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Mrs. Gunslinger Blogs Again

This is not my wedding cake. We did not have a wedding cake, and apparently Bridezilla™ overlooked providing a vegan desert option. I am pretty sure the bruleed bananas in melted chocolate would have worked for the vegans, but maybe not.

The wedding was lovely. The venue was fine and the chef did a nice job on the food. Everyone commented how yummy the food was.

It was so great to spend a few (chaotic) days with my family... seeing PixelPi and Mr. Pi and my niece The Officiant... meeting new relatives and seeing my kids all together again was amazingly fun.

Thanks to all of you who played Very Important Roles in the wedding. Your behind the scenes and on stage efforts made the whole event possible.

The honeymoon was awesome... Washington state's mountains are probably some of the prettiest geography I have seen in a long time. I will post more about the hotels we stayed in when I have a bit more time.

I am moved in but not unpacked... there is a camera in one of those many boxes and one day, I will find it. In fact, there are so many boxes of Gunslinger's stuff, too, that we may have to break down and get a Pod. Or two. (Then we can proudly say that in fact, we ARE Pod People. Eliminate any doubt anyone had in the first place.)

O-mazing Grace

Angels - absolutely craptastic

Well, my boys did not come through like I hoped this year. It's really okay, though, as the DJ for my wedding coordinates the music for home games... if we had progressed, we might have just ended up sitting around the reception playing Scrabble. Or Bingo.

I have tickets for the "if necessary" game tomorrow. They will look great in a frame as a memory that coulda shoulda been.

I cannot believe ALL of them forgot how to hit a ball. I was mentally coaching them and everything. They didn't listen.

No pizza party for them. No way. They have a few months to think about what they did.

Come On Barbie, Let's Go Party

13 days and counting to The Big Day. I have rearranged the guests fifteen ways to Sunday. I can only hope that the teens do not trample the octogenarians on their way to the dance floor for the latest from the Black Eyed Peas. I can only hope that the Weird People do not annoy the Normal People. Why did I invite the WP anyway?

Music. Ah yes, the music. Gunslinger prefers classics and perhaps some classic funk and I am a Barbie Girl. This is a selection cacophony... All I can say is that our entire guest list will find at least one song they can dance to. Even from a wheelchair.

Friday

I'm tired.

Today, we got our marriage license in Santa Ana. We got lost.
Resisted the temptation of getting married on the spot. I know
my niece wants to do the honors.

Today, we visited the florist in Garden Grove. We did not get lost.

Today, we went to Coco's for an early lunch. We know where Coco's is.

Today, we went to the hairstylist/make-up salon in Tustin for a trial
run. We got lost. I got the hair done (WOW) but ran out of time for
the full make-up. I only got eyeliner and lips done.

Today, we went to the bathroom designer's house in Costa Mesa. We did
not get lost. We picked out everything beautiful for our new
bathrooms.

Today, the painter left me a message saying he doesn't know what color
to paint a bedroom. Since he did not receive instructions, he left.

Tonight, half my house is painted and I am wading through at least 5
loads of laundry.

Poltergeists Et Al

The Poltergeist. Not really sure what is going on here... but... it was serious enough to call PixelPi's cell phone from work in the middle of the morning. That poltergeist sheet freaked me out. Door closing by itself, TV coming on by itself, Woody freaking out, just weird. Ok, so I listen to George Noory every night... that doesn't mean I believe the sheet on his show.

Try taking a shower alone and whilst in said shower, bathroom door closes All By Itself.

Uh-huh, that's right. All By Itself.

Talk about getting to work on time! I was outta here right quick-like.

No!

May I please hope and pray that none of the video auditions attached show up at my ACTUAL reception?!

I am already freaked out enough about putting on (and enduring) the granddaughter-sized sausage casing that claims to be an undergarment... for which I will need a pulley system... to envelope (install) my fat arse.

Pulley system techs, unite!

If any guests have questions about audio/visual equipment, please post or email BEFORE we get to The Reception.

There is not enough Arid Dry on the planet to make me relax over this potentially horrid video sequence.

The Beginning of The Move

Ambitiously anticipating the three day weekend, I made a list of chores. Three whole days to get "everything" done...or not.



Get wedding dress altered.
Take dog to vet.
Get nails done.
Pack up all non-essential household items.
Visit mother in law to be.
Clean out junk drawer.
Take clothes to dry cleaner.

Seems harmless enough of a list, if one is organized and motivated, right? The only problem with this list is that under each item are probably three or four other items that play into the project at hand...I think perhaps I need a reality check.

A Trip To My Past

I had a business trip to Miami last week and thought, hmmm.... how often am I in Miami?! I should hop on over to the Emerald Isle of Puerto Rico and check out my ole stompin' grounds.

(Historical note: my father worked for a government contractor, which sent him all over the world, family in tow... although I missed out on the European and African tours, I did get to live in Puerto Rico for many of my formative years.)

In the last 21 years, the island apparently has joined into modern culture. Many "OMG"s were exclaimed as I discovered much of my memory's pristine landscape and bucolic areas are now covered by chain restaurants, big box stores and toll roads. And instead of one English channel with week-late shows, everyone seems to have The Dish.

In 1986, a herd of cows marched up my street every afternoon at 4, followed by their keeper, who shooed them along with A Big Stick. Today, that same street has become a haven for boat dealers and marine accessory stores. There are no cows within 50 miles.

In 1986, the downtown area of Fajardo was a thriving retail center. Today, that downtown area reminds me of most small towns in flyover states - dying. Many beautiful historic buildings have been bulldozed over and redeveloped or even more sadly... left to rot, boarded up.

Besides the shock of seeing my beautiful island turn into the new Waikiki, it was great to go back... to smell the hibiscus and frangipangi... to see that (still) aquamarine ocean at the beach... to eat the most amazing food... to have that warm tropical breeze waft over me as I looked at the stars.

"Progress" and "development" happens in the most desirable real estate and Puerto Rico is certainly no exception. They can have their big box stores on "my" cow pastures... but I will never forget the enchantment and wonder.. and the privilege... of spending so many years in a very special place.

HUH??

While at my neighborhood gun store, I noticed a man attempting to purchase a large rifle with a SCOPE. Gunslinger informed me that this is a gun meant to shoot at objects far, far away. (And certainly not at Lambies, from any distance.)

A gun purchase of any type at this location would normally not perk my ears up... but this man conducted his entire transaction in another language than English. Hmmm...

The clerk asked him for his driver's license, in another language. Alright, I speak that language, so I eavesdropped...

The clerk told him that as a non-citizen, when he returned to pick up his gun in 10 days, he would need to provide proof of residency, like some utility bills or a rental agreement. The gun purchaser seemed confused. (Mind you, at this point, the clerk's fluency in the other-than-English language was atrocious and I was tempted to jump in to translate).... The purchaser indicated he did not, and could not produce, the documents required. The clerk told him the purchaser would need them to take possession of the rifle.

My eavesdropping ended when Gunslinger and I left the building... but my mind was racing.

WAIT WAIT WAIT said WoodysMom. How can someone who is not a citizen and who doesn't speak English buy a rifle with a scope?! This alone makes me concerned.

What is he going to do with said rifle and scope? Is he going HUNTING?! And for what? Is he provisioning for a ... revolution of some sort??!!

I posed to Gunslinger, just suppose we move to another non-English speaking country and decide to purchase a rifle. Would said foreign entity allow a non-citizen, non-local-language speaking person purchase a firearm? Would they?

Why do we?

Moo Cows

Here is a group of Moo Cows we saw along a gravel road in SoDak. I tried to get closer to have a chat with them and they were not interested. Apparently they had already "herd" about me from the Lambies.

Moo Cows are a lot larger in life than one imagines from the sketch on the milk carton in the fridge. Massive animals with no personality or inclination to visit with the City Girl.

Pixel Tackles A Rabbit

As promised earlier, here is the wine opening effort by PixelPi.

This is my sister and the night she fought The Rabbit. I mentioned her earlier as not being a sommelier, and I stand by that comment.

Note her technique when the cork gets stuck. Note the high-end, highly technical accoutrement she produces to encourage the cork to perform.

Note the laughter coming from Woody's Mom. Snort.

Love Pix to pieces. Just like the cork.

Lambies

Lambies: noun. All fuzzy sheep-like animals, regardless of age, in need of Ear Lovies.

Cousin Steve sure got his fill of "City Girl" (CG) questions during my Vay-Kay. Hats off to Steve for the patience he has... and thanks to Steve for not laughing at ALL my questions. CG (and other inquiring minds) want to know about Lambies.

Steve keeps his Lambies in a pen in the yard. I wanted to get close enough for Ear Lovies, but Sheep-o-Rama would have nothing to do with my evil plan. Every time I even got close to the fence, the entire flock would pick up, poop, and move on to the nether regions of the pen. I implored Cousin Steve to get a Sheep Scooper and get me one closer, and he laughed. I mean, he BELLY laughed at me.

Q: Where do they go when it gets cold? Do you cover them in blankies, or what?
A: They are already covered in a blankie called wool. We bring them into the barn in the winter. (Snicker)

Q: What's the purpose of having Lambies?
A: "Lambies." (Snicker) We breed them, get them big enough for the "Stockyard"
(CG: [internal voice] slaughterhouse?!) and sell them. We sell some of the wool, too.

Q: How big is big enough?
A: 250 - 400 pounds (CG thinks this is the answer, there was much imbibing going on).

Q: How long are they pregnant?
A. 5 months or so.

Q: Do you ever help them have Lambie babies, or no?
A: If an ewe labors longer than 4 hours or so, we help her. One time only our son was here and we talked him through the birth over the speaker on his cell phone. (NOTE: This is when I found out that many relatives have had their arms up inside their Lambies).

Q: Do Lambies have twins or more?
A: We have had a set of quads. We have had triplets and twins, too.

Q: How do you know what to do?
A: You have to feel for the front feet and the head. All of that has to come out at the same time. (Sounds complex to CG.)

Q: Do you name your Lambies?
A: Never name anything you might have to eat one day.

Q: Do you ever .... eat.... your Lambies?
A: Tried it. Not a good idea.

Q: Did you say, "Gee, this tastes like #42?"
A: Snicker.

What I Did On My Summer Vay-Kay

I am fresh back from God's Country in SE South Dakota. Amber waves of grain my ass...Rolling hills of corn, by Jove. I saw so many fields of corn I was drooling for a hot cob rolled in butter, sprinkled with Lawry's.

My trip to Corn Country was intense on so many layers there will have to be several postings. The people, the land, the critters, the family, the lifestyle... I have to digest it all and parse it into bites normal humans can appreciate. More to follow.

Future topics:

1. Family
2. Critters
3. Lifestyle
4. Ear Lovies
5. Some Stories to Share

Gunslinger

Here is Gunslinger at a tender moment.

Too Much Flying

I recently hit over 502,000 miles on American ... and that's in just 4 short years.

Today was a challenging day, but kudos to AA for not losing my bag - despite a 20 minute connection. And more kudos for upgrading me on the last two legs of my journey - that kept me sane. Thank you.

My Baby Grows Up

As promised, more family enters the blog.

This is my youngest son. Admittedly an older picture of him, this young man is well on his way to adulthood. He is graduating with honors from HS this week. He is slated to attend San Francisco State in August.

I have been a mom for almost 24 years, and a single mom for 12. I have wiped noses, made lunches, thrown out homework by mistake, attended hundreds of hours of Little League games, laughed and cried at and with the little darlings, worried constantly about them, and... they grew up. The nerve.

It is liberating and kind of scary becoming an empty-nester. For my entire adult life, my time and interests have revolved around three wonderful children. This is the first time in my adult life I will live alone (at least for a few months til Gunslinger and I get married). I am kind of excited. I am kind of sad.

I never thought they would actually grow up and LEAVE.

Woody

This blog is about me and Woody. Okay, about me, Woody and the rest of my family (who put the FUN back into dysfunctional).

I adopted Woody in 1996, when she was a mere six weeks old and weighed 14 pounds. She was the runt of a litter of 7. Woody hit her pinnacle of girth at 114 a few years ago and now is a much more manageable 97 pounds. I think this is a normal size for a dog, but when she is next to other "normal sized" canines, she more closely resembles a mini-horse (more on mini-horses later. I promise).

Why is a female named Woody? Well, why was there a boy named Sue? Sheesh. My father's nickname was Woody, and he passed away about two weeks before the dog adoption. No, the dog is not named for my father. The kids (more on them later) thought it was a great name, and Toy Story being the hit kid movie of the year, well... I gave in.

Woody has been my one constant companion since 1996. Now the rest of you, you have been there, some most of the time, some part of the time, but Woody doesn't have much of a social life, so in all seriousness, she has been a constant companion.

In her younger days, she would hop the wall in the backyard (as soon as we all drove off in the morning) to hang out next door with a lesbian Black Lab, but aside from that, here she sits. I mean, here she lays. She's not much for sitting. Back to her fence hopping days - one day I came back to the house unexpectedly - and found my 100 pound dog balancing herself on top of the 3 inch wide block wall. She looked embarrassed that I was on to her secret shame.

Dog farts. Woody claimed Grand Pooba of Fartland status a few years ago. She can clear a room, peel the paint and give you that look like "what?" Sometimes she clears herself out of the room, too.

The vet says Woody is now in her "sunset years." She is 10.5 and starting to really show her age. Her markings are all white - even her eyelashes. She still has some bounce and energy - but for the most part, she is a couch dog.

Woody has many nicknames: Wooey, Wooey Woo, Woodmeister, Woodrow Wilson Dog, and others that are just too silly to post to the general public. She endures the constant baby talk yet understands some plain English vocab: bath, vet, walk, puppy crunchies. And her amazing hearing when a food package is being opened will ensure a large Akita head in your lap, regardless of what you are eating. She doesn't care for cucumbers, but grapes and bananas are fine. See "dog farts" above.

Beth - My Best Friend and Sister At The Same Time

Beth and I are 15 years apart in age, which means that in our formative years, we didn't have much of a relationship. Beth assures me that she was my primary babysitter and walked 500 miles with me screaming on her shoulder, but yet... no evidence of this has yet surfaced. No pix or videos. Boo Yah.

During the 80's, Beth and I "officially met" each other in her home in Michigan. I was 17, and she was 32. Highlights of that Michigan visit: my must-have makeup kit the size of a large pizza; a 65 degree summer yet I was in my Caribbean bikini and sporting a walnut tan; no male under 30 in sight (except for the mentally-challenged group home down the street, which was not an option); The Rocky Horror Picture Show initiation; the MTV initiation; the "club" we went to where I was asked "You aren't from around here are you?" ... (I guess my mini skirt and blue moccasins threw them off in the Heartland).

Since then, she has married a wonderful man, Jeff, and he will get his own post. More on Jeff later.

I am sorry I missed their wedding, but I WAS 8 months pregnant at the time. More on that later, too.

Beth has the life I always wanted (and still do): years of education, reading time, the time and ability to be creative and an assortment of eclectic friends.

Since the 90's, Beth and I have become very close. She and I were the pillars of normalcy during our parents' deaths... that alone could bond sisters together, but... given the circumstances, SUPER GLUE.

She and I have spent too few hours laughing and talking... I am soooo glad we are related and sooo sorry we missed so many years of sisterhood.

Eventually, I will post my all-time favorite video of Beth, trying to help me out with some wine on our visit in 2003. I could watch this video forever and never stop laughing. I am having technical issues.

Needless to say, sommelier she is NOT. But my sister she IS and I am forever glad of that fact.

I love you Beth.

Why Blog?

Why blog? Aren't I busy enough with my life already?

I think life moves a little too fast and my brain is going to forget some of these wonderful (and not so wonderful) moments if I don't write them down. Besides, everyone keeps telling me I should write a book.