night I stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up some more. I didn't think to look at the capsule dosages and just grabbed a double pack (on sale!).
When I got home I realized that I bought two bottles of 1,000iu capsules.
That works out to 20 pills per day.
So not gonna happen. I better find my receipt.

The Potatoes have eyes!

Daddy has so defiled Mrs. Potato Head that Shirley will not

*will not*

touch her.

Hot Dog: An Ethical and Gravitational Crisis

At about 4:00 this morning, I became aware that someone was whining and wimpering. Also, that I had been hearing it for quite a while. Hours, possibly. I listened for a minute to discern which child it was, and determined that it was canine in nature and coming from the dining room.
I shook Richard's shoulder and asked hhim to go check it out.
Pedro was trapped on the dining room table.
When he saw Richard approaching, his fear of punishment outweighed his fear of heights and he launched himself off the table, and bolted under our bed. (Small dog, short legs, tall table. You can imagine how it went...)
How often does Pedro trap himself on the dining room table?
Why did he get stuck last night, and (apparently) never before?
If it has happened before, on average, how long is he trapped? When he hears someone get up in the middle of the night or the garage door opening, does he panic and finally find the "courage" to get down?
Why couldn't he get down the same way he got up?
Seems to me that Pedro was suffering a gravitational crisis, in addition to making some poor moral choices that his walnut-sized brain just couldn't reason out. I am inclined to set up a hidden camera tonight and leave a great, big, steaming bratwurst in the middle of the table. Just to see what happens.

Just try it.

Go to http://maps.google.com/.
Search for “Eleva, WI.”
Zoom in 3 times.
Pan left 2 times.
Pan up 6 times.
Click on “satellite” within the map.

You know you want to.

Top 40

My sister works in the catering industry as a banquet server. The other night she was working at a prom in Minneapolis.
Funnest game ever? Texting my guesses for songs played at the prom.
Believe it or not:
-I got about 50% right.
-Sweet Home Alabama was not on the play list.
-I've been listening to a lot of Top 40 radio lately.

This is how rumors get started:

Erin: Richard! Biggest Loser isn't recording! We're missing Biggest Loser!
Richard: Isn't it on the same channel as the Olympics? It won't be on til next week.
Erin: Are you sure?!?
Rich: Yeah--remember? They had the athletes on the show last week to promote the Olympics?
McClain: Wait. The biggest losers are Olympic athletes? They must have lost a TON of weight!
Richard: That would make them the Biggest Lugers.

75 Feet

If you've ever wondered how long your kitchen is, just lose control of the Reynolds Wrap.
As it turns out, my kitchen is NOT 75 feet long and as such I only had to re-roll about 20 feet of aluminum foil. Color me thankful.

How do you know when you're really a grown up?

I know I've blogged about this before, but I just had to share a conversation I had with my cousin (who is the same age as me) this afternoon about what we are going to ask for for Christmas.

Erin: I dunno. Everything I want is really expensive, so I might just pool my Christmas money and buy one of them.
Nick: I asked for socks.
E: Oh, I always ask for socks, too. And pajamas.
N: I also asked for The Best of Genesis.
E: We're old.
N: Yeah...

I've no one to blame but myself.

So...after spending an hour and a half on the Sallie Mae website last night and a solid hour on the phone with Sallie Mae this morning, imagine my embarrassment and exasperation when I realized I no longer owe Sallie Mae any money.
If you're interested, the phone number for Federal Direct Loan Servicing is 1-800-557-7392. They were happy to talk about the money I still owe them.

Free to be Me.

Richard: This is funny. You can get a Hummer for like $13,000.
Erin: We should get one. I've been wanting something with more guts.
Richard: I don't think it would be a smart purchase.
Erin: You never just let me be myself.

Less is More

Did I feel silly taking this photo at the library this afternoon?

A little.

It all depends on your perspective.

Since I couldn't be with my mom during her surgery today, I decided to send flowers.
After I gave the florist all my info, she said, "What do you want the card to say?"
I was not prepared for this.
"Uh...I dunno," I said. "What do you say to someone who's just had their reproductive parts removed?"
She said, "Um...Congratulations?"

Soooooo Pretty

It all started when I got my Ulta catalog in the mail last week. Apparently they are now selling Benefit cosmetics. Big woop, right?

Well.

Little known fact about Erin: I really like playing with makeup. I know, right??? You have no idea how much I actually wear. It's not pretty under here.

Anyway.

One of Benefit's products interested me, so I went to check it out. I asked the girl wearing the smock to tell me about it and before I knew it, I was in a chair getting a full face of makeup making, "ah," and "ooh," and "I love it!" and "pretty!" noises. I left the makeover chair (conveniently and humiliatingly placed IN the entrance of the store) feeling very pretty and as if I could really do the face she taught me on my own at home (Ok, I lied before. I enjoy makeup, but don't wear much and new techniques intimadate me.). She only used FOUR products and I thought that was pretty cool.

I walked around the store for another half hour with over $100 (ONE. HUNDRED. DOLLARS.) worth of makeup in my basket. I found the same exact products from Neutrogena and CoverGirl, and paid $14 at the register, thankyouverymuch.

Of course, I had a moment of panic as I wondered if I would be able to get the same effect at home with a different product of an inherently lesser quality--I mean, the quality HAD to be less because the cost was less, right?

Well. It's 12:34 now, and I've spent the last 12 or so hours doing laundry, making dinner, changing diapers and wrestling with a toddler; and the nineteen-dollar-mascara* has smeared all over my twenty-eight-dollar foundation.

I think I made the right choice.

*NINETEEN dollars for MASCARA!!!

Sales girl: I mean, the mascara is a totally reasonable price! It's not even that much more expensive than L'Oreal! I think their most expensive mascara is, like, $10.

Erin: So...it's approximately twice as much?

Sales girl: Um...yeah.

Erin: Ooh! Ahh! Pretty! I love it!

Look what I did today!

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt as much as I anticipated it would. The worst part was hearing the needle crunch through my flesh.
I'm pretty excited about it.
Yes, that's blood.
I'm such a badass.