No Markel Farkel Friday

I didn't Markel Farkel Friday last week. I know. Things at my job are getting more and more hectic and they aren't giving me enough free time to horse around AND get my blog updated. Stupid job getting in the way of my online life. Jeez.

No really, I'm super happy to have my job and super happy to be busy and not looking like someone that could be downsized, if you smell what I stepped in.

So I didn't get a chance to Markel Farkel Friday y'all.

So today I'll shower you with some pictures from an impromptu show Riveter played Saturday night.

See, we all went to the Peach Street Distillers to see The Freeman Social play at a big pig roast, bbq bash for the distillery's owner's birthday. After they were done, they said we could use their equipment and play some songs. So we did.

The Freeman Social

Bubba

Katie

Mike

It was fun. But, honestly, playing music is so much fun, I always wanna be doin' it.

You can tell by the casuallness of our attire that we had not planned on playing. But we rocked it rock 'n' roll style.

Yep, here we are rockin' The Freeman Social's equipment Riveter style.
Kelley belting out the tunes with me standing near the conveniently located porta potties.

Laurena being cute while trying to warm up her bass-playin' fingers.

Rockin' Mike's lovely vintage Gibson. Oh, how I love a Gibson.

Poor Boom Boom, this is how it always goes for the dummer — there's either the head of a guitar or a cymbal blocking their glamour shots.

Good times.

Puzzling

I always remember my gramma starting her day with a cup of coffee and the crossword in the local newspaper.

My mom, never a morning gal, starts her midday with tea (I grew up with her saying, "Coffee smells good, but tastes .. blech" — I believe she is correct ... although I've never actually drank coffee — yeah, I'm that lame) and the crossword in the local newspaper.

Recently, I started helping out at the front desk at my work. To pass my time, I've started doing the crossword puzzle.

And the Sudoku (which I have always loved, but never had time for) and the Jumble (which I've never liked but now do it anyway) and the Celebrity Cipher (I like if I can figure it out, otherwise, eh).

So yeah, let's add "puzzler" or "puzzler doer" or "crossword dork" to my lengthy list of issues/traits.

But you know what, I like the challenge — especially the crossword.

On those days that I can finish it completely, I am buoyed. I think of it as a smart day for ye olde Rivetergirl.

On those days that I need help, I am stop extra hard on my way to the bathroom, but whatever. It doesn't define me. But I know it does some.

A while back, when Bill and I were going through our documentary phase, we rented Word Play — aptly, a documentary about people who do and make crosswords. When I mentioned this my crossword pal, Boom Boom,* he said, "I bet it's full of freaks."

Well, yeah ... and no. Mostly it's just regular people who have found a love crosswords and love to compete. But there are those saucy crossword freaks that season the story oh so nicely.

I'm still trying to get through the daily puzzles without erasing through the paper and am still quite afraid of the giant Sunday puzzle.

I wonder how long this puzzle phase is going to last?

Wordless Wednesday

That's two kitties on the bed with their little paws covering their little eyes. See why it's so hard to make the bed in the morning?

Whoops, I put words on Wordless Wednesday — screw the rules.

And since I already messed up by writing words above, I'll mention that I wrote about Bill's romantic streak over here.

Are you ready?

So. Where do you want to go?

Yeah, anywhere.

Me? I have a list. Here's my top three for today.

But the fact of the matter is that I will go pretty much anywhere.

I like seeing new places and eating different food.

My one life's regret is that I didn't travel more before I had Mar. But the lucky happenstance is that Margaret is a great traveler and loves to do all the things we love to do while traveling.

So that one regret can suck it.

Oh fer cute!

Look, I'm not all beer drinking and swearing ...

And then it was Easter

Last month was Christmas, last week Valentine's Day and now Easter's here already?

Holy crap.

Summer's gonna be here and gone and I won't even have had my buried the Yule Log.

We had a lovely Easter Sunday filled with great neighbors, great friends and great food (hello smoked brisket, I love you).


The Easter Bunny brought Margaret a bunch of bunny crap that she loved and waaaayyyyy too much candy. Luckily I was there to eat much of it, so she didn't have to.

Oh how I will sacrifice for my child.

Markel Farkel Friday

Anniversary 43

Forty-three years ago today, my mom and dad were married in a little chapel in Reno, Nevada.

When my dad died a year and a half ago, they'd been married 41 years.

People don't often stay married that long anymore. Their marriage was a testament to strongly held beliefs, patience and determination.

My parents worked very hard for everything they had — including their marriage.

Of course, it's a bittersweet day now that my dad's gone, but still one that deserves to be remembered and celebrated.

An open letter to Wendy's

Dear Wendy's (the fast-food franchise, not to all the ladies named Wendy's — why would there be women named "Wendy's," wouldn't they just be "Wendy" — who make prepackaged mandarin chicken salads and sell them at drive-thru windows):

It seems to me that I should not have to drain several ounces of "juice" from the bottom of my recently purchased mandarin, chicken salad.

Quite the contrary, it seems to me that the lettuce et al., should be dry and not hastily growing bacteria as I consume it.

It is, after all, salad and not soup.

Just so you know, I'm hungry. If I wasn't, I'd be driving my flabby ass back across town to the Wendy's establishment where said salad was purchased and sharing with your employees the juiciness of this so-called salad.

Nobody wants this, I can assure you. So please, in the future, keep it dry, OK?

Thanks,
rivetergirl

To my husband

Today is our 9th wedding anniversary.

I know that there's nothing overtly special about the 9th wedding anniversary. I mean the traditional gifts are willow and pottery — a far cry from platinum and diamonds.

But there's something about this anniversary that is special for me and it has nothing to do with the number of years we've been together.

Instead, this anniversary means more to me, simply because you mean more to me than ever before — I didn't really think that was possible.

You've proven that despite all my issues, frailties and idiosyncrasies that you love me and want to be with me.

That was never clearer to me than several weeks ago when I got kicked out of the Quincy for being too drunk and acting too badly and then proceeded to make the walk home with our bikes a living hell.

I broke my camera, lost my scarf, dented the hell out of my bike and bruised the hell out of my knees. Then I got sick all over the house and was a general pain in the ass.

The next morning when I was sicker than I'd ever been before, you took care of me ... and cleaned up after me.

I thanked you for helping me home. You responded without hesitation.

"I'll always be there to get you home."

That's what you said. And though I continued to puke my guts out, at that moment I had an epiphany.

You aren't going to tire of me, have enough of me or ever stop loving me despite all the reasons I give you.

I think for all these years that one day you were going to wake up and say you'd had enough.

And I wouldn't have blamed you.

I'll never know why you love me the way you do, but I am so very, very thankful that you do. And I will never question that love ever again. I don't have to.

My love for you grows every day and it is wonderful.

I don't know that I will ever feel that I truly deserve you, but I know that you think you do and that works great for me.

Thank you for loving me all these years.

I can't wait for the next 9, 18, 29 years to come.

Your loving wife,
-robin

Conversation with a sick kid

Margaret has pink eye. Pink eye is disgusting.

Next topic of conversation, please.

Mar was putting compresses on her eyes, per the doctor's orders, while I was fixing my hair.

Me: So, you don't like my purple hair (I had purple lowlights dyed Saturday).

Mar: Eh.

Me: Do you think it's weird your mom had purple hair?

Mar: There's a lot of other things that make you weird besides purple hair.

Out of the mouths of babes.

Markel Farkel Friday

This cheese stands alone.

My name is Rivetergirl and I'm a digi-mom

I'm an addict. I like to be connected all the time.

But on the flip side when I'm away from all things Internety, I do fine, too.

I love gadgets and technology and being able to see what's going on with everyone else and have them know what's going on with me.

I text message Bill to remind him about Margaret's piano lesson, I e-mail my bandmates to discuss gigs, I blog so my mom can see pictures of her grandkids, I maintain my Facebook page so I can keep in touch with friends near and far.

And I like it.

Click here to read about how this digi-mom is using the technology to keep it all together.

Beating a dead horse

OK, first I'd like to offer my thoughts on April Fools Day:

I don't like it.

I don't like be pranked, tricked or surprised in a way that means people knew shit and I didn't. My anxiety issue precludes me from enjoying things. So please for everyone's safety, don't mess with me — you might just end up getting cut (not likely as I also have a fear of knives) ... or I'll yell at you (very likely — I have no yelling issues, huh Bill?).

So onward to the dead horse:

Hey, did you know I lost some weight recently (I know, I can hear your eyes rolling right now. Again with the weight loss? Jeez, I need to get over myself already.)

Well, since the aforementioned thing (see, I'm just beating the dead horse lightly with jazz brush drumsticky things), my pants have been too big and I've taken to wearing a belt. I hate wearing a belt. It just adds more bulk to my gut which is bulky enough on its own.

But I've been too chicken to shop for new pants.

I've been afraid that the next size down wouldn't fit and I'd have to keep wearing my loose pants until I could figure out a way to lose yet more weight (which I am struggling to do at this point).

But last night I bit the bullet and trudged into the Gap.

I picked out a couple pairs of work-like pants and a couple pairs of jeans in the next size down and headed to the dressing room.

Mar was with me, so I said out loud, "It's OK if these don't fit. It's no big deal." She just looked at me and said, "Uh yeah ... oh can I push the service button for the girl to come bring you a bigger size."

I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

So I took a deep breath and tried on the pants.

And they fit.

I almost cried and had to resist the urge to run out of the dressing room and around the store shouting the size of my pants.

I've never wore this size pants. Ever (OK maybe once when I was in middle school, but still).

I felt like I won the lottery, but then I realized I didn't win anything. I earned this size pants.

And I'm hoping to get my still-flabby self in gear and go down at least one more pants size before the pool opens in May.

That's my goal. I may end up crying over not getting there, but at least I'm here and at least no one has said April Fools Day to me, yet.

What's up with spring?

I returned Margaret's skis today.

We had rented them for the season ... and the season is over now.

But we made it up for the last day and the conditions were pretty darn good. There was powder, not too much ice and sun (OK there was wind, too, but the wind could suck it).

And while I'm a bit bummed about the end of the ski season, I'm excited about the beginning of biking, hiking, camping season.

Plus we scored a sweet, used bike rack for my truck.

Yeah, I know we already have a bike rack for my truck, but that bike rack in on top of my truck and getting my heavy cruiser up there takes more Herculean effort than I care to dispatch on a regular basis.

Plus, Bill's uber-long cruiser didn't fit on it, so we'd have to cram that in the back of my truck and the chain would inevitably get grease on the seat and Margaret.

So now we have a sweet rack that fits into the receiver hitch, swings away so you can open the back of the truck and fits all of our bikes. Woot to people's old stuff.

But I wrote more and posted pictures of our fickle spring, so click here would ya?

Markel Farkel Friday

Alright already

OK, OK. Alright! I'll do it, but I don't like it.

A bunch of you have been asking me to post a picture of myself and my stupid face.

I realized that only reason that I haven't is my vanity.

Vanity isn't funny.

My skinned up face is.

So without further ado, here's my face in all it's glory (or lack thereof):
Of course, don't forget both of my palms are skinned and bruised and both knees as well.

I can certainly jack myself up but good.

Wordless Wednesday

A little clarification

So I hiked and then I fell down.

I didn't fall on the hike. I tripped over a step while running for no good reason.

I'm bringing this up again, because every time someone asks me what happened to my face (a question that I truly cannot hear enough) and I say I tripped, they inevitably ask if I was drunk.

Actually my mom said, "Robin, it's time to lay off the booze."

Honestly, I'd love to blame my trip on being drunk. I wouldn't even lie about it.

But I wasn't (yet. Falling on one's face is a great reason to drink a bunch of Crown and Bud Lite Lime ... not mixed together, people, that would be awful ... or would it? I must try that next time).

As I said, we hiked and then went back to Scott and Laurena's house to barbecue and eat cake. There was beer and I had a couple, but was totally within normal limits (well, as normal as my limits can be).

What happened is that I had a Robin moment.

See, I'm clumsy.

Very much so.

I've always been that way. Grace is not my strong suit — OK, it's not even in my deck of cards.

I remember one family vacation when I was around 9 or so, my family started calling me "Ouch" because I hurt myself constantly.

So falling down, tripping, knocking myself in the head, stabbing myself in the hand with my own fingernail, poking myself with the edge of the microwave, burning my face with a curling iron ... these things happen all the time — without that aid of alcohol or anything else.

I have long legs and chunky thighs that cause me no end of trouble. I have a hard time not tripping over my own giant feet. The fact that I've never fallen down on stage while playing my guitar is a miracle (and something that I fully expect to happen at some point).

In short, I'm awkward.

The other day at work, I tripped over a floor mat that is about a quarter-inch thick and I've both fallen up and down that stairs here (one time I was distracted by a coworker opening a door and sprained my ankle).

So I fell on my face while running and I wasn't drunk (yet). Why does this surprise anyone?

How I spent my Saturday

It was Scott's birthday Saturday.

First we hiked the Mt. Garfield trail. Because that's what Scott wanted to do (hello, crazy).
Click over here to see more photos and find out whether I was able to drag my flabby ass all the way up those two excruciating miles.

Then there was Scott's birthday barbecue complete with custom cake designed by Bill. It says "Happy Birthday Boom Boom, Director of Bands."

Then I had to go shopping for some Diet Coke. It's a good thing Aaron was there to keep me company (this picture may just prove why no one will shop with me after the first time).

Then I tripped over a step in Scott and Laurena's back yard and skinned my face.

What? No picture?

No. You can just imagine what it looks like. Think cheese grater on skin.

Awesome.

Happy birthday, Scott. I hope it was worth it.

Markel Farkel Friday

Finally stories more jacked up than my own

I just discovered F*** My Life.

Oh it's so awesome. People tell their life's woes in a couple sentences. Short, to the point and way worse than the stuff that goes on in my life.

Here's an example:

Today, I was watching this TV show where a man was describing how much he loved this woman, how he made every opportunity to see her, and how he loved her in a way nobody else could. I smiled, because that's exactly the way I feel about my crush. Then I realized the program was about stalkers. FML

Posted using ShareThis

Wordless Wednesday

Anatomy of a St. Patrick's Day celebration

Sayin' something nice

Because Cari was nice enough to design earrings for me.

It's my blog and I can shamelessly promote my talented friends if I want to.

A birthday wish

Happy birthday, Cy. You're welcome in our backyard anytime.

Spring is in the air

Friday afternoon in our back yard.

Markel Farkel Friday

But he still wears his pants all droopy

Click over here to read about Sean's recent cosmetic surgery.

Go on click, there's even a gory picture.

Wednesday Facebook meme punt

A - Age: 38

B - Bed size: Too small for me, Bill, Mar, the dog and too many cats.

C - Chore you hate: Anything that involves scrubbing.

D - Dearest Friend(s): Bill, my mom, Laurena, Scott, Kelley, Tracee, Markel, Special K, ... I'm a lucky girl because I could go on and on.

E - Essential start your day item: For work days, it's a shower. For non work days, I prefer to let the day start without me.

F - Favorite actor(s): Good ones that don't squint too much. Unless, it's Clint Eastwood, then he can squint all he wants.

G - Gold or Silver: Platinum.

H - Height: 5'9" (at least that's what I tell everyone, but it's really like 5'8" and a quarter).

I - Instruments you play(ed): Guitar and the clarinet in the 5th grade.

J - Job title: Assistant to the publisher (but we don't have a publisher anymore and the title has very little to do with that I actually do).

K - Kid(s): 1 girl, 1 man-boy

L - Living arrangements: Uh, we live in our house that we like to pretend is ours.

M - Mom's name: Shirley

N - Nicknames: Rob, Robbo, Mama, Honey, Dillweed, Dumbass (oh wait, those are the nicknames I call myself).

O - Overnight hospital stay other than your birth: Margaret's birth and uh, that one time I was in the hospital while in grad school. The professor I was assisting that year had someone bring exams to my hospital room so I could grade them. Really.

P - Pet Peeve: Close talkers, people who don't share their candy, having to touch people that I don't know very well.

Q - Quotes you like: "That which does not kill you makes you stronger."

R - Right or left handed: I write and stuff with my right hand. But my left hand can do stuff, too. It's getting pretty good at playing the guitar.

S - Siblings: 1 older brother whom I have forgiven for all the mean things he did to me as a child.

T - Time you wake up: On work days, after the third snooze alarm goes. On non-work days, when I smell bacon.

U – Unfinished business: Losing the rest of this stupid weight.

V - Vegetable you dislike: Tomatoes, but only raw. If they're cooked and you can't see the seeds or interior tomato slime, they're just fine.

W - Ways you run late: Lately every day, mostly due to that late third snooze alarm.

X - X-rays you've had: Kidneys several times when I've had kidney stones (not really that much fun even with all the narcotics).

Y - Yummy food you make: Oh, that smokey, chunky chili and the tomatillo chutney my mom and I invented.

Z - Zodiac: Gemini — both of us.

At least I look good at the resort bar

As I suggested Friday night, I got myself a brand, spankin' new set of skis, bindings and boots.

I wasn't in the market for my own gear, but I can't resist a killer deal — and really, did you see those skis? They're gorgeous and way nicer that I should probably have (considering my propensity for breaking and/or losing my stuff), but "75 percent off" is a discount that should not be passed on willy nilly.

Thank goodness for local sporting good retailer Gene Taylor's. They are head and shoulders better than those big-box chains whose employees clock in and clock out. At Gene Taylor's you get customer service and a good price. Plus did I mention 75 percent off, because what bargain hunter can resist that?

And it wasn't just me scoring killer deals, but our dear friends, Scott and Laurena jumped on the great deals, too.

So we were thrilled that on Friday and Saturday our local resort got a couple inches of the white stuff which we dutifully skied Sunday.

Margaret had an epic day on the mountain.

Her first run down the bunny hill saw her on a path through the trees that ended in a smallish bump, off of which she caught air ... and landed. On her last ride up the lift she was "clomping" her skis together and one fell off. But worry not, she ended up getting a ride down the hill on a snowmobile.

Both of those things and most of the stuff in between delighted her to no end. I don't think I've ever seen Margaret grin ear to ear for so long before.

The only sobering part of the day is that I came to the realization that my 8-year-old is now a better skier than I am.

At least my skis are nicer!

It's over, but the fat lady hasn't yet sung

Last Thursday was the last official weigh in for my office's Biggest Loser challenge.

I kicked ass, lost 17 pounds in 8 weeks and didn't win. I'm still one super happy camper.

The gal that did win worked just as hard, if not harder and totally deserves the win. I did get an honorable mention and a 50 gift card to the mall, but the biggest reward is my droopy pants.

I have to wear a belt with my of my pants and my gut isn't nearly as poochy nor jiggly as it used to be.

The depressing part is that I still have three asses — although smaller asses.

So while our office challenge is over, I'm still working just as hard to shed those pounds. It's been satisfying to see the scale move down and down each week (except for the one week where I gained a pound — but I'm just pretending I had too much iron in my system that week).

As I mentioned over here, I'm hoping all this work means that I'll finally be ready for swim-suit season this year.

New skis

I love end of the season clearances.

Check out my new skis.

Markel Farkel Friday

You MUST click on the above ad and read the copy. Fer reals, yo. This is proof that there were way too many drugs being used by ad writers in the '70s.

Bill takes the challenge

Yesterday when Markel forwarded me this Markel Farkel Wordless Wednesday image, I replied, "What do you think it will take to get Bill to do this?"

That was a stupid question.

All I had to do was show him the picture.

He's already mapping out his manscaping plans.

Horrible disturbing pictures to follow, I'm sure.

Markel Farkel Wordless Wednesday: Manscaping edition

I whine, therefore, I am

I'm a big, fat whiner. I'm all, "Wah, I'm tired. Wah, I stressed. Wah, I hungry."

And you can read about it all over here.

That which does not kill you, makes you stronger

Several times in my life, I've reminded myself of that Neitzsche quote: That which does not kill you, makes you stronger.

But still, sometimes it all gets to me. Yesterday was one of those days where I felt that I might actually die from it all, but I didn't and today I'm stronger.

Of course, swearing a whole bunch helped.

I left work a little early to get Mar to her piano lesson on time only to be reminded that the school was having a reading event from 5:30 to 7.

5:30!

Jeez, talk about sticking it to the working parents.

I knew it was going to be a time crunch. Bill was working late (or so I thought — the fact that he was actually at home and hadn't picked up the kid is going to remain uncommented upon at this juncture solely for the reason that it still makes my blood boil), I had 35 minutes to finish dinner (we'd put on curried short ribs in the slow cooker in the morning ... hello yummy and thanks goodness for Cooking Light), send Mar off to piano, feed her when she got back and get her to her school event.

Needless to say, my already hectic work day (filled with new tasks) piled with the home-life stress made mama want to cry in her basamati rice. Instead I said the "f" word to myself about a million times while I finished cooking.

(The whole fact that I'm cooking actual delicious recipes is weird to me. I've make a name for myself throughout my marriage as the non-cooker. I guess people can change. Huh.)

As Mar was scoffing down her dinner, I put on my shoes and prepared myself to act like a proper parent in front of the other families at Mar's school — no swearing, no drinking, no stories of drinking, etc.

That's when Bill sauntered in and asked Margaret if she was ready to go. And off they went. Leaving me behind.

It was probably the right thing to do, considering my horrific mood, but still ...

Oh the frustration of it all.

Luckily, I took my frustrations out on the dirt, sticky floor and cat hair.

I guess I should modify Neitzsche's quote to say: That which does not kill you, makes your house cleaner.