The Denim Grandma

Today I went to cash a check at the local Wells Fargo and was feeling fairly pleasant (real shocker, I know; I'm almost as shocked as you are), and saw a little grandma leaving the bank. I couldn't help but notice that this certain little grandma was wearing a denim shirt/jacket thing, and had a purse to match! I smiled at her, and told her what a cute lady she was for matching her jacket to her purse. You would have thought I told her that she really does have the best grandkids in the world (her car had a bumper sticker claiming to have the world's best grandkids; does it get any better?). With the happiest expersion in the world, she laughed and told me what a wonderful fabric denim is and how it just matches everything, can you believe it! I nodded along and even listened while she explained that she got the purse at Michael's (a crafts store... I'm not sure if she's imlying that she made it...), and she just couldn't remember where she got the jacket. I told her to stay out of the rain and she told me to have a 'wonderful day!'

Now, I learned a few things from this little encounter.

1. I can talk to strangers without wishing I could knock them unconscious.
2. Little grandmas who wear denim jackets will likely have a matching denim purse to go with it. Of course. They come from the era of 'outfits.'
3. The denim grandma probably does have the world's greatest grandkids. Who am I to disagree? For all I know, her grandkids don't cry, poop, or wipe boogers on the wall.
4. Old people can and do like Obama. She had a patriotic flag bow in her gray hair and I can only assume she was showing her support for the country and for the ever adored and completely overrated Obama.
5. Old people use banks just like average-aged people do. In fact, I saw an ancient looking woman in the bank right before I ran into the denim grandma! Imagine! So many older citizens in such a small area!
6. I'm a really good person for complimenting a complete stranger. I undoubtedly will make it to heaven.

Wealth

I've been thinking a lot about wealth these days. Not because I'm particularly wealthy (although when you think of wealth as something other than monetary abundance, than I know myself to be extremely wealthy), but because I live in a place surrounded by it. Wealth can be a blessing, but it seems to be more a burden than anything else.

After spending a weekend watching the kids of some obscenely wealthy people, I decided I would never in a million years want anything close to what they have. It seems too much work, and way too hard to keep your kids grounded. "No honey. We can't take daddy's jet tonight to see High School Musical Live in London. You have tennis lessons." I think being a parent will be hard enough without the difficulty trying to teach your kids that they aren't better than little Suzy down the road just because she doesn't wear True Religion jeans (although it doesn't seem likely that that would be a problem in these neighborhoods; Phil Mickelson the golfer lives on the street). I just don't want that, and most likely won't have to worry about that, but still. Being in their beautiful home only made me want to hurry home to my tiny casita, although Josh was pretty smitten with their virtual reality golf. It is pretty amazing. I think he golfed all 18 holes.

Scabbed

I come from a family of 'pickers.' We see, we pick. No, I'm not saying our fingers are constantly up our noses (although based on some past experiences with nieces and nephews, I can't say it didn't start somewhere...), but if there is a scab, we are drawn like a moth to the flame. So when I knocked my head quite aggressively on a kitchen cupboard (or at least that's what I think I did... I can't quite remember), and gave myself a nice, oozy gash, it was inevitable that a battle would ensue. Because when something oozes, it typically scabs. And when something scabs, I pick that something to the point that my body ceases attempting to heal itself and leaves me with a gnarly scar. My hands and shins are proof of this.

So we come to my own damn scab, sitting atop my head and begging me to dig my nails underneath and scrape it off. Ahhh... wouldn't that just be dreamy... I've already picked it off several times, and somehow it comes back bigger and badder than before. Which makes my picking urges fiercer and more ferocious than before. But I've decided to try and let the scab have it's way with my head, finding that I am no longer 5 and should have some degree of will-power. Unfortunately, all this had done has left me with wandering hands. My hand is continually stroking and caressing the injury, wishing upon wishing that I could pick it off. Sometimes I panic when I can't immediately locate the scab with my probing fingers, and I hurriedly comb my head with my hands, giddy and also afraid that the scab has moved on to other things. It can't be gone. Not yet. Not before I really was able to unleash my full picking powers! Alas, the scab remains where I last left it. Perched high on the crown of my head, hidden carefully beneath strands of bleached-but-not-as-bleached-as-I-want-it-to-be hair. I wish I could at least see it. The best I can do is have Josh look at it and describe exactly what it looks like, what color it is most like, how big it is, what shape it is, etc. He doesn't quite like doing this, being that he finds it fairly disgusting and disturbing how much interest I have in the scab, but whatev. It's my scab and I'll do what I want with it.

A Recap

I had a great Christmas, thanks for asking, but I don't have a single picture to prove it. So just take my word on it. It was grand. And consider yourself fortunate for not having to sift through hundreds of pictures of me and my fat rolls. My fat rolls also appreciate the discretion.

Although to say that I had a fabulous Christmas and to not say what was so fabulous about it seems ungrateful and dishonest. So here are some of the highlights of Christmas 2008 for Courtney.

• Playing hours of Monopoly with Meg and Ty -While staying at Meg's house, the four of us (the fourth person being Josh), would settle every night with a rousing game of Monopoly. It was ridiculously fun and it seems weird to go to bed without first going bankrupt. I lost every time. It was also amusing to hear Ty and Josh analyze the similarities between Monopoly and everyday life. Like we could ever afford Park Place in real life!
• Half-sleeping through Josh and his fam battling MarioKart on the Wii - While staying at the Robbins, we would spend hours opening up new courses (I include myself in this, but really I was usually half-sleeping on the couch) in MarioKart on the beloved Wii. It was fun and it was even better because Josh would go to bed so exhausted, he would temporarily forget his love affair with his iphone, and would forgo his nightly game of Sudoku. It was amazing going to bed without the faint glow of the iphone glimmering in my face. I'll never forget it.
• Going to Tucanos, and then barfing it all back up - That pretty much wraps it up. It was fun going there to eat, not so much the throwing it back up (although, it did point out to me that I don't chew my food up enough. Seriously. There were whole bits of meat just floating there in the toilet. I think I should chew more). Josh and Ty did some damage to the 'All you can eat' rule. I think the manager was going to ask us to leave. That or take their picture for the most meat consumed in a single sitting.
• Waking up every morning at the Robbins house, and having breakfast already made - Barb (Josh's mom) doesn't let old habits die, and whenever Josh is in the house, she will make him breakfast. I, in turn, benefit greatly, since I hate preparing anything at all (toast is a struggle), and there was always some delicious delight all ready for me to not chew. Delicious.
  
• Just spending all day with someone a lot like me - My sister Meg and I are pretty different, but we're also pretty similar in many regards. I'm pretty sure if I weren't me, I would be my own friend (it makes sense...), and so palling around with Meg is just like being with myself. We like to sit and talk about how cool we are, and a lot of people don't seem to enjoy that (odd, right?). So we really love spending time together so we can talk about how awesome we are. We rule.
• Just seeing friends and some family - It's always nice to be somewhere familiar and with people who know and love you. It was nice to see both families (we didn't really see a lot of my family, but my family is weird like that) and to spend even a few minutes with friends. I miss them all.
  

4 for me and 0 for anyone else

My friend just brought over 4 bread sticks. I looked them over, and immediately decided to eat one, but leave myself the option of eating two. I ate the one, and then had the second down my throat before the first one was completely chewed. I didn't feel too guilty since I had already pre-determinedly the likelihood of me eating only one was next to zero. I looked at the third, and ate that one too. Never mind there being 4, 2 for me and 2 for Josh, he technically doesn't even know the bread sticks ever existed. Now there's one minuscule bread stick sitting on a lonely plate, staring at me, willing me to eat him. He's scared now that's he's alone and asks only that I take him where I've taken the others. I can hardly refuse a scared bread stick his last wish, and so I offer him the safety of my fat rolls. Enjoy the ride, little buddy. But I might as well save you the trip and just tape you to my thigh.

No Christmas card this year...

Josh has been asking me if we're going to do a Christmas card this year. I looked at him, and asked, "Why?" We don't have kids, we don't have pets, we don't own any living thing to acknowledge (minus my poinsettia, although it seems to be dying ever since I broke branches off and tried to tape them back on, so that will be cut off the list soon. Poor Pickles the Poinsettia...). I guess I could tell people what we did this year, though. We moved to California. There. Christmas card done! Plus, I wouldn't send a picture card since it would just be me and Josh and maybe Pickles, depending on how much longer he can withstand my black thumb, and that would just be dumb. I hate when couples do Christmas cards. They already did an engagement announcement, we don't want to see more pictures of them gazing at each other, smooching, or doing any other 'casual' poses while frolicking in wheat fields, snuggling up in a snow bank, or crouching with arms wrapped around each other over a train track. I hate couple Christmas cards. Maybe that has something to do with me hating most things. Can't be sure. All I know is that I won't be doing any Christmas cards until my first kid is graduating from something worthwhile. Like preschool. But if you are one of those couples, send me a card. I like hanging them on my fridge and making fun of them. See how cool I am?

one good, one bad, and one awful

Three things have happened to me this week. One good, one bad, and one being the worst possible thing to have ever happened to a living organism. Uh hum.

The good thing that has happened is that moths have finally come to the same conclusion I have. They are disgusting little smut bugs and they should all die. I walked into the bathroom and what did I see? A nasty little dead moth peeking at me! (Spring had brought me such a nice surprise, blossoms popping right before my eyes...) Man. If you could have heard the cheers! I was elated to discover that no one had actually put the vile thing in there, he just recognized his own wickedness and plunged into his watery grave. Excellent. I cannot truly describe how happy I was to find his limp form, floating on the toilet water, but I assure you it rivals only to how I feel about puppies. Pure ecstasy.

The bad thing that happened this week was when I was making an omelet and Josh asked me to make him one too. I cringed, but bit the bullet. I made a delicious ham and spinach omelet, with cheese and onions and salt and pepper and deliciousness, all scrambled together in some deliciously clever manner. Well, Josh takes one bite and says, "This is disgusting. You know I hate wilted lettuce!" First off, it's spinach and it isn't wilted, it's cooked. Second off, you can go *$%# 0$@%** in the &!!@ for all *&#$! Nobody asked you to eat my wilted lettuce omelet! I was mad and will continue to be mad for eternity.

The worst possible thing to happen actually took place last week. As I mentioned before, I went to another family's Thanksgiving. Everything went fine until we were rounding up to go (hours before the other people; yes, I'm a true Asay). I had made green bean casserole and was going to pick up my leftovers and dish, when I realized I was missing one. Not the dish, but the casserole itself! Now, I did in fact look for my leftovers, and actually found them all tucked away in someone else's tubberware in the fridge. I sat there, staring at my leftovers in their fridge, debating whether to just take them or to actually make some kind of scene, with lots of hand gestures and lots of shrieking and lots of blaming on whoever put weird fruit things in the stuffing... I decided to avoid the stuffing fight in the kitchen (seriously though. Who puts dried fruit junk in stuffing? That's just wrong.), and was ready to just take the food and run when one of the sisters asked me to help her with something. Uh huh. Likely story. She saw what was going to happen and nipped it in the bud. She wanted my green bean casserole! Ah! Dammit.

This wouldn't be such a tragedy if I didn't honestly hate cooking so much. I really hate it. There is nothing I like less than cooking (except moths, of course. But they seem to be less disgusting ever since they started killing themselves. I like dead ones way better than live ones...). So when I took the 30 minutes to prepare and cook the casserole, I was hoping for leftovers so that I could avoid making anything for the next 8 days (I only cook once every 8 days. Josh knows the rules. That's why he ate his wilted lettuce omelet anyways. He knew it was that or cereal).

Ahh! Josh just told me that he found the moth dead on the window sill and threw it in the toilet. I hate this week.