Another day

I just finished watching the Super Bowl. And by “watching the Super Bowl”, I mean that I just finished checking Twitter to read about Madonna’s halftime performance and commentary on all the commercials while I occasionally looked up to see the game because I really didn’t care at all if the Giants of New York beat the Patriots of New England.

In my opinion, real football ended for the season after college football wrapped up.

Also, Madonna has an incredible amount of energy for someone who’s 94 years old. Good gracious. She must take her One A Day plus iron without fail.

And now I’m going to write something quick because Downton Abbey is waiting for me on the DVR and I have to watch it tonight or I’ll never get to sleep for wondering if Lady Mary helps Matthew Crawley find the will to live again.

Speaking of DVRS, we got a new one on Thursday. We finally replaced our old T.V. with a nicer one. It wasn’t very hard to do considering that our former T.V. was a 20 inch Sony with a picture that had become so blurry that it was hard to tell what the score was when you watched a sporting event. Of course maybe the problem is with my eyes. I choose not to examine that too closely.

The upside of the 20 inch Sony was that we never had to worry about anyone stealing it because it weighed about 450 pounds. And, well, it was a ten-year-old twenty inch T.V. We could have left it out on the curb with a sign that read FREE and no one would have taken it.

But we’d put off getting a new T.V. Mainly because I am the technological person in our home. And that’s like saying that Debra Winger as Sissy was the classiest character in Urban Cowboy. Sure, maybe compared to Bud, but you weren’t going to find her at any debutante balls.

And part of the reason I didn’t want to get a new T.V was because I knew it would mean unplugging things and figuring out where wires go and how remotes work and the whole thing just seemed exhausting. So I wasn’t surprised at all when I called Dish Network and found out they needed to come replace our old DVR with a high definition DVR. And they could be at our house in two weeks with a ten hour time frame for the appointment.

Technology. You make me sad.

So our nice technician shows up and asks if they’ve told me he’ll also need to replace our satellite dish. This is where I need to assure you that it’s a very small, hardly noticeable dish because I am just vain enough to care that y’all might think we have a huge satellite dish sitting in the front yard of our home on wheels. Right next to the sixteen stray dogs.

And the car up on cement blocks.

Of course no one mentioned that our entire system needed to be replaced, but I told him to go ahead and do what he needed to do. And about an hour later he came in and announced our old dish had been completely installed the wrong way. Which explains why we had to sometimes lean out of bed at a precarious angle to change the channel on the T.V. in our bedroom.

Then he brought in the bright, shiny DVR along with new remote controls. That’s when it dawned on me that he was taking the old DVR with all the episodes of Thirty Rock I haven’t watched yet this season. And a little part of me began to hurt because I had big plans to curl up and watch some Liz Lemon on Friday night.

I was kind of feeling a little bitter and resentful toward the new shiny DVR with its absence of Thirty Rock episodes until the Dish Network guy handed me the new remote control and explained that I can now record up to 450 hours of shows. 450 HOURS.

Well, that’s a game changer.

I can’t tell you how many times I would get so stressed when we got down to the 30 hour zone of recording time. I’d start figuring out what I could delete to make more room. It was like a weekly Sophie’s Choice.

(Although I’d usually solve the problem by deleting some of P’s shows because how many hunting shows or shows about catching monster fish does one person need?)

But now there is such freedom with 450 hours. I can keep every episode of Downton Abbey on there forever. And I can let The Bachelors pile up until I have enough that I can watch the entire season in one hour instead of subjecting myself to all the filler and “Stay tuned for the MOST DRAMATIC ROSE CEREMONY EVER” stuff.

And I can experience all this television freedom on a screen that’s big enough that I can actually see the picture from across the room.

It’s an abundance of riches.

Now I just need to figure out where we’re going to put the T.V. because it’s currently sitting on the church pew in our living room. I always loved having our T.V. in an armoire but these fancy new T.V.s don’t fit in an armoire. I’m thinking built-ins. Any thoughts on that?

Also, is anyone watching The Voice? And is anyone going to watch that new show Smash?

I was on the fence about it but I’m going to give it a whirl now that I can rest in the security that I can still record an additional 449 hours of other shows.

I’m sitting on the couch next to P while he watches Avatar. We’ve never seen it before. He probably hasn’t seen it because he never goes to the movies. I haven’t seen it because I don’t enjoy movies with blue alien people that take place in fake worlds.

I prefer dramas about British aristocracy with women wearing beautiful dresses and singing songs by the piano to soldiers. But I’ll have to wait until P goes to bed to enjoy Downton Abbey. That is my cross to bear.

I’m also sad to report that the non-picking of my shellac nails hasn’t gone so well. They started to drive me crazy on Saturday because they were separating from my nail so bad, but then I spent most of Sunday cleaning out cabinets and closets and I guess it just fed my general OCD and I couldn’t stand my nails ONE MORE MINUTE. And so I have picked at the majority of them. I KNOW. It’s TERRIBLE for my nails. But I had bad nails to begin with so I’m not really concerned.

Anyway, I wish I had something exciting to share from the weekend but that would require that something exciting happened around here. And I assure you that was not the case.

Caroline’s friend Gabi came home from school with her on Friday and spent the night with us. I took the girls to one of those yogurt places where you make your own concoction and then weigh it to determine how much you owe. Apparently I was in the mood to throw money in the toilet on Friday because that’s what happens every time I take Caroline there. She spoons all that stuff into her cup and then takes about four bites before declaring “I’M THE FULLEST I’VE EVER BEEN” and I’m left with a cup of inedible yogurt because only a very discerning palate enjoys a mix of lemon pie with chocolate grooms’ cake topped with gummy worms, sprinkles and butterfingers.

On Saturday morning the girls were awake by 6:15. P and I woke up to the sound of them squealing loudly in the living room and I threw on my robe and did my best impression of the wicked witch of the west by 6:30 a.m. I’m almost positive they made fun of me the minute I left the room because I threw out a lecture about the absurdity of being awake before dark on a Saturday and threatened to put them in separate rooms if they didn’t PIPE DOWN and play quietly.

I climbed back in bed and attempted to go back to sleep, but P got up about thirty minutes after my wicked witch warning and discovered they’d helped themselves to a nutritious breakfast of IBC Cream Soda, Frosted Flakes and a banana.

I’m so proud.

Later that morning P took Caroline to a soccer fun day thing that was going on and I took that time to sit on the couch and enjoy the quiet. I also caught up on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills because I was dying to see Pandora’s wedding and it didn’t disappoint.

They made it back to the house around noon and then we headed to Caroline’s basketball game at 2:00. She had a great game and even made two baskets and got a few rebounds. She’s not the tallest girl out there but she’s a little scrappy.

Their coach told them he’d treat them to Sonic if they won so we spent the rest of Saturday afternoon sitting outside at Sonic while the girls on the team tried their best to sustain a major injury on the old-fashioned merry go round. You know what I’m talking about? One of those kind they used to have on playgrounds where one poor kid would run next to it trying to get it to go super fast while praying she didn’t get sucked under or trip and fall?

It would appear our Sonic isn’t concerned about lawsuits and liability because that thing seems like a big spinning death trap to me. But the girls loved it and I guess we just live in an age of being completely paranoid because I spent plenty of hours on those things and lived to tell the tale.

As for the rest of Saturday, I felt like I was coming down with Caroline’s cold. My throat was scratchy and I just felt blah. But I slept in on Sunday and felt much better after a good night’s sleep. I even cleaned out my bathroom cabinet and threw away all manner of expired medicines.

(This is just fascinating, isn’t it?)

Now I’m sitting here watching a blue man fight off a giant bird-like creature and wondering if Anna and Mr. Bates are going to ever get to be together and live happily ever after and sit on their couch not watching movies about blue people because television hasn’t been invented yet.

And that’s our weekend in a 830 word nutshell.

So I spent this past weekend in Houston.

I believe I’ve mentioned that Mimi and Bops bought a vacation home in Houston, mainly because they jumped on the bandwagon with all the people that feel tropical vacation homes are overrated and opt to buy a second home in a large metropolitan area instead. And it really worked out perfectly because I ended up staying there this weekend with my friends Amanda, Janelle and Sophie.

At times like that it comes in super handy to have access to a house in a fun city with lots of restaurants and things to do. Let’s talk about the restaurants for just a moment. The following picture represents my personal kryptonite.

Can we have a moment of silence for the queso? I will remember it most fondly of all.

It’s safe to say that my healthy eating initiative kind of tanked over the last forty-eight hours, but I am planning to get right back on the broccoli-laden horse Monday morning. And I will remember once again what it’s like to go to bed feeling hungry every night.

Anyway, the reason I was in Houston was a Beth Moore event. Last year she challenged her blog readers to memorize twenty-four scriptures and this past weekend was a celebration for those that finished the year. It would be a lie for me to tell you I could recite all twenty-four verses completely by heart, but I could give you the general gist. Or I could go to my favorite fallback memory verse, “Jesus wept”.

Let’s also have a moment of silence for my long-term memory skills.

It was a great time to just get away and laugh with friends and eat too many of my favorite foods that I’ve neglected over the last three weeks. And I woke up Sunday morning, stretched and rolled back over with the joy that only comes when you know no one is going to jump on your head and ask you to turn on Shake It Up.

Then Sophie and I decided to go eat breakfast at Le Peep before I drove her to the airport to catch her flight. But as soon as we got in my car and began to drive, I noticed something was awry. Because I am an automotive genius. Also, the car was veering to one side and making a CLACKETY-CLACKETY-CLACKETY sound.

So we checked the tires as soon as we found a parking place and I can’t tell you how sad I was to discover this.

Bummer.

(Does anyone say bummer anymore? I don’t really think so.)

(Yet it has never applied more.)

And the question became what do you do about a flat tire in the middle of Le Peep parking lot on Sunday morning?

Well. You call your daddy.

At least that’s what I did. And he told me the location of a few places I could go but the problem was those places all required that I drive to them. Which wasn’t possible given the condition of my completely flat rear tire.

Then Sophie remembered she was a Triple A member and so we admitted we had a problem and appealed to a higher power.

Oh wait.

That’s the wrong organization. She said TRIPLE A.

But then we thought surely they wouldn’t come help her when she isn’t even in her car and is instead in the car of a friend who isn’t fortunate enough to be a member of Triple A.

We were wrong.

Sophie called the number on her card, explained our situation and they said OF COURSE they would come help us even though it wasn’t her car. They would be there in about forty-five minutes which gave us plenty of time to enjoy some french toast and coffee and eggs benedict.

All I can say is KUDOOZ to Triple A. I will be a fan forevermore. They sent the most helpful roadside assistant and he put the spare on my tire, checked the air in my other tires, told me I couldn’t make it back to San Antonio on my spare and cleaned out the floor mat in the back of the stay wag just because he was that nice.

When I called P to update him on the situation I told him we needed to join Triple A immediately. And he replied, “Or you could just learn to change a tire by yourself”.

He is hilarious.

I drove to Firestone because Discount Tire is closed on Sundays. (Do you care? Probably not.) The man behind the counter agreed with the Triple A man and told me the tire couldn’t be fixed. It had a gigantic nail in a bad location. So I picked out a new tire and we waited for them to put it on. Then they called me in to show me that my front tire also had a large nail in it, but it could be patched.

So I went to Houston this weekend and ran over a box of nails.

And I became a Triple A loyalist.

And then I bought a new tire which is my FAVORITE way to spend money.

And then I drove back to San Antonio.

The end.

So I feel like I have written a real post in days. Probably because I haven’t written a real post in days.

And I’d love to tell y’all about last weekend but I can’t even remember what we did at this point. Give me a minute.

Okay, Friday night P was at the ranch and Caroline and I went to eat Mexican food with Mimi and Bops and my sister and her family. On Saturday we stayed in our pajamas until a shameful hour and then Caroline played in her first basketball game of the season.

Oh. I just remembered. I spent most of Saturday convinced that Caroline was getting sick because her cheeks were so flushed all day and she seemed very lethargic. Of course her lethargy is another child’s best day, but she definitely seemed subdued for her. But she never ran fever and never complained of any symptoms. I would tell you that she didn’t have the best performance in her basketball game, but I think that was due more to her lack of basketball skills than it was to any kind of illness.

On Sunday morning we made it to church. I’d half-convinced myself we wouldn’t make it to church because I was sure Caroline was going to wake up with a raging illness, but I guess she just needed a good night’s sleep. In fact, maybe she wasn’t even flushed on Saturday but just appeared to be because I’m used to looking at myself in the mirror and my complexion is dull and pale enough right now to be mistaken for a corpse. Maybe the rosy-cheeked glow of youth threw me off because it was so unfamiliar.

(Is this the most boring post ever?)

(It’s at least the second most boring post ever. At least.)

(I feel bad about it but absolutely NOTHING has happened over the last few days.)

Sunday afternoon we met my friend Jen and her daughter to go see Beauty and The Beast in 3D which, as far as I could tell, pretty much resembled Beauty and The Beast in 2D except the tickets were more expensive and I wasn’t twenty-four years old like the last time I saw it in the theater. But KUDOOZ to Disney for their clever marketing.

And for Nemo coming out in 3D this fall. What a racket. Don’t bother to make new movies, just release the old ones in 3D. PEOPLE WILL TOTALLY FALL FOR IT.

Sure, maybe I sound cynical but that’s just because I’ve had one piece of chocolate in the last two and a half weeks and I’m a little bitter. The good news is I’ve lost .2 pounds so it’s totally worth it. In the meantime, P has cut down to one bag of Orange Milano cookies a day and has dropped ten pounds in the last week.

That will be one of the questions I ask God when I get to heaven.

In other news, there just isn’t that much other news. Except I just noticed that my cursor isn’t working correctly. And by that I mean the blinking line on my computer, not my ability to use profanity. That’s working fine as evidenced by the words I muttered under my breath earlier as I helped Caroline learn this week’s spelling words.

So I guess that’s all for now. Sorry to be so lame. Maybe the next few days will bring some kind of something that’s actually interesting.

Or maybe I’ll just start talking about soup.

Either way, I’ll be here.

Wow. All I can say is that while yesterday’s comments didn’t make me feel good about my future and the ability to get a good night’s sleep, they did manage to make me know that I’m not the only insomniac out there. My word, we’re in the midst of a no sleep epidemic.

I also wanted to let y’all know that I’ll be hosting some type of health-related giveaway once a week for the next several weeks and writing one post a week to journal my attempts at fitness. This really worked out because I am desperately trying to finish my book and there are some days that I have just used all my words.

Yes, P. That actually happens sometimes.

But today I need to talk about something else.

(Did I just hear the Hallelujah chorus?)

And this is a subject that falls squarely in the category of FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

My new iPhone.

It was sometime in mid-November that I realized my old phone was on its last legs. Mainly because anytime I’d turn it off it acted like it wasn’t going to turn on again. And this sent me into a panic because WHAT IF I DON’T HAVE A PHONE IN MY POSSESSION AT ALL TIMES? WHAT IF SOMEONE NEEDS ME AND CAN’T GET ME? OR WORSE, HOW WILL I PLAY WORDS WITH FRIENDS?

I mean that would be so 1995.

So I decided it was time to get a new phone. More specifically, it was time for me to have my own personal assistant in the form of Siri. Because I am very busy with the two or three things I have on my calendar each week and a social schedule that consists of going out one night every two months.

I skipped out of the Apple store with my new phone in hand and immediately asked Siri to text P on his cell and let him know I got my new phone. And she did it. I got a text from him a few minutes later that asked, “Is this you or Siri?” I told Siri to text “Siri”. And she did it. Then he asked if the dishes in the dishwasher were clean or dirty and I told Siri to text that they were dirty. Except she texted “They’re DARTY”.

Oh that Siri. Making fun of my accent and we’ve only known each other a few minutes.

But that should’ve been my first clue.

When I picked Caroline up from school that day she was thrilled to learn about Siri. I explained that you can ask Siri questions like “How is the weather?” and she’d answer. And so Caroline spent the next few hours SCREAMING things into my phone at poor Siri like “HOW DO MONKEYS WIPE THEIR BOTTOMS?” And Siri would say, “I don’t understand”.

Neither do I, Siri. Neither do I.

Siri did her best to answer Caroline. She’d pull up Google and search for “monkey’s bottoms” but everyone has their limit. Then I read that Siri gets used to the sounds and intonations of her owner’s voice over time and begins to understand requests better. And I lamented to Gulley that I was concerned Caroline had screwed up Siri forever with all that screaming and bizarre line of questioning because Siri and I seemed to have increasing difficulty communicating.

I’d ask questions that had been weighing on me such as, “Siri, why are the Kardashians famous?”

And she’d say, “I do not understand Kardashian.”

“Me either, Siri. What’s the deal?”

“I do not understand the deal.”

Then came the day when I said, “Siri, call Gulley on her cell.”

She responded, “I do not see a Deli in your listings.”

“NO, SIRI. CALL GULLEY CELL.”

“Okay. Calling P.F. Changs.”

What the actual heck?

P.F. Changs isn’t even a deli. And I wasn’t even trying to call a deli. I don’t even really like sandwiches.

Then one of my friends on Facebook posted a cute exchange she had with her Siri. She told Siri “Thank you” and Siri said, “No problem, Mary. It’s my pleasure.”

This caused me to develop a complex that maybe the problems between Siri and me were because I neglected to tell her thank you. Maybe other people’s Siris liked them better than mine liked me. Maybe Siri thought I was rude and ungrateful. And because I am neurotic I actually conveyed this concern to Gulley who said, “There are enough problems in the world without people worrying about telling their phone ‘Thank you’. That’s what’s wrong with the world. People are worried about making their phone feel appreciated.”

Yes.

People like her best friend.

Because I tried to thank Siri the next time she texted something to P for me and she responded with “I don’t know THANK YOU”. And really she was lucky I thanked her in the first place because her spelling was atrocious and she only understood half my words and I had to call P and explain that we were having chili for dinner and not “jelly”.

And Gulley thought all of this was hilarious and loved to kid me about worrying that Caroline had been a bad influence on Siri and corrupted her from the very beginning or that Siri’s feelings were hurt because I didn’t appreciate her.

But on Christmas morning Gulley opened up a brand new iPhone of her own. She set the whole thing up, synced all her information and then, eager to try out Siri for herself, said, “Siri, call my mom”.

Siri replied, “I don’t know you and I don’t know your mom.”

Yes. That’s my point.

Maybe she should have said “Please”.