One, two, three, four!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
This is called "I Have Half a Beer and Get a Good Idea"
This is a little late, but Peewee was born on the Fourth of July—just like Tom Cruise. She turned 17 this year, so I wanted to do something special. If I had a video camera, I would make a music video. But that would probably just be three minutes of her sleeping on the couch set to music.
One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!
Friday, July 25, 2008
I survived Finn Fest '08
It seems like just yesterday I was letting my grandma beat me at arm wrestling at Finn Fest '07. And now Finn Fest '08 has already come and gone.
It was a good one, despite the low attendance and rain. Uncle Dan made Finnish temporary tattoos—you know, because my grandma wants to get a "Sisu" tattoo for realsies. I got a tasteful tramp stamp. My mom put hers on the back of her neck. I said, "JUST LIKE HEATHER FROM ROCK OF LOVE, WHO I MAY OR MAY NOT BE MYSPACE FRIENDS WITH, WHAT, I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING" and she was all, "Who IS that?"
My mom also wrote a song for Finn Fest this year, because apparently she's a song writer now. Watch out, Neil Sedaka, whoever you are. It's called "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Finn Fest," sung to the tune of "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer" by Nat King Cole. So we had a sing-along, and I played the slide whistle and Grandma played the kazoo. It was a big hit. I THINK people were laughing WITH us.
Then it rained and we piled on the porch and inside. We got out an old favorite of mine... the Finn Fest videos. Starting in 1986. It's fun to laugh at how skinny and mullety and shirtless and high-shorted and adorable (me) everyone was back then.
After the excitement of sitting around died down and all the Michiganders went home, we had relaxing days of boat rides and bike rides and Yahtzee games and wine drinking. Robert and I went for a bike ride together for the first time since becoming professional cyclists, and that was fun. We only had to stop five times because he lost his mirror in the road, or he had to make a phone call.
Whenever I go on vacation or go home again, or to a place like home, and I'm happy—happier than I am normally, I think, "Why can't this be normal?" Maybe I COULD get a job at Tally's slinging beers and wading through bar smoke, and go home every night to Tee Lake where Grandma feeds me dinner and ice cream. Or get a job in Asheville as a street musician. MY MOM CAN WRITE MY SONGS.
Tramp stamp.
Uncle John's prison tat.
Rock of Finn Fest.
Uncle Joe and Grandma. I think she's flipping me off.
Patrick won the candy-stuffed snowman. Congratulations, suckah.
Uncle John presents the prize he won last year.
On stage (in front of the coolers, where everyone's eyes naturally fall, wondering if it's too soon for their next bevie) doing the sing-along.
The kids (and Michael) inside playing their Gameboys or whateverthehell.
Watching priceless old Finn Fest videos.
What a lovely family.
Driving the boat for three seconds.
I said, "Do something silly!"
The party lights.
Who looks better in spandex?
In the backseat on a wild ride back from the Lewiston Lodge. I think my double chin and I are laughing at Miss Bobbie's face in the picture I took before this one. She'd kill me if I shared it—but she would do it like a lady.
Yahtzee! I think I won the third game, but by then I was two sheets to the wind.
I wanted to take a picture of my mom in her kayaking outfit, but she wouldn't let me because she looked too "goofy." Uh, DUH. So I had to settle for this one. Just imagine me in a Tilley hat and long-sleeved white blouse.
One last sunset cruise.
It was a good one, despite the low attendance and rain. Uncle Dan made Finnish temporary tattoos—you know, because my grandma wants to get a "Sisu" tattoo for realsies. I got a tasteful tramp stamp. My mom put hers on the back of her neck. I said, "JUST LIKE HEATHER FROM ROCK OF LOVE, WHO I MAY OR MAY NOT BE MYSPACE FRIENDS WITH, WHAT, I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING" and she was all, "Who IS that?"
My mom also wrote a song for Finn Fest this year, because apparently she's a song writer now. Watch out, Neil Sedaka, whoever you are. It's called "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Finn Fest," sung to the tune of "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer" by Nat King Cole. So we had a sing-along, and I played the slide whistle and Grandma played the kazoo. It was a big hit. I THINK people were laughing WITH us.
Then it rained and we piled on the porch and inside. We got out an old favorite of mine... the Finn Fest videos. Starting in 1986. It's fun to laugh at how skinny and mullety and shirtless and high-shorted and adorable (me) everyone was back then.
After the excitement of sitting around died down and all the Michiganders went home, we had relaxing days of boat rides and bike rides and Yahtzee games and wine drinking. Robert and I went for a bike ride together for the first time since becoming professional cyclists, and that was fun. We only had to stop five times because he lost his mirror in the road, or he had to make a phone call.
Whenever I go on vacation or go home again, or to a place like home, and I'm happy—happier than I am normally, I think, "Why can't this be normal?" Maybe I COULD get a job at Tally's slinging beers and wading through bar smoke, and go home every night to Tee Lake where Grandma feeds me dinner and ice cream. Or get a job in Asheville as a street musician. MY MOM CAN WRITE MY SONGS.
Tramp stamp.
Uncle John's prison tat.
Rock of Finn Fest.
Uncle Joe and Grandma. I think she's flipping me off.
Patrick won the candy-stuffed snowman. Congratulations, suckah.
Uncle John presents the prize he won last year.
On stage (in front of the coolers, where everyone's eyes naturally fall, wondering if it's too soon for their next bevie) doing the sing-along.
The kids (and Michael) inside playing their Gameboys or whateverthehell.
Watching priceless old Finn Fest videos.
What a lovely family.
Driving the boat for three seconds.
I said, "Do something silly!"
The party lights.
Who looks better in spandex?
In the backseat on a wild ride back from the Lewiston Lodge. I think my double chin and I are laughing at Miss Bobbie's face in the picture I took before this one. She'd kill me if I shared it—but she would do it like a lady.
Yahtzee! I think I won the third game, but by then I was two sheets to the wind.
I wanted to take a picture of my mom in her kayaking outfit, but she wouldn't let me because she looked too "goofy." Uh, DUH. So I had to settle for this one. Just imagine me in a Tilley hat and long-sleeved white blouse.
One last sunset cruise.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Self-Check Out
I've finally discovered the joys of the self-check out at my local Jewel. I GET it now! I used to avoid the self-check out after I used it once and accidentally thought I could just scan produce without a care in the world. But apparently you need a code or some shit. I was like, "Code? I don't know the code! Does it LOOK like I work here?" Then it took me, like, ten minutes to find "green pepper" on the code cheat sheet, and people were like, "Come on, lady, I can't hold this milk forever."
But then I started making mid-week grocery runs for sad pairings like wine and a Lean Cuisine, and I'd rather not go through the shame and humiliation of watching my wine and Lean Cuisine pass down the belt in slow motion in front of the Judgy McJudgers in front of and behind me, who go home to their families and say at dinner-time prayer, "And I'd just like to add a quick note about that sad girl in line at the grocery store today. God, please find her a family. Amen." Then the pimply cashier judges me and the bagger is all, "Do you want a bag for your obvious night alone? With your cat?" and I just clench my teeth and say, "No. thanks. I'm. going. green," and run out of there and drive the four blocks home.
At the self-check out, however, I do my own ringing up and my own bagging and nobody but nobody has to know that I'm buying five cans of cat food and ice cream, for example, or Kotex, Midol, and beer. It's a God-send! PLUS, I've already humiliated myself enough at this Jewel, like the time I stopped in after work, then when I got home realized my shirt was unbuttoned. They were probably like, "Why is that boy wearing a bra?" Or the time I forgot my wallet and had to hide my lunch meat in the tortillas while I ran home to get it. Oh, self-check out, ye hath saveth me.
But then I started making mid-week grocery runs for sad pairings like wine and a Lean Cuisine, and I'd rather not go through the shame and humiliation of watching my wine and Lean Cuisine pass down the belt in slow motion in front of the Judgy McJudgers in front of and behind me, who go home to their families and say at dinner-time prayer, "And I'd just like to add a quick note about that sad girl in line at the grocery store today. God, please find her a family. Amen." Then the pimply cashier judges me and the bagger is all, "Do you want a bag for your obvious night alone? With your cat?" and I just clench my teeth and say, "No. thanks. I'm. going. green," and run out of there and drive the four blocks home.
At the self-check out, however, I do my own ringing up and my own bagging and nobody but nobody has to know that I'm buying five cans of cat food and ice cream, for example, or Kotex, Midol, and beer. It's a God-send! PLUS, I've already humiliated myself enough at this Jewel, like the time I stopped in after work, then when I got home realized my shirt was unbuttoned. They were probably like, "Why is that boy wearing a bra?" Or the time I forgot my wallet and had to hide my lunch meat in the tortillas while I ran home to get it. Oh, self-check out, ye hath saveth me.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Surprise II
Picnic at the new house.
Mom and Robert at the Not-so-secret View.
My Harvey boy.
Surprise! I'm going camping! Oh, you didn't know we were going camping? Oopsies, I gave it away.
I also got contacts for the rafting.
Cheri tending to her life's work.
At the Big Pigeon River before rafting. (The next few were taken with a disposable camera.)
Hike to the overlook on Sunday.
We found these sunglasses on a tree, which was perfect because Cheri had lost hers. But not so perfect because Amy had bought Cheri sunglasses for her birthday—the next day.
At the overlook.
Waiting through the rain in the car.
Hooker Falls. That sounds like a punchline to a joke—"And so then I says, I says, 'Hooker Falls!'"
(More disposable—my camera ran out of batteries.)
Triple Falls.
High Falls.
Cheri taught me how to chop 2x8s for the fire at home.
Smoky.
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