Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Not only did Hubs and I rent a Rug Doctor from the local hardware store (much to my dismay, I'd have rather sprung for the $299 super-charged monster-of-a-steam-machine that clearly wasn't within our budget) and proceed to steam clean every square inch of carpet in the house, but we also started to tackle the jungle that has become our backyard. Unfortunately, the previous owners of this house lacked a much needed green thumb. All joking aside, we actually have reeds of bamboo growing over fifteen feet high that are beginning to overtake our fence, surrounded by seedless patches of swampy mud. I swear I've seen a panda bear hibernating in those suckers.
And after putting away nearly all of our winter clothes and filling the dresser drawers and closets with oxfords and cotton T's in pastel shades too pretty to have kept hidden away in the attic any longer, Hubs and I sat back and relaxed on our deck (that we plan to tackle/powerwash next weekend) and rewarded ourselves for a Sunday well spent.
Ice cold Coors Light bottles and chips and salsa.
How is this possible, might you ask?
Well, for those of you unaware of the wonder that is the "Cold Activated Bottle," Coors Light introduced this new bottle, circa 2007, which features mountains on the label in Thermochromatic ink that turn blue when Coors Light has been chilled to the perfect temperature for ice cold refreshment. As your beer begins to warm and exceeds the "perfect temperature for ice cold refreshment" the mountains revert back to their silvery shine.
(photo courtesy of jaggedspiral.com)
As I enjoyed the crisp, refreshing taste of my Coors Light as it mingled with the salty, sweet freshness of our homemade salsa, I watched the silvery Colorado Rockies change from silver, to blue, and back to silver once again, and couldn't help but think of those crazy gloves from the 80's.
What a Sunday...
Friday, March 27, 2009
Side ponytails, anyone? We all know scrunchies looked even better when our hair was crimped. And forget sleeping with your hair in braids every night. You had to use one of these...
And last but not least, by any means..
How could you not love these "Loveable Puppies That Need a Home!" Let's just say I owned more of these guys than I could count on two hands.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
1. having an excessively favorable opinion of one's abilities, appearance, etc.
a. having an opinion.
b. fanciful; whimsical.
3.Obsolete. intelligent; clever.
And you're right. Perhaps I am a little conceited. I'm incredibly blessed and I love my life. I never said I was perfect or better than anyone else, because I'll be the first person to tell you that I am not either of those things.
And didn't your mother ever tell you this growing up?
"If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I got stuck in the elevator this morning. How stuck, might you ask? So stuck that maintenance had to come and get me out. I stepped onto the elevator from the second level of the parking garage where I so nicely parked Hubs' car far away from any other cars and pressed "1" to take the elevator up two floors to where I could stop by my favorite little coffee cart for my double shot Cafe Mocha with whipped cream. (Puh-lease. I just got back from the Bahamas, I was for sure going to need something to get me kickstarted!)
The elevator doors attempt to close (there was a definite 6 inch gap between the two of them) and lurch upward, coming to a halting stop inbetween two floors. How do I know I'm between two floors, might you ask? Because clearly I could see through the SIX INCH GAP! I could feel the wind whipping around my head as I watched the elevator cables swinging in the breeze. My first reaction? "Really, God? Really? Like this? No, not in an elevator!"
After a brief freakout, I start pressing buttons: up, down, doors close, doors open. At this point, I'll take anything! I even tried prying the doors open with the surge of adrenaline I was feeling. No dice. Nothing. Nada. Not even a budge.
Did I mention the elevator was bouncing? Because it was. Ever so slightly. I push the security call button and the voice from Oz kindly comes through and asks me:
Oz: "Good morning. Are you having some difficulties?"
Me: No sir. I'm wondering what the weather is supposed to be like today. OF COURSE I'M HAVING DIFFICULTIES. I'M STUCK IN THIS DEATH TRAP! Um, yes. I seem to be stuck here. The doors won't open. The elevator won't budge.
Oz: Well, did you try pressing different buttons?
Me: Multiple times.
Oz: Well, are you OK in there?
Me: Yes, but I won't be if I'm stuck in here for very much longer!
Oz: Ok Ma'am. I've called maintenance. They should be on their way.
5-7 minutes goes by and maintenance arrives (keep in mind they look like a couple of Maytag repairmen. Hopefully they take this a little more seriously than a washer/dryer combo).
After several minutes of watching these knuckleheads fiddle with some sort of door-prying-telescoping-antennae:
Repairmen: Uh, Ma'am? It seems we brought the wrong tool. We're just going to run back and grab the correct door-prying-telescoping-antennae-thingy.
Oz: Ma'am, if you need to sit down, please do so. Are you hurt?
Me: No. Not yet. But I have contemplated banging my head into the walls repeatedly. Bad idea?
Despite always being chronically early for work, I figured I should at least phone the floor and fill them in on my predicament.
Me: Hey, yeah, it's Ashley. I'm um, held up a little here in the Willy Wonka elevator. Maintenance is here and they should be freeing me soon.
Nurse: Oh no! Are you alright? Well, not to add fuel to the fire or anything....
Me: I'm being pulled. M'f'er.
Nurse: You're being pulled up to the fourth floor today.
10 minutes goes by and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Duh finally arrive bearing the correct rescue apparatus. The doors are jarred open and I'm free to CLIMB up out of the elevator. I exchange information with the security guard who must've showed up for moral support, SKIP my morning mocha and head on up to the fourth floor.
Waking up this morning, I didn't have any of those "off feelings" that today was going to be one of those days. Apparently, my "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" radar wasn't working very well.
Because today is just one of those days. Some days are mean't for staying in bed.
Bahama pictures coming soon. I promise.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Let me tell you, fellow bloggies, those yummy frozen beach drinks were flowing this past weekend! There's nothing like the feel of fine white sand beneath your toes, the scent of fresh ocean air swirling around your nose and the tangy sweetness of an eleven dollar margarita on the rocks teasing your every tastebud. I had a fabulously wonderful, restful and relaxing mini-getaway on Paradise Island. Yes, there may be no place like home, but there's also no place like Atlantis.
I'll be spending today unpacking and attempting to attack the post-vacation laundry, all while daydreaming about steel drum bands and eighty-degree weather. Stay tuned for pictures and a vacay-recap. In the meantime, here's a little Bahama teaser:
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
And it was de-lish.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Go ahead, drink a little green beer for the girl who has to wake up and be a sweet, functional Triage Nurse in the morning!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Push Pops. Not to be confused with Ring Pops (those were pretty awesome, too). How grossly sticky was your finger when you actually used it to push up the pop? Ah, the things we did for candy.
TGIF television. Growing up, I wasn't allowed to watch much television on school nights. Friday, however, was a whole other ballgame. How much did you love "Thank Goodness It's Funny" television? (I know, I thought it was "Thank goodness It's Friday.. But I was wrong!) Favorites included: Full House, Hangin' With Mr. Cooper, Mr. Belvedere (I'm going waaaaay back!), Family Matters and of course, these guys shown below.. Larry and Balki from Perfect Strangers.
I don't want to spoil you too much with my flashback favorites! I have to save some for future posts! I hope flashing back to YOUR favorites gives you the same little chuckle it gave me!
Have a GREAT Weekend!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Let's take a quick look back to the minute I stepped through the doorway to my home last night after work.
7:20pm: Arrived home to a funky smell. No, not the dog pooped in the house smell but a different the dog did something else smell. Quick glance at the dog walker's note which read, "Sully is great.. blah, blah, blah. Had some diarrhea (outside, don't worry!).. blah, blah. Ate some sticks. Love him to pieces." Turn to look into Sully's room and see Sully caked in puppy vomit which is also strewn all over the room. Exorcist, much?
7:30pm: Rush the puppy upstairs to the bathroom. Suddenly realize that maybe an attempt at switching dog food brands wasn't the greatest idea. Throw said puppy in the tub and rinse away caked puppy vomit. Gag.
7:45pm: Briskly run-walk puppy after realizing that we're out of pre-sick-belly puppy food. Toss 65lb puppy into the car and start driving to the nearest Petsmart.
8:00pm: Knowingly run stale yellow/slightly reddish traffic light. Continue driving until noticing red and blue revolving lights pulling up behind vehicle. No embarassing "whoop whoop" siren. Whew.
8:03pm: Proceed to fumble for registration as handsome Irish Cop kindly reminds me that I blew through the red light. Fumbling for registration while trying to keep puppy from sticking head so far out the window to lick-attack Irish Cop. Oh My Goodness.
8:05pm: Irish Cop notices that I am a nurse, still clad in navy scrubs, a navy monogrammed Penn fleece and most importantly, my ID badge.
Irish Cop: You're a nurse?
Irish Cop: Where?
AP: At UPenn, in the city?
Irish Cop: What's your specialty?
AP: Oncology. Zinger.
Irish Cop: No worries about that registration. Let me go ahead and run your license, make sure everything is up-to-date.
8:15pm: Drive away from the scene of the crime with a warning. We civil servants have an unspoken respect for each other. I also looked pretty damn cute. Sully, too, except for the vomit-mixed-with-oatmeal shampoo smell.
8:25pm: Arrive at Petsmart, having carefully obeyed every single traffic rule for miles. Leave Sully in the car while running into the store for a 50lb bag of dog food and some puppy wipes.
8:35pm: Fifty dollars and ten minutes later, I'm back in the car, obeying every single traffic rule from Petsmart to W Avenue. Somehow, I manage to get lost. Damn my (lacking) sense of direction.
8:45pm: Pull in the driveway, jump out of car and attempt to maneuver extremely famished puppy and a 50lb bag of kibble into the house. Tear into kibble bag and pour Sully his dinner. Add a little 100% pumpkin as a garnish (Hello, doggie-fiber!) and set kibble bag at the top of the cellar stairs. Can you see where this is going? Where were you last night at approximately 8:50pm to tell me that isn't such a bright idea??
8:50pm: Watch in slow motion as Sullivan charges headfirst for the bag of kibble. Continue to watch in slow motion as 20lbs of dog food topples down the stairs into the depths of the creepy basement. F my life.
8:51pm-9:03pm: Inbetween fits of laughter, sweep up thousands of tiny pieces of puppy kibble. Keep in mind, foregoing the scary nooks and crannies of the creepy basement. With a handheld dustbuster that has clearly seen better days.
We've been blessed to have been living in an 85 year old house without mice thus far. Now I have images of a little mice friend calling up all his other little mice co-horts telling them, "Hey guys! Kibble party at my house!!"
Needless to say, I DVR'd Idol last night and went straight up to bed with a cup full of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, my Kindle and my favorite roomate in the entire world...
Pukey McKnocksAnEntireBagofDogFoodDownTheStairsButILoveEveryMinuteWithHim Pukerson.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Was that a *GASP!* I heard? Perhaps, a muffled "She did what?" No worries. Prior to approximately 12pm today, I would've had the same reaction. But now, I'm a changed woman. Each week on my day off, I've decided to challenge myself to try something new and slightly outside of my personal comfort zone. The activities I've come up with so far include: Going to the movies alone, Taking a pilates/yoga class and Sitting in on group guitar lessons.
Let's just say that going to the movies by yourself rocks and week number one has been a whopping success. I can't, however, say the same for the movie.
With a bottle of Fiji water in hand to negate the effects of the unopened sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies that accompanied me to the movies, I walked the few blocks around the corner to the town movie theatre. Head held high, I confidently made my way to the ticket counter and purchased one solitary ticket (at matinee price, whoopee!) for Confessions of a Shopaholic. I swear I could hear the pre-pubescent child behind the register snicker. Since when did I start caring what other people thought?
I'm not sure what I was so worried about. Did I really expect the theatre to be packed at 1pm on a Monday? Granted the local university is on Spring Break, but clearly those kids are off galavanting on some far away tropical MTV-inspired vacation and not lining up to see a chick-flick matinee at the local town theatre!
As I walked into theatre 3 and plopped down in the best seat in the house (you know, middle of the room, second tier, right behind the row that's directly behind the railing?) I felt a sense of comfort and ownership wash over me. It was as if I was sitting in my own living room, a little less comfortable, but better in the sense that I was getting ready to watch a movie that hadn't yet been released on DVD and I didn't even have to purchase the bootleg from some creeper on the corner of Broadway and 85th.
I couldn't wait for the previews to end. As I propped my feet up on the seat in front of me and tore into the glorious silver wrapper that encased far too many calories to even think about... Wait, what was that? Did I just hear the door open? Is someone walking into my theatre? How could this be? Nobody comes to the movies alone! So much for having the theatre all to myself!
The intruder sits down two rows behind me. She just happens to be around my age.. and alone.
The thought crosses my mind to strike up a conversation. Maybe figure out what more we had in common. Does her husband travel, too? Is she alone all week with no one to converse with other than a 7 month old puppy?
As for the movie? I did contemplate leaving at times. Sure, there were funny parts and I'm all for a good sale now and then, but Becky's ensembles were a little too fierce for a seersucker-loving prepster like me and the plot was a little hard for me to fully get into. I don't remember feeling the same way about Sophie Kinsella's book! All throughout watching the movie, I kept thinking to myself, "I can't imagine racking up skads of credit card debt and I will NEVER catch myself in line at a register only to have my plastic declined. How embarassing!" I actually found myself feeling sorry for Becky Bloomwood and slightly aghast at the careless spending she allowed herself to partake in. Blame my new budget and financially savvy husband.
But good thing Becky met that cute corporate boy and fell in love with him. Now all her problems are solved, right? According to the movie, she meets Mr. Corporate, falls in love and becomes a reformed Shopaholic. Puh-leeease. Just ask Dr. Phil or Oprah. How many couples divorce secondary to their wives incredulously frivolous spending habits? Don't worry sweetie. You'll relapse a few Fashion Weeks down the road. As soon as Henri Bendel puts out his new line of Disturbed Weekender totes or his Heritage Label scarves.
Whew. Who's hormonal? Apologies, I didn't mean for this post to turn into a movie review. All in all, I don't regret the $8.50 I spent on the ticket and I certainly don't regret heading to the movies sans company. It will most definitely not be the last time!
Did I mention that I ate the entire sleeve of cookies? Sigh. Delish!
a big thanks going out to Simply Me over at My Life, My World, My Words for this fantastic blogger award. please head on over to her blog and check it out! she's been one of my staple fave daily reads since joining the blogosphere! But hang on, there's a catch. With this award comes the opportunity to list 10 un-cute things about yourself and pass the award along to your favorites. Here goes!
10. I am so un-cute when I don't get my way. I tend to revert back to childhood and whine and carry-on. I then try to think of every instance in my lifetime when I did not get my way and remind people of the drastic circumstances that ensued and how my life was never, ever the same. Let's just say that I get my way more times than not. It's usually because I am very convincing and have an arsenal full of supportive arguments to uphold my case.
9. I am not cute when it comes to driving in gridlock traffic. All lady-like manners go immediately out the window. I yell, I scream, I beep the horn..incessantly. Within minutes I transform from yuppy DINK into a new york city cabbie.
8. I am not cute when I do not get my beauty sleep. Less than seven or eight hours of sleep gives me the crankies. How I ever survived college and living on three, four hours of sleep at a time I will never understand. Those days are long behind me.
7. I hate taking showers immediately after getting home from work. (This is pre-new-job-at-the-outpatient-clinic). Yes, I just worked twelve long hours. Yes, I am still wearing the same pair of scrubs. Yes, I may or may not have cleaned up multiple bodily fluids in them. Yes, I am EXHAUSTED and I just want to lay on the couch. So un-cute.
6. I had to ask Hubs for some help on some of these- my creative juices aren't exactly flowing just yet- and he says, "when you wear your black dance pants all the time." Okay, I am a creature designed for comfort. I chose a career in which I wear scrubs (I call them my professional pajamas) all day. When I come home and change? It's into black dance pants (yoga pants), a t-shirt and fleece. I'm just coming home to the puppy, why would I ever put on a pair of jeans? Okay, maybe I do wear black comfy pants a little too much.. But in my defense, I think I look cute! It's my outside-of-work-hanging-out-at-the-house-running-to-the-foodstore uniform.
5. I like to pop blackheads. (Did I really just admit this to the entire web universe?) I'll soak those suckers with a warm compress for as long as it takes... Ok, I'll stop there.
4. When Hubs isn't looking, I let Sully climb into bed. With the same muddy feet that trapsed all over our yard just hours before. Heh-Heh.
3. I like to belt out show tunes in the car. Usually off-key. What am I singing? More often than not it's The Rent soundtrack.
2. Occasionally Hubs and I will give each other Wet Willy's. Why? No reason. Premeditated? Not usually. We could be sitting on the couch watching a movie.. and somebody has to stick their finger full of spittle in somebody's else's ear.
So, have I completely grossed you out yet? I swear, I'm relatively normal!
1. I went to an all-girls high school. We wore knee socks and plaid skirts. We rolled out of bed in the morning, threw on our uniforms and a pair of boy's boxer shorts beneath our said, often-rolled-up-at-the-waistband, skirts. Boys considered themselves lucky if we shaved more than our knee caps (or the bit of skin that stuck out between our skirts and our socks), especially during monday through friday. Obviously the weekends were a different story! Well, that same lax shaving attitude has followed me into my mid-twenties. Sorry Hubs. Sometimes I just forget! Or I can't find my favorite razor. Or I've run out of replacement blades.. If I could only make the Chewbaca sound as good as you, I would be doing it now.
Passing this along to my favorite "Cutie" Bloggers: