everyone's a star

No need to practice singing in the shower or at your local bar's karaoke night. Nah. Just buy an $80 ticket to a musical and sing along with your favorite showtunes! It won't annoy your neighbor in the slightest. In fact, they will thank you for your effort.

Yesterday, we went to see Spamalot. It's a great show, but it would have been a bit better without the row of Little Miss Audience Participations sitting next to me. They all looked the same. They all laughed as if each laugh was their last. They sang. They mimiced the dancers' hand movements. They talked ("Oh, isn't Robin a cutie?"). And pretty much drove me nuts. That was Act 1. During Intermission, one of them purchased a set of coconuts and proceeded to make her own clip-clopping horse sounds during the second act. As my dad would say, Calgon, take me away.

busted

3:00. Friday afternoon. I get an email from Patti in Accounting announcing the surprise arrival of DQ in our break room fridge. Dang. Here I am trying to be good when I'm accosted by a Buster Bar. I wasn't even hungry, just bored, and a type of bored that only layers of chocolate, nuts, and ice cream could fix. Of course I ate one, and it didn't even taste that great. Maybe it was the dull ache of my still-sore inner thighs (again, thanks bootcamp) that was ruining it for me. My thighs were trying to communicate something. Like, oh, I don't know, that ice cream kind of negated my week of workouts. As my friend Jolson would say, "Meh."

cruise to nowhere

Last night, after my plumbing surrender, Matt bravely took over. He uninstalled and reinstalled the faucets a few times before he was happy with them (and I thought I was picky) and eventually got them both hooked up and functional. They're still not usable, however. They both drain into the unsuited place called the wooden shelf under the sink. Yeah. The waste pipes are still not connected. Maybe this is what it's like to live on a movie set.

everything but the kitchen sink

There's a good reason that plumbers are paid so well--plumbing really sucks. After work today, I thought my night would be simple. All I had to do was install two faucets, two drains, and connect the sink to the waste pipe. I thought it would take two hours tops, three if I had big problems. Well, it's four hours later. I've called my dad twice. I've been to the hardware and liquor stores once. I've now taken myself out of the faucet game. Sure, I could do it, but, again, it sucks. My hands and shirt are full of plumbers' putty, and my thighs are so sore from bootcamp yesterday that crouching under the sink is honestly a pain. Besides, Matt will gain lots of satisfaction from doing it, and I'd much rather watch Anthony Bourdain smoke and walk his lanky self around the world.

so close i can smell the resale value

I realized a great quality in Matt yesterday--he's incredibly patient with people even if they're being idiots. Yesterday, we had our countertop installed. At about 9:00 am, the guys called to ask what color I had ordered. Um. Yeah. So, didn't you know that like 4 weeks ago? I called their company and things were attributed to guys being dumb basically. At about 4:00 pm, the guys called again to say that they couldn't find my house. Um. Yeah. So, Minneapolis is a grid. If you know how the numbering system works, you can find most any house. Obviously these guys didn't know. They finally got Matt on the phone who gave them step-by-step directions. At 5:00, a bit late for their 2:00-4:00 appointment, they showed up, proclaiming that they almost hit the light rail in the process. Geez. The good thing is that they might be a little dim in other areas, but they know what they're doing with Silestone. They have to come back to finish up some backsplash work thanks to our weird countertop, but so far so good.

lesson learned.

Never put on lotion before going to yoga.

change is good.

Our kitchen has been a work in progress since Thanksgiving. Finally, and the degree to which I stress finally really cannot be conveyed here, the fancy countertop is going in on Tuesday. That means a few days of demo at the Breitzmann house. Matt is doing a great job. I cheer him on from the other room. We only have one set of goggles and ear protection, so I have to stay away for my health.

yup. it's peeing on my front step.

They say that fences make good neighbors, and I'm beginning to think I need to add on to mine. Today, I got home from work, to see the crazy, intruding puppy from the other day wandering along outside our backyard. I ignored it. That seemed to work for about a minute until I walked to the front door to find it sitting there trying its best to charm its way inside. No owner in sight. Great. There's a pitbull/rottweiler/mutt sitting on my front step. It then saw Vegas (and vice versa) and began pawing at my screen door. And that's when I stopped feeling any kind of compassion for this annoying little thing. I yelled. I pounded. A few minutes later (can anyone say inattentive owner?), I heard a whining call from the next block.

"Puppeeeeeeeee!"

Ah, the little diva has come to claim her precious. As I dodged a stream of urine the dog was leaking on my front step, the girl had the nerve to ask me to bring it over to her. Uh, no. Dear, you might be five, but your grandma is a big girl.

They came over, the girl displaying an awful shade of pink lipstick, and made no real attempt to catch the dog. Meanwhile, the dog ran frenetic laps around my front yard through my plants. I grabbed the thing on its next pass and did not let go until the leash was firmly attached.

More aggravating neighborly ha ha's were exchanged, and then I retreated inside to my cute, well-behaved dog and a bottle of wine.

pudding at 3:13 am? thank you mr. cosby.

This morning, I was wide awake at 3:00. Most days I have to force myself up at 7:15 so I can shower and put on some clothes before rushing out the door. Today, I woke up starving in the middle of the night. It's probably because I knew I had one stupid Jell-O pudding left in the fridge. Dang. That stuff is tasty. I was even good and bought the sugar free kind. It may be sugar free, but I sprinkle M&M's on it, so I guess they probably cancel out the sugar free label. Eh. It hit the spot. Though now it is 4:00, and without more pudding, I guess I'm just up in the middle of the night without a cause.

jesus camp: the scariest movie i've seen in years

Have you seen Jesus Camp? If you haven't, you must rent it (Netflix has it if you can't find it). I would advise not watching it alone or with someone who still refers to Sunday as the Sabbath in a serious tone of voice.

It was, hands down, the most frightening movie about child abuse that I've ever seen. Child abuse? Uh, yeah. It's the story of brainwashing children. Here are a few memorable moments:

(these are approximate quotes, I'm not about to watch it again)
"Levi, when were you saved?"
"When I was five. I just realized that I wanted more out of life."
---At Five? The kid should have maybe wanted more shades of Play Doh, yeah. But more out of life? What were they telling this kid?

"I ask God to bless this Power Point in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen." -a quote from the kids' Evangelical minister.
---omg. This was so hilarious, it, for a moment, made me forget the horror of the situation.

I just hope these kids eventually get the chance at a public education and that they find out that the entire world doesn't think the field of science is a big political hoax. Oh. And that someone tells them it's not a normal camp activity to speak in tongues and talk about being bathed in blood. That's just plain creepy.

twins' stitch and pitch. say what?

Baseball is a hard sell to some people. I, myself, get rather bored at games. Without a time clock, you never know just how long games will last, which makes it rather hard for me to maintain any sort of attention span. Trying to drum up some excitement, the Twins are turning to...knitting? In fact, they are. On July 22nd, they're holding their second annual Stitch N' Pitch. Apparently these events are taking place at ballparks around the nation. Knitting may be enjoying a renaissance, but in what way is it related to baseball?

The manager appears on the TV spots proclaiming that you can watch the game and crochet! You can even get tips from experts! I still don't get it. They're encouraging people to come to the baseball game and not watch it. I do that at games all the time, but it seems strange that the ball team would actually advertise inattention.

What's next? Hitch and Pitch? A singles dating game? Bitch and Pitch? A chance for wives to express their feelings?

Maybe the Twins should focus on drawing crowds through, I don't know, quality baseball?

can i get some service around here?

Sometimes I wonder how in the world some restaurants stay open. Today, after a few bouts of bike shopping and a quick antique store stop, I was starving. And, by starving, I mean, I had to eat right then or risk turning to the dark side of my personality. Matt saw the frustration brewing in my eyes, so we decided to hit a new cafe that just opened in our old neighborhood, Highland Park.

I had just read an article about this place, The Highland Cafe and Bakery (two thumbs for such an original name), in Avenues. The paper seemed to think positively of it, despite the failure of many other restaurants that previously called that location home.

We walked in and saw a sad-looking bakery case with a tray of unwrapped cinnamon rolls perched on top growing more stale by the second. We were seated and given a menu that quickly turned out to be uninspiring. Though I was hungry, did I really want a BLT or tuna melt? No. I got a salad. Matt went for the tuna melt. We both ordered turkey wild rice soup--soup that we never tasted by the way. The waiter must have been flustered by his two tables and our complex order of one garden salad and one tuna melt. When we told him to just forget the soup, he offered some lame excuse of how we were his last table of the day even though we just overheard his boss tell him he was on for three more hours. Hmm.

When we received our food, I realized that I could have very well poured a bag of salad on a plate at home and had the same taste experience. Matt's tuna melt was just that. Some tuna mixed with mayo and relish perhaps on some mediocre homemade bread.

The worst part of it? In a near-empty restaurant, we were seated at a booth next to the off-the-clock waitresses and their boss who chatted in rock concert-loud voices about annoying subjects. Do I care what time they work tomorrow? Or how they get sick of customers? Um, no.

So, yet another prime piece of foodie real estate is being wasted by yet another blah restaurant. After getting our ticket, we crossed the street to the new DQ where we could at least count on local teenagers to deliver malts without delay.

1:58? wowsah!

Phew. The much anticipated triathlon has come and gone. It was a good time. Anytime you get to run around and have people cheer for you, I consider it a great day.

But why the day really rocked?
1. I survived the lake swim without an anxiety attack or resting with a lifeguard.
2. I didn't get a flat.
3. I sprinted to the finish.
4. I'm walking normally unlike after marathons.
5. I had chocolate milk and beer right afterwards. Mmmm.

All that with no focused training? Sign me up for another.

twas the night before life time

Tomorrow is my first triathlon--the Life Time Fitness Triathlon here in the cities. I still wonder how exactly I got roped into this. I hate swimming in lakes. I don't have a super fast bike. I don't look good in spandex (and, yes, my outfit is 110% spandex).

Oh yeah. It was the countless hours of tri discussion at work. My company is sponsoring a team, so my spandex top sports a real logo as if I'm getting paid to run around. If only the top would cover my midsection for more than 2 seconds without riding up. I guess I can't have everything.

For now, I have my helmet and bike numbered, and my Body Glide is packed securely in my bag. All I have to do is sit here, watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and wait for tomorrow's early morning adrenaline rush.

people and their dogs

I really have a problem with irresponsible dog owners, and they all seem to be drawn to my house. Tonight, I was finally sucking up all the leaves on the sidewalk when a grandma, her granddaughter, and the granddaughter's little puppy came by. Ignoring the powerful, loud mulcher that could suck that little dog right in, they came right up to the fence to let their puppy meet Vegas. At that point, it was still cute. Then, they allowed their pup, Rocko, to squeeze its way through our gate into the yard. Not so cute. Enter Maureen, who caught the puppy and led it back to its 5-year-old owner. She then proceeded to walk it over to my struggling dogwood bush and let it stand on top of it. Nice.

Unable to yell at the little kid or the grandma, I kindly asked the dog to move. As if that was going to work.

"Hey puppy. Off the bush, puppy," I pleaded. The puppy just jumped around on the wilted leaves a bit more.

I kept my mouth shut. How can you chastise a granny? Especially a granny that lives in the ambulance house (i.e. the house the ambulance visits on occasion late at night). Grrr. As soon as they made their way back across the street, I coaxed the shrub back to life with a pitcher of Miracle Gro-laced water.

knock knock knockin' on my darn door

Once a year as a child, I was forced to sell candybars to pay for Y camp. This was a time I dreaded like no other. Even as an innocent little kid, I felt guilty for knocking on doors and disturbing people. Apparently I'm the only one with such feelings. The trend these days seems to be for nonprofits to hire armies of college kids to knock on doors and ask for money. It wouldn't be so bad if I had money to shell out or if I could hide in my house a little bit better. But every night after work, I open the front door to let in some fresh air and natural light. This means that every Joe Schmo who comes by with his clipboard can see me plain as day, making it impossible not to answer the door. The spiel always starts the same.

"How do you feel about aliens polluting our drinking water?"

Well, I feel bad obviously.

"What we want to do is humanely remove the aliens from our community and replace the aliens' homes with naturalized wildflower gardens!"

Well, that sounds more pleasant.

"So, our top donors give $125."

My jaw drops.

"But you could donate $75 or even $50!"

Again, jaw drops.

After I refuse three times, they offer up the payment plan option with my credit card (seriously!). I refuse again, and finally, beaten down, they walk away. Tonight, I saw the polo shirt-wearing guys when they were still across the street, so I shut the door and turned off the light. I pretended not to hear the doorbell.

p.s. I'm not a bad person, really.

where everyone knows your name

There's an awesome new fitness studio in my neighborhood (http://www.innerstrengthstudio.com/), and I am hopelessly addicted to a few classes. The only weirdness lies with a certain yoga instructor. I've been to her class a few times and love her; it's just that she calls me Marina instead of Maureen. It's my fault really. When she misstated it the second week of class, I told her I was impressed that she remembered. I figured that close was good enough. And it is until you see the person week in and week out and you've led her to believe your name is something else. Last night, I was attempting to do bridge pose when she walked over, straddled me, and helped pull me into position.

"Are you okay Marina?"

Now that was awkward. Her face was a foot from mine with her arms pulling my inflexible, sweaty body into the best bridge I could muster, and I could still not mumble my own name.

it's time to play gunshot or firework!

Warning: watching too much of The Sopranos can really mess with your head. Last night, just after finishing Season One, we headed to bed. Moments later, there were three loud bangs. We just looked at each other. It was a flashback 2005 style when we had our first drive-by just a week after moving in. A few seconds later, there were six more bangs.

"Those aren't fireworks," Matt said sitting straight up.

He was a little spooked obviously. I was more interested in sleep than safety. He dragged my half-dressed self down to the basement where the potential stray bullets couldn't pierce our brains. I think it was more a result of our TV viewing than anything. His brain was probably considering who could possibly be getting capped in our neighborhood. I made him watch "The Next Food Network Star" as a mild punishment.

p.s. Thank you MPR for broadcasting Bill Clinton over the lunch hour. I could listen to that man all the livelong day.

should i be wearing this? let's ask an infant

Our guest fashion expert is my niece, Felicity. She's 18 months old and always looks put together. When I saw her today, she was even pulling off a shirtless getup. You go Felicity. At Nokomis this weekend, I witnessed some major fashion blunders, and I mean major. To make sure I'm not being overly picky, I asked Felicity what she thought.

1. "Felicity? Should I wear see-through yellow shorts swimming? No? What if I wear black underwear underneath?"

2. "Felicity? If I'm a 70-year-old man, should I wear a woman's aqua courdoroy skirt swimming?"

3. "Felicity? Should I get dolled up in a cute bikini and then lift up my arms to reveal a few 5:00 shadows?"

round round get around

May the rays of UVA and UVB be kind to my skin. Schyler stayed with us this weekend which means many hours at the beach, at the park, and at the mercy of a really hot sun. Our leisure time was very productive, as I somewhat conquered my fear of swimming in lakes. There's the 2-year-old in water wings having a blast and oh, look, there's me, that twenty-something, looking about ready to flip.

The pic is of Veg at Minnehaha Falls.

92 degrees + dog + ice cream = trouble

Let's not beat around the bush here. I spoil Vegas. I spoil her as most kids would love to be spoiled. Yesterday, Schyler and I took Veg to Lake Nokomis to swim. We made our way to various beaches and eventually hit the ice cream stand. I ordered two cones and a dish of vanilla for Veg. The kid held out the dish awkwardly and peered through the glass, wondering if I was so piggish as to order two for myself. We walked past a few groups of whining, begging kids pulling their parents' arms toward the ice cream. And then we gorged. Vegas was dainty at first, and then, with one cup-sized chunk left, she went for it.

Everything seemed fine. We walked back around the lake. She swam with Schyler again. Then we got home, and Schyler called upstairs to me, "Uh, Maureen? I think Vegas spit up some ice cream."

The "some" turned out to be a lot. Yuck.

it's war

My pansies have died. One day, they were perky and colorful; the next, it looked like someone had attacked them with Roundup. The culprit was easy to determine. Hidden amongst the trampled, limp stems were peanut shells and crushed peanuts. Squirrels! Gotcha. Wednesday, I looked out to see two squirrels frolicking around the dead plants. Furious, I rushed out, grabbed rocks, and started throwing. They stared at me from the boulevard; my little league girl's arm was apparently not frightening them. Yesterday, I hunted online for the quickest, least humane way possible to "do what needed to be done", as Tony Soprano might say. I was shocked to come across this website: http://www.thesquirrelloversclub.com/. I guess it takes all kinds, but seriously, people. Squirrels are not the same as puppies or teddy bears.

shout-outs and strike-outs

Shout-Outs:
1. The combination Taco Bell/Pizza Huts--I like to call them Taco Huts. Tacos and breadsticks were always meant to be enjoyed together.
2. Tight biking shorts with the padded chamois crotch. They may look atrocious, but they're quite comfortable and can help keep the flab in check.

Strike-Outs:
1. My metabolism. So much for hours of sweating through SPIN and yoga. Maybe #1 above provides an explanation.
2. Leaves. Our boulevard trees shed leaves all freaking summer! Endlessly! You'd think the bastard who stole our blower would stop by and give me a hand. (Sorry for the exclamation points, but I really really hate leaves.)

the weird junk man one block over

There's a weird guy that lives on the next block. You know the type. He's old. He has about 5 cars and a boat on the street. His backyard contains 5 hose reels, the wooden top of a rolltop desk, a stereo, and old tools. He scatters old, white, sandwich bread on the sidewalk for the crows. Today, as I was walking Vegas, I passed him as he was sitting down and tuning his radio into "Friends in Low Places" on K102. There was no stale bread to pull Veg away from, but just as I was about to cross the alley, he called to me in a low, gravelly voice, "Firecrackers for sale." I pretended not to hear. The things freak me out.

and on the 4th day, i discovered iTunes

Yeah...so it's been a while. The dumb part is that since November, we've actually been doing things to the house. My life perhaps has been a bit dull, but the house is looking a little better. Today, in honor of our nation's independence, I finally downloaded iTunes. I know that I'm about a gajillion years behind the times, but I had my wallet in mind. I have little self control and love to shop online. In the first 10 minutes, I had already downloaded an album and a handful of other songs. So much for saving for grad school.