Our first night in the North Carolina cabin, there was a thunderstorm. After we put the kids to bed, Eric and I went out on the deck with Jerry and Del. Zach and Ava were sharing a bedroom, and about 15 minutes after they'd gone to bed, we heard a little knock at the deck door and Zachary came out.
He said that he and Ava were scared of the thunder and lightning. "Ava and I were talking, and we decided that North Carolina is not safe. And I was also wondering, can lightning defeat a cabin?"
Eric went in and gave the kids a lesson on lightning rods and fire retardant wood, and reassured them that in the list of dangerous states North Carolina ranks fairly low.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Midget Commentator
I took the kids to Target the other night, to shop for trip supplies. Cole came up to me at one point and, thinking he was being funny, tugged on my dress. Well, being strapless, the dress slipped right down over my chest and down to my waist.
Fortunately it was a swimsuit cover up, and I had my bikini on underneath. I pulled the dress back up over my chest, and I looked dead into Cole's eyes. In my best cold and dead quiet voice I said to him, "You better be damn glad I had a bathing suit on underneath this dress. The next time you try to pull a stunt like that your life as you know it will be over."
Cole apologized profusely, he was incredibly shamefaced. I said it was fine, I reiterated that he needs to think before doing things. All of a sudden, from the cart, 4 year old Zachary yells out:
"Wow, THAT was awkward!!"
That boy can cut through tension like a hot knife through frozen butter.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Think Before You Speak
I'm going to start with something that I've been thinking about a lot recently. I find that it is hard to explain to a majority of people what goes on in my head prior to words coming out of my mouth. So I have come up with a little (and by "little" I mean extremely long-winded and convoluted) analogy to describe the phenomenon. When my brain produces a thought, there is an exhaustive process that the thought must go through before it reaches my mouth.
My brain is your typical corporate office. This office is staffed with hundreds of little people, I imagine them as Oompa-Loompas. These little people have various positions within this corporation. Some are upper level management, some are little worker bees. Let me introduce you to some of these people in this corporation.
First, there are the Flying Filers. They are located in the Filing Room, which is the largest room of this building. The room is filled floor to ceiling with filing cabinets containing myriad amounts of information that I've gathered in my 34 years of life. Each drawer is endless once you pull it out. I imagine these workers as having wings, hence their name, which allow them to reach any drawer in this room, and their wings produce a slight buzzing sound. These Filers know where every piece of information is located, and can find it in 1/2 a second flat. They are also very good at labeling new information, and knowing which and how many files to put the information into. (There is a subsector of these Fliers that are the "Information Changers and Updaters". They are the ones who pull out old information and update it with new knowledge, or move it to a different folder altogether.) These workers are on duty 24/7/365, and are tireless, which is why my head is always filled with a slight buzzing sound that I can never quite get rid of.
So when a thought is produced, these Fliers pull the appropriate folders, that contain any and all information pertinent to the thought that my brain has flashed across the Big Screen.
Then there is the Research Room. This room is staffed by The Nerds, 4 guys with very thick glasses. The room itself is the most extensive library you've ever seen, with internet ready computers on desks, and a bank of telephones. These guys take the folders that the Flying Fliers bring to them, and compare it to the thought that is flashing on the Big Screen. They then get to work researching the materials in the folders, making sure that information is current and accurate, to the best of their knowledge. They read, scour the web, and make phone calls, as The Nerds are perfectionists, and will not rest until they feel they have done all they can do. The Nerds are known for being EXTREMELY fast. The folders don't linger long in this room. The Nerds then compile all of their research into the folder, and pass it along to The Judge.
Let's meet The Judge...This guy is known for being a HARD ASS. His job is to read through the folder, and make a decision on whether the information is good enough for the thought to continue on it's slow journey towards the mouth. He has 2 giant stampers, one that says CARRY ON, and one that says REJECTED. For a folder to get the precious CARRY ON stamp, the information must be so accurate and so organized, that it is virtually bulletproof. When he stamps a folder REJECTED, it goes back to The Nerds. The Judge is not a real caring type, so he doesn't let The Nerds know why a folder was rejected, it's up to The Nerds to figure that out. Which suits them just fine, as that's what gets them off anyway...
Once a folder has passed muster with The Judge, it moves on to the biggest bitch of all, the Timing Mistress. She is a Nazi. She is in charge of one of the largest staff in this company. It is her job to give each folder a "time" in which the mouth may speak the thought contained within. Folders usually spend a majority of their time in this room. In fact, this room has been known to be a blackhole for a large number of folders. So much goes into the process of giving a folder a "time", that I can't even describe it in it's entirety. But let me give you a taste.
There is a group of Psychaitrists under the Timing Mistress, who are responsible for gauging the emotional temperature of the person who the thought is going to be spoken to (hereafter, the "receiver"). They note facial expressions, analyze speech patterns, and discuss all of the factors that will affect the receiver's reaction to the thought. Once they have done that, they notate on the folder all of the suspected reactions of the receiver to the thought contained within. Now, the Timing Mistress likes to hire very cautious and negative Pyschaitrists, as she subconsciously has a vendetta against me. She would prefer that each and every thought in my brain died an unspoken death.
There is another group under the Timing Mistress, known as the Calender Committee, whose primary function is to look at the receiver's schedule for the next year. Their job is to determine, based on what the receiver has "coming up", when the optimal time would be for the receiver to hear the thought.
Those are just 2 of the countless groups under the Timing Mistress. Once each group has reviewed the material, they all come together with their recommendations. All groups must agree on the timing, so this is why folders can languish here...At this meeting, a contract group is called in, called the Opportunity Seizers. Their job is to listen to all of the recommendations from each group, and jump in if they see an opportunity for the speaker to create a better timing moment. Because the folders linger so long here, circumstances are constantly changing, and timing has to be revised. For example, that folder that was about to get timestamped with "after the receiver's employee review" now has to be rediscussed, because the employee review went badly.
While a folder is in the Timing Mistress' group, there are 2 other groups who have a 2nd copy of the folder. One of the groups is the Drama group, whose members like to call themselves The Cerebral Players. I love these guys. They are a group of wanna-be actors who take the information in the folder, and improv how the thought is going to be spoken and received. It's like an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway...They pull emotions out of a hat.."Ok, this time the receiver will be angry! Go!"..."This time, the discussion happens in a restaurant! Go!"..."This time, the speaker and the receiver will have just had sex! Go!". You get the picture. Every possible scenario is rehearsed, so that the speaker will never be taken off guard.
The second group with the 2nd copy of the folder isn't actually a group. It's one man. This man, with the James Earl Jones-esque voice, is a very famous public speaker. I can't even tell you his name, for fear you'll all be trying to lobotomize me to get his autograph. This man practices the portions of the folder which are the speaker's own opinions. His goal is to write an opinion that is beyond fault, and which will be accepted by the receiver simply on the basis of the elegance and stature of it's speech. With his red pencil, he edits grammar, and finds better words, and makes intonation markings...when he is finished, it should be a work of mellifulous poetry, sure to melt even the hardest of hearts. He then rehearses it over and over, until it is almost memorized.
Checking back with the Timing Mistress, the folder has finally been given a time that it is allowed to be spoken. Hopefully by this time the folder has been through the Drama group and the unnamed public speaker, and has been rehearsed enough to speak. The folder is then sent along to the Mouth.
Throw in a speech impediment, and you now understand what I mean when I say it's a wonder any words ever come out of my mouth.
Now, for those of you who are sitting there crying your heart out for me, let me say this. The coporation doesn't run at full capacity all of the time. When I am talking to my mother or best friend Melissa, some of these workers take a break. The bitchy Timing Mistress goes for a manicure, the Psychaitrists go to a Jungian retreat, the Public Speaker rests his vocal cords with tea and honey, The Cerebral Players go do local community theater, and The Judge goes to a strip club. The Nerds clock out, but still stay in the Research Room and work because, well, they're Nerds...
So don't cry for me, Argentina. I do get little breaks. Now maybe my poor husband understands why I can spend 3 hours on the phone with Melissa or my Mom. Part of the reason why these workers can take time off then is Comfortability. I have such a long history with Mom and Melissa, that there's not much for those workers to do. But with my husband, he's still new to them...so hopefully as the years go by, they can start taking longer breaks when I'm talking to him. He says that when I talk to him about something important, my responses sound rehearsed, like I'm reading a script.....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
My brain is your typical corporate office. This office is staffed with hundreds of little people, I imagine them as Oompa-Loompas. These little people have various positions within this corporation. Some are upper level management, some are little worker bees. Let me introduce you to some of these people in this corporation.
First, there are the Flying Filers. They are located in the Filing Room, which is the largest room of this building. The room is filled floor to ceiling with filing cabinets containing myriad amounts of information that I've gathered in my 34 years of life. Each drawer is endless once you pull it out. I imagine these workers as having wings, hence their name, which allow them to reach any drawer in this room, and their wings produce a slight buzzing sound. These Filers know where every piece of information is located, and can find it in 1/2 a second flat. They are also very good at labeling new information, and knowing which and how many files to put the information into. (There is a subsector of these Fliers that are the "Information Changers and Updaters". They are the ones who pull out old information and update it with new knowledge, or move it to a different folder altogether.) These workers are on duty 24/7/365, and are tireless, which is why my head is always filled with a slight buzzing sound that I can never quite get rid of.
So when a thought is produced, these Fliers pull the appropriate folders, that contain any and all information pertinent to the thought that my brain has flashed across the Big Screen.
Then there is the Research Room. This room is staffed by The Nerds, 4 guys with very thick glasses. The room itself is the most extensive library you've ever seen, with internet ready computers on desks, and a bank of telephones. These guys take the folders that the Flying Fliers bring to them, and compare it to the thought that is flashing on the Big Screen. They then get to work researching the materials in the folders, making sure that information is current and accurate, to the best of their knowledge. They read, scour the web, and make phone calls, as The Nerds are perfectionists, and will not rest until they feel they have done all they can do. The Nerds are known for being EXTREMELY fast. The folders don't linger long in this room. The Nerds then compile all of their research into the folder, and pass it along to The Judge.
Let's meet The Judge...This guy is known for being a HARD ASS. His job is to read through the folder, and make a decision on whether the information is good enough for the thought to continue on it's slow journey towards the mouth. He has 2 giant stampers, one that says CARRY ON, and one that says REJECTED. For a folder to get the precious CARRY ON stamp, the information must be so accurate and so organized, that it is virtually bulletproof. When he stamps a folder REJECTED, it goes back to The Nerds. The Judge is not a real caring type, so he doesn't let The Nerds know why a folder was rejected, it's up to The Nerds to figure that out. Which suits them just fine, as that's what gets them off anyway...
Once a folder has passed muster with The Judge, it moves on to the biggest bitch of all, the Timing Mistress. She is a Nazi. She is in charge of one of the largest staff in this company. It is her job to give each folder a "time" in which the mouth may speak the thought contained within. Folders usually spend a majority of their time in this room. In fact, this room has been known to be a blackhole for a large number of folders. So much goes into the process of giving a folder a "time", that I can't even describe it in it's entirety. But let me give you a taste.
There is a group of Psychaitrists under the Timing Mistress, who are responsible for gauging the emotional temperature of the person who the thought is going to be spoken to (hereafter, the "receiver"). They note facial expressions, analyze speech patterns, and discuss all of the factors that will affect the receiver's reaction to the thought. Once they have done that, they notate on the folder all of the suspected reactions of the receiver to the thought contained within. Now, the Timing Mistress likes to hire very cautious and negative Pyschaitrists, as she subconsciously has a vendetta against me. She would prefer that each and every thought in my brain died an unspoken death.
There is another group under the Timing Mistress, known as the Calender Committee, whose primary function is to look at the receiver's schedule for the next year. Their job is to determine, based on what the receiver has "coming up", when the optimal time would be for the receiver to hear the thought.
Those are just 2 of the countless groups under the Timing Mistress. Once each group has reviewed the material, they all come together with their recommendations. All groups must agree on the timing, so this is why folders can languish here...At this meeting, a contract group is called in, called the Opportunity Seizers. Their job is to listen to all of the recommendations from each group, and jump in if they see an opportunity for the speaker to create a better timing moment. Because the folders linger so long here, circumstances are constantly changing, and timing has to be revised. For example, that folder that was about to get timestamped with "after the receiver's employee review" now has to be rediscussed, because the employee review went badly.
While a folder is in the Timing Mistress' group, there are 2 other groups who have a 2nd copy of the folder. One of the groups is the Drama group, whose members like to call themselves The Cerebral Players. I love these guys. They are a group of wanna-be actors who take the information in the folder, and improv how the thought is going to be spoken and received. It's like an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway...They pull emotions out of a hat.."Ok, this time the receiver will be angry! Go!"..."This time, the discussion happens in a restaurant! Go!"..."This time, the speaker and the receiver will have just had sex! Go!". You get the picture. Every possible scenario is rehearsed, so that the speaker will never be taken off guard.
The second group with the 2nd copy of the folder isn't actually a group. It's one man. This man, with the James Earl Jones-esque voice, is a very famous public speaker. I can't even tell you his name, for fear you'll all be trying to lobotomize me to get his autograph. This man practices the portions of the folder which are the speaker's own opinions. His goal is to write an opinion that is beyond fault, and which will be accepted by the receiver simply on the basis of the elegance and stature of it's speech. With his red pencil, he edits grammar, and finds better words, and makes intonation markings...when he is finished, it should be a work of mellifulous poetry, sure to melt even the hardest of hearts. He then rehearses it over and over, until it is almost memorized.
Checking back with the Timing Mistress, the folder has finally been given a time that it is allowed to be spoken. Hopefully by this time the folder has been through the Drama group and the unnamed public speaker, and has been rehearsed enough to speak. The folder is then sent along to the Mouth.
Throw in a speech impediment, and you now understand what I mean when I say it's a wonder any words ever come out of my mouth.
Now, for those of you who are sitting there crying your heart out for me, let me say this. The coporation doesn't run at full capacity all of the time. When I am talking to my mother or best friend Melissa, some of these workers take a break. The bitchy Timing Mistress goes for a manicure, the Psychaitrists go to a Jungian retreat, the Public Speaker rests his vocal cords with tea and honey, The Cerebral Players go do local community theater, and The Judge goes to a strip club. The Nerds clock out, but still stay in the Research Room and work because, well, they're Nerds...
So don't cry for me, Argentina. I do get little breaks. Now maybe my poor husband understands why I can spend 3 hours on the phone with Melissa or my Mom. Part of the reason why these workers can take time off then is Comfortability. I have such a long history with Mom and Melissa, that there's not much for those workers to do. But with my husband, he's still new to them...so hopefully as the years go by, they can start taking longer breaks when I'm talking to him. He says that when I talk to him about something important, my responses sound rehearsed, like I'm reading a script.....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Oh It's A Jolly Holiday With You Liss
On Monday, Martin Luther King day, I took the kids to Melissa's house to visit. (For those of you not in the know, Melissa has been my best friend for 20-some years now).
The kids exchanged Christmas presents, and then Melissa's babysitter came over so Melissa and I could go to lunch. While I was following her to the restaurant, it started snowing. When we finally left the restaurant, 3 hours later, it had turned into quite a little snowstorm.
Driving home was slippery, but not treacherous. When we reached Melissa's cul-de-sac though, it hadn't been plowed yet. Her driveway has a fairly steep little downward slope, so right before I pulled in I decided that wouldn't be the best idea. I thought I'd back up and just park on the street.
Well, backing up turned into me sliding a quarter of the way into her front yard. She got out of her car and came over to try to direct me out (clad in her perfectly cut purple wool coat, her perfect shade of heather gray scarf, and her perfect dark denim jeans tucked into black Uggs, of course). No matter in which direction I tried to drive, my tires were spinning.
She decided to try to push (if you actually can push while holding your Louis Vuitton handbag casually yet stylishly over one forearm), but that wasn't working. Not even after I yelled "Puuuuuuuuuuush, bitch!!!" out the driver's side window at her. "I can't push when I'm laughing!!". Sure, THAT was why she couldn't push. I had her get in the car so I could try pushing. Of course, I had to wait a few minutes to try..."Hold on! I have to adjust your seat, it's uncomfortable!". Once she was casually yet stylishly situated in my driver's seat, I tried pushing my hardest but after I few minutes I gave up and said, "Damn! Cars are heavy!".
Melissa suggested we go inside to regroup and strategize. She grabbed a huge bag of salt, and called her husband. He said salt wouldn't work on grass. Now, they've only been married a few years. He'll learn here shortly that it's never a good idea to tell Melissa her idea won't work. She hung up the phone and said to me, "Salt might not work if you use it the way it's INTENDED to be used....but anything will provide traction if you use enough of it! Come on!".
I must take a moment to explain that these are moments I live for. Being in a dilemma with Melissa is the most fun a girl like me could ever have. We both love grand adventures, but while I face an adventure with serious determination and unwavering fortitude, Melissa faces adventures with excitement and passion, exuberant about the opportunities to invent new methods and tools! So getting into a sticky situation with Melissa is entertainment personified.
When I told her that I had called my husband while she was calling hers, and he suggested that we call on one of Melissa's neighbors to help us, she looked at me as if I had just said "Eric suggested that we strip to our underwear, and do an Indian dance around your mailbox, in the hopes that the Cherokee Spirit of the Water will send down a warming rain to melt the snow". She said "Has he MET us? Does he want to deprive us of all enjoyment???". Our poor husbands.
So we marched out into the frozen tundra (we both love the phrase "frozen tundra", so it was used at least 37 times in a 20 minute period). I got into the car, and Melissa, still clad in her perfect cold weather ensemble, began dumping great piles of salt beneath my tires. Not the entire bag, mind you..."We must conserve! Who knows how long we'll be out here nor what will happen!!". (Yes, I realize we were 15 feet from her big warm house, but we were trying to pretend it was a real drama, so just go with it).
At one point, a pickup truck came down the street from the cul-de-sac. He didn't stop to help. I yelled out at him as he drove past "We're fine, thanks!". Now, we were having too much fun to want his help. But if you're going to be a male and drive a pickup truck, it is required of you to stop and help women having car troubles. Otherwise you must immediately return your pickup to the dealership, along with both of your testicles. It's in that lease agreement you signed, go read the fine print...anyway, I digress.
Once she finished making her giant salt piles, she stepped back and gave me the go-ahead. I gave the car some gas, and the tires started spinning again, but after a few seconds I felt them gripping and I moved forward a couple of feet. We were hootin' and hollerin', I was doing some fancy seated forward hip thrusts, trying to help the car move forward, and Melissa was doing some giant arm waves, willing my car onward. After moving forward a bit, the tires started spinning again. Melissa called out for me to stop, and came to the front of the car to apply more salt piles.
"See? I told you conserving some salt would come in handy!!". She salted up the new spots, and decided to push again this time. She came around to the driver's side window, and put her arm inside the car to push, since the driver's side tire was spinning more than the other. I pushed down the gas pedal, and the spinning tire caused the salt to shoot up into her face and all over her cute outfit. She jumped back sputtering and spitting salt out of her mouth. I leaned over and grabbed my big wraparound sunglasses and handed them to her. She said "Awww yeah, that's what I needed!!", put them on and came back to push.
That time the pushing worked. The sunglasses did the trick. We made it out of the front yard into the street. I got out of the car and did my victory dance, which involves raising my knees up as high as they will go, while hunching over like Quasimodo. Melissa shouted to the world "Don't even TRY to tell me salt won't work on grass!!!".
Then I packed up my children and drove home.
It was a delicious afternoon.
Friday, June 25, 2010
NOOOOOOOO, DON'T WAVE AT THE HOG!!
When Eric and I were dating (you know, that 4 week period back in the Spring of 2001) he took me on his motorcycle a few times. The first time I rode with him, I noticed him doing this strange thing when we'd pass other motorcycles. At first I thought it was a coincidence, maybe a twitch or something, but the more it happened the more I realized it was intentional.
He'd take his left hand off the bike and make a peace sign, pointing it really low and shaking it twice. When I realized he was doing this in relation to the other motorcycles, I'd watch the other guy and he'd do the same thing in return.
It hit me what was going on, and I laughed out loud inside of my astronaut's helmet. If you recall my earlier post on my first date with Eric, you'll see a pattern in what happened next. I decided to start doing it, as a joke. So when we passed another cycle, I did the secret hand jive thing. Well, Eric grabbed my hand and yelled back that I was doing it all wrong. ALL WRONG, he said. 'Cause you know, insane secret hand jive motions have to be RIGHT.
He said you NEVER wave at a Harley when riding a sportbike. Well excuuuuuuuuse me. (And I was supposed to know that what we were on was a sportbike because why?) He then explained that different waves had different meanings, and that there was a hierarchy of waveability. At this point I lost it. I couldn't stop laughing. So as we continued our ride, I just started waving my ass off at any type of cycle that passed us. I was doing the Vulcan salute, Sign Language, Hang Ten, Heil Hitler...then I started doing classic shadow hand puppets, I just couldn't stop myself. It was and continues to be one of the most ridiculous things I'll ever see.
Eric was mortified...and yet again, I got another date out of it.
I still joke about it once in awhile, I'll give a secret hand wave to another minivan, and act horrified when Eric tries it on a sedan.
(...and yes, this IS my best song/blog post combination ever)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
ASL (Amy's Sign Language)
Since today is my sister Amy's birthday, I thought I'd celebrate by teaching you the hand signals that go along with Amy's ordering in a restaurant. That way, if you ever get the chance to go out to dinner with her, you won't feel like you're in a foreign country and don't know the language.
First, we have "side of". This is a classic, usually used while asking for guacamole or sour cream. The hand signal is specific; you'll note that the size depicted by the hand signal is much larger than a ramekin, and you should also note that the signal has to move sharply in a downward motion three times. This turns this hand signal into a hypnosis technique, whereby the waiter realizes he/she should bring Amy a soup bowl of guacamole, while still charging her for just a ramekin of guacamole. Trust me, it works. I've seen many a server fall prey to it...
The next signal is called "one shot, tall glass". Amy uses this to insure that servers understand that she wants one shot served in a tall glass. You might say to yourself "wow, isn't that obvious just by saying it?" Apparently you've never tried to order something different at a Chili's restaurant from a 16 year old server. They need all the clarification you can give them. (you all know you've seen her do this, don't even lie...)
This one is fun, it's called "two". This is used when Amy wants two of something. Normally it's something that servers don't usually bring two of (i.e. baskets of chips, Diet Pepsis for one person, etc) so, again, clarification is necessary. *You need to note the dramatic forward thrust of the "two". That part is essential, it won't work otherwise.
While this one isn't restaurant specific, it's important to note. It's called "nose itch". I mention it because when you see it you might think, knowing that Amy gives many odd hand signals in restaurants, that it means something else. It doesn't. It just means her nose itches.
Sometimes Amy tells the server to tell the cook something. This hand signal is called, "tell the cook to...", and is usually followed by "make it really hot", "make it really crispy", or "we're in a big hurry".
When the server is particularly slow and Amy's ready for her check or a refill, this one will show itself. It's called "where's the waiter". I'm probably not doing it fast enough, Amy's got more wrist strength from years of perfecting this signal.
And now for some real fun!!! Let's put some of these together! Here is "two sides of":
And here's "two shots in a tall glass":
And my personal favorite, "two shots in a tall glass with a side of something really hot, my nose itches"!!!!!!
And last but certainly not least, we have "the industry". Amy's been working in the food service industry for many many years now, and it's one of her favorite topics to talk about. When discussing the ins and outs of food service, she always uses this hand signal and says "the industry". It's become a family joke, we all use this when we talk about our jobs.
So there you have it. I expect you all to make Amy proud on her birthday, practice these hand signals, and be fluent in ASL the next time I see you out at a restaurant.
First, we have "side of". This is a classic, usually used while asking for guacamole or sour cream. The hand signal is specific; you'll note that the size depicted by the hand signal is much larger than a ramekin, and you should also note that the signal has to move sharply in a downward motion three times. This turns this hand signal into a hypnosis technique, whereby the waiter realizes he/she should bring Amy a soup bowl of guacamole, while still charging her for just a ramekin of guacamole. Trust me, it works. I've seen many a server fall prey to it...
The next signal is called "one shot, tall glass". Amy uses this to insure that servers understand that she wants one shot served in a tall glass. You might say to yourself "wow, isn't that obvious just by saying it?" Apparently you've never tried to order something different at a Chili's restaurant from a 16 year old server. They need all the clarification you can give them. (you all know you've seen her do this, don't even lie...)
This one is fun, it's called "two". This is used when Amy wants two of something. Normally it's something that servers don't usually bring two of (i.e. baskets of chips, Diet Pepsis for one person, etc) so, again, clarification is necessary. *You need to note the dramatic forward thrust of the "two". That part is essential, it won't work otherwise.
While this one isn't restaurant specific, it's important to note. It's called "nose itch". I mention it because when you see it you might think, knowing that Amy gives many odd hand signals in restaurants, that it means something else. It doesn't. It just means her nose itches.
Sometimes Amy tells the server to tell the cook something. This hand signal is called, "tell the cook to...", and is usually followed by "make it really hot", "make it really crispy", or "we're in a big hurry".
When the server is particularly slow and Amy's ready for her check or a refill, this one will show itself. It's called "where's the waiter". I'm probably not doing it fast enough, Amy's got more wrist strength from years of perfecting this signal.
And now for some real fun!!! Let's put some of these together! Here is "two sides of":
And here's "two shots in a tall glass":
And my personal favorite, "two shots in a tall glass with a side of something really hot, my nose itches"!!!!!!
And last but certainly not least, we have "the industry". Amy's been working in the food service industry for many many years now, and it's one of her favorite topics to talk about. When discussing the ins and outs of food service, she always uses this hand signal and says "the industry". It's become a family joke, we all use this when we talk about our jobs.
So there you have it. I expect you all to make Amy proud on her birthday, practice these hand signals, and be fluent in ASL the next time I see you out at a restaurant.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Overall, It Was A Fun Day
One of my earliest memories of Melissa's temperament revealing itself is the overalls hunt.
Melissa was in 8th or 9th grade at the time. She had a crush on an older boy at school. He was on the basketball team, I think, and she was going to go to one of his games. They were friends, but she was hoping to make him realize that he wanted her to be more than just his friend (which, of course, he did. Not many people in this world have the kryptonite to fight the power of Melissa).
To understand Melissa, you have to understand the preparation that goes into her look. She has an image in her head of what she wants to look like, for each and every event in her life. Now realize, this isn't about vanity. It's about the puzzle. About piecing together appropriateness, beauty, fashion, and creativity, and coming out with a perfect picture. It's an opportunity to probe and invent, and those opportunities can NEVER be passed up.
When Melissa is preparing for an event (and you must realize, "event" to Melissa probably means something different than "event" for you. Event for Melissa can mean lunch at Chilis with her husband), she usually comes up with a look, and she gives the look a name. The name will be her starting point for finding the outfit. Fresh Spring Tearoom Casual, Nautical Chic, Dressed Down In A Rich Way, Miami Beach Sexy Meets Bostonian Academic, oh yes, she's done them all.
For this particular event, she had decided to go with Casual Yet Softly Pretty. She wanted to wear a heathered mauve turtleneck, with a pair of overalls, and wear her long hair down and soft and curled (do you see Casual Yet Softly Pretty now??). She also went into detail about how she was going to apply her mascara to create the perfect spacing between each lash, but I will spare you that detail. Your head is probably already spinning, and I don't want to be the cause of it flying across the room.
She owned the heathered mauve turtleneck, but the overalls that she had weren't quite right. How were they not right, you ask? Please, don't get me started. The pockets on the butt weren't low enough, the shade of denim was last season's medium distressed blue, the width of the leg opening wasn't wide enough to differentiate them from farmer overalls, I could go on and on.
Obviously, a shopping trip was necessary. I was of driving age then, and had a car, so I picked her up and we went to the Granite Run Mall one morning. I remember this day so vividly, it was my first shopping experience with Melissa, and as everything is with Melissa, it was a trial by fire. Ain't no easing into things, you'd better be prepared for being thrown into the deep end....
It started much like any shopping trip for two young girls would start. We walked into a store, looked at some overalls, and she picked up a few pair. Then we went into a dressing room (the handicapped one, of course; her personality won't fit into a regular sized one). That was where my schooling began...
Watching Melissa try on clothes must be like watching Michelangelo paint. She puts the outfit on (because you only try on in outfits, you never just try on one piece of clothing), and then the magic begins. Every angle is examined. The fit of every square inch of fabric is analyzed. Discussions are had about long term use of the item, how it will mesh with other things in the wardrobe, graphs are made to determine price vs. quality, Powerpoint presentations are given to assess whether the article of clothing in question could be called a "classic piece" or a "fad item".
In this first store, she found a pair that passed many of her tests. I assumed she'd then buy the pair. Oh how wrong I was. Instead, she filed that pair away in her brain, and we moved on to the next store, where the process was repeated. After trying all of the overalls in the mall, we then had to go back to the stores that had the overalls that were in her top 10, and retry them.
When I say we were in that mall for 6 hours, I am not exaggerating. When I say we went into every store that might possibly have sold overalls, I am not exaggerating. When I say my brain had turned into a rotting smelly carcass with maggots slithering in and out of the crevices, I am not exaggerating.
She finally picked a pair, although as I recall she really did "settle". They weren't exactly perfect in her mind. But she remembered a great pair of shoes she had, that would be perfect for the outfit and would hopefully balance out the flaws in the overalls.
And of course, she ended up looking like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, as usual.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Our Irish Eyes Are Rolling
So, I went out to dinner on Saturday night with a few of my nieces, Bethany, Brooke and Brianne. While we were walking out, two guys walked past us into the bar. They were your average Joe Schmoes, slightly obese, late 20-something, sweaty, blue collar guys. Both of them had on green t-shirts, that had FREE IRISH CREAM written on them, with arrows pointing down to their crotches.
Ok. Here's the deal. When you wear a shirt like that, you're, as my mother would say, "showing your tail". Or as I would say, "showing your ignorant ass".
Wearing a shirt like that makes no sense, guys. Let me break it down for you.
The message written on the shirt is obviously meant for women. I'm pretty sure you're not looking to attract men to partake of your Irish Cream, right? So given that your demographic is women, you're only showing your ignorance. Even the least experienced man knows that women are attracted to subtle displays of romance. Casual but sexy glances across a crowded room, "accidental" hand brushes as you walk past, roses mysteriously ending up on your table, you get the point. Blatant references to graphic sexual acts do not fit into that list.
Also, by making your opener an Irish Cream reference, you're bringing up what is, to a woman, one of the least pleasant parts of the event that you're hoping will occur. It's like trying to talk a woman into having a baby by talking about episiotomies and hemorrhoids, instead of the first joy of looking into your new baby's eyes. Know your audience, people.
To take it a step further, showing your ignorance in the laws of female attraction isn't giving us a great deal of faith in how things would go if we did decide to partake of said Irish Cream. If you don't even understand how to attract us, how are we to have any confidence that you'd know what to do once you've gotten us? It's like wearing your resume plastered to your chest, and under "education and experience with women's body parts", in boldface caps, it says NONE AT ALL.
Wow. Sign me up.
As for now guys, I think you're going to suffer from an excess of Irish Cream. Free ain't cheap enough. You couldn't pay us enough to take it off your hands. Because that's the only place it's going to end up. Might I suggest Kleenex.
;o)
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Great Debaters
This week while I am away, I will be bringing back a few of my favorite posts, in no particular order.
Driving in the car yesterday, I had a funny thought about what Judgment Day would have looked like with my family present. (Why, you ask? I have no idea, my brain moves in mysterious ways...)
No doubt everyone behind the Lewises in line would have a long wait. We'd all be debating with God regarding our lists of sins.
My mother would be trying to weasel her way out of her sins by complimenting the Lord on what a nice job He did making flamingos, that they turned out to be just the loveliest shade of salmon. And she'd be all, "I just love what you did with magnolias too, I would have made them EXACTLY the same way!"
My brother Andrew would be trying to make God laugh by agreeing with all of his sins, and telling the story of each one in his witty, self-deprecatory style, elaborating wherever he could to try to make light of the ACTUAL sin. God would be in tears at the end of each story, laughing so hard that He'd have forgotten why He was so upset with Andrew in the first place.
Amy, with her amazing memory, would just keep saying, "Oh yeah! I totally forgot about that one!"...."Really? Are you SURE I did that? What year was that? I have absolutely no recollection...". She'd be making God re-tell the stories of each one, and she'd be laughing at herself and slapping us all on the arms, "Can you believe I did that?? How funny is that?!!"
ELew would be playing Devil's Advocate with the Lord, doing his "well yeah I did that, but it's no different than (insert inane analogy that has no bearing on the situation but takes you on such a long journey you forget the original premise)". And he'd do it so well that Satan himself might pop his head up and ask God,"Yo, you wanna play a little Let's Make A Deal? I gotta have that dude on my team, he's gooooooood!" (Satan always has a Brooklyn Italian, Danny Devito-esque accent in my mind.) ELew would end with "Besides, that guy was an ESTP, so what I did had no effect on him. Is it really a sin if the person you're sinning against isn't affected by it??"
My Dad would be trying to explain what he was thinking during each of his sins, where he was on his spiritual journey at that particular point in time. He would want to help God understand why he thought the way he thought so he'd be quoting the scriptures he was studying at that time, and explain how he'd interpreted them, and God would be all, "Lewis, you do realize I WROTE that goddamned book??". (Yes, God will say goddamned. It's like how white people can't call black people niggers, but black people can call each other niggers.)
My husband would be turning each situation back around on the Lord. He'd pull out the "Well, if you think about it, you created me to sin. So in reality this is all YOUR fault!!". Then he'd use the, "You gotta admit that one was pretty creative, I have to get extra points for that...!!"
And I would be prepared with my spreadsheets full of percentages and Venn diagrams, research information and rational justifications. I'd have prepared my closing arguments during everyone else's turn, and I'd have come up with a speech full of zingers and sound bites. And at the end, I'd try to put on the too small glove, and God would have to throw up his hands in complete awe at my preparation and my eloquent and passionate delivery.
Either that, or God would have realized there was no way He could spend eternity with such a big bunch of yahoos, and changed His mind about the lot of us...
Driving in the car yesterday, I had a funny thought about what Judgment Day would have looked like with my family present. (Why, you ask? I have no idea, my brain moves in mysterious ways...)
No doubt everyone behind the Lewises in line would have a long wait. We'd all be debating with God regarding our lists of sins.
My mother would be trying to weasel her way out of her sins by complimenting the Lord on what a nice job He did making flamingos, that they turned out to be just the loveliest shade of salmon. And she'd be all, "I just love what you did with magnolias too, I would have made them EXACTLY the same way!"
My brother Andrew would be trying to make God laugh by agreeing with all of his sins, and telling the story of each one in his witty, self-deprecatory style, elaborating wherever he could to try to make light of the ACTUAL sin. God would be in tears at the end of each story, laughing so hard that He'd have forgotten why He was so upset with Andrew in the first place.
Amy, with her amazing memory, would just keep saying, "Oh yeah! I totally forgot about that one!"...."Really? Are you SURE I did that? What year was that? I have absolutely no recollection...". She'd be making God re-tell the stories of each one, and she'd be laughing at herself and slapping us all on the arms, "Can you believe I did that?? How funny is that?!!"
ELew would be playing Devil's Advocate with the Lord, doing his "well yeah I did that, but it's no different than (insert inane analogy that has no bearing on the situation but takes you on such a long journey you forget the original premise)". And he'd do it so well that Satan himself might pop his head up and ask God,"Yo, you wanna play a little Let's Make A Deal? I gotta have that dude on my team, he's gooooooood!" (Satan always has a Brooklyn Italian, Danny Devito-esque accent in my mind.) ELew would end with "Besides, that guy was an ESTP, so what I did had no effect on him. Is it really a sin if the person you're sinning against isn't affected by it??"
My Dad would be trying to explain what he was thinking during each of his sins, where he was on his spiritual journey at that particular point in time. He would want to help God understand why he thought the way he thought so he'd be quoting the scriptures he was studying at that time, and explain how he'd interpreted them, and God would be all, "Lewis, you do realize I WROTE that goddamned book??". (Yes, God will say goddamned. It's like how white people can't call black people niggers, but black people can call each other niggers.)
My husband would be turning each situation back around on the Lord. He'd pull out the "Well, if you think about it, you created me to sin. So in reality this is all YOUR fault!!". Then he'd use the, "You gotta admit that one was pretty creative, I have to get extra points for that...!!"
And I would be prepared with my spreadsheets full of percentages and Venn diagrams, research information and rational justifications. I'd have prepared my closing arguments during everyone else's turn, and I'd have come up with a speech full of zingers and sound bites. And at the end, I'd try to put on the too small glove, and God would have to throw up his hands in complete awe at my preparation and my eloquent and passionate delivery.
Either that, or God would have realized there was no way He could spend eternity with such a big bunch of yahoos, and changed His mind about the lot of us...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Ava's Fashions
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
I Vomit On Belkin
This is my Public Service Announcement for the week. Griffin products are the only way to go when buying an iPod FM transmitter for your car. Whatever you do, avoid Belkin products like the plague. They'll make you want to drive your car into a telephone pole every two minutes, which is how often the channel will become full of static.
I got this Griffin when I needed to play my iPod in the car. I chose it because it was the least expensive. I rarely had to change the station, I would put it on 92.9, and could drive for at least 2 hours in any direction before static would start creeping in and I'd have to scan for a new station.
Eric got a Belkin for his iPhone, assuming it was better because it was more expensive. He got this one:
It's a tragedy. I've never played music on it without static. After my car accident I had to buy a new FM iPod transmitter. I decided to try a fancy Belkin, thinking maybe Eric's was a fluke. I got this cool wireless one. Well, it was an even bigger tragedy, of Romeo and Juliet proportions. Between the Radio Shack and my house, which is about a mile, I had to scan for a new station twice.
I returned it the next day and got another Griffin. The difference is unreal. So don't be fooled by Belkin's price tag. More expensive isn't always better.
I got this Griffin when I needed to play my iPod in the car. I chose it because it was the least expensive. I rarely had to change the station, I would put it on 92.9, and could drive for at least 2 hours in any direction before static would start creeping in and I'd have to scan for a new station.
Eric got a Belkin for his iPhone, assuming it was better because it was more expensive. He got this one:
It's a tragedy. I've never played music on it without static. After my car accident I had to buy a new FM iPod transmitter. I decided to try a fancy Belkin, thinking maybe Eric's was a fluke. I got this cool wireless one. Well, it was an even bigger tragedy, of Romeo and Juliet proportions. Between the Radio Shack and my house, which is about a mile, I had to scan for a new station twice.
I returned it the next day and got another Griffin. The difference is unreal. So don't be fooled by Belkin's price tag. More expensive isn't always better.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
By Suzanne Brigham Stoltzfus
My favorite moment from the competition in Orlando this past weekend:
Solomon and I were in the pool with Deb Szekely, who is THE west coast swing dancer. She has won too many US Open titles to count, and when it comes to Jack and Jills, few followers have a chance against her. To prove it to you, not one of the following is a choreographed routine. They're all lead and follow routines, in most of them she doesn't even know who she's going to be dancing with until 30 seconds before the song, which is also unknown, starts.
Anyway she and Solomon, who were both born and raised in New York City, were talking about the high schools they went to. She's a die hard New Yorker, a little 5'1" fireball of toughness with an accent as thick as peanut butter. At one point she turned to me and asked me where I went to high school. Solomon, who often answers for me because closing his mouth is not his forte (love!!), quickly said, "Oh, Suzanne was homeschooled!"
Deb looks at up at me and says, sounding for all the world like Tony Soprano, "What are you, a f*@&-in' Mormon??? Are you Amish???"
I fell madly in love with her in that moment, and laughed so hard that the water around me turned a lovely shade of seafoam green.
Solomon and I were in the pool with Deb Szekely, who is THE west coast swing dancer. She has won too many US Open titles to count, and when it comes to Jack and Jills, few followers have a chance against her. To prove it to you, not one of the following is a choreographed routine. They're all lead and follow routines, in most of them she doesn't even know who she's going to be dancing with until 30 seconds before the song, which is also unknown, starts.
Anyway she and Solomon, who were both born and raised in New York City, were talking about the high schools they went to. She's a die hard New Yorker, a little 5'1" fireball of toughness with an accent as thick as peanut butter. At one point she turned to me and asked me where I went to high school. Solomon, who often answers for me because closing his mouth is not his forte (love!!), quickly said, "Oh, Suzanne was homeschooled!"
Deb looks at up at me and says, sounding for all the world like Tony Soprano, "What are you, a f*@&-in' Mormon??? Are you Amish???"
I fell madly in love with her in that moment, and laughed so hard that the water around me turned a lovely shade of seafoam green.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Unicorns Exist
I have a Nell Mooney.
What's a Nell Mooney, you ask? It's very difficult to describe, but I will try. A Nell Mooney is a rare exotic treasure that most people in life aren't lucky enough to find. There's no map with an "X" on it, there's no 12 step program to find one, it will only be stumbled across. It's like a 4 leaf clover or a gold nugget or a prehistoric fossil. But when you find it, you try to keep it forever because it brings you so much joy and proves that you're a person of great fortune.
My Nell Mooney happens to be an outrageously beautiful and disgustingly talented actress and dancer. Being around her makes you feel like you're rolling around in a hot tub filled with melted chocolate and cotton candy and nitrous oxide and crack cocaine. She's full of everything that makes you feel good.
If you don't have a Nell Mooney, keep your eyes and ears open. Someday you may be lucky enough to find yours. Until then, I will share my Nell Mooney with you. In this clip, she's mimicking her father-in-law, who is apparently an amazing Scottish man full of creative genius and a knack for inventing. He grew potatoes in a barrel, and that's how this story started...
What's a Nell Mooney, you ask? It's very difficult to describe, but I will try. A Nell Mooney is a rare exotic treasure that most people in life aren't lucky enough to find. There's no map with an "X" on it, there's no 12 step program to find one, it will only be stumbled across. It's like a 4 leaf clover or a gold nugget or a prehistoric fossil. But when you find it, you try to keep it forever because it brings you so much joy and proves that you're a person of great fortune.
My Nell Mooney happens to be an outrageously beautiful and disgustingly talented actress and dancer. Being around her makes you feel like you're rolling around in a hot tub filled with melted chocolate and cotton candy and nitrous oxide and crack cocaine. She's full of everything that makes you feel good.
If you don't have a Nell Mooney, keep your eyes and ears open. Someday you may be lucky enough to find yours. Until then, I will share my Nell Mooney with you. In this clip, she's mimicking her father-in-law, who is apparently an amazing Scottish man full of creative genius and a knack for inventing. He grew potatoes in a barrel, and that's how this story started...
Monday, June 14, 2010
Monday Mornings With Zachary
Zachary talks about his stay with Andrew and Kathy, and about becoming a Christian.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Packin' My Dancin' Shoes
So today I'm off to Orlando for the Orange Blossom Dance Festival. I'm dancing Jack and Jill west coast swing tonight (my first time in Intermediate), also dancing Pro-Am Swing with my student Paul Grande. Tomorrow I dance country Pro-Am with Paul, and then Richard and I compete in Open Division 1 on Sunday afternoon. We are also teaching a workshop at some point...
Say a little prayer for us on Sunday, we need another win!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Reasons To Believe
Driving home from church two weeks ago, Colson said this out of the blue:
"I want to live twice so I can die and see what it's like, and then come back and not die..."So I said, "Well, if you go to heaven when you die, you won't want to come back because it will be so great." He replied, "How do you know it will be great?" I said, "Well, the Bible talks some about what heaven will be like. There will be no sadness and no pain, and you'll be happy all the time and you'll live forever."
Cole says, "Wow, so I'd have a good life there??" I said yes, you'd have a good life. But I told him that you can't get there unless you believe in God and ask him to come into your heart and obey him. I said that's how you become a Christian. Cole thought about that for a minute. "So if I become a Christian, I get to go to heaven and have a good life forever?". "Yes, Cole. But", I said, "you have to really mean it. You can't just be joking. God knows if you're serious or not."
"Well then I'm going to do that. Dear God, please come into my heart and let me be a Christian, because I want to have a good life in heaven with you."
Zachary pipes up, "I'm going to do it too! Dear God, please come into my heart so I can be a Christian and live forever. I love you for letting me be a Christian."
Cole says, "Ava, are you going to do it too?" Ava says, "Yes, but I'm going to do it in my room when I get home." "No, you have to do it now." "Fine....Dear God, please come into my heart and make me a Christian so I can come to heaven."
The funniest part of this story happened after all three kids made their professions of faith. Zachary just kept saying, to no one in particular, "Wow! I can't believe I'm a Christian! That's so cool. Can you believe I'm a Christian??!?" It was like his application had just been accepted at this cool super elite club that he never imagined he'd get into. I felt like he'd have said "I'll do it too!" to any interesting group I'd talked about. I could have asked if he wanted to be a Buddhist Monk, a Vegetarian Nudist, a Communist Guerrilla Soldier, and he'd have become one of those with the same enthusiasm as "Christian", just because it sounded so cool....it's a good thing this option came up before any of those others.
Ava kept quoting verses that proved the truth of what had just happened. She'd be quiet for a moment, and then say, "Oh yeah, it's like John 3:16 when it says "whoever believes in me will not perish but have eternal life!". Then she'd think for a while and say, "Right, like Romans 6:23, "the gift of God is eternal life in Jesus"...." She was connecting dots in her head all over the place, finding proof texts and making a Powerpoint presentation, ready to defend her position.
And Colson must have said 27 times, "Now I can have a good life when I'm alive, AND after I die!". He kept double checking with me to make sure that heaven was going to be really great, because God forbid he turn his life around only to end up somewhere so-so. If he's going to put out the effort to follow someone else's rules, the end result better be something fantastic. (Every time he talked about "the good life", he sounded like a beer commercial. )
We shall see if any of these professions are lasting ones, but they sure made for an entertaining car ride that day.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Delicioso!
My newest love:
Yoplait frozen smoothie mixes. Just add milk and blend. Super good. Each package makes 2 servings, each 110 calories. The only problem is that it's hard to separate the contents of the package into two servings, especially when you're particular like I am, so I make both servings at one time, and end up drinking the whole thing. The Triple Berry flavor is my favorite, but the mango/pineapple is also great.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Death To Smoochy
Heard the other night at our celebratory dinner after finally buying a new van:
Suzanne: "Man, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders now, don't you??!"
Eric: "Yes, I feel like you've been lifted off of my shoulders."
...............................................he's not long for this world.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Monday Mornings With Zachary
The other day we ate at a Mexican restaurant and Colson started dancing to the Spanish music. Zach thought Cole's dance was hysterical, so I filmed it. Enjoy.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Ava's Fashions
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Our Very Own Wonder Pets
Here's to Brooke and Jeff, who've been saving the day for us daily since my van and Eric's motorcycle have been totaled. Keep your fingers crossed that today is the day we get a new van and Brooke and Jeff can stop jumping in the flyboat when I call them on the tin can phone.
Wonder Pets Opening
Dante | MySpace Video
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Diffuser
We've been car hunting over the past week or so. Which has meant long hours in the car with all three kids. Invariably, Eric and I get very irritated by the end of each trip. Our conversations can get a bit testy.
Zachary started mimicking the way Eric and I speak to each other at the end of car hunt trips. Eric and I would say something to each other, and we'd hear this from the backseat and have to laugh. His imitation is eerily accurate in it's intonation and inflection, and is roll-on-the-floor-crying funny...
Zachary started mimicking the way Eric and I speak to each other at the end of car hunt trips. Eric and I would say something to each other, and we'd hear this from the backseat and have to laugh. His imitation is eerily accurate in it's intonation and inflection, and is roll-on-the-floor-crying funny...
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Baby I Got It
Another commercial that makes me laugh out loud. The first time I saw it I was so shocked to see Aretha Franklin in a car with 3 pothead dweebs that my introverted, never show a reaction in front of anyone self said out loud, "Whoa, why is Aretha in a car with 3 pothead dweebs??". Any commercial that can do that deserves respect.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Pass The Dramamine, Ava's Reading Again
My daughter Ava reads all the time. My DNA runs deep in that girl, and she's following in my footsteps by devouring every book that crosses her path. She's been reading for years, and is always in the middle of 3 and 4 books at a time. Last night she stayed up well past 10pm finishing book 5 of the American Girl Series, Samantha (her cousin and fellow book devourer Bethany's favorite of the AG series). This morning she woke up and came out of her room with her nose in book 6, reading while she walked downstairs. She read it while she ate breakfast, put it down to get dressed and brush her teeth, and then picked it up again.
While I was getting dressed, I noticed her reading out in the hallway. The following video shows how she was reading. I had to get my camera and videotape her after this had been going on for at least 5 minutes. It went on for another 10 minutes after I took this video. She was so involved in her book she never noticed me watching her.
I took a second video shortly after taking this one, in which she almost fell but righted herself at the last minute, never taking her eyes off the page. It was an unparalleled feat of balance and precision. I would post it as well, but Eric walked out of the bathroom in his towel right at that moment and had to say something to her (damned extroverts!!!). He'd been watching quietly from the bathroom, but couldn't contain himself any longer and had to gush over this amazing and bizarre talent. She smiled at him and went right back to reading in this fashion.
There should be an Olympic event for this very thing. She didn't fall once.
I do this very same thing when I talk on the phone. Fortunately for me, I don't have anyone in my life evil enough to catch me on tape...
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