Saturday Night Fever

Actually, it was Monday thru Friday Night Fever. I've been nursing Peach all week, across two cities even! She rallied Tuesday just in time to meet up with Mama Turista for a few days in Sand and Stonio, but they had to call in the reinforcements (that would be me and my lovely assistant, Olive) when she went back down for the count on Wednesday. We hightailed it to Mama T's and spent the next two days fetching water and cold compresses. The poor little thing looked like a wrung out washrag herself after four days of the fevah. And she wouldn't eat a thing, as she told me through half-closed eyes, "No thanks, Mommy. I don't have much of an appetite." Sweet baby.

Yesterday, she finally started to come around, and we spent the day at Mama Turista's soon-to-be-under-new-management shop. Peach had a little meltdown when she realized she wouldn't be able to play behind the counter anymore, but Mama T assured her that the new owner would be needing lots of help and would welcome her expertise anytime. I can remember spending many summer days at my grandmother's antique shop, playing with all that wonderful costume jewelry, so Peach comes by it honestly. After she retired, my grandmother bought a huge old house, and she had the first floor packed full of the most beautiful furniture. And a player piano, with about 1,000 rolls of music, which I thought was so amazing. We used to call her Sanford because she had this kickass old Dodge van that she used to haul furniture around in, and you never knew when she might just show up at the house with a piece that "looked just like you." I was on the receiving end of a beautiful marble top dresser and a judge's bookcase among other assorted treasures, but my favorite thing is just watching her, at 95, still work her magic with those snooty dealers. They have no idea who they're up against - the woman can spot a reproduction at 500 yards, and don't tell her that sideboard is solid because it's got veneer written all over it, and try harder next time when you're trying to pass off those mirrored doors as original because the glass they used in the 19th century was much thicker, etc.. She rules.

Anywho, it is bittersweet, but ultimately, I'll be glad when Mama T can do things like come visit for a week without having to move Heaven and Earth. Now I'm off to clean up the full bottle of Dimetap that spilled in one of the bags I just unloaded. The one with the stack of old pictures Mama T just gave me, the DVDs, and my camera. Joy.

Ms. P is Back in Da Hizzy!

Wait, did you think I meant that Ms. P? Hells to the no, y'all! I meant the well-behaved, non-jailbird Ms. Pearl.

Cleaning House

Ok, here's the thing: I think I have Blogging Anxiety Disorder (BAD). Bad. Real bad. I've got all these ideas for posts spinning about my noggin, and I just. can't. get. the words. out. Not enough words for a full post anyway. So now, when I see that "sign in" button up there, I get anxious about spouting forth something entertaining for you. At the moment, I actually dread it even, which stinks because I usually love blogging and am my own best audience. Shit.

So, what say I throw out some of these little nuggets, get them out of my system, and then we can all move on. Sort of a sorbet sampler to clear our collective pallets as it were. Yes? Great. Here goes:

• I spent last week volunteering at Vacation Bible School for Peach and Olive (I know! Even after all that!), and I am pleased to report that Olive's first school-type experience went off without a hitch. Except for she kept calling it "Information Bible School," but whatever. She keeps asking if it's August yet, as she says she is "ready" to start school, while I am having a complete mental breakdown over the very thought. Luckily, she will be attending the same precious preschool Peach went to for three years, with the same teacher next year and everything, so at least there's that. Sigh.
• I got quite possibly the worst manicure in my life last week. Now, I've only had probably 10 "professional" manicures ever, as I only stopped biting my fingernails when I was about 20 and have been tending to them myself ever since. It was a total spur of the moment thing at this Korean walk-in place up the street, and the woman ended up cutting my nails into total Gangsta Bitch Squares with super sharp edges and drew blood TWICE just filing them. If I had any balls, I would have just gotten up and left, but she was trying so hard, and she had her mouthy Americanized kids there totally bitching at her, so I sucked it up and let her finish. And then I started thinking about Paula Abdul and her brush with death or whatever and looking at how NOT totally clean the instruments were and thoughtfully considering that if I lost a limb to the raging infection I was surely going to get, at least it would be my left arm. All because I had a wild hair and $15 burning a hole in my pocket.
• Speaking of Ms. Paula, I am so excited about her trainwreck of a reality show! Good summer fun for the whole family. And what about Scott Baio's pathetic offering? I guess it makes sense - Willie Ames was already on one.
• I cannot get my mind off the only souvenir I regret not buying on our recent trip. I will now and forever rue that day in Alamosa when I didn't snag the pink Bedazzled trucker hat with the bastardized Jack Daniels logo that said, "All Jacked Up."

See what I mean? To be continued ...

Then I Am So Screwed

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Rocky Mountain High

By now, you have probably forgotten that we went to Colorado last week, or you think I'm lying about it, but really, we DID go, and we DID have a great time.

Can I just tell you how much I love that place? Not so much in the dead of their longass winters, but in the summer? When it's a full 60 degrees cooler than it is here? Heaven. In fact, my little snowangels worked their magic again, and it friggin' snowed for two days. In JUNE. Not enough to really stick on the ground, but plenty of real live flurries, snowballs, and all the wet clothes that go with such fun. Hooray for the laundry room.

We stayed in this little lean-to again, courtesy of my parents' best friends:

She is sweet, no? And huge. Usually, we have about 12 folks, with plenty of room for more, but this time, it was just us and my parents, which means that the week was all about Peach and Olive, which means hiking and horses, respectively.

On our hikes and drives, we saw things like this:

And this:

And this:

I'm pretty sure Olive counted and/or caressed every horse in the county, including this guy at a Morgan farm, the owner of which my dad has practically been stalking over the years because that's his favorite breed:

The highlight of our equine adventures is always the annual riding lessons, and this year, both of our lil' cowgirls were old enough to partake. Peach had a private lesson on Carmel, who looked to be about 4 or 5, and Olive took a spin, led by Cowgirl Andrea from Kansas, on a black and white pony named, quite appropriately, Spirit. This is where it gets interesting. See, ponies, in general, can be a little skittish, some might even say "spirited." So, in what could very well be a $10K AFV-type moment, after a couple of turns around the ring, Mr. Spirit had had enough of Miss Olive on his back, and he tried to BUCK her off. For reals, y'all! And in the moment, I was not even scared really because she just held on and literally rode him out, totally cool. Poor Cowgirl Andrea about shit herself and quickly choked up on the 3 foot lead she had given Spirit earlier. Then she asked Olive if she was okay ("Yes.") and if she wanted to keep going ("Yes!" or more like "Duh!"). So, off they rode, into the sunset, as I dreamed of Olive's future.

Finally, I knew we were in for a good time when, our first night on the road, we pulled up to our motor lodge in Fort Stockton, and there was a large quacking box in the driveway. It seems a stray duck had found its way to the parking lot, and the dayshift desk girl was taking it home to her farm. For the rest of the night, T-Bone serenaded me with, yes, "Duck in a Box." "Step one ..."

Happy Father's Day, you big lug.

Satisfaction

So maybe it was just the Lone Star talking, but I'm over my little Sopranos hissyfit already. Moving on ...

Today, I was trying to catch (kill) a wasp that had somehow infiltrated our borders, and after several unsuccessful swipes with a dishtowel, Peach ran over and handed me this:
And I caught the little menace. Who knew?

Also, I can say with all certainty that T-Bone's life is officially complete, because upon an initial viewing of the Austin show on the new Stones DVD box set, you can clearly spot his smiling mug stageside during the "B Stage" set, and you can catch glimpses of me, bouncing around and flashing the biggest shit-eating grin you ever saw. Remember how I told you we happened upon the best spots ever ever ever for that show? So close I could have grabbed Keef's bizarro headdress? Yeah, well, you can see what I mean somewhere around minute 58.

Finally, although Blogger would like it to be otherwise, in the very near future, I WILL get a trip report posted before it gets eaten. For now, I will sit back and pat my gelatinous belly, immensely happy with the way this summer's playing out so far.

And oh yeah,


Uno mas, caballeros. Uno mas.

I Call Bullshit

Sorry, but after 12(!) hours in the car yesterday, spurred on only by the thought of having the last two episodes EVER of The Sopranos waiting for me when I got home, I am totally disappointed. And a little buzzed.

Seriously! At the end, I thought our DVR stopped recording too soon. PLUS, I was totally having a heart attack at the time - really, ask T-Bone. I think I am either too bourgeois in the eyes of the producers to "get" the ending, or am I just too invested in my television stories and need to get a life. Whatever. Now I'm off to watch tonight's Spurs game, so don't tell me who won. But just so you know, if they start playing any Journey at the SBC Center, I'm totally turning that shit off.

Oh, and we had a great trip.