I see London, I see France, I can see your underpants.

It’s an epidemic. 

Although it’s not a new epidemic.  But it is so prevalent that towns and villages across the country have banned it in public.  

I’m not really sure what is so exciting about seeing how low your pants can go without falling all the way down.  But it seems to be a “thing.”

I don’t really care.  If you want to wear your pants so low around your waist that your entire backside is hanging out … Feel free.  Just go for it.  

I only have one request.  Can you at least wash your underwear?

I don’t feel like this is an inordinate request.  It’s not like I am asking you to buy new underwear.  Or even matching underwear.  Although, I feel like this could be an undeveloped area in the fashion industry.  I can see the headlines now.

Get it now!  Underwear that matches your shirt.  

The latest thing in fashion!  Prepackaged shirts and now with new matching underwear.  

Personally, I feel lucky if I get up in the morning and both my shirt and pants match.  Adding matching underwear to the mix just might put me over the top and cause a mental breakdown.

So I can understand that matching underwear might not be in the cards for you.

But, seriously.  If you are going to wear old tighty (and not so white) whities that clearly show since your pants are almost around your knees … please, please, PLEASE … at least consider washing the underwear before you put it on.  

Consider this a public service announcement.  I know the rest of the pack that was walking behind you this morning as you made a mad dash across the loop would really have appreciated you pulling up those pants just a tad bit more.  

Introducing Captain Awesome and His Wife, Not So

Before we got married, the two of us sat down and had a serious conversation about name changes.  As in, my name change.

Which really isn’t fair.  Why does the girl have to do all the work?

(And to this day, sitting in the social security office in downtown surrounded by screaming families as they argued with the administrators and watching a fight break out in the waiting room is still one of the scariest things I have ever done.)

So I proposed a compromise.  Let’s both change our names.  It’s the modern thing to do.  Or so I tried to convince him.

Well, Keith wasn’t exactly on board.  But he did propose an option for consideration.  If we were going to change our names, then he wanted to be the Awesome’s.  As in, Mr. and Mrs. Awesome.

He would be Captain – as in Captain Awesome.  And I could be Not So.

Yep, you guess it.

Not So Awesome.

The Pastor even offered to present us as Mr. and Mrs. Awesome.  But sanity (or the realization how much work it is to change a name) won out.  But that’s OK.  I didn’t really want to be know as Not So anyway.

Be Careful with That Sign

Sometimes it is all a matter of placement.  Take, for instance, this sign spotted in a Starbucks in California.

29 people is impressive…

Please note that the bathroom apparently fits 29 people!

I mean, that’s a big bathroom.  I really wish theaters would take this under advisement and increase the size of their restrooms to at least match this Starbucks.

Then I noticed this sign at a Cheesecake Factory.

Check out the top left corner…

Apparently their elevator fits 498 people.  That’s an impressive number of people.  It would shave a few minutes off of my commute if everyone could take one elevator.

But really, neither one of these signs really lives up to the major flaw on the Notre Dame Fighting Irish souvenir cups.

Whose afraid of the Figthing Irish?

Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be cheap

I really wanted to get family photos with the puppies.  I had visions of us walking as a family down a tree-lined path over a ground coated in colored leaves …

But reality is that my visions are expensive.  After getting quotes in the several hundred dollar range – for photos of dogs – I realized that there was no way my significant other was going to agree to this undertaking.

So I had the brilliant idea to call the camera store in my home town to see if they happened to know of any amateur photographers that would be willing to take pictures of dogs with humans.

I was in luck – the lady who answered the phone happened to have someone in the shop right then.  After a long conversation, where one of my questions was specifically, do you use old, ugly 80s backgrounds for your interior pictures?  No?  That’s great!  And you charge $50?  Fantastic!

We set up a time to meet the following weekend.

I warned my sisters, picked out a shirt for hubby, did my hair – and then proceeded to drag my entire family to this woman’s house.

A nice, normal house.

The first thing you notice when you walk in the front door was the smell of thousands of animals.

Then you notice that the walls are covered in glamor shots of our photographer when she was younger.  And I don’t mean to judge but I originally thought those photos were of her daughter.  It was strange.

And finally, you see the one thing you did not ever want to see.  The ugly 80s background.

I swear.  I have a photo of myself in front of this same background when I was elementary school.

Fine.  Whatever.  We can make do.

But then she turns to us and asks sister and hubby specifically – “Did any of you even bother to look in the mirror this morning.  I mean, did you?”  And then she repeated it to Hubby.  And to Mom.

Fine, we weren’t all wearing matching white shirts with khaki pants.  But the patterns were OK.  None of it would have mattered anyway if there wasn’t an 80s firework background!

I will give her credit for being good at getting the dogs to tilt their heads for photos.  Of course, the first time she made her crazy noises, the whole family, including the dogs, were so surprised that we all tilted our heads.

So other than the ugly background, topped by the blue background that she promised but didn’t use, and then the top corner of her living room, I think the photos turned out all right.  Now I just need to make them black and white.

The Escapist

Kazoo isn’t THAT small anymore – she is already large than her Aunt Zoe and half the size of Kizzy.  But she is definitely fast.

Yesterday, Mr. Awesome came home from work.  He walked in the front door.  Sat his bag down and went to check his computer.  I was in the other room.  A few minutes pass and I notice that Kazoo isn’t at my feet.  No big deal.  She’s either with Keith or waiting at the back door to go outside.

I check with Keith – he doesn’t have Kazoo.  I check the back door.  No Kazoo.

Wait, what?  No Kazoo?

That’s strange.  I check the bedrooms.  Then the bathrooms.  Still no Kazoo.  Although Kizzy is following me around the house like it is a fun new game.

Finally the realization hits.  Kazoo is not in the house.  Sometimes I’m slow like that

“Oh!”, I yell at Keith as I run towards the front door, “I think Kazoo escaped when you came in earlier.”

He runs out the front.  Where he finds Kazoo patiently waiting for us to come find her.

Ugh.  The little brat!

But then again, Kizzy had a very similar escape.  Only she manged to make it out our front door, out the privacy door of our section of the condo building, on to an elevator, down to the first floor, out the security door and right in to the arms of her favorite doorman.

Now that’s an impressive escape.

Kazoo has a lot to learn.

What is Grilled Cheese Called When it is Made on a Grill? Just Cheese?

This weekend was the Notre Dame / USC game.  And it was a night game so that left 7 hours of tailgating – assuming you arrived at noon like we did… Wait, not everyone appreciates 7 hours of tailgating?  In the cold and wind with the occasional rain shower?  Huh.  Who knew…

Anyway, 7 hours means that we need to plan for two meals.  It also means that you really have to plan your liquid intake if you want to survive 7 hours without a visit to a disgusting port-a-potty .

The main course was our standard sausages with bacon-wrapped tater tots (read how to make them here).  I still love bacon wrapped tater tots…

But the “light” lunch option was grilled cheese sandwiches … get it? … grilled cheese?  As in cheese sandwiches grilled outside on the grill?

Trust me.  It’s hilarious.

I have to say, real grilled cheese sandwiches are the most amazing thing.  And they were super easy to make.

I made them like normal cheese sandwiches … bread with butter on the outsides, cheese, tomatoes, onions, etc… and then grilled them on a tray inside the grill until the cheese was melted.

The grill gave the whole sandwich a deep, smoky flavor.  I know I’ve already said this, but it’s worth repeating.  These sandwiches were amazing!  I highly suggest you give them a shot.

Bacon Wrapped Tater Tots

They are a thing.  And they are delicious.

I’m serious, you have to try them.

It’s easy and the perfect tailgate appetizer.

Step 1.  Buy Bacon.  And Tater Tots.

Step 2.  Wrap Tater Tots in Bacon.

Step 3.  Secure wrapping with tooth picks

Step 4.  Grill

Step 5.  Eat.

 

I am Very Lucky that I Ended Up with the Man of My Dreams

Keith and I met at a date auction in college.  (Read about the auction here)  And our first date was to Fridays.  We were classy college students like that.

I drove.  Since I was the only one with a car.

After the date, which I think we both agree went well, I dropped him off at his dorm.  He asked me to come in because his roommate was having a party.

I said no.  Shook his hand.  And drove away.

He was thinking, wow, that was the shortest relationship ever.  I was thinking, eh, I don’t really like parties.  I’m just going to go home.

So the next day, I send him a super cool and chill instant messenger on AIM.  (Remember AIM?)  And we arrange a second date.  Same thing.

I drive.

Another great date.

On the drop off, he asks me to come up for a party.  I say no.

I leave.

Then my sister has the great car accident of the year in a cornfield.  And this guy calls right as I’m trying to get my sister out of a crashed car.  So I yell that I can’t talk and hang up on him.

And now he definitely thinks this relationship is over.

Eventually, I call and explain that my sister was in a car accident and your call came in right ask my sister was finally stopping screaming.  We make up.  We arrange another date.

We go to dinner and a movie this time.  And he finally figures out that I just don’t like parties.  It isn’t personal.

He stops asking me to come.  And we keep dating.

And eventually, like all romance stories, next comes love and then marriage.  But no, no baby carriages.

The Only Accident Claim Ever that Included Corn Crop Replacement

Yesterday we were talking about car accidents.  And I think we might want to spend some time on the youngest sister and her corn field accident.

Once youngest sister gets her driver’s license, she sets out on her first distance solo drive to visit my Grandparents. I, being the absolutely generous and giving sister that I am, let younger sister drive the SUV home while I take the mini van.  But I lead.  It’s an oldest thing.

Now, you have to know, these are country roads.  In the middle of Amish country.  And the Amish drive buggies.  Pulled by horses.  That like to poop in the middle of the road.

So I’m driving along, and I see some horse poop.  I decide that I’m going to go around the poop.  And I watch out of my rear view mirror to find out if my sister decides to drive around it or through it.

Youngest sister doesn’t see the poop until she is right on top of it.  And instead of just plowing through, she jerks the wheel and misses the poop.  Unfortunately, now she is shooting off in to a corn field with a large SUV on un-flat ground.  We don’t know how many times that car flipped but she definitely got a close-up view of corn through the front windshield.

(This has to be the only accident report ever that includes corn crop reimbursement on an insurance claim.)

Since, I’m watching this whole thing take place on my rear-view camera (thank God I was watching that closely!!), I quickly turn around and head back to the last spot I saw my sister.  And I could hear her screaming the whole way.

The Amish owners of the corn field come running out, people driving by stop to help, and I’m running toward my sister as fast as possible.

So now, once again.  We are in a corn field.  And all corn fields look alike.  So I’m trying to explain to 911 our location.  Finally, I give up.

I hand my cell phone to one of the Amish guys hoping that he can tell the 911 operator the address of his corn field.

Amish guy.

Cell phone.

Seeing the problem?

He looks down at the phone like what is this contraption of the devil that is projecting voices?

Yes, I realized my problem right away.

Fortunately, other people had called 911 and an ambulance was already on its way.

So I called my grandparents.  Who rushed right over.  And my parents.  Dad rushed right over and Mom rushed right over to the hospital.  And my Uncle.  Who was driving in the same general vicinity.  By the end, it looked like a big family reunion.  In a corn field.  That the insurance company had to pay the farmer for damages.

Don’t worry.  Sister was fine.  The car took the worst of it.  But if you ever find yourself in Amish country and come across some poop in the road … just go through it and treat yourself to a carwash later.  No sense risking a ride through a cornfield.

The Year of the Accidents

Eventually, all three younger members of my family received driver’s licenses.  And pretty soon there were 5 of us driving around town.

Remember that statistic where 99% of accidents happen within 5 miles of your house?  Well, you can make that 99% of accidents happen within sight of your house.

Just ask my family.

The year started with me rear ending someone down the street in the ultra-cool Chevy Lumina mini van.  It wasn’t a bad accident.  And I still don’t remember exactly how it happened.  But I was the only one brave enough to get in to an accident with that Chevy Lumina.  And I’m not even entirely certain that the Lumina was damaged.  I think that car had a force field of angels surrounding it and my family would have done well to just continue driving this car.

Because next up is my sister rear-ending someone on the way to school.  In my Dad’s Buick SUV.

(At this point, I guess my parents gave up on forcing us to drive the lumina minivan anywhere cooler than school.)

Friday morning, my Dad picked up his newly fixed SUV from the body shop.  And my sister drove it to an after-school activity.  (Do you see where this story is going?)

She made almost all of the way home but just as she was making a left-hand turn in to our driveway, she was hit by a car drag racing down the street behind her.  My mom watched the whole accident happen from our front window.  I think she ended up being the most injured – from running down the gravel driveway shoeless.

But the car was totaled.

The day it was picked up from the shop.

So my Dad bought a new car.  A beautiful Mercury SUV.  That he gave to me to drive around town.  I guess I had finally graduated from mini-vandom to being the only other member of the family without any major accidents.

Meanwhile, my mom’s car was hit by a bus.

A city bus no less.  I don’t think that car was completely totaled.  But it took weeks to get back.

Finally, we have a new round of cars (or newly fixed cars).  The (still existing and undamaged) mini van, the beautifully large SUV and my mom’s car.

So, right about now, my youngest sister gets her license.  And she totals the new SUV in a corn field.

At this point, my Dad gives up and buys himself a absolutely boring Honda Accord.  And I bought my very first car all by myself.  A little yellow ford.  See above photo.

And that is the end of the year of the car.