The Call to Action

It started off as a fairly boring Sunday. I was dragging a bit from the previous evening's block party and Rick had been up all night doing whatever he does in the middle of the night on the weekends (house projects, internet searches, ESPN). We had nothing on the books so we decided to walk the camping chairs left at our house back over to the Hagemann's. There's nothing like a 30 minute walk in the summer heat to jump-start a hangover, so I was prepared to relax in the dark coolness of our living room all day when we got...THE CALL. We were green-lit for a GB/Big Daddy-sponsored lunch out! Reinvigorated with actual plans and promises of a free lunch, we rallied the troops. Chloe had a better offer so she went to the International Fair (very sophisticated, that one) and Chaney was off returning a dog to a cousin (this is not a euphemism for anything, in case you were wondering), so it was Dan, Parker, Kaly, Shisha, and Rick headed to lunch at Bar Louie.

I am not sure how we got from brunch to buying a handle of rum at Straubs with plans to make pina coladas and bust out the sprinkler, but that's what happened, and the day devolved pretty quickly after that.

Dan and Shisha with the pina coladas. Dan is double-fisting his tropical drinks because it's Sunday and the wife's away...

Child labor laws are relaxed on Sundays and Parker graciously washed ALL OF OUR CARS. I love that kid.

The only appropriate mechanism for listening to classic rock is this "classic" boom box. We were all shocked when the thing actually fired up. Parker tried to clean off some of the dust with a few swipes of the sprinkler in the general direction of the porch. Apparently they made their boom boxes waterproof in 1986.


Rough Sunday.

Dan taking a run through the sprinkler to cool himself off/sober up before Chaney got home.

This is how you wake up four "sleeping" adults on the porch.

We later cleaned up and ordered some pizza. Parker surprised me with this adorable outfit. I was so proud. Apparently the love of stripes is genetic! You also get a glimpse of the now almost 100% healed bruise in this pic.

When I say I felt like a hot bag of death on Monday at work, I might be understating things a bit. But the positive far outweighs the negative as far as this Sunday-Funday was concerned. Thanks for getting the ball rolling, Geebs and Bigs!

In your FACE, Moderation!

Our good friends Stephanie and Matt are in town this weekend to visit their new niece and we were lucky enough to wedge ourselves into their plans for get-together last night. Knowing that I had a longer run today, I had plans to have 1-2 glasses of wine and take it easy. That was the plan. But, as it always happens when you are with good friends, the beer flowed like wine, the wine flowed like...well, wine, and the next thing I knew Steph and I had polished off two bottles. Oops. To really bring home how "off" I was, I even allowed for a stop to procure some bean burritos on our way home. I clearly have a death wish.

So needless to say I was not too enthusiastic about this morning's 8 mile run. I even contemplated postponing it until tomorrow, but figured that my actions should have consequences. As they say, you mess with the bull, you get the horns. In this case, the bull is a bottle of wine and a bean burrito and the horns would be a horrible run with the increased likelihood that I will crap myself. I figured that's what the chamois in my tri shorts are for and I headed out the door with a bit less than a spring in my step.

Much to my shock and appreciation, it was not bad. It wasn't great, but no bodily fluids came from any unexpected places, which I consider a personal victory.

A Day in the Life

On our daily morning phone call yesterday, Mom was extra inquisitive about what I do for a living. It's not terribly interesting to many people, so I don't talk about it too often. I am fairly certain I heard her snoring lightly during my dissertation regarding how soil type influences petroleum migration, so I figured I would be better off just showing some pictures that would accurately depict the glamour that is my day to day life.

I was on-site overseeing installation of some soil borings. The piece of equipment being used above is a push-probe drill rig, that they have mounted in some sort of box truck. Normally this is attached to a regular truck or is some fashion of drill rig. Note the USA Today in the foreground. CULTURE! I checked and there was even a current issue inside. I was strangely fascinated by this feature at the gas station in the middle of nowhere Hayti, MO. Who reads USA Today down here? Someone makes a special trip and drops this off EVERY DAY? How many could they really sell. I should have opened it up to see how many were in there. I am guessing just the one on the front. It's these things that keep my mind occupied while at a job site.

This is the soil boring that is retrieved from the ground. The soil is then examined and packaged for sampling at a lab.

Nothing but exotic locales for this gal. Why staycation when the bustling destination of Hayti, MO is but a 185 mile jaunt down Highway 55?

This is the station where we were working. Note the box truck has now moved. Can you stand the excitement?

I am constantly surrounded by beautiful architecture.

Here's the super exciting part: I am not even the one doing any of the work. I am there just DOCUMENTING the work! Mind you, I paid my dues with the logging of borings and sample collecting, so I don't feel quite as guilty for sitting in my car and cooling my heels while everyone else gets all dusty and sweaty. It's a glamorous life I lead. Try not to be jealous.

I'm a problem solver

Let me preface this post with a bruise update: we have entered the healing phase. It is still huge and Mom thinks it still looks horrible but Rick and I agree that he's (yes, it's a he) improving and looking better day by day. It currently resembles this:

But a little less majestic. I have continued my running efforts, though to say that the sensation of my swinging, swollen, side-flank is unsettling would be a bit of an understatement. In an effort to remedy the situation, I turned to my never-used triathlon shorts I purchased this year. They were touted to have something called compression fabric, which is supposed to aid in recovery (call me when they make a fabric that makes you go faster). I read that as "fabric that will hold your fatty appendage in place while you run."

Off I trotted to the gym in my super tight spandex shorts yesterday, and lo and behold....it actually worked. There was absolutely no movement in the shorts. Hell, I am shocked I could even move my legs, these things were so tight. So the solution to my injury is held in this tiny lycra torture device.

If you happen to see a woman running the streets of Webster while stuffed into super tight shorts like a holiday turducken, give me a honk or a wave, but don't judge.

Missing in Action

Since Rick seems to think that having one 90 pound dog in the house is enough, I have taken to getting my pet fix in odd places. Most recently I was introduced to Steven and Tyler, the frogs that live in our basement window drains. I met Steven first when he lunged at me quite aggressively when I was cleaning out the drain. He is pictured below:
As you can (or can't see) he's almost invisible between the rocks and the leaves, but he's the larger of the two and can be frequently found lounging by the window, ready to give you a heart attack when you open it up. He's lightening quick, that Steven, and quite a prankster.

Then there's Tyler. Sweet, not as invisible, Tyler:

Time will tell if Tyler is young or just petite, but he is far cuter that Steven (shhh!) and not quite as scary. I actually thought that Tyler was dead because we hadn't seen him in recent efforts and I thought maybe he met his maker in that last storm (these window drains tend to clog and fill with water, which is how I suspect they got in here to begin with, not that a frog would drown in water, but who knows what goes on in frog world during a heavy downpour). Steven and Tyler live in Left Window.

Now for the bad news. There was another frog in Right Window. His name was George Burns. And I can't find him. As we experienced with Tyler, it could be that he's just hiding out somewhere, but it's been a few days. Pray for George.

From the mouths of babes

One of the favorite haunts of the Erwin/Hagemann/Harkins clan is El Indio Mexican Restaurant. I think Rick and I went there on New Year's day about 3 years ago because it was the only thing open (and mexican food cures all my hangovers) and it's been a love affair ever since.



To set the scene and explain the glamour that is El Indio, this place used to be a Pizza Hut. In order to distract you from that fact, they painted the inside every color of mexican neon that they could get their hands on. To save $ on table cloths, they took a page out of the Mexican Martha Stewart magazine and shellaqued posters of wolves to the table tops. In order to show that they are "with it", we noticed there was a Twilight poster now on one of the tables. I am guessing that's where the romance happens at El Indio. Tres chic.





But we love El Indio because you get the real-deal mexican experience. On top of great food, you also get confusion regarding your order due to language break-downs, shameless flirting with the ladies (though one time they did ask me if I was pregnant, though I am trying to convince myself that it was because I ordered water instead of a beer), and all the chips and salsa you can get your hands on.



A shadow has been cast over El Indio in recent trips. Apparently they have opted to hire a new guy. New guy is not fun/outgoing like all the other El Indio fellas. He does not speak a word of english and generally seems like he hates being there. I will call him "Senor No Bueno", or SNoB. Well, we get SNoB for the second time last night. He's already annoyed with our table of 7 and giving us attitude. Then, Chloe strikes. I mentioned before that Chloe's a bit obsessed with teeth (reference the county fair where she kept gesturing to the carnie with meth mouth every time she went around on the carousel). When SNoB turned after taking our drink order, Chloe proclaims "I see gold teeth on that guy!". Yes, SNoB has gold rimmed teeth (are you getting the visual on this place yet?). Needless to say, things went from bad to worse after that, and to show his agression towards the girls, he "forgot" their order. Thankfully for them, it's hard to hide mucus in chicken nuggets and fries....

When it came time to discuss the bill, I explained the concept of tipping to Chloe as her mother was making statements that she wasn't going to tip. Ever-concerned Chloe stated, "but if we don't tip him, how will get get the rest of the gold for his teeth?". While she may not respect his ability as a server, Chloe does respect a person's right to accessorize.

Listen all y'all it's a sabotage

So my night's sleep was interrupted on Thursday night due to the sounds of our dog urinating at 3:45 in the morning. Yes, our dog pees with such force that the sound can wake two adults on the second floor (another lovely characteristic of owning a large dog that has taken to excessive water consumption to off-set the food reduction).

I was looking forward to getting a good night's sleep last night in preparation for my attempt to run this morning, however it would appear that the universe had other plans for me. We started off well and were in bed by 9:30. I fell asleep fairly quickly, but Rick's customary weekend night work texts started up at around 10:30, so that woke both of us up. The storm woke me up around 12:30, and thanks to the huge trees around us I always get a bit nervous during storms. Apparently so does dog because he was doing laps around the lower level of the manse for about an hour. Then at 3:30 the sump alarm went off....

I'd like to take a moment to discuss this sump alarm. It's about the size of a pager but rings with enough volume to actually make your eardrums vibrate as you get close to it and freaks me out every time it goes off. In a strange break from his normally light sleeping habits (prob tired from all that texting), Rick didn't hear this commotion, so I went to tend to the ear-splitting noise (and to make sure the basement wasn't flooding). Turns out, it was flooding a bit, so after tending to the sump, I tried to dislodge the debris from the drain that's in the basement. Because I was still a little sleepy, I must have rubbed my face, because I then got bits of leaf in my eye. Good times.

Once everything is in working order and my vision was restored, I headed back upstairs to bed. Rick is so thankful for me tending to the basement that he gives me a loving smack on my rump. My poor, poor bruised and swollen rump. BRUISE UPDATE: The bruise has apparently reached critical mass and resembles what I imagine the Mona Lisa would look like if you placed the masterpiece under water, let it sit for a bit, and then swirled the paint around.

Then the dog finally stopped doing laps downstairs long enough to cry at the bottom of the stairs at 5 in the morning demanding to be fed. So needless to say, I think I got about 4.5 minutes of sleep last night. Between that, the rain, and the hip, I don't see a run being in the cards for me today. In the words of the lovely Gloria Estefan,there's always tomorrow.

Private Dancer

Fridays are special days in the Erwin household. Rick and I usually get up early (well, I get up early, Rick gets up at his normal time) and go to breakfast together, which makes for a nice start to the day. My mom and I talk almost every morning and she says that I always sound more upbeat on Fridays. For those of you that have ever had a phone conversation with me, "more upbeat" is a relative term, since I usually sound borderline comatose on the phone. Fridays always seem to be filled to the brim with excitement for the potential fun in the impending weekend.

There has recently been an exciting addition to my Fridays, which I haven't shared with many people, so I am outing myself here. Dance class. That's right. I take a dance class at my gym every friday at 4. I have actually missed the past few weeks, which means I will be behind for this month's dance, but no matter. Few of you may know that behind this calm, laid-back, nonchalant exterior lies a serious booty shaker. I took dance classes in middle school (and possibly into high school, can't recall) and was a cheerleader in high school, which required some dancing from time to time. The cheerleading part is the tidbit that amuses anyone that knows me now and still strikes me as odd since I find it hard to get my level of excitement over about a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10. I also have been known to pump up the jams while cleaning the house and shake my way around while dusting and sweeping. It really is quite a sight. And don't get Rick started about me at weddings. Dancing is mandatory and it gives Rick endless ammunition in what is always the "photo review of shame and ridicule" the next day.

So my alter ego loves to dance. And in this dance class I am one of the star pupils. Granted, the rest of the class is a bunch of arthritic 80 year olds, but I am a star none the less.

I've got my eye on you Oscar Mayer

I may have mentioned previously that a love of all things bacon related is shared amongst my family members. I am usually hesitant to cook bacon in our house for two reasons: 1) the smell lingers FOREVER, which in and of itself isn't that bad, but I am sure if it is making me hungry, it has to be the doggie equivalent of chinese water torture, and 2) Rick and I will plow through an entire pound of bacon without looking back. So we typically save bacon for special occassions and for when it's nice enough to open the windows and air the place out a bit.



Imagine my delight when I spotted a new bacon product by the refridgerated section when I was making a meat run to the store last night. I stopped and checked it out and it's pre-cooked bacon by our trusty friends at Oscar Mayer! I was so distracted by all the potential this little box held and visions of me finishing my shopping trip while munching on a box of pre-cooked bacon that I hardly realized the location of the box. By the fridge. Not IN the fridge. WTF?

They make it clear that it's "100% Real Bacon", but I am not buying it. And don't get me started on the picture of the bacon on the box. The salad to bacon ratio in this salad seems a bit skewed. What is this country coming to? While I was initially excited about the notion of this particular pork product, I am becoming more and more disturbed as I think about it. Are we becoming so lazy that we can't cook, much less refridgerate the MEAT we eat? And seriously, strips of bacon on a salad? Are you eating this salad as a side to your big Mac and diet coke to make it more "healthy"?

I hesitate to bring up the refridgeration topic in our house lest it revive the great ketchup debate of 2007, but I think we can agree that when it comes to our bacon, we like it pre-chilled. I am going to suggest to Mr. Mayer that the ad campaign for this product be "If the cholesterol doesn't get ya, then the trichinosis/e coli/salmonella will!"

A word of advice

Because yesterday's post was so long, I will keep today's short and sweet with a little lesson I have learned in my travels: Do not, under any circumstances, try to shorten the Activia 2 week Challenge by eating it twice in a day for one week.

You're welcome.

I put the ASS in "Urban Assault"

As you may recall, Rick and I signed up to participate in St. Louis' Urban Assault Ride, which took place this past Sunday. We got our friends David and Amy to join in on the fun, and we met up on Saturday night to plan our route. During this meeting of the minds, the "rules" of the race were interpreted to mean that we could "be creative" in our methods of getting from one checkpoint to another. Because I am my mother's daughter, this resulted in a devious plan to cheat the system and take the metrolink from the furthest east checkpoint (City Museum) to the westernmost point (REI on Brentwood). However, clearer minds prevailed the next day (no longer emboldened by multiple margaritas) and we realized that the metro was, in fact, motorized transportation and we played it by the book.


Thanks to the world's most difficult quiz, Rick and I had a 2:30 minute starting time advantage over Amy and David. As they are super-cyclists, I think this time advantage was made up by the time Rick and I fully mounted our bikes. The first stop was down by Tower Grove Park, and it involved riding big wheels through an obstacle course. These were no ordinary big wheels though, as they had no braking mechanism. This resulted in Rick and I taking the corners "Tokyo Drift" style. Rick was channeling Vin Diesel hard core at this stop and really did Team Erwin proud (was Vin in Tokyo Drift?).

The next stop was the mystery checkpoint, which we had previously determined to be a statue in City Gardens. They then provided us with the clue for the second mystery checkpoint. Since Rick and I are so generous and loaned our pump to a guy in the parking lot, we already knew the 2nd checkpoint and were able to blaze through this one. As luck would have it, he happened to be staying at the Holiday Inn Forest Park, and that's where the 2nd mystery checkpoint was located. Lucky us!

Amy and David were with us at this point, and remained so for maybe a total of 4 minutes until we reached City Museum. Ricker was wise to not give me too many details of the obstacle at this stop, because it involved either waiting for the elevator to ride to the roof, or taking 11 flights of stairs to the top. As I was with Queen of the Go-getters athlete nutjob extraordinare, Amy (meant in the nicest way possible) and the energizer bunny David, the stairs were the only option. I was fully prepared to wait for the elevator, but that was overruled without discussion. The stairs are a bit of a haze. I think I blacked out around the 7th floor and lost feeling in my legs. I broke into the sunlight of the roof only to find I had to climb....more stairs to get to the top of the slide, which I had to then slide down. Have you ever experienced a slide in sweat-soaked spandex? Not something I recommend, though it did help to slow my descent into what would have certainly been some sort of injury on the bricks at the end of the slide (aforementioned in the Andrew Angeli post).


So now we have to go DOWN the stairs. This is a bit of a blur as well. Amy and David are long gone at this point and I am pretty sure Rick was napping by the time I got down there. He works at that stupid place, so he was used to the stairs, or that's what I keep telling myself. The next stop was Big Shark Bicycles. I should add at this point that Rick and I opted to not wear our cycling shoes with the clipless pedals for fear of (me) wiping out on their slick soles. The only other option was return the flat pedals to the bike that have these straps to put your shoes into (not a great description but hopefully you know what I am talking about). This makes riding a bit more difficult because you can't get as much power on the pedals, and when you are as uncoordinated as I am, you also can't seem to get your left foot into the stinking strap thing, which makes the whole thing a joke.

So needless to say, I am pretty irritated by the time we arrive at Big Shark. The name of this obstacle is "Piggy Back Polo". I would like to punch the inventor of this little game square in the neck. One team member had to "ride" the other team member, all the while holding an elongated mallet and knocking a small soccer ball through a maze of cones. Only the rider could hold the mallet, which resulted in me jamming the handle of the mallet into Rick's chest/chin/neck all the while crushing him with my super-svelt physique. But as always, the Erwins persevered and finished without any major incident or bouts of screaming/name calling. I would like to add here that this task would be excellent for any pre-marriage retreats where you try to get to know your potential mate. I am sure the Ricker was second guessing his decision to not spend a little longer evaluating the more petite end of the dating pool during this little obstacle.

After this, we headed to Mesa Cycles where we had to complete a puzzle. Ricker is awesome at puzzles, so he knocked this one out. Off to REI, which was our last known stop before the final mystery spot, so we were in the home stretch at this point. To give us a little extra boost, who do we see when we round the corner at REI but the HAGEMANNS! As predicted last weekend, Chloe lost her other front tooth and demanded we stop to take a look. They cheered us on and were able to take the two action shot photos of the Erwins on this crazy race:

Rick was the obvious choice for the REI challenge as he is known to regularly roll with the neighborhood kids on his skateboard, sometimes even in this same position. Knowing my luck, one of the pins would snap my ankle or I would run over my own fingers, so I kept myself out of harm's way (for that point, at least). Ricker connecting with the pins.

My excellent form.

We gave our goodbyes to the Hagemanns and plotted a sketchy course for the Holiday Inn. I say sketchy because we were not allowed to ride on Manchester Road or Hampton, both of which would normally be the main two roads I would take to get there. After winding our way through Richmond Heights and Dogtown (thankfully both neighborhoods where I have lived previously), we made it to the Holiday Inn, where we were told to take off our shoes and socks, jump in the pool, and swim to the other end. The "lifeguard" added that we had to leave our helmets on, but to hold the top of them when we jumped in as to not choke ourselves. Thanks for that little tidbit. Glad you are concerned about our safety. Nevermind that the chamois in my shorts is forcing me to sink like a stone...at least I won't choke to death!

The pool was the last official stop and recharged and energized from the cooling dip in the pool, and thrilled with the knowledge that we will make it in before the 12:00 cutoff, we head towards the finish line!

But what would any Kaly Erwin excercise/race story be without an injury report??? Not a good one, according to the universe. As we are riding up Hampton on the sidewalk (sticklers for rules that we are), my back wheel slipped between the grass and the sidewalk and knocked me soundly to my rump. It's amazing how many swear words I can let out in what could only be a nanosecond fall to the concrete. I am one classy lady, as all the pedestrians, drivers, and fellow cyclists in a one mile radius of this incident can attest. I apologize for any children that learned any new words on Sunday; I apparently have injury-induced tourettes. Good news is that there was no damage to my bike, and my butt-ski took the brunt of the fall. We were able to load back up and get to the finish line, where there was one small jump castle (filled to the brim with bodies covered in sweat and blood, hopefully the health department was on speed dial) that we had to navigate through to reach the finish line. Liza (con Chance) and the Hagemanns were there to greet us at the finish.

Here's Chloe without her two front teeth!

Amy and David enjoying the post race festivities.

Ricker 'bout ready to cash in another beer token.

Chloe modeling Parker's new cycling hat.


You can feel the enthusiam oozing off what I like to call this "pity photo".

Did I mention it was hot? Chance is showing us just how hot it was with this photo.

Even an 8 year old can appreciate a true feat of engineering genius.

Chance was a real team player and sported the UAR trucker hat for about a half of a second.

I am still in recovery mode with the hip injury. I am debating on posting photos on here because it really is just that gross that I feel the need to share. I will discuss with my husband and see what he thinks. Right now, the best description I can provide is that it appears that a rotten head of broccolli the size of a basket ball is trying to erupt through the skin on my hip. Yummy!

Sorry for the long post, but it was a long day full of action! See you next year UAR!

Humbled

So apparently God didn't like my boastful "I don't suck that bad" proclamations I made last Saturday after my run, and decided to take me down a few pegs this past Saturday. The run was 7 miles and it started at 7:15. It had rained overnight and was already a balmy 77 degrees when I started out on the run. Needless to say, those 7 degrees made all the difference in the world and I had to negotiate with myself almost the entire time. Internal discussions along the lines of "just make it to the end of the block/telephone pole/past this super-fast runner gal coming in the other direction and you can walk for a minute" took place throughout the run. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of it being finished, which it was about 75 minutes later.

While I still made it back with about 15 minutes to spare before "panic time", it was an entirely different experience than the weekend before. No more bragging about my mediocre ability from here on out. I will keep discussions/proclamations regarding any improvements in my almost non-existent running ability to myself.

BUT, what I will mention is my big brother's ability! As you all know, Patrick (or Happy, as the girls call him), is an athlete extraordinaire. He is now a Cat 1 cyclist. This, of course, means he races in the pro races now, if I am not mistaken, which adds a whole extra level of anxiety to us spectators, which is the most important part of this announcement: how it will influence ME. And as if that ability isn't enough, he has taken to running (I'm convinced just to torment me) and guess what? He excels at that too. Well, as annoying as all this is, he's pretty humble about it all and never lets anyone know how well he does. Lucky for him, I either cyberstalk his results or drag them out of him when we chat. I knew he had a triathlon on Sunday, and come to find out, our big brother finished 6th! No 6th in his age group or anything like that. 6th out of EVERYONE! Way to go Hapster! We are so very proud of you. You can rest assured that none of your siblings are going to be stealing your athletic limelight any time soon!

Hapster on the attack at last year's Gateway Cup

Patrick somehow managing to make Sweet Thunder look menacing.

I scream, you scream, they are all screaming.

It's back to school time in the Hagemann household, and Chaney's never one to miss an opportunity for a party, so the girls hosted an ice cream social at Serendipity in Webster. Chaney started the evening with some Dewey's pizza for all the ladies in attendance.

Chloe in a rare moment of modesty.

Peaceful enough (though the willingness to give 6 year olds access to batter and a hot surface shows some questionable judgement on behalf of Serendipity, but maybe that's the fear talking again). Chloe making her own waffle bowl.

Amiable topping selection.

That blue concoction is the favorite of all children in a 10 mile radius. It's called Cookie Monster. It's cotton candy ice cream with cookie dough and oreo bits mixed in. Clearly my palate is not complex enough to understand the culinary masterpiece that is Cookie Monster.

This little girl deviant strayed the Cookie Monster norm and opted for Dulce de Leche. Impressive. Or signs of early snobbery. Either way, do your own thing sister!

This is about as good as I can get these days as far as a photo of Parker goes.

Foiled again!

The adults eventually got in on the action.

Rick had to make sure the treats weren't poisoned.

The party went well for about the first 45 minutes. Apparently that's the shelf life of a 6-8 year old girl in a group of 15 or so after consuming a good amount of sugar. Things devolved pretty quickly after that.

It rapidly turned into a sort of trippy Lord of the Flies, Survivor-esqu, last man standing type of scenario with with all girls in a constant effort to out-screach each other. There was pushing, crying, hugging, and Chloe head-butting people in the gut while screaming "I'm a unicorn!" Maybe a healthy dose of fear while around children isn't a bad thing.

Andrew Angeli is THREE!!!!

ANDREW ANGELI IS THREE!

ANDREW ANGELI IS THREE!

ANDREW ANGELI IS THREE!

And he wants everyone to hear about it!

In addition to all the Parker and Chloe action this past weekend, we also attended the 3rd birthday party of one Andrew Angeli, son to good friends Marco and Renee. Andrew is the quintessential 3 year old boy. He's got boundless energy, full-tilt-boogie style. It's 100%, 100% of the time. Andrew was a very enthusiastic birthday boy, and if there was any lull in the conversation, he would take to running around yelling "Andrew Angeli is THREE!" at the top of his lungs. I haven't seen that type of enthusiasm since Rick's 30th birthday when he OD-ed ginger ale and cherry vodka (this is also the first and last time I saw my husband visably drunk, so I like to reference it whenever possible).
The party theme was "pool party", which was executed South City style, equipped with a slip and slide, a slinky hose, and what I like to call "The Rhinoplasty Guarantee". This little gem was a rocket that you set on top of the jet of water you see above. Then, when just enough water pressure builds up under the rocket, any child can press the button and it sends this rocket flying into orbit. Sounds like a perfectly reasonable setup, however given all the other wonderful attractions present, every once in a while an inquisitive child would inevitably wander over to the rocketshipo'death and place their face right above the primed rocket. Of course, I seemed to be the only person really concerned about this as all my friends parents mulled around in casual conversation while I had a heart attack every time that thing went off. Of course, who needs to be concerned when Kaly is smothering the children with worry?

All joking aside, I have noticed that one of the side effects of having no children (besides having free time and spending money) is that I have zero instinct for what will get a child killed. My friends, most of whom have children now, seem to have developed this skill and know when to relax and know when to freak out. Not me, I am in constant freak-out mode at the slightest sign of danger. Rick is zero help with this issue as given his day to day experience, a child is not even having a good time unless they are hurdling head first down a metal slide into a brick wall (actual description of one attraction at the City Museum).

However, I should add here that no children were injured at this party. None even came close. I guess you parents know what you are doing after all....

ANDREW ANGELI IS THREE!

My name is Kaly, and I'm a Rageaholic

Well, maybe rage is too strong a word, but have been known for some brief bouts with anger, especially when people at work are giving me fits. I have been struggling with a particular client recently that has proven to be a worthy nemesis and it has started to wear on me. I discussed my current "ragey" condition with Rick while I was at work yesterday and came home to find this lovely selection waiting for me for the evening:

That's right, my favorite beer (Spotted Cow from Wisconsin, the only place you can get it), aged gouda, steaks, potato salad with bacon in it, and trashy magazines. I was momentarily disturbed that my husband thought my mood could be swayed by meat, booze, and tabloids, but I was even more disturbed when I realized he was right. It was a lovely evening and I will soon be current on all things gossip related.

The two of you paying attention might also notice the lovely butcher block in the picture! As previously discussed, Rick put about 60 hours of blood, sweat, and tears into this stinking table and it is absolutely gorgeous!

He even had the presence of mind to put a bottle opener on the side. I tell ya, I am one lucky gal to have such a thoughtful husband!

Vote early, vote often

I guess I am on the STLtoday.com email list because I am a loudmouth and comment on their articles on a fairly regular basis. No matter. Because of my loud mouth, I received a notification that STLtoday is having a Cutest Pet EVER contest. Ever. Not for the year, no limitations. Ev-ah! I have been holding out for this, and let's face it, B isn't getting any younger. One of the prizes is a professional doggie photo shoot! So, I have compiled some photos and I need you to assist in the preliminary judging. I present to you the handsome, the suave, the slobbery, BEXAR:

1. B in all his slobbery, wet nose goodness.

2. B with the ears at half mast. I wish this was more in focus, but it's an action shot.

3. Ears in full effect here. He was playing in the snow with the neighbor kids, so he was always on high alert.

4. Well hello there. This was taken a year ago and it's nuts how much more salt there is on the face. Both my boys are seriously going gray.

5. B and his best bud Squeak. He looks a little crazy here.

6. Zoned out teevee B.

7: Stoic and stately, though he does appear a little pissed at me in this photo.

Seriously, has there ever been a cuter dog? Never. Ever. This shiz is a lock!