Number One Reason NOT to Drink the Coffee at My Parent's House

Warning:
Possible offensive or at the very least crude content that might leave some scarred for life (especially if you have actually drank coffee at my parent's house.)


A week and half ago Atlanta got hit with a "snow storm". The quote marks are for the readers who live in areas where they actually have snow storms with snow. (I wouldn't want to offend anyone having just started back blogging and all.) But those who have not ever experienced a southern snow you need to know that in Atlanta any amount of snow, no matter how little, is reason for the world to shut down and for people to forget all driving skills. This year, though the snow accumulation was laughable, there really was ice on the roads and it made for some pretty scary driving over in my parts.

Exhibit A: Carmella and Beau playing the street across from my house. Complete sheet of ice.

As the member of a family where it is genetically ingrained that you must attempt to drive in all adverse conditions no matter how ill advised I drove over to my Mom's to pick her up so we could run at the Leita Thompson trail. The Leita trail is about 2 miles from her house and 7 miles from my house. I had contemplated running to the Leita but it did seem a little crazy to run 14 miles (round trip) just so I could run a few loops on the soft, groomed, snow covered Leita trails (longest loop is 2.5 miles and the max I can stand to run that loop is 4 times, usually I'm just good for 2 though). Plus, as I discovered the next day when I did run from my house that the sidewalks were very treacherous. So driving actually proved a better choice. I know many people chose to take the "snow" day off from workouts or opted to go to the gym as the temps were in the single digits but we so rarely get "snow" that I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to run in it. Who knows when Frosty is gonna show again. Gotta run and have some fun before it all melts away, right?

Snow, for us Southerners is a precious novelty. I feel like I am in a fairy tale running through the snow. Silly, I know, but don't forget: I've lived here my whole life and have been logging 50+ miles a week on the same roads for over 4 years now. Snow is a free change of scenery.

Leita trail about a mile in (clockwise):

Me and Lola heading out:

Frozen pond at the midway point on the trail:

Mom and Lola:

Mom and I had a lovely run and on the way back to her house I asked her if she had any coffee. I was out and didn't feel like stopping at the store. She only had whole beans. Oh, never mind I said, I don't have a grinder. . .

Oh, she said, I have a back up coffee maker with a grinder. You can have it. (Score!)

I know you are thinking, "back up coffee maker"? Okay, so there are 4 important things to know here about my parents:

1. They are very serious about their coffee. Annoyingly serious. Growing up 2 things we were never out of were coffee and wine.

2. My dad LOVES to buy kitchen appliances and gadgets.

3. They actually have another "back up coffee maker".

4. Yes, this makes it damn near impossible to ever buy my parents gifts. Except wine. You can, apparently, never have too much wine.

Said "back up coffee maker" that I scored:

After a lesson from her how to make a great cup of coffee, I left Mom's happy from my run and with a bag of coffee beans, a new coffee maker, a waffle iron, some beer, some potatoes, and some ketchup. (Yeah, so I remembered there were a few other things I needed to get at the store.)

I tell you what.

The shopping at my parents is good! And cheap. (Hello free! Pleased to meet you!) However, it does require some patience; like how I am waiting for them to decide that they don't really want that big flat screen that they just bought or for mom to figure out already that the wardrobe in their room really isn't the right piece for them. . .

Ryan was really excited about our new coffee maker too; especially once he figured out he could program it. And while I love that I can wake up and have coffee hot, ready and waiting--the thing sounds like the space shuttle taking off in my kitchen and serves dually as an alarm clock. The not so good part about that is at 5:30 am when I don't need to get up until 6 am. Why 5:30 am? Because Ryan ambitiously thinks he is going to be ready and leaving the house before 6 am. But typically at 5:30 am I am in the process of smacking him for the 3rd time in 27 minutes to get up and turn off the f-ing snooze.

Ryan also has been a little frustrated by the coffee but for a different reason. He thinks the coffee is weak. Therefore, I am of the belief that he is just not adding enough beans but he isn't convinced. When he found out today that my mom was coming over because my sister was coming over to do my hair he told me to ask her again how to make a "great cup of coffee." But then he changed his mind and said, never mind, ask your sister. Then he when out to do boy stuff since there was going to be a bunch of women coloring their hair here.

I totally had forgotten the story until, in mid foil and in all seriousness, I asked my sister how to make a great cup of coffee. I was thinking Ryan had told me to ask her because she and Wes have a similar coffee maker (also a previous back up coffee maker's of my parents.) But when she busted out laughing and commented that she hadn't ever told the story to mom; I suddenly remembered.

And so now we have reached the part of my story where an alternate title for this post has occurred to me: Reason #4,602 Why Not to Live in Your Parents House After College.

Pookie was about 24, doing the moved-back-into-Mom-and-Dad's-house-what-am-I-going-to-do-after-college bit. Now, first you must understand that my parents do not by any means have a small house but even though it is a larger house you are able to hear everything going on in the kitchen no matter where you are in the house. You actually come to believe, if you are in another area of the house, that once people enter my parent's kitchen they begin screaming at each other to converse. It is that clear and that loud. Pookie's bedroom at the time was at the farthest upper most point from the kitchen and one morning, surely fresh in from a hard night of partying most clearly overheard this unfortunate exchange between my parents:

Mom: Beau! This coffee is amazing! What did you do to it?

Dad: I put my dick in it.

The Mainstay's New Team Photo

He's giving up the titanium and carbon and trading in his Pacesetter Steel ride for a Townie. Better look now because he'll be so blazing fast at the crits that you won't even catch a glimpse.
Note: Mainstay's preferred hydration system is Coors. His helmet is specifically designed for beach aerodynamics. And that is not a specialized jersey or socks he is wearing. We are hoping the tan works itself out by the end of the week but if not that's cool too. Sort of completes the whole look.

Also, Sarah and I really hope it is genetic. Sorry Lala but I am taking you down. You look good.
People. The woman is 58 (as of last Sunday). Also, Happy Anniversary to her and Pop. 39 years.

So, yeah. We are having a great time:

.

Last night was my night to cook. I made steamed mussels for an appetizer. Had never made them before so it was a bit of an experiment. But so far no one has gotten sick



I also made spicy grilled shrimp, grilled veggies, rice and an arugula and tomato salad.

Ryan made mojitos.

Also, remember how I said I was never going to say I never? Well, here is an example of yet another one of those I never's that I said would never do but have since found myself eating the crow. Nothing big. Well fashion wise yes. It was buy or wear a gold bikini. Pookie bought it for herself but it didn't workout for her. So she gave it to me. Admittedly, I do have a bit of a bikini addiction. Some girls it is shoes. Me? Jeans and bikinis. Mind you, not necessarily together.


Okay, so I need to work on my tan lines but I did have my hair all Princess Leia'd out but the swimming in the ocean undoes things.

I think, this is what is meant by looking a gift horse in the mouth . . .

So today, Steph, my darling cutie of a bike buddy invited me to her day of fantastic fitness.

Steph had an all day pass. As a better mom and athlete than me because, not only does she do it with 2 kids, she also does it while working part time. Which btw, when you are lawyer is really full time. She is also a lot nicer than me.

I had to do the reading centers in Carmella's classroom this morning so I couldn't join her for her swim portion of the day. Since she was nearby I stalked her at the pool and suggested we do the Comet rather than battle the mean streets of Marietta and Roswell. She readily agreed.

However it took us longer than I thought to get to the Comet. So I called on Lala to pick up Beau from school since Carmella would be at dance until 4. That would give us even more time. Greedy greedy, I know.

Lala agreed. And I told her if Beau got no checks (he is allowed 2 but usually gets in the neighborhood of oh, 12 or so for various infractions.) to please get him a treat--say McDonald's fries or a toy at the dollar store. See, Beau is on a one day streak of no checks and I promised a special treat if he got no checks again today. Lala agreed to see to a special treat.

Steph and I had a great ride and rode 40 miles-- which is definitely further than I have ever ridden and I think so for her too. And, I discovered that after, oh say 30miles-- that padded bike shorts? Yeah, they might be a good idea.

My poor smushed girly bits. Don't know how you boyz do it.

Hmmm. Maybe men are tougher than women.

Yeah, right.

Hello. Childbirth?

Then we ran a 3 mile brick.

Eh.

The run was not so great but after 6 straight days of running and a 2 and half hour bike I suppose that is okay. The calf cramped up and I had to walk. Steph was suppose to reign me into a recovery run but at the half mile she report a 7:29 pace.
Sheesh. My legs have no idea what they are doing after they get off the bike. It felt like a 12 minute pace. Like we were wading through molasses. So she graciously walked with me for a bit and at the turn around we ran back--slower. Everything was starting to feel better but I was glad to be done. She also, rightly so, insisted we get powerade. I even bought a Cliff bar-- even though I was not hungry-- since I would not be able to eat until at least 6pm.

We parted ways and I drove to collect Carmella and Abby from dance and then Beau from Lala's. We dropped Abby at home and I hit the gym for a 30 minute swim to finish off Steph's fantastic fitness day.

And yes, Lala was true to her word as Beau did have another no check day. He insisted on a Happy Meal and she obliged. With a coke to boot. And this is that horse's mouth part that I am looking into. I am seeing all those dirty horse teeth as I never give the kids coke. I mean, you know, unless they are going to grandma's--not the other way around! And as if the coke wasn't enough caffeine Beau also indulged in handfuls of chocolate covered espresso beans.

And that my friends is why my 4 year old is sitting in his bed right now--an hour past bedtime, talking about imaginary spiders on the wall.

And I am thinking that tomorrow?

Tomorrow will not be a no check day for Beau.

His streak ends and possibly mine too.

But for now: 30/0.

Bag Lady Couture

You hoo
Hey there everybody!
Lala needs help choosing a dress to wear to my sister Pookie's wedding. She has 3 picked out and just can't decide.

For those that do not know Lala, she is the mother of the very nontraditional bride Pookie, my sister. See, Pookie really wanted a red wedding dress but could not fine one to her liking. And I'm sorry but I can't describe Pookie's dress to you because groom-to-be reads my blog but I can tell you that her wedding gown is not so traditional. It is more traditional than a red wedding dress but not exactly the cream puff confection that I wore. It would also be fair to say that compared to Pookie and Lala I am the Jacki O of conservative and classic taste in the family. What I am trying to explain is that the traditional mother-of-the-bride dresses do not appeal to either of these two artistes. Oh, and you should also know that Lala has long had a penchant for the bag lady look.


Please help Lala out and post your preference for dress and shoes in the comments.

Dress number 1 Is a purplish and gold slip dress in silk and burn-out velvet. I can't remember whose label it is. Lala bought it at one of those posh boutiques in Alpharetta.

It also has a shaw.

Dress number 2 Is an Ivan Grundahl dress in the true bag lady style purchased at Mooncake in Va Highlands. It is tres avant-guarde. This dress has crazy bustling, erratic hems and frayed edges. The material is a cross between a rain jacket and duchess satin. It is an army green color with a bit of sheen.

Back view:
Dress number 3 Is an old dress from Lala's closet. It is an INC dress. Gosh ,it may be almost vintage. I want to say it is circa 1995. I had borrowed it and altered it to fit me and wore it to a garden wedding in New Orleans before Ryan and I got married. It is a silk, army green slip dress with an organza inlaid hem. She will pair this dress with the meditation shaw she purchased at Moon Cakes in Va Highlands. This dress will require the magic underwear--in case that factors into your decision making.
Meditation shaw:
Dress number 3 also has an additional option with an alternate cover-up. Lala calls this the "cage". I think it looks like a nightgown.


Questions?

Like maybe, what is that little head in the pictures about? Why that is one of Lala's Secret Keepers. I have lots of silly comments about the Secret Keepers but I am going to keep them to myself since they are money item. And art that sells is a good thing.

Okay, now you need to pick the shoes.

The following shoes, color wise, will match all of the dresses (or so Lala says). So please pick a pair of shoes to wear with the dress you choose.

Shoe A. This shoe has a Lucite heel. Lucite is making a huge come back in accessories right now. It is also a practical choice for a garden wedding and will serve the dual purpose of not only being fashionable footwear but will also aerate the lawn without damaging the shoe. How great is that?
Shoe B Is a ballet flat in a faux metallic either alligator or snake skin with a t-strap. I personally do not think these are dressy enough and think these would work better with jeans. But then again, I'm a heel girl and if I could run in heels I would be wearing heels all the time. Lala, however, is a little taller than me so comfort--not height-- is more important to her.
Shoe C Strappy bronze Nine West Sandals. Eh.
Your vote is greatly appreciated and I will be sure to let you know what Lala decides however, do not be surprised if Lala doesn't go out and buy yet another dress. You know, Mom , maybe you should just wear them all and just treat the wedding as the stage for your own Bag Lady Couture fashion show.

Talking of Michelangelo

Or, so they say the women do as they come and go. . .
And then there are those mermaids . . .
And, yes, I've heard about them.
So it is said: They sing each to each.
Do they sing to me?
Ah, who cares.
What matters is that Carmella loves to draw.

Since she was 2 she could spend hours drawing, coloring or painting. It is fabulous to have a child that can entertain herself so well and so easily. Maybe she has talent, maybe not. But I think at the least she would make her Lala proud, who, by the way, definitely does have talent:
Here is some of her recent work--and by her, I mean Carmella. Lala is busy in her studio toiling away, not babysitting for me, doing her work--right Lala?
A rendering of Madame Blueberry.

A mermaid and a rainbow:
At dinner last night I mentioned that I use to like to do sketches of dresses. So here is what Carmella came up with :
It is a drawing of her "dream closet."

Okay, so that last one is mine. But I should point out that hers was the inspriation for mine and I think hers is better.
And that brings me to my favorite poem. (Okay, so I should say my second favorite poem. Really, this, is my favorite.)
But the following poem by Frank O'Hara makes the most sense to me and and it explains everything--at least everything about the artistic process:
Why I am not a Painter

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

Some days you need more than just water . . .