Fake trees and belly touchers

A few days before Christmas The Hubs and I found ourselves at Fortunoff's. The toy box and bookcase we have been coveting since i found out I was pregnant was on clearance so we knew we had to get it now or risk not getting it all. It was also 50% off and I had a coupon for another 20%. SCORE! While we were there, I wanted The Hubs to familiarize himself with the Christmas department. My motive for doing this was I knew The Hubs had the day after Christmas off and I wanted a new fake tree and you have to be there the second they open if you want a tree. I knew I could lure him to the department easily by telling him there was a sports part of the department. After I let him loose in there, I told him to pick out a new angel for his folks' new tree. Every year I attempt to get him one but there are never any left when I get there. I also figured he was their son so he might know what they liked better. Of course, he picked one that was the ONLY one of its kind. I pondered hiding it in the store but decided against it because that would make the early morning thrill that much more ..... um ..... thrilling.

Next came the trees. I immediately picked out the cheapest $74.99 tree sitting among the ones priced at hundred of dollars. This was was slightly taller and wider than my current tree. I also figured it's Charlie Brown Tree likeness would guarantee that it would be the last one standing after the day after wreckage. The strategy was set, all we had to do was make sure we woke up in plenty of time. Then, we wandered downstairs to get what we came for. Finally.

The day after Christmas I had a shitty night's sleep so waking up early was not a problem. Just to make sure it was not a problem for The Hubs, he fell victim to my many roll overs which means I roll over onto him in an effort to have him hold me up so I don't roll completely onto my back. Apparently, it is not good for you or the baby to sleep on your back and I have HAD it with side sleeping. We were up at 6:30 laying there saying we should just go back to sleep and wake up when we wake up and go then. In theory, it was an excellent idea but thinking rationally that no trees or angels will be left by that time, we were forced to get up. "I'll buy you Dunkin," I said as if that was enough to justify the torture he was about to endure at my crazy little Christmas hands.

I felt sick the whole way there. Not sure if it was my nerves, morning sickness or the fact that i probably got about 3 hours of sleep. But the Dunkin egg white flatbread sandwich was sitting in my throat like stone. We pulled into the lot at 7:40 a.m. Few cars. It looked promising. I beelined for the trees and The Hubs went Angel hunting. There were a bunch of people milling around the tree section so I quickly grabbed whoever looked like an employee and asked how to go about getting a tree. She told me to pick at least two choices and someone would be with my shortly. They only had one guy helping people in the tree section which was insane since it is where people are spending the bulk of their money. I wandered around sure that nobody wanted my $74.99 tree with all these beautiful trees but I figured I would pick up a back up in case. However, the prices began to jump considerably. $249 was the next step up all the way to $900.

The Hubs came rolling his carriage over with an angel taking the prime spot. It was not THE ANGEL, but it was one he thought they would like. I explained the deal, that I had to wait, that I was hot and that I was annoyed and had to pee. Basically, everything he has been hearing for the last 7.5 months. I showed him my first choice and my second choice which was quadruple the price of my first choice. An older lady overheard us talking and said she has been hunting fake trees for three years now and she would NEVER buy another cheap tree again because the needles fall off. I am a hard sell. My current tree has been going steady for 3 years and cost me less than $20. She then began to educate us on selecting the perfect fake tree. Somehow, it came out that i was expecting (probably when she was explaining that kids like to pull the branches and that is when you lose all your "needles"). She immediately lunged for my belly patting and rubbing it lightly. I know this would freak some people out but I LOVE people touching my belly. I ask people to touch it. I encourage it. I was so happy that a stranger touched my stomach that I left the department having selected (and paid for) a $499 tree (minus the 60% off and the extra 10% for taking the floor model).

The Hubs was convinced she was a plant.

Ice-hole revenge

So, today on my way home, an Ice-hole stepped in front of my car causing me to stop, causing my light to change, causing me to wait. But, that is okay because only moments later, Ice-hole, walking in the road when the sidewalk next to him was perfectly clean, got splashed with a tidal wave of ice cold, dirty, black water. As he jumped back, albeit too late, I began to laugh my ass off because had he been on the sidewalk, his nice light brown cords would still be dry and light brown. He looked genuinely susprised as if the car, driving in the street where cars belong, splashed him. I mean, how could that be? Um, maybe cos you were walking in the road, Ice-hole.

The Ice-holes among us

So, This recent snow/ice storm left my city with icy sidewalks, streets and parking lots. A virtual skating rink. And despite the newspaper reporting that the city did such a great job cleaning up this mess, they missed a few (zillion spots). The latest rash of jackassery to irk my last hormone is the amount of brilliant ice-holes that insist on walking in the street because the sidewalk is much too icy.

However, because snow (poorly) shoveled from the sidewalk and plowed from the street creates mounds of snow at the curb the ice-holes are forced to walk in the middle of the road. I cannot tell you how many of these ice-holes I almost plowed into in the last few days including a guy pushing a stroller. Hey, genius, it's 9 degrees, maybe you shouldn't be walking and maybe you should keep the baby inside. Lord knows if it came down to killing both myself AND my kid because I had to walk somewhere, I would stay put or I'd walk on the sidewalk and if I fall, I fall because I'm the moron who decided to go for a nice icy stroll.

Meatball Munday(ne)

So, anyone who attended our wedding and paid any kind of attention to our vows knows that Wednesday is Wings night at our local haunt. Well, a couple of months ago, the same place launched Meatball Mondays and advertised the meaty delicacies in 3 different flavors - Sweet and Sour, BBQ and Marinara (which is really plain, but more on why that is later). The bar tried attracting patrons by offering the bargain balls with a nice refreshing glass of Chianti. It was almost too classy for the likes of me.

Today was your average day. Hard time getting up, hard time motivating myself to go to work and then cap it all off by getting blood drawn not once but twice. The highlight of my day was Stew already being home when I walked in so I didn't have to lug any packages in alone. Oh, and my mom dropped off a very small dish of wine cookies. Yum. As I was modeling my new snowboots for Stew, my new phone alerted me to a text message. The alert sounds like a doorbell so you can imagine how I jumped out of my skin because I don't have a doorbell. It was my friend Julie who just said "Meatball Monday?" Julie is my new friend I met at work and her husband works late too so we said that we should go out to eat when we're feeling sorry for ourselves sitting home alone. Last week, I took her to wings and introduced her to the wonders of General Tsao's well done wings. Yum!

Because I read "Meatball Monday" out loud, Stew nearly jumped off the couch and grabbed his coat. I asked Julie if she and her hubs wanted to come but he was working. She will have to experience this next time. I really wanted Sierra Grill but Stew was so excited to try Meatball Monday, I could not let him down. And I will admit, I was a bit intrigued to try this new 20 cent sensation. The parking lot had enough cars in it to make me think that finding a seat at the bar might be difficult.

I was sorely mistaken. When we got there, it was 7 people including us taking up stool space.

"So, how does this meatball thing work" I asked the bartender who was not Dee. She explained the flavor choices, even went so far as to say the Sweet & Sour were her favorite to which Stew and I gave each other a look because the Sweet & Sour wings are NASTY!!! We ordered 5 of each flavor just to try. They came out fast and all in one plate. The Marinara meatballs do not have marinara sauce on them, they are plain. In the center of the dish there was a tub of marinara and a tub of sauce that was just wing sauce mixed with blue cheese which the bartender said tasted good on ALL the flavors. I think she was pregnant too because only a pregnant person would think that something coated in Sweet & Sour sauce and then dipped in blue cheese and wing sauce would be anywhere near good.

Now, they are meatballs, not quite cocktail size, certainly not anywhere near what you would find on spaghetti. Think what you might find in Italian Wedding Soup but a touch bigger. Honestly, i thought 10 cents was a good price for these. Good thing we ordered a small salad and an order of mozzarella sticks. The plain dipped in the wing/blue cheese sauce were my favorite. The BBQ and Sweet & Sour I could have done without.

After we finished, Stew ordered 5 more because he was still hungry. Meanwhile, I noted that we were the only ones in the place who took advantage of the meatball special. On Wednesday nights, platters piled high with wings fly out of the kitchen in troves. On Meatball Mondays, I think the only plate they sold was ours.

"Is this what it's going to be like when we're old" Stew asked eyeing the practically empty bar. "You should have seen this place in its hay day."

"It will be like our Ponderosa" I said, suddenly sorry because now i was upset there was no ice cream machine and sundae topping bar.

I am sure it's only a matter of time before the Meatball Monday banner comes down and is replaced by Taco Tuesday sponsored by Corona of course.

Color me uncomfortable

My mom and I share a lot of things. We share jokes, laughs and sometimes, when the mood hits, feelings. We also share the same colorist. Or, we did at least, until my mom replaced her with her friend who does it cheaper.

See, a couple of years ago, my mom turned me onto a colorist that worked a local salon. I loved her and after years of dealing with hair that never responded to color the way I wanted it to; I was finally happy. And then one day, a couple of days before my appointment I got a call from said salon who told me my colorist no longer worked there. Her departure was sudden and you know how these snooty places are, they will offer you NO DETAILS but throw in a 20% discount if you stay with them and try another colorist. Gray with roots and highlights that were coming to end of summer brassy hue, I panicked and called my mom. She quickly referred me to another girl there who she went to a few times and liked. I made an appointment with her, only to find out a few days later where my former colorist went. It was too late and 20% off at the salon's steep price was enough of an incentive for me to at least try. I went to my appointment, everything was fine and I recommended a friend who was also abandoned by our former colorist leaving.

By my second visit with the new colorist, my mom already replaced her with her friend. I figured she might casually mention how my mom was and that she hasn;t seen her in a while but i didn't expect a drilling on the topic.

"How's your mom? I haven't seen her in a while. I miss her."

"I haven't seen her either," I said.

Um, okay. I am hard pressed to believe that anyone would think in 6 weeks I heard nothing from my mom or saw her for that matter but the lie was worth a shot, right?

A few minutes later.

"I really miss your mom. Who is doing her hair these days?"

"Um, I dunno."

Now, anyone who knows my mom knows that anytime I see her she's either added more highlights, went darker, cut it herself or something. Either way, anytime I see her, I am asked what i think about her hair.

By the time I walk out ther door, the colorist has not so subtly asked me about my mother's whereabouts no less than five times. It made me a wee bit uncomfortable to say the least. I am sure my mom is not her ONLY client. In fact, I know that between my friend and I, she has at least two. So, really, what is the big f-ing deal? I came home and called my mom who thought it was just as obnoxious as I did. "Just tell her i am doing my hair myself," she said. Oh, okay, like she was going to buy that line any more than the line I fed her about not seeing or hearing from my mother in six weeks.

So, last night, I had another appointment and I forgot about the drilling until a few minutes before I left. I thought for sure she would not mention it again. The topic was off limits like me not asking if she's seen my former colorist or knew of her whereabouts. Two can play at the Where's Waldo game, missy. I sit down in her chair and she asks me how I am 5 times in a row and then it hits me that I may not be dealing with the sharpest tack in the box. After i tell her I am fine, great, wonderful and can't complain 5 times in a row she proceeds to remove my headband and sift through the root wreckage.

"So, how's your mom?"

You have got to be kidding me!!!!

"I miss her. Where has she been?"

I wanted to tell her she was there about an hour getting me a gift certificate which I almost wish she hadn't gotten because now I REALLY want to return to my former colorist.

"Well, in the winter she tends to go darker so I think she is just doing it herself."

Of course, she didn't buy that one. Who would?

Again, I did not escape without 3 more questions about my mom's MIA status as well as a reminder to say hi to her out the door and a standing invitation to come back whenever. Maybe I can use that giftcard for manis/pedis and a massage after I give birth.