Regrets

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." ~ Sydney Smith


I've been in a state of regret lately, regrettably.


I'm not talking about the regret that comes after I've eaten half a pan of brownies, or the regret that comes from turning down a brownie; although both are legitimate regrets. The regret I've been feeling lately comes from my own lack of sponteniety of opportunities presented.


Several weeks ago, my sweet sister calls me up to tell me that Donny Osmond was coming to the Centerville Walmart the next day to promote his new CD and sign autographs. She knows I love Donny (but not as much as Michael) (or my husband) and wanted to let me know in case I hadn't heard the exciting news. A few hours later, my sweet daughter called to tell me the same thing! Now anyone in their right frame of fun mind would have jumped at the opportunity, grabbed their lawn chair and sleeping bag, and camped out all night to get up close and personal with the big D. (I haven't been in the right frame of mind since Oprah announced her retirement). So naturally, I thought of all the reasons I shouldn't go, instead of just going.

• Trey has a ball game, and I don't want to miss it because I don't want him to think Donny is more importnat than he is.



• I would probably have to be in line by 8 in the morning if I want to see him, cause I just know swarms of Donny fans will be lining up at the crack of dawn.



• Centerville is 30 minutes away. Should I really be spending my gas money and time just to maybe get to see him?

In the end, Ms. Responsibly Boring won the war. I went to Trey's game instead. I can't even remember if his team won.

The next day was Mothers Day. We all met at my Mom's for dinner, and guess what the discussion around the dinner table was? My cousin (the same one who just recently had her first booked published, another one of my regrets) spontaneously decided to go to Walmart, and she just happens to live in Centerville, walks in with her little girl and lo and behold, see's Donny...and guess what? No long lines wrapping around the store. She now has a video of her little girl singing a song...with, you guessed it, Donny! UGH! That could have been me. I could have sung a duet with Donny. I often pretend I'm Marie and sing a little bit country, while he sings a little bit rock-n-roll, so I'm well prepared to take on a little puppy love with him.

Fortunately, Kayla bought me Donny & Marie's new CD for Mothers Day. Unfortunately it is not a autographed copy.

Okay, that was the beginning of May, my Month of Regrets. Regret no. 2: For months now, I've been looking at all my fun blogs, V & Co., Cluck Cluck Sew, Diary of a Quilter...etc, and all the blog talk has been about the big Quilters Market that was going to be hosted in Salt Lake this year. This is a pretty big deal, and I remember looking at pictures on their blogs last year about it, I think it was in Las Vegas...so I knew what a big deal it was. Suddenly, all my blogs were talking about how wonderful it was, and posting pictures about it...what the crap! Did I miss it?!

(picture of Vanessa and Cluck Cluck Sew blogger. Notice, I am not in the picture. Picture used without permission of Cluck Cluck Sew. Hoping she'll have pity on me and won't mind)

How did I not go? Why didn't I know when it was? Again, I have no one to blame my lack of spontaneous funness on, except my boring ol' self. I don't even know why I didn't think to click on their little side buttons that said in big bright letters "Quilters Market" and check out the details. Did I think because I wasn't a quilter blogger that I couldn't go? Was I waiting for a personal invitation? No excuses this time, I just don't know why I didn't. All I know is that all I'm left with is more regret.

So, I thought I might have found a way to redeem myself. I noticed another button on their blogs, that said "Sewing Summit", and just for kicks I clicked on it. Guess what? They're coming back! All my favorite bloggers, including Vanessa, are going to be teaching classes at the Sewing Summit in October at The Little America is Salt Lake! All is not lost...I have been given a second chance at life. So I start digging a little deeper, looked at all the fun instructors who would be there, looked at the dates and schedule, then I clicked on the button to register...and all spontenaiety left in me flew out the window. $275. For that much money I could make 4 quilts on my own.

Regrettably, I did not register. I'll probably regret that later too. (heavy sigh)

Big girls sometimes do cry

Meltdowns are a pretty common occurance around here, although I'm pretty good at masking them behind a good cryer of a chick-flick. When I feel a melt down coming on, "PS I love You" is a good one to turn too, since it's pretty much instantaneous and lasts a good 90 minutes. By the time the movie is over, I feel refreshed, renewed somehow. Whereas "A Walk to Remember" only gives you 15 minutes of crying time at the end. The problem with that is, even when the movie is over, I'm still crying and have a hard time stopping, because I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

That's my problem, I've discovered. When I need to have a good cry, I have a hard time stopping until I've had a good cry. Now don't get too caught up in the why or what I'm crying about, because most of the time I couldn't even tell you. Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. I hope someone out there can relate. The issue here is where and when a good cry comes on. Unfortunately for me, it hasn't always been in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see and I can freely let the tears flow.

My dear cousin had a public meltdown a little while ago, which prompted me to think back on a few of my own public meltdown humiliation moments, so I can assure her, she's not alone.

I've had several, but for her sake I'll revisit my most embarrassing. I'm hoping enough time has passed that I can admit this without reliving the humiliation, or at the very least, without crying as I'm writing about it.

It happened just 2 years ago after the funeral of my dear sweet Uncle Gus. I always cry at funerals, and it's expected, so unless it's audible, I don't consider that embarrassing.

After I got home from the funeral, I received a frantic call from my ward choir director wondering where I was. I had forgotten all about the fact that I was singing in the choir that afternoon at our church. Our stake was hosting the "Reflections of Christ" tour, and while people were waiting their turn to view the exhibit, they would sit quietly in the chapel and we were providing 'waiting music', so to speak.

Luckily I was already in my dress, so I headed out the door and arrived just as they were filing into the choir seats. To my utter horror, our first song was "Oh My Father", normally not a sad song, but it just so happened to be the hymn that the congretation sang at my uncles funeral. Now let me just preface what happened next by saying, music moves me to tears. Anytime. It doesn't have to be a funeral, or at church. So needless to say, I couldn't choke out the words at the funeral, I just sat with a open book on my lap and watched as the tears splashed on the pages. Often I go to my happy place, and try not to think about the words of the song so I don't become emotionally involved. But as I stood there with the choir and started to sing those words, "Oh my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place" I lost it! Tears started streaming down my face, snot started streaming down my face, and my book started raising in front of my face.

I have never been one of those pretty cryers like you see in the movie, where little tears silently overflow from the corner of the eyes. When I cry, there's no hiding the fact. My face gets all red and splotchy and starts contorting into what I call, 'ugly face'. I am not a pretty sight. So to stand in front of a whole congregation and cry was beyond embarrassing. I tried not to listen to the words, I tried to go to my happy place, but it was no use. Everything I had suppressed at the funeral was now coming out and trying to stop it was like trying to hold back Niagra Falls.

Eventually I just sat down. I tried to compose myself so I could join in again, but it was no use. I was having a meltdown, and there's no stopping it till it works its way out. I sat there through the whole performance, head down, dripping and sniffling and feeling like it would never end. I should have just left, but I was smack in the middle and didn't want to cause a scene, or draw any more attention to myself by climbing around the alto section, so I stayed and suffered; afraid to look up for fear of the pity I would see in the congegrations eyes. I'm sure my fellow choirsters were wondering what the heck was wrong with me, but I never gave them the chance to ask. As soon as we were done, I hightailed it out the door then drove around for 15 minutes til my face returned to a normal shade and the splotches disappeared. Because I for sure didn't want to go home looking like I had been crying. I knew if I did, Tary would have taken one look at me and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

And we all know what happens when someone asks you that, you start crying all over again.

A Mothers Day Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there lived a mom.

She was your average standard issued model mother. You know the type; tired all the time, stressed, overworked and underpaid.

One day, this mom found herself with an afternoon all to herself. Her husband had taken the kids shopping, for the next day was Mothers Day and they all wanted to buy her something special. Grateful for the reprieve, the mom laid down on the worn out couch and considered her options.

"Maybe I could start reading my book I've been meaning to get to but never have the time." But as she went to retrieve it from the bedroom, she noticed the weeks worth of laundry overflowing from the clothes hamper. Passing through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room, she noticed a sink full of dirty dishes, toys scattered throughout the house, floors to be mopped, toilets and sinks to be scrubbed, and heaven forbid if she didn't start thinking about defrosting some type of meat for dinner.

"Woe is me", the mother said aloud. She chuckled to herself as she realized that if her little one had been there, the child's favorite game of 20 questions would have undoubtedly followed as the mother would have had to explain the meaning of 'woe'. "I guess I can't be a martyr if no one is here to witness it", so she quickly set to the task of cleaning the house before her helpers returned and slowed her progress.

"Why do I even bother" she said aloud again, this time to the dust bunnies. "Housework never stays done. The floors I mop today will be smudged again tomorrow. There will always be hungry mouths to feed, no matter how many times I cook. Always dirty clothes and dishes to wash. I'm tired of working so hard on something that never stays done. I'm tired of taking care of everyone else. I wish I had a fairy god-mother who would take care of me instead."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth, when 'poof'...a tiny little woman with cotton candy pink bouffant hair and a poofy pink dress to match was at her side, wand intact and ready to use. "Your wish is my command. What is your desire?"

The mother, quite in shock and not sure what it was that she really wanted, said the first thing that came into her mind. "I need a vacation!" "Splendid! I know just the place" the fairy god-mother announced, and with the flick of her wrist, the magic wand transported them to a land far away.

"Here we go sweetie, land of the rising sun. A great place for a fresh start, don't you think?" The mom walked through flooded streets. Torn down buildings and debris was everywhere. Sidewalk shelters housed hundreds of people; crammed together on cots and mats. Pictures of missing or lost loved ones covered their make shift walls. Food was proportionately served as grateful refugees came with humbled hearts to accept the meager offering. "I'm in Japan", the mother thought, "I've always wanted to go to Japan. I've heard the people here are so gracious and have such wonderful manners. I wonder if this horrible tragedy has changed them." It didn't take long before her question was answered, as a small little boy, not much older than her own, smiled up at her as he offered her his bowl of rice. She could hardly make out his face as the tears welled up in her eyes. So much pain, so much sorrow. She could hardly bare it any longer. "Please, let's go" she whispered. "As you wish" said the fairy god-mother, and with another flick of the wrist, they were off.

"Where are we?" the mother wondered aloud as they found themselves walking in crowded dusty streets. Geography was never her strong suit, but by the look of things, she guessed they were somewhere in the middle east. The women they passed were covered from head to toe, always walking behind their husbands and submissive to their demands. All of the shops were segregated, and she noticed the women were not allowed to shop or eat at restaurants with the men. "How awful to be treated less than an equal to your husband" the mom thought. Suddenly feeling very exposed, she was ready to leave before they made a slave-wife out of her.

Scenes of sadness at every destination overwhelmed the mom. Homes and families torn apart from tornadoes and floods. Natural disasters causing heartache to many, poor choices causing greater heartache. Children living on the streets, trying to escape the realities of home life. Parents choosing addictions over their children. Sickness, starvation, drug and human trafficking. Parents and children mistreating each other. Misuse and abuse was way too common. It was more than she could bear.

"Where are you mom? Where are you?" The mother could hear her littlest one calling for her, but she didn't know how to get back to her. "Please fairy god-mother, send me back home. I miss my family. I miss their sticky kisses and endless questions. I miss my sweet husband and his corny jokes. I even miss my dirty house, and will never complain again about having a house to clean and children to feed. I love them, and they love me, and that's all I ever wanted and they're all I ever need. Please help me get back."

"There you are mommy! You should see what I got you for Mothers Day! Daddy said he would help me tie a ribbon around it cuz it's too hard to wrap flowers. You're gonna be so surprised!"

The mom awoke to the enthusiastic ramblings of her 4 year old, finding herself at home on the couch. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing, for the dishes were still in the sink, the laundry still in the basket, and the dinner still frozen in the freezer. But she didn't care. The smile on her face as she enlisted the help from her children led her husband to believe that a few hours of alone time really boosted her spirits; it was just what she needed, and he was the hero. As she gave him a hug, she spied her daughter's stuffed pink fairy doll in the corner, gave her wink, then with a undeniable kiss, let her husband know it was truly, just what she needed.

The End.

Happy Mothers Day to all, but especially to mine. Love you Mom! Love you kids...thanks for making me the worlds happiest mom!

Alone...

(This is what it looks like outside my window right now. Is is too early to start playing Christmas music?)

...at last, I'm all alone.

Tary and Trey went to the Jazz game tonight, and because I'm suffering from the coughing, sneezing, sore throat, achy, wanna go to bed with a bottle of Nyquil virus, I opted to stay home.

Most people hate being loners. I am not one of those people. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in a house with 7 brothers and sisters, so alone time was as rare as an unguarded candy bar on your dresser still intact at the end of the day. You would almost think the opposite would be true; growing up surrounded by people I wouldn't feel comfortable being left all alone, at night, in the dark. Is it a product of nature, or nurture. Hmmm...

Either way, I enjoy my aloneness. The peace and quiet, and a 2 hour window of opportunity to do anything I want to do, without feeling guilty.

So, here's my dilema: Do I give in to what I really want to do (which is scoop myself a bowl of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice-cream and watch that new TV show "The Killing") or do I be a good girl and do something worthwhile, like read my scriptures which I have kinda slacked on the last couple of nights, (I blame it on the nyquil).

That ice-cream is sounding pretty good right now, and I'm thinking it will really help my throat. Why is it always easier to do the wrong thing when the right things are so easy. The Young Women have been challenged by the General YW Presidency to do 4 easy things each day. They are:

Pray morning and night. Read 5 minutes every day from the Book of Mormon. Smile. Live the standards in For the Strength of Youth.

Simple, straight forward, and doesn't require alot of time. So why is it so hard.

I loved General Conference weekend, to be reminded of the small and simple things I should be doing. I love how in a chaotic and falling apart world, the prophet is still so optimistic about our future. It made me think that if everybody in the world would do those 4 things each day, not just the young women, we would be living in a perfect world, literally a heaven on earth. There would be no more hate, crime, abuse, or injustice in the world. I know it will never happen till the Savior comes and Satan will have no more control over the hearts of men, but I know I can create peace in my little corner of the world. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

Wrong song.

Put a little Billy Joel in your head and read to the tune of "We didn't start the Fire". I call this one, "We Didn't Start the Cycle"

Poor examples on the field, kids in shock as parents wield

Punches thrown, tempers flare, coach's hide and refs beware.

Drugs and booze kids abuse, parents teach as they misuse;

violent games lead to decline, one word Columbine.

Moms on meth and kids are left, on their own to petty theft;

Girls gone wild, lawsuits filed, no respect they've all defiled.

Road rage is all around, back talking kids abound;

school hazing, cyber bullies, gangs with guns their trigges pulling!

We didn't start the cycle-

But the lack of trust leads to our disgust.

We didn't start the cycle-

Cause the disrespect comes from gross neglect.

Emron, WorldCom, savings lost they'll be no prom;

Ascot, Ponzi scheme, Bernie Madoff's pipe dream.

Politicians in the news, always with a lame excuse

They get caught in the act, next they know they're being sacked.

Tiger Woods, Jesse James, different names but still the same;

Mel Gibson, Charlie Sheen, tempers lost reveal how mean.

Miley Cyrus with a bong, Lindsay Lohan same old song

Kanye West when he gets miffed, steals the show from Taylor Swift.

We didn't start the cycle-

But the world today is in disarray.

We didn't start the cycle-

But it's up to us to stop the madness.

Monson, Eyring and Uchtdorf inspiring;

these are leaders we do trust, loyalty a simple must

Leading with integrity, building trust respectfully.

Together we can overcome challenges that ruin some.

How we break the cycle starts within each one of our own hearts

Honesty, good judgement too, consistency will help us through.

Don't forget the Golden Rule, always is a helpful tool.

Treat others with respect, live your life with no regrets.

We didn't start the cycle-

But civility will start today with me.

We didn't start the cycle-

But when we are gone respect goes on and on and on...

Whew.

Well, too late now to watch that horribly twisted show about killing. Guess I'll grab a bowl of ice-cream and get my violent kick from some wicked Nephites and Gadianton robbers murdering and plundering the repentant Lamanites.

Sounds like a great way to spend the night alone.

Good-night!

She's cursed...and other fun facts

I was shocked today as I read my favorite blog, V and Co. to learn that her husband will no longer be employed at his current job, and therefore they will most likely have to move.

That's what happens when you live in the middle-of-nowhere Utah and you're not there because you grow hay, or whatever it is those people do for a living in the middle-of-nowhere. He is a therapist/counselor at a secluded school for troubled teens, and apparently they are closing their doors. Not due to lack of troubled teens, I'm sure. I'm sad for her and her family. The middle of nowhere utah is a great place to raise kids. Heck, if I knew how to make a living down there, you can bet your hayfield I'd be living there too.

My shock turned to sadness when I realized that yet another friend of my sweet cousin Faun will be moving away.

Her husband thinks she's cursed; I'm inclined to agree with him. This will make the 8th, or is it 9th friend that I know about who has sold the farm and moved on to greener pastures. It was just 2 weeks ago that she was lamenting on her blog about one of her good friends moving, and now this. It's just to much to bare.

I'm not sure why her friends feel the need to burrow into her heart, then pull up the stakes and move, leaving bleeding holes behind for me to repair when she calls and cries on my phone on my shoulder. I'm far away, and can't give adequate comfort. So please, if anyone out there in middle-of-nowhere utah reads my blog, I plead with you...read on so you can make an educated decision.

To convince all future wanna-be-movers, I've compiled a list of fun Faun facts that I'm hoping will convince you to stay.

1. She's a great photographer and can make your wrinkles disappear, your teeth whiter, your flab firmer!

2. She bakes homemade bread and will gladly share.

3. She paints on walls too. With permanent paint. So unless you figure out a way to take the wall with you, you'll be wanting to stay and look at the pretty painting she did on your wall.

4. She's funny. She can make you laugh. Hard. Don't drink carbonated drinks when she's telling you about one of her funny stories; it hurts going out your nose.

5. She's engaging and can talk to anybody. I've seen her make friends with the salesclerks at Kohls and...well that's the only place we go to. But I'm sure she makes friends everywhere she goes, cuz she's really friendly, and funny. Did I mention that?

6. She's a great storyteller. She can make a trip to the library sound like fun. Oh wait, that's because she works at the library and does make it fun because she's a great storyteller. Go figure.

7. She walks and talks in her sleep. That makes for really fun sleep-overs. Just beware of where you leave your clothes lying around. You might wake up and find them on her. Upside-down.

8. She has a hot-tub underneath a gazillion stars. But I guess if you live down there you have a gazillion stars too, so that's not a good selling point. But the hot tub part is still cool.

9. She loves to shop and is a good bargain hunter. She will even let you have the $10 pair of brown skeechers, even though she found them and they're her size, but you are so jealous and she's nice like that to give them up.

10. She has a heart of gold, a soul of an angel, a mind of a comedian, and a face of a Rodeo Queen. (I almost said Dairy Queen, but thought you would get the wrong impression).

Doesn't she sound like the worlds Best-Friend? Don't you just want to stay there and grow old with her? (I do)...cuz you know if she's anything like her mom, she'll just keep getting more hilarious as she gets older. (love ya aunt owena)

The truth is...I'm so jealous of all you people who live down there in the middle-of-nowhere. You get to see her every week at church. Everytime you go to the library. At the grocery store, at the track meets, at every random field that there's a deserted vehicle (she'll be there taking pictures in case you couldn't find her at all those other places). You are so lucky that she's your friend! I was once her best friend too, but she moved away, leaving me behind. All alone.

So I cursed her.

Just kidding...I didn't really. But just in case I accidently did while I was having a pity-party, I remove the curse from you. No one that you love will ever move away again!

(Effective right after your daughter moves to South Carolina)

It started with a sneeze...

...and ended with a bang.

Let me explain.

Thursday morning I receive a call from Tary to inform me our daughter has just been in a car accident. But not to worry, she's ok, but her poor little car is not so fortunate to have survived. After the policeman has finished his paperwork, and she's called work to let them know why she's not there, she calls her mom to cry on her shoulder. I'm happy to oblige, and a sappy "are you ok?" from me let's loose the damn of tears.

Poor Kayla has been fighting one of those box-a-day kleenex types of colds, so it hasn't been a good week from the get-go. She was on her way to work, and stopped behind a truck at a stop light. As the light turned green and Kayla was preparing to accelerate, she felt a sneeze coming on. Keep in mind, she has a bad cold, so this isn't going to be a dainty little finger under the nose 'choo', this is a full-blown throw the kleenex under the nostrils cuz here she blows 'A-A-A-Choo!'. Apparently, her whole body got in on the action, cuz when she sneezed, her head went down into the kleenex, and her leg went down on the accelerator, and if you've ever tried to sneeze with your eyes open, it just doesn't work. So although she didn't see what happened next, she could only guess by the sudden impact of a huge kleenex being shoved in her face, wiping the remnants of her sneeze that the first kleenex missed.

It took a few seconds before she came to her senses and realized it wasn't a ball of tissue that attacked her, but her air-bag. What the crap just happened?! One second your sneezing, and the next second you've got your hood embedded in the car in front of you. The guy whose truck she hit was really nice and was more concerned for her and her car, than his own. Lucky for both of them, she smashed into his the back of his hitch, which crumpled her bumber, radiator, and hood fairly nice. His truck suffered only a minor scratch.

Then, as if rear-ending somebody wasn't bad enough, when she got out of her car to inspect the damage, by habit, she locked her door. Now she's standing in the middle of the road, her car smashed in, looking like she just lost a fight with a punching bag, bright red with bag-rash, and no way to get in her car to move it off the side of the road. Did I mention the guy was really nice?

He came to her rescue with a crow-bar, but she used up all her luck that day by running into a nice guy and didn't have any luck left over to unlatch her door lock. Feeling pretty desperate at this point, the guy suggested that the car was pretty much toast, put a crow-bar to it's temple and finish it off. After 3 years and countless miles, she just didn't have the heart; so he did the dirty work for her and smashed in her window.

The police came and wrote her up, giving her a citation for a moving violation. He didn't even ask if she had been on her cell-phone or texting, which is usually the first thing they suspect from young girls. I think he felt bad for her as well and didn't question her sneezie story; afterall, she sounded eerily similar to snuffulufagus and had a pile of well used tissues in the passenger seat that confirmed her story. Good thing for her she was only a block away from her apartment, so was able to coax her car back to her apartment, where she called to tell her sad tale.

What a sob story...so Paisley and I drove up to Weber to pick her up and bring her home safe and sound, so she could rest and recooperate from her woes. All stories need to have a happy ending, so here it goes...

I'm hoping to give Kayla my white Chevy prism, with it's missing hub-cap and defective door latch, complete with the un-scented flip-flop car scent hanging from the rear-view mirror so she'll be able to tell it apart from the million other white prism's out there. Then I can get a new car!

And to think all this time, I thought you had to rub a magic lamp to have your wishes come true, when in reality, it all started with a sneeze!

Bless you Kayla, bless you!

This is dedicated to the one I love

Just a shout out to all my favorite March Birthdays! My Dad, sister Wendy, Bro-in-laws John, Guy, Paul and niece Amber...Happy Birthday!


But this post is dedicated to a special birthday boy, my main man and hot hubby, Tary!




He turns 51 today, not nearly as dramatically as last year when he turned the big 5-0. Last year he was feeling it. He was hobbling around on crutches after snapping his accillies tendon, not able to do much, and probably feeling every gray hair and wrinkle catching up to him.


This year, Tary and I celebrated by going to Mesquite for the weekend where Tary played in a softball tournament. They bombed, but that's ok. It got them out of the tournament quicker, leaving us more time to play, which is why we went down there in the first place. Or truth be told, that's the reason why I went down there in the first place. I think half his team had the same idea as I did, as several of them stayed up all night on Friday partying/gambling, and were pretty much worthless on Saturday. But heh, no complaints heard here.



We spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the lovely weather and activities that abound in beautiful Mesquite. We left a chunk of change at the....



Bowling alley, where Tary always amazes me with his hook shot. As the ball rolls precariously close to the edge, just when you think it's gonna tip into the gutter, it breaks toward the middle of the pins and gets a strike! He stayed consistent all 3 games and ended up in the 150'ish range each time. I started out ok with a 128, really kicked it into gear with a 168 in my second game, then humility had to teach me a lesson, so I finished with a pathetic 103 in my last game. My arms were tired.



After bowling, we did something naughty. I knew I would regret it later, but we just couldn't resist. We had...



Ice-Cream! And I didn't even get the fat-free kind either. It was so yummy! Mint Chocolate, my favorite, and fun to try and eat while feeding quarters into the...


Air hockey game in the arcade. Tary smoked me, as usual. Although I think I scored half his points for him by ricocheting the puck from my blocker into my goalie.


After bowling and a little ice-cream, we headed for a dark destination where we could snuggle under a blanket and...


watch a movie. Yes, I actually brought a blanket into the theater. They always have the air-conditioners cranked up and I end up freezing and wishing the movie would prematurely end. We went and saw 'Unknown' with Liam Neeson. I loved it. It had a nice little twist at the end, which I expected there would be, but didn't expect it to go that way...Tary didn't even figure it out. You know it's good if he can't solve the plot within the first 10 minutes.


After the movie, we went to the crap table.


I mean the crab table! Casablanca was having their Prime Rib and King Crab legs buffet for only $15/person, so we loaded our plates, again and again, and ate ourselves silly. It was good. Almost worth the 5 hour drive just for dinner.



After dinner, we headed back to our lovely, understated room. We had every intention of taking advantage of the beautiful pool and nice weather. We brought our swimsuits, I even shaved my legs. But when reality hit, I just couldn't bring myself to stuff my 44 year old, crab and beef bloated body into my one-piece granny suit, while all around were the 20'ish ball playin' boys and their teenie-weenie girlfriends and wives with their pre-pregnancy bodies, bouncing around in their even teenier-weenier bikinis. So instead, I made my own hot-tub, in my teenie-weenie bathtub, and had a nice long soak. Sadly for Tary, it was a one-person hot-tub, so he made himself comfortable on the double bed with no bedspread (did I mention the room was only $39, lacking in amenities, like bedspreads) and watched endless amounts of college basketball. It was a good day.


I told Tary next tournament, he needed to join up with the 50 and over league so I could feel like the young hot-thing among all the older women, and happily strut my stuff to the pool. I hate getting old.


Oh wait...I'm not the one getting old, he is! Just one of the advantages of marrying an older man; he makes me feel young, in more ways than one. Love you hun. Happy Birthday!


Birthday wishes to be filled later.

Yep, you guessed it, ice-cream cake. And not the fat-free kind.