The Mini Van Soap Box

I have a somewhat addictive personality. That personality trait - coupled with my love of a routine - often makes my life...predictable. If I find something I like, I stick with it. For a long time.

Perfect example. I tried a Stouffer's Chicken and Spinach Flat bread pizza a couple of months ago. I now buy them by the truck load. Even my husband has noticed, and if he goes to the grocery store, he'll come home with EVERY chicken & spinach pizza they have.

"They only had five of them....Sorry"

Well, this lovely quirk of mine has reared it's ugly head again. However, this time I'm blaming my mother.

Typically, TV watching is not something my mother and I have in common. I watch a LOT of it, and she watches occasionally. I have, however, made some huge advances in my plot of turning her to the dark side. It only took me about 7 years to get her to watch Survivor, and after watching some Sunday football at our house, they finally caved and got a DVR.

There seems to be a new development in our tv watching relationship though. She found a show she likes, a lot, and I didn't lead her to it. She did it all on her own. I'm so proud of her. She likes this show so much that she even bought them on DVD.

The problem though is that I don't watch this show - I never really had an interest. But what is it about this show that she likes so much? I must find out.

So, I sat down and watched the pilot episode of The Closer.

Of course, now, I have watch every episode in Season 1 and 2 in the span of a week and a half and my southern accent is coming out all the time. I HEAR Krya in my head. I'm smiling at the cashier of the grocery store ... "Thank You. Thank You Very Much". I'm getting strange looks from my daughter and my husband is telling me I shouldn't watch so many of them back to back.

So, that's where you'll find me after 8:00 tonight. Curled up on my couch with a Chicken & spinach Pizza, watching the first episode of Season 3, pausing every five minutes to see what's going on in The Olympics.

This is exactly what happened when I fell in love with Buffy.

At least this time I won't start thinking that I'm a super hero and start carrying a wooden stick in my purse, on the off chance I might run into a creature of the night.

When it comes to sleeping, my husband and I are boxing champions - each going to their respective corners and not coming out until the bell is rung. We aren't "in the middle" cuddly sleepers, lovingly wrapped in each others arms. Our bed has an imaginary line down the middle and we both keep to our sides - unless, of course, something interesting is happening in the middle. I have no problem with this, and I don't think that he does either. We both like our space and find it difficult to sleep if we have to navigate our way through an additional pair of limbs and listen to an extra heart beat.

Like most of America, he and I watched a great deal of The Olympics yesterday - swimming, gymnastics and beach volleyball. All very exciting - and we were happy to see Michael Phelps win his first gold before we turned in for the night. I'm thinking though, that the amount of tumbling and swimming that I saw yesterday, might have had an impact on my dreams

I woke up at around 3:00, rolled up like a mummy in our sheets, my body pillow wrapped around my chest like some life preserver and so far on his side that he was clutching the side of the bed to keep from falling off.

In my dreams, I'm a hell of an athlete.

I read an interesting article in the waiting room of the dentist the other day. It was an article about 'famous' people (Julia Roberts, Jennifer Aniston, Sheryl Crow, etc), and how they've "gone green". Julia Roberts, for example, hired a "Green Guru" to come into her home and tell her everything she should change....and then she changed it. Sheryl Crow is a huge activist and speaks all over the world about pollution and saving the earth. Jennifer Aniston takes two to three minute showers - she also brushes her teeth within those two minutes. She does this becuase the amount of water we use in TWO minutes in the shower is the same amount of water that someone in Africa would have for a WHOLE day - that includes drinking, cooking and bathing.

These are all great things, sure. However, I certainly can't afford a "Green Guru" (what the hell is that anyway??), and personally I can't move fast enough to shower in two minutes. It takes me two minutes just to open the door and step in. So that got me thinking...

How "green" am I?

I recycle all of our beer bottles and soda cans....and let me tell you that with the amount we drink....we recycle A LOT.

I request paper bags at the grocery store. Probably not as good as bringing my own bags, but the paper bags are then re-used in our house for empty beer bottle storage...and then recycled. So - double points for that right?

I've been using the same water bottle for months now - I just keeping refilling it. I try not to buy too many things that come in plastic bottles.

There are some things I just can't seem to do though.

I can't stand those light bulbs! You know the ones that cost a lot, but they'll last for like 200 years? The light that comes off of them is horrible - there is nothing about that light bulb that "simulates real sunshine".

I can't not drive. I mean I'm sure I COULD not drive, but I would have to get up at 3:00 in the morning to get her to school and get me to work on time. I suppose I could get a bike and ride my way through town...but I don't think my co-workers would be happy with my fragrance.

I know there is a lot more I could be doing. It would probably be pretty easy to make some changes in our routines.

But taking two minute showers just does not seem like an option for me.

So, what do YOU do? Have any of you tried those "green" household cleaners? How do they work?

I don't know why, but I've been thinking a lot lately about a dog that I used to have. A barking whiny pure bred lap dog. He was a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. Don't ask me why it was important for me to spend $1800 on a pure bred dog instead of getting one for $100 at the pound...I was young and stupid, and apparently had money to spend. Regardless of his flaws, we loved him and spoiled him.

His major flaw? He would eat anything. And by anything - I mean everything. Grass, his own poop, my underwear and small rodents. And by rodents - I mean still living.

Which brings me to my story.

It was a fine and bright Mother's Day. I was younger (pre-husband & baby) than I am now, and had spent the evening before out gallivanting, drinking and general merriment. However, me being the good daughter (a.k.a butt kisser) I am, the last thing I was going to do was call in drunk to my mother. She had asked for manual labor on this particular day, and the plan was to go over there and help her mulch her flower beds.

So the dog and I headed over, me with a marching band tooting 76 trombones in my head, and the dog happily slobbering on the car window. We walk through the gate, say our hellos to the parentals and I let the dog off his leash.

That was my first mistake.

No, that's wrong. My first mistake was having 47 beers the night before.

The dog shoots like a rocket for something that I can't see in the back of the yard. I notice his nose going to town inside some leaves and decide to go check it out and make sure he's not digging up flowers and such.

That was my third mistake.

The dog had swallowed a dead mouse, whole, and by the time I had reached him he was throwing it back up.

Now picture if you will, a dog retching an entire mouse in the leaves. His master on her knees, retching the home brew from the night before right next to him, and the masters mother gagging on the back steps.

Needless to say I totally shit on my Mother's Mothers Day. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the fetal position on her chaise lounge nursing a ginger ale.

Honestly, NO IDEA why I shared this story. My posts of late seem to be taking a turn into weird - what with throwing up dogs and vagina's - but hey, it's my blog, I'll do with it what I will.

Anyway, part of me misses that dog. My weak stomach does not.

**caution to male readers...I'll apologize before hand**

About once a year I'll have an "Oh Shit" moment, and I'll spend an entire day with my calendar, calling every doctor that I know. Primary Care, Dentist and the dreaded OB. You would think it wouldn't be that difficult of a task, however the lovely people that my husband works for, decide to change our health insurance EVERY DAMN YEAR, so I have to find new doctors.

So, I had my "oh shit" moment a couple of weeks ago, and over the course of the next two weeks will visit all of them. The interesting thing about THIS "oh shit" moment is that I haven't had one in about...oh I don't know...three years!

That's right ladies and gentlemen - I haven't had my hoo-hoo checked in over three years. Or my blood drawn. Or my teeth checked. That's not to say I haven't seen over a hundred doctors in the last three years - it's just never been for me. (save the yearly Urgent Care visit for bronchitis).

I would love to say it's because I'm busy. I would love to say that it's because I'm really just THAT healthy, that I don't need to go. But the truth is - I just don't wanna. Which is really stupid. Especially in my family. My family is riddled with coochie issues.

Believe me when I say that I would rather have a tooth pulled than get my plumbing checked.

I really thought that after HAVING A CHILD and the having the entire 2nd floor of the hospital see me butt ass naked would change my 'prudeness' over seeing the OB, but alas, it has not.

I actually spent a good portion of the day searching for an OB that used actual GOWNS instead of those mortifying paper jackets! That's my criteria when choosing a doctor people - what ensemble I get to wear when I'm there. I didn't find one. What is that about? Are these people too lazy to do laundry - it's just easier to throw away the paper jackets? And let me assure you - One size does NOT fit all.

I know it's more of an underlying fear that something WILL be wrong. And then I'll have to go back. And get shit scraped out, again. And then get shit frozen, again. And then test it, again. It's just such a pain in the ass.

Regardless of my feelings, I will go. On the 12th. At 2:30 pm. Interestly enough, my last Laser Hair removal appointment is earlier that day.

It'll be the day of the vagina.