Opening This Friday, October 3rd

For some reason, Dennis isn't quite as excited as I am about this movie.

I love Mexicans. Yo quiero Taco Bell!

Emergency Room Excitement

As I was driving to work on Friday morning, I was cut off by a middle-aged man in a minivan. I don't have anything against middle-aged people nor do I have anything against minivans, but when they are coupled together with a super star attitude, it's bad news. He just looked at me as if to say, Get out of my way, lady, because here I come in my super cool minivan. I'm hot and I know it. Eat my dust. Naturally, I waved at him. With one finger.

As that one finger was outstretched, I was reminded of an adventure that Dennis and I endured about a year ago....

I had just started packing for a trip to Orlando for work when Dennis mentioned going to our favorite Mexican restaurant. Of course, he didn't need to twist my arm too much and fifteen minutes later we were waiting for a seat and the inevitable margaritas and soft tacos that would follow.

At that time, our neighborhood wasn't quite finished and I felt that it was my duty to walk around in each house prior to it being sold. So, when Dennis was driving us home from dinner, I said, "Hey Dennis - let me out. I want to see what type of garage doors that new house on the corner is going to have."

"No, don't worry about it, Krista. You'll see soon enough."

"No, please stop. I HAVE TO know." He slowed down and I jumped out, ran towards the house that was still under construction and went into the garage. Thank goodness the garage was open. Actually, it might have prevented what followed if the garage doors had been closed.

Dennis loves to make fun of my 2 inch vertical jump but none-the-less I had enough "ups" to jump up and try to pull the garage door down. Try was the key word. I jumped up, grabbed onto the normally rubber end of the door, and quickly realized that the end of the gatage door was, in fact, sharp metal. There was no rubber.

When Dennis retells the story he says that my eyeballs were the size of saucers. I looked down at my bloody fingers and screamed. I shook my hand back and forth, as if that would make the blood and the severed fingers go away.

"Krista, are you OK? Oh my God, Krista, are you OK?"

"Dennis, I'm fine. Go ahead and drive the car home. I'll walk. I don't want to get blood all over the car."

"Krista, get in the car. I am driving you home." We went back and forth for a few minutes and somehow Dennis managed to get through to me and I climbed in the car. Two minutes later, we pulled up to our house and I laid down on the driveway, as if I had been shot.

"Krista, what are you doing? Why are you lying down on the driveway? Atleast go into the backyard to lay down so that the neighbors don't think that I stabbed you. And, let me see your hand."

"No Dennis, don't look at it. It hurts. It's bad. I need to just lay here for a few minutes while you call an ambulance."

"Call a WHAT?"

"Call an ambulance, Dennis!"

"Krista, I can definitely drive you to the emergency room if you really need to go."

"I need to go. Now. Please call an ambulance!"

"Krista, I WILL DRIVE YOU." Again, against all odds, Dennis managed to coax me into the car after he tried to clean me up with a wet rag and wrapped my hand in a towel.

We pulled up to the Emergency Room around 8:00pm. I was "assessed" by one of the nurses who told me that I definitely needed stitches. Then she motioned me back out to the waiting room where we waited...and waited...and waited.

As I sat there next to Dennis, I took an assessment of what was going on around us. There was a lady sleeping in the corner (hopefully sleeping, and not dead), and there was another lady who had a puke bucket in her hands and kept staring at Dennis. Even when she puked.

Being super patient, about an hour later I decided that I need to walk around. So I started pacing up and down the hallway. As I walked past our waiting room, I saw a police officer that was crying in the next waiting room. I went through the whole dilemna of Do I or do I not say something? Do I pretend like I don't see him? Should I just mind my own business? Figuring that he may be as near death as I was, I went ahead and asked him if he was OK. He informed me that he was going to be OK, but he had accidentally sprayed himself with mace. That was nothing, though, compared to his broken hand that he was waiting to have examined. I guess he broke up a fight and escaped with a battle wound. And then he sprayed himself in the eyes with his mace. This guy was definitely not having a good night.

I went back to our waiting room and told Dennis the story. A few minutes later, a nurse came out and said, "Who is here for the sleep study?" Without a moments hesitation, Dennis quickly pointed to the lady sleeping in the corner and said, "she is!" We both laughed and I looked at my watch. It was midnight.

"Dennis, do you have your laptop? I wonder if there is wireless internet in here."

"I doubt that there is wireless in here but I'll go get it."

About 10 minutes later, I was doing a google search for "Smyrna Emergency Rooms" and found a phone number for a nearby hospital. I called and asked what their wait time was and then looked at Dennis. "Let's go to Kennestone Hospital. They don't have a wait right now and this place sucks." Obviously he is an incredibly patient husband. He agreed and we were off. Again.

The second emergency room was pretty efficient seeing as how we arrived a little before 1:00am and were headed to the pharmacy for some Vicodin by about 3:00am. The nine stitches in my middle finger were wrapped in some white gauze.

The next morning, Dennis drove me to the airport because I had taken half of a Vicodin and he was worried about me. I think we left our house around 6:30am. We were both exhausted since we didn't get home until about 4:00am and I had to get up about 5:30am to pack and get ready for the meeting.

As I walked up to my co-workers at the airport, they all stopped talking. One of them noticed my bandaged middle finger and one of the others noticed that I had on two ID bracelets from two different ER's. I sat down next to them and told them the entire story.

I would like to say that I learned my lesson about being a nosy neighbor, but I think that the real lesson that I learned is that it is vitally important to check out the bottom of the garage door before jumping up to pull it down. And, if you see only metal and no rubber, don't do it. It's not worth it.

When Discrimination Ain't So Bad

So, the financial world around us seems to be in total chaos. And those evil, greedy, banks and mortgage-lenders are to blame. Shame on them for making such risky loans to people who obviously did not have the ability to make payments on a monthly basis. I mean, who wants to pay every month? Hell, who even wants to pay every other month? Dennis and I could put our mortgage payment towards a lot more "fun" things but since when is that a choice? Once we signed all 90,000 pages at the closing table two years ago, we knew exactly what we were in for. And we planned appropriately. Now, I'm not saying it's fun sending in that money every month, but it's sort-of necessary. And it's exactly what we signed up for.

What drives me absolutely crazy (well, one of the things) is that you very rarely hear about what really caused the current financial situation outside of the "greedy" individuals at banks and other lending institutions. What is very rarely mentioned, probably because it's not as exciting or not as much of a draw for people to listen to, is that the government helped to cause this mess. And, boy oh boy, did they help in a big way. The help the government provided was through the Community Reinvestment Act (which was strengthened under the Clinton administration).

To put it in laymans terms, here is what happened: ACORN and other community activist groups felt that certain people (minorities, lower income families) were being passed over for loans. These people wanted to own a home, too! I mean, there's gotta be a document somewhere stating that everyone has a RIGHT to own a home, doesn't there? Things like a bad credit history or not having a reliable job should not disqualify someone from a mortgage loan. I mean, they want a house, too. And, it's only fair.

So, these groups protested and at the end of the day, political correctness won. The US gov't then went on to say that if banks did not create loans that these individuals could afford (hence, the need for subprime mortgages, ARM's, etc.), then the bank was not able to expand. Basically the government forced these institutions to make knowingly bad loans if they wanted to grow - - it was a price of doing business!

I'm not saying that 100% of the blame is to be placed on the government because people do tend to take advantage of a bad system and I am sure that some super shady deals took place when no one was looking. But, what I am saying is that we need to think about whether or not we really want this much government involvement in the "free market" that we supposedly have today. My vote, which is a shocker, is NO THANKS. Let's not be politically correct and let's say that discrimination is OK. It is OK when we are talking about discriminating based on credit worthiness, job stability, and loaning money. Let's leave those decisions to the banks and not the government.

Ok, there. I got it out. That has been bottled up inside of me all week long and it just sort-of spewed out.

Separation Anxiety

Yes, you guessed it: Dennis is out of town for a few days this week. But, my separation anxiety isn't so much about him as it is about our tupperware.

We enjoy talking about what we'll do when we are rich. One thing that always comes up is that we'll buy really good deli meat. Maybe we'll even have our own chef slice our deli meat for us in our very own fabulous kitchen. You are probably thinking, oh, they won't eat sandwiches when they are rich but yes, oh yes, we will. We will eat them and enjoy every minute of it.

So for now, we're stuck buying the "fresh" deli pre-packaged meat. It's actually pretty good and my favorite part is that you often get a FREE tupperware container with your purchase. What a deal!

Due to my overwhelming love for cooking, it's fair to say that we've had our fair share of sandwiches and therefore have tons of tupperware containers in our cabinet. When either of us opens that cabinet, there is a 50/50 chance that lids and plastic containers will fall out of the cabinet and onto our heads. (Ok, they don't fall on Dennis' head but as a vertically challenged individual, they often hit ME in the head.) They are disorganized and mis-matched. Lately I've had to use foil to cover the plastic containers because I cannot locate the correct lid. I mean, seriously, this is getting ridicilous.

For some reason, I cannot throw them away. I just cannot bring myself to do it. Believe me, Dennis has threatened to throw them away but I won't let him. He suggested that we purchase one of these "smart spin" thingamabobs. And, I'm not opposed to it. But, you must realize that it will take time to embrace the change. I mean, our lives will definitely be less exciting without the thrill of wondering will I, or will I not, be hit in the head when I open this cabinet? Or maybe the thrill is more related to wondering will (insert spouses name here) get hit in the head when the cabinet opens? I hope so!

The term tupperware has been used very loosely in this post and I feel obligated to point out that a much more suitable term for what we have in our kitchen is plastic containers. That makes this whole little obsession thing a bit more sad, doesn't it? I guess the first step is admitting that you have a problem...

Abra Kadabra

Sometimes I like to talk about how smart I am... or how funny I am... or any of the other obvious characteristics that describe me. And this is one of those times.

Trish, Melissa, and Danielle threw a really cute shower for Tina this weekend. The food was delish, the company was great and we didn't even have to play any baby shower games. The worst baby shower game EVER is the one where chocolate candybars are melted into baby diapers and then passed around the room and everyone in the room is forced ot smell the "poo" and guess what candy bar was melted into each diaper. As you can imagine, that game is really fun to play when you are at a baby shower and in a room with complete strangers...chyeah, right.

Anyway, back to talking about me. A fun gift you can get a future mom is this little career predictor for her little bun in the oven. Apparently Tina's little girl, Finley, is a future Mafia Accountant. The best part is that you don't know what is in each "predictor" until it is opened at the shower. I ordered one of these for Trish and Wendy, too, so it'll be fun to find out what their little boys are going to be when they grow up. I mean, outside of being Finley's boyfriends.

Princess Leia

Do you think that it's possible to make an animal more or less weird? Or, do pets just come pre-wired with their own level of weirdness?

I am asking this question because Echo has a few...well, a lot of...strange tendancies. For example, every morning when Dennis and I are getting ready for work, she likes to jump into the bathtub. I guess that way she thinks that she's getting ready, too, for her strenuous day consisting of naps, eating, walking, naps, naps, and maybe some more eating. She also doesn't mind when we "fix" her hair into her Princess Leia up-do. As you can see from the pictures above, the similarities are remarkable (I looked for a picture of Princess Leia in a bathtub but couldn't find one).

I feel better about things if I go with the "dogs come pre-wired with their weirdness" theory. Otherwise, we have had some very interesting effects on the little pooch. Poor Echo if that's the case.

And, the thought of us raising a family is then slightly terrifying, as well...

Germy-germ-germs

I'm all grown up but I still want my mom when I'm sick.

But, I'm not crying. Yes, I usually cry when I'm sick. Ah-ha - - proof positive that I'm maturing. Well, at least a little.

I have lots of junk in my throat (better than in my trunk) and man oh man is it sore (my throat, not my trunk). The best part is that I have to go to a meeting for several days this week in Birmingham. So, I don't get any down time. Maybe I can get out of our "team building" bowling tournament. Those are always a rip-roaring good time.

The worst part of being sick is that I can hardly talk! Dennis is probably secretly in heaven right now. Maybe this will give me time to practice that "listening" thing that I've heard about. Naahh.

Ughmph. ahhhemmmm. ughmph (cough, cough).

Beanie-Weanies

Dennis came home from the Fantasy Football team selection get-together several weeks ago just raving about Trish's "bacon wrapped goodness". She really made an impression on Dennis with these snacks - - so much so that he wanted to prepare a batch for the Hartman Tailgate this past weekend.

The recipe is great because it's very simple. It meets one of my key criteria: 5 or less ingredients. You basically buy one container of Hillshire Farms little smokies, one package of bacon, and a box of light brown sugar. Yeah, as you can tell, it's pretty much a (delicious) heart attack on a plate. You cut the bacon in 1/3's and wrap each piece of bacon around a "smokie". Put a toothpick through it, and cook them side-by-side in a 9x13inch pan for 45 minutes @ 350. Oh yeah, you dump an entire box of light brown sugar on top of the smokies (before you put in the oven) so that all you really see is brown sugar with toothpicks sticking out.

Dennis took them out of the oven and called me downstairs to look at them.

"The toothpicks shrunk", he said.

"What? Are you serious?"

As I walked up to the stove, I saw exactly what Dennis was talking about. The mysterious shrinking colored toothpicks had done a number on the beanie-weanies. They not only shrunk but they curled up!

I'm not quite sure why I find this so funny.

Underwear

My mom works as a nurse anesthetist (and yes, I spelled that without looking it up) in Missouri. Everyday when she goes into work, she has to go into the womens locker room (going into the mens locker room may be more fun, but not so much work-appropriate) and change into her scrubs. She told me something disturbing the other day and I cannot quite shake it. She told me that some of the other women were TEASING HER ABOUT HER UNDERWEAR. First, don't make fun of my mom. And second, what type of underwear is she wearing these days?

I tried to broach the subject in as nonchalant of a way as possible (which is very hard for me, because whenever you talk about underwear, I have an uncanny problem of being unable to stop laughing) while at dinner with my parents when they were in town last. I thought that was as suitable of a time as any to have this discussion. After discussing bikini briefs, thongs, and she asked me about a brazillian, my dad asked us to please resume the conversation after the meal. I think Dennis probably appreicated that, as well.

We finished the conversation later that evening and I even mentioned to her a type of underwear called Hanky Panky (the brand) that my neighbors love. Apparently this underwear is the most comfortable in the world and you never get panty lines. (What more could a girl ask for?) I missed our last "Wine Night" but judging by the emails that were flying around the next day, the wine was flowing very fast and everyone was going to the mall to find a pair.

I've been thinking a lot about underwear lately. Really. It says a lot about your personality. Not only that, but when Dennis and I go to do our next round of IVF, I should probably wear a sexy pair of underwear. I mean, right? I want to be able to say that I wore sexy underwear when we got pregnant. Most couples probably remember, "oh, that romantic night..." or "I remember wearing my sexy underwear..." So, I really, really need to pick out a sexy pair of underwear for that day. Maybe I'll even get a matching bra.

I wonder if our doctor will let me bring some wine and cigarettes into the office, too?

Decision 2008

I have watched these videos over and over and still think that they are unbelievably adorable. Since I've been on my soap box about healthcare lately, these videos fit in perfectly.

I am going to ask a serious question...are you ready?

(Drum roll, please) In your opinion, which one of these videos is the best?

Here are your choices: (1) Penis, (2) Karate, or (3) Spinach.

Let the voting begin...

Doocified

Dooce, a blog that I try to read atleast several times a week, is one of the reasons that I decided to enter the blogging world. The author, Heather Armstrong, can tell a story so much better than anyone I know. And, she is a phenomenal writer and photographer. All that being said, I usually think her posts are funny and, at a bare minimum, true. Well, that is, until I came home from work last Thursday.

I walked into the house and Dennis looked at me. "You aren't going to be happy about Dooce's post today."

"What did she write?"

"Uh...you are going to have to read it." So I did. And I threw up a little in my mouth.

Please take a minute to read her entire post as I'm going to offer up a few counter points.

Dooce: I am angry. I am infuriated. And I don't think I would be if Sarah Palin were a qualified or competent choice as McCain's running mate.

What do you mean by "qualified" or "competent"? Palin has served as a City Council Member, Governor, and Mayor. Before getting into politics, she had several jobs in the private sector. She is also running for Vice-President and will be serving under a strong, experienced, leader.

Obama, on the other hand, has experience as a community organizer and also a Senator. He is running for President of the United States.

Just for arguments sake, let's say that Obama and Palin have the same amount of experience. And, since you are supporting Obama (with his level of experience) for President, Palin now appears to be a very qualified Vice Presidential candidate.

Dooce: Any time I engage with one of my conservative friends or family members, or sometimes the conservative commenters on this website, it usually devolves into them screaming about WELFARE! and TAXES! and THE GOVERNMENT IS TAKING MY MONEY AND GIVING IT TO PEOPLE WHO DON'T WORK!

Response: I agree with you that having political conversations is very rarely, if at all, an easy conversation. People tend to get more emotional as each second passes and any chance at rational thinking is lost. Fact-based, open conversations are crucial for this election.

Dooce: What I and many of my more liberal friends want is to HELP people, not give them a free ride, but also not to ignore those who would benefit from us tossing them a life jacket.

Response: I agree with the fact that helping people is good. But, where I disagree with liberals is that the government needs to mandate how much, who, and when people are helped. It should be a choice for each person on how much he/she wants to spend, when, why, and how. If I want to give my money to a homeless pet shelter and you want to help young children with plagioceplacy, then that is great. We should be able to each do as we please with OUR MONEY. The government should not take my money and put it where the government wants to. And, just a random side note: Republicans, on average, give more money to charities than their democrat counterparts. So, it's really not a matter of whether or not to help people but rather how to help people in the most efficient and effective manner.

Dooce: I am fortunate enough to have grown up in a white, middle class family who could afford to send me to college, as did my husband, and we have enough work experience to run a business that makes it so that we can afford this insurance for our daughter.

Response: Fortunate enough? Or, is it better said that your parents made good decisions, you made good decisions, and now are you in a good financial position because of all of those smart moves? The key is to take responsibility for your own actions.

I know people who went to community colleges or worked hard for scholarships so that they could get an education. It was far from easy, but they took responsibility for themselves and their future. I also know people who came from good families but then made very bad decisions and are now working for much less than they should be.

That's what makes America so great - you can do or be whatever you want, you may just be required to supply a little elbow grease. Or a lot. There is no fortunate or unfortunate part to where a person ends up in life. It is up to a person to make good decisions, work hard, and capitalize on the cards he/she is dealt.

Dooce: But what about the family who cannot afford that insurance for their child?... If giving up more of my paycheck could help get this family adequate healthcare, then PLEASE. TAKE MY MONEY.

Response: The key word in that statement is "if". IF having more of your paycheck taken away meant better healthcare for all, that would be one thing. But it doesn't work like that. We need something different than just having the government take more tax dollars to implement a healthcare plan. I wish that I knew the answer. But, I don't. I do, however, know what is not the answer: Universal Healthcare. Obama's plan for Universal Healthcare is the reason that so many people travel here from other countries to pay 100% out of pocket to get the healthcare that they need.

The current healthcare system needs work, I agree with that. But Obama's plan is going to let the same people that work at the DMV make decisions about if, when, and which doctor may see Leta. Does that sound good to you?

Access to healthcare isn't improved through this plan - insurance coverage does not equate to better access. I don't know about you, but I like the fact that competition drives improvements in healthcare.

The key is that higher taxes and universal healthcare are not the answers to helping families get insurance and healthcare. We have to work together to find the real solution. Afterall, when is the last time that the government created a more effective, more efficient, system than was able to be provided by the private sector?

Like I mentioned previously, it's not about this candidate or that party but it's about the meat behind the issues.

We have the same goals but differ on whether or not the government should be in charge of mandating the who, how, when, and why of the process.

Vote McCain & Palin 2008

Athens bound

The 2008 football season is here. With UGA ranked #1 in the nation, it's no surprise that we were off to Athens early Saturday morning. By early I mean we got up at 6am and arrived in Athens around 9:30. That's a lot of early morning moving around for the weekend.

Dennis thinks that girls look sexy when they wear baseball hats. And, since I have one, two...wait... just one hat and it happens to be a UGA hat, I figured that this was as good of a time as any to get all sexy.

I put the hat on and wasn't too impressed. "I look like a boy in a hat. Dennis, my hair is too short to wear a hat because it makes me look like a boy!"

"Honey, your boobs give it away that you are a girl."

Thanks, I guess. I mean, that's a good thing, right?

Once at the tailgate spot, Tent City, I wasn't sure if I should wear my sunglasses or not. I didn't think anyone was looking, so I snapped a few photos of myself to see if I looked better with or without the glasses. Of course, someone is always looking and Dennis laughed at me when he realized what I was doing.

On the way to the game we passed a small town called Bethlehem. I know that Dennis and I need to be better about going to church and I thought that this was a good opportunity to make up for some lost time. "Dennis, let's sing some church songs."

"Sing? Church songs?"

"Yes, there's one that I loved singing when I was in Sunday School. It spelled something out and I cannot quite remember it. Oh, do you know all the books of the Bible? I know a song about that." Dennis recited much of the First Testament and when he paused, I cleared my throat and belted into song, "Matthew, Mark and Luke and John...1st and 2nd Corinthians...Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1st & 2nd Thesaollonians..." I stopped because I couldn't remember the next part of the song.

"What comes next?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. It'll come to me in a minute. Wait, I remember now...it's Fallopian." No - wait. For some reason, that doesn't sound quite right.

We definitely need to be better about going to church.