We live in a great neighborhood. Great location, nice people, little if any crime (knock on wood). We do, however, have a very ghetto neighbor. They are very nice, at least they seem friendly, but they have a green front yard. And by green, I mean they have poured concrete where flowers and grass should be and then painted it green. Not kidding. They also at some point cut down their palm tree into little stumps for sitting. So there is a nice, semi circle of stumps on the concrete. It’s pretty awesome.

As Peter and I drove by their “yard”, we noticed they were having a party – a fiesta or pachanga, if you will (insert  joke about Sheriff Joe identifying illegal immigrants by the type of party they throw because that’s not racial profiling ~here~). I waved as we passed.

Peter was suddenly struck – had I gone and made friends with the them? Was I going to suggest that we also cement our yard to avoid high water bills? I explained to PW that I wave to them because they are our neighbors and I want them to know we’re friendly people. I also wave  in the hopes that if they decided that our house looks good for the robbing, that they will recognize me in our family pictures as their nice neighbor who waves to them and decide to leave only empanadas and not rob us blind.

So the next time your ghetto neighbor is out and about, be sure to be nice so they skip your house and rob another 🙂

I often think of funny things to write about, but they are too long for a Face Book post and too short for a full blog. So! Here are a few of the deep thoughts I’ve had lately:

Man Soap: I accidently bought Dial’s new “Man Soap”. It’s apparently the way they are going to get men to use their soap. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but there’s now seems to be a big campaign to get men to use body wash, etc. I say more power to the marketers, however, it would be helpful if they would mark the stuff better. The soap I bought is dark blue, has ridges for better grip (I mean really..) and smells like Axe Body Spray. I don’t have any issues with the way it smells, it just weirds me out when I smell like Peter…

Say what? Since I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve come across a few words that I say quite often but never type. The reason? Because I have absolutely no idea how to spell them. And I’m not even sure if I get the spelling correct that it’s really the word I wanted in the first place .Such words as psych, as in “Do you want some? (then pulling the item back quickly and saying) Psych!”. It took me forever to think about how to spell that. And pterodactyl – who the hell knew it had a P?? Sure I, the non spelling bee winner (or contestant..heck, they wouldn’t even let me keep score) did not know this, but do normal, decent spellers? I think not.

Solar energy: I would love to have solar panels on our roof. Yes for energy saving, but really to be able to flip off and laugh at the meter each month as is spins backwards. Then singing a little song and do a little dance as APS sends me a CHECK instead of a large bill.

Thank you..for nothing: I’m not sure what it is about weddings and babies that makes total strangers think they can offer you their opinion. If you had a huge growth on your neck, no one would say anything. But suddenly there’s a pending nuptial or a slobber machine on your hip and they are all about it. I had Bay at the grocery the other day and I had undone the strap that goes around her chest in the cart. Right right, not super safe, but it was too tight and she was starting to get crabby and I needed to squeeze 10 more minutes of quiet, nice baby out of her so I took it off (yes I have one of those nice shopping cart covers, no, I don’t use it because it’s crap). She instantly picked it up and put in her mouth. Now, I don’t normally let my kiddo chew on things that other people have touched, but I had wiped it down with alcohol wipes about 6 times before putting her in the cart so I let it go (you can’t win them all and sadly, they don’t make a bubble in her size). I passed a cranky old lady in a motorized cart in the milk section and she began lecturing me on how if she were me, she wouldn’t let that baby chew on that. I nicely replied that I agreed, but it was clean (enough) and it was keeping her quiet so thanks for you concern (not). The woman then turned to her sister on another motorized cart and began telling her the situation – you would have thought I was letting her chew on some broken glass. I wanted to say “You think this is bad? I taught her to feed treats to the dogs and she almost always licks them first!”. But I don’t really want to have CPS on my doorstep so I just hurried along. The batteries were dying on their carts anyway so I figured we could make a safe getaway!

I dedicate this post to my good friend and sorority sister, Melissa for making the phrase “I’m such a good dancer right now!” famous (with us anyway). I have also confessed this story to my mom who now thinks it’s hilarious so it’s ok to tell.

The year, 2001. The place, Tucson Arizona. The setting, a month or so after September 11th and living in the Phi. The problem, Tucson journalist trying to freak people out.

After September 11th, the Tucson news kept telling people that Tucson was a potential major target for terrorist because the Raytheon missal manufacturing company was based somewhere just outside of T-town. Which to a bunch of sorority girls means we were all totally freaked. After telling my mom this, she gave me a substantial amount of cash. This was emergency cash and was going to be money to get out of Tucson should something terrible happen. If you’ll remember, we were told that ATMs wouldn’t work, air travel would be stopped and you would be stuck in whatever city you were in should there be a chemical or any other kind of attack.

The money stayed safely hidden in my room (read closet – as in our shared rooms were the size of most people’s walk in closets because we all slept in another room – it’s weird, just go with it) for several months. When it became apparent in in early 2002 that we probably weren’t all going to die a horrible death, I dipped into what I dubbed the Terrorist Fund to finance a new outfit for a date dash and some drinks at said date dash. By May, I, like most of my friends was broke and was in need of some cash for the famous Alpha Phi Luau. Luau, or Wai Ki Phi as it was called that year, is a two day party. It starts with a Friday night date dash and goes into a Saturday pool party. I decided that once again, I’d dip into the TF so that we could have a good time.

The date dash that night was at an establishment famous in Tucson called the No Tell Motel. I wish I were kidding. Thankfully, there were Jello shots going around so after a few minutes, you forgot about what a fine place we were in. After a few rounds of grape shots (never, never again), I started buying rounds of shots for all my friends on the TF – and announced that we were drinking on the Terrorist Fund which got many cheers. Awhile later we were dancing on the packed dance floor and I coined the now famous quote “I’m such a good dancer right now!!”. My buddy Melissa was quick to pull out her phone and leave herself a voicemail with me reciting my new favorite line.

The next day as we were all hanging (and by hanging I mean hanging over, not actually hanging) on the couches waiting for the bus to take us to the next round of drunken debauchery when Melissa decided to call her voice mail. She instantly burst out laughing and put the message on speaker so we could all listen.  I’ve still not lived this down – in seeing Melissa recently, she asked “does Baylie know what a good dancer you are?”.

I’m still new at this posting stuff – I thought this went up last week, but apparently not!

Since everyone is cutting back, I thought I would offer a few money-saving tips that I use in my every day life. Most of the things I buy at the grocery store don’t get coupons (organic spinach? no coupon. and I don’t buy spam so I’m out…) so I’ve had to get creative…

1. When your mom says she bought a 10 pack of socks from Costco and she doesn’t like them, offer to take them off her hands.

2. Buy your kiddo’s clothes at Costco and claim they came from a very expensive boutique called Cost’co (I’ve actually gotten away with this one. Not that I have any problems with Costco, it’s just more fun the other way).

3. If you’re like most girls, you have an entire cabinet or basket or storage tub or whatever filled with samples and half used bottles of lotion, shampoo and body wash. Use them up by mixing them together and coming up with some shnazzy new combos.

4. When you go to get your teeth cleaned at the dentist, make up the fact that you have in addition to your husband, a grown child so you can get extra free toothbrushes, toothpaste and floss.

5. The one thing I do use coupons for religiously is diapers. I will make 4 separate purchases at Babies R Us to use the diaper coupons. Generally the checker gives up after the second one and just overrides the transaction so I can use all the coupons. I also beg and plead to use the expired ones!

6. Eat all the frozen food in your freezer. Pull out the crazy things that you have forgotten about and make something delicious and possibly strange with the stuff that’s been in there. I still have turkey from when Baylie was born last year…I’m afraid to use it or throw it away.

7. Switch to all knock off brands – but be sure to check the product out first. I just bought the CVS version of the Neutrogena sunscreen that I use and instead of smelling slightly of orange blossom and typical sunscreen, it smells like cloves. Not kidding. It’s weird. But I’m cheap so I’m using it!

8. Have a garage sale – it’s amazing what you have in your closet and cabinets that you don’t use. But do the cleaning out when your spouse is not home. I have been trying to get rid of the same damn elk themed blanket forever and Peter keeps brining it back.

9. Use gift cards. We have a drawer full of gift cards from Christmas, birthdays, etc. But we always forget we have them so I’ve made a point to carry about 20 with me at all times and then systematically check them while at the cashier. They love it, I’m sure. I also had to explain that I had 2 half used gift cards to the Pizza Hut guy the other night. It was  not pretty…

10. Lastly – get pregnant, gain 40 lbs, don’t wear your wardrobe for a year, loose the 40 lbs and it’s like you have an entire new closet!

Happy saving!

As some of you know, I started to workout with a trainer after Baylie was born. The baby pounds were simply refusing to budge despite my best efforts, so I bought a package of weekly workouts with a trainer named Jen. She has now been abusing me weekly for about 8 months. And oddly enough, I LIKE IT.

I would love to tell you that she’s mean and awful and that she screams and yells at me during workouts – it would make for a better story. unfortunately, it’s much much worse…she’s increadibly NICE. Ridiculously nice. And funny and I want to be her friend and I don’t want her to think that I’m a slacker so I work really hard at our sessions. Instead of saying that I’m slacking off, she’ll say “come on girl, you can do this! You’re working so hard today!”. And I, being the praise lover that I am, work harder.  I generally cannot walk after the amount of lunges and squats that we do – and my triceps literally cry at the meer mention of her name, but I continue on because I want to hear “good job!”.

When I first started working out with Jen, I decided to try her weekly boot camp on top of our regular sessions. I brought my friend Kristin with me to an eight am class in September. Now, it’s still hot in September and I was still in pretty crappy shape with many lb’s to go. So as I’m squat jumping as fast as I can without passing out, Kristin breathless says in between jumps “I want my legs to look like hers so we have to keep moving!!”. This was good inspiration to make it through the workout, however, I decided after that one abuse a week is enough. And did Jen yell? No! We ended up getting together for lunch instead.

Which leads me to another story – Jen and her husband came over for dinner a few months ago. I was very excited, until I realized that I have to serve my trainer dinner and she’s going to be thinking “no wonder those pounds won’t come off!!”. I chickened out of serving pork chops and we had a big salad with chicken instead. I’m sure she and her hubby went home and chowed down on some celery or something, but at least she doesn’t think I eat terribly…or at least that I’m smart enough to hide it when she’s over!

The only really mean thing that Jen does is she gives really awful, cruel and impossible  exercises very cute names. Burpies, ice skaters, hip dips and skull crushers (ok, that one isn’t cute, but it’s a pretty rad name) are all good examples of really hateful things that we do as part of or in between circuits. For example, a burpie: some call it an “up down” but you go from a standing position to a squat, jump back to plank position, jump back to a squat and then standing. Sounds simple enough – but after 3 sets of 20 lunges with 20 pounds of weight, 20 burpies becomes a bit of a challenge.

So now that Baylie is almost 10 months old, I can safely say that I have lost the baby weight, a few “vanity pounds” too and have muscle tone where I didn’t know I had muscles. All thanks to my buddy who I like more and more with each hurting week 🙂

There are somethings you just can’t learn about yourself until you’re married. Having a roommate doesn’t count, they aren’t going to really notice how weird you are – or if they do, they don’t want to say it for fear you move out and stick them with the lease. But a spouse is going to give it to you straight; some of the crap you do is strange.

I first realized this about a year after we were married. We were remodeling our house in the middle of summer with no air conditioning and it was brutal. We had just finished a day of painting, trim work, etc and were headed back to our temporary home. It was there Peter decided to watch some ridiculous western on the living room tv so I headed to the bedroom to catch a nap. He saw me take a quilt from the living room with me. When he asked why, I stated that I was going to take a nap and needed a quilt. Peter then pointed out that I was going to the bedroom where there were obviously blankets galore. I then had to explain one of the things that makes me a little off-center – I don’t think you can take a nap under the bed covers. If you do, it’s not a nap, you’ve gone back to bed. In order to nap in the bed, one must sleep on top of the comforter and use a separate blanket. At worst, you can sleep under the comforter, but not under the sheets. I think naps are best under a quilt anyway 🙂

I also have a slight obsession with post-its. I cannot remember anything so I always have a perpetual lists running: grocery, Lowes, the mall and a general to do list. On top of that, I have post-its for the things I need to do immediately. I think it looks messy when you keep crossing things off  your list, so I make post-its for each task and then can throw them away when complete. I currently have 7 of them on my desk of blog ideas, 6 of things to get done and phone calls to make today, (oxford comma for you PW) and 2 for the grocery store which I will combine into one that Baylie will attempt to and probably succeed in eating by the end of the shopping trip today.

The last of the odd rules that I’m willing to admit is shoes on the coffee table. I don’t mind feet on the coffee table, but don’t put your shoes up there. Your feet are bad enough, but your shoes go horrible places so why would you put that on the table that you put food on? Same goes for shoes on any surface – Peter will often put a pair of shoes on the counter in an attempt to keep them out of Baylie’s mouth – I’m fine with them on the little table inside the front door, but not on the bathroom counter or the kitchen counter.

On a side note, I also hate Oxford commas. Made famous by the band Vampire Weekend and pointed out to me by my lovely lawyer husband in my writing (or lack there of), the Oxford comma is what all Catholic school educated people will tell you is wrong. It’s best explained in an example:

“I love Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

“I hate Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.” – this is the Oxford comma, it’s between the second to last item in the list and the “and”.

It is also stupid. Happy Tuesday!

If that’s true, what the hell is my heart trying to tell me when I keep dreaming that people are dying?! Or the dream I had last night was that our neighbor kept sneaking up to our front patio and leaving a bird…I didn’t say it was a normal dream!

Actually, they say when you dream of death, it isn’t in the physical form, more like the death of a part of your life – or a better way to say it is that you’re starting something new as something else ends. The same is said for if you dream you’re pregnant – it can also actually mean you’re pregnant which is always comforting!

So the good news is that I’m not clairvoyant and that I don’t need to call the family friend who was the subject of my most recent death dream and warn him that he shouldn’t take that road trip. More so it means something I think I’m ready to part with in my life is on it’s way out. The trouble is figuring out what that thing is. 

As for the bird, the website I like to use only gives you bits and pieces. It tells you what the things in your dreams mean, not necessarily the entire dream so you have to put the meaning together. Apparently the bird means “denotes freedom from misunderstanding, and perhaps news from the absent”. The same neighbor came by unexpectedly one night  last week to drop something off for Peter – because I’m the paranoid that I am (please see previous post “Phones on a Plane”) I gruffly asked who was at the door and then was a little rude when I did open it, mostly because it caught me off guard. I realized later that I probably came across like a total freak and called to apologize. Maybe my sub conscious is telling me that it’s not a big deal?

Sometimes I wish Baylie could tell me what she’s dreaming about. When rocking her to sleep, she will once in a while scrunch her face up, whimper and then return to her previous state of sweet sleeping bliss. What could she be dreaming about? Her bottle didn’t come fast enough? The pear and applesauce was a little too warm? Travis the dog wasn’t excited about her aggressively grabbing his fur? Who knows, but she seems to have learned the “scrunch and cry” from the dogs. As they’ve aged, both Bear and Travis have “puppy” dreams. Their feet move like they are running, they bark, whimper and shnuffle in their sleep. I’m not sure who or what they are chasing, but it seems like most of the time, it’s something very good!

I always find it interesting that even on nights when Bay doesn’t sleep well and I’m up and down with her, I still dream at least a little. It’s always fun to see if the things that appear in my dreams really do apply to life, or trying to figure out how they do apply to life. Look up the meaning of the things in your dreams:

http://petrix.com/dreams/index.html   Sweet dreams!

While I very much liked my job at my previous employer (my new employer is short, bald, and screams a lot. But she’s cute and mine so I stay) I found the clients I dealt with were sometimes difficult. Or as Peter would say, bat sh*t crazy.

After a particularly fun round of “I can only execute the instructions you give me” fight with a client, I wrote the following email to my colleagues. It was obviously a prelude to what is now known as The Goon Room, but at the time, Outlook was my only, well, outlet. While this is much funnier in the context of work and having known the nuts we were working with at the time, I think it still has that special something that most in the corporate world will appreciate.

Dear Teammates,

I would like to clarify a point which seems to be rather difficult for some (namely our client) to grasp. While my last name is ‘Wand’, it is only by marriage that I have such a magical surname. Sadly, the actual object of ‘magic wand’ did not come with the union. I do not posses any supernatural powers nor can I obtain said powers. I cannot wave said wand over any campaign for any client and ‘make it work’.

On that note, I do not own a time turner. Made popular by that stupid Harry Potter, I do not have that device in my possession. I cannot go back in time, rerun the database update and change the (incorrect) instructions you gave me. While my jewelry is quite fabulous, it does not have the power to go back and correct any and all mistakes (which you made, not me, fyi).

Lastly, I do not have telepathy skills. While you often ask me to look into your head and figure out what you want (not kidding, actually had a client say this to me and was NOT joking) I don’t have the software to do so. Also, the last thing I would do with said skill is look into your crazy excuse for a brain. The thing I need least in my life is more crazy (cowbell yes, crazy no) and peeking into your brain would put me over that limit for the millenium so I’ll pass.

In closing, you pay me to do a job, so let me do it. If you want to pay me to listen to you try to do my job, then the hourly rate just skyrocketed.

Sincerely and in no magical way,

Beth Wand

To all of you that have to deal with this level of crazy on a daily basis, I sympathize. The good news is, it’s Friday!

As some of you may know, I’m totally paranoid. I’m convinced that everyone is out to get me in some way. I think the person asking me for directions is distracting me from their partner who is about to grab me and throw me in their van. I won’t leave my purse in the grocery cart because someone is going to grab it or grab my wallet out of it (it happened to my roommate freshman year so I’m not totally off base). I won’t leave my sleeping baby in her car seat in our own garage while I unload because someone could be sneaking by waiting to grab her. I always think a car driving by our house is casing it and that if the outside lights aren’t on that someone will have figured out which we turn off when we’re home and which we leave on when we’re not. Which leads me to the following incredibly embarrassing, yet wildly entertaining, story.

A few months after Peter and I were engaged, I went to visit him in DC. It was only the second time I had been to see him (this is part of my defense). It was February, in Arizona that means sunny and 70, but in DC it means the same old cold, rainy and 40. I had a carry-on bag, a rolling suitcase and an overcoat that I had decided to put on while boarding so I wouldn’t have one more thing to juggle. While walking down the jetway, I received a call from a friend. After informing her that I needed to get off the phone so that I could say my prayers before boarding the plane so that it wouldn’t crash (don’t laugh, it hasn’t failed), I put my phone away. At the same time, the guy behind me in line made some annoying joke – I was half way through a Hail Mary so I wasn’t really listening, but noted that he was standing way too close to me. After getting to my seat and having stowed my rolling suitcase and my carry-on, I realized I didn’t have my phone. I began to search and pat down all of my pockets. The nice passenger next to me asked if I was ok (looking back, he probably thought I was a terrorist. At least, that’s what I would have thought he was if he was doing what I was doing). I stated that I couldn’t find my cell phone and he began to help me look.  A minute later, the flight attendant also inquired about what we were doing and began to help us search – she made a call over the loud-speaker to see if anyone found a phone. Picture the entire plane is helping me find the phone. It was then that I noticed that the guy standing way too close to me on the jet way was sitting across the aisle and was closing THE EXACT SAME PHONE AS THE ONE I WAS LOOKING FOR. Coincidence? I think not! No way could T-Mobile give out more than one flip phone…I was overcome with the thought of getting to the baggage claim at Reagan National, not being able to find Peter, not remembering his address so I could take a cab and thinking “If I’d only confronted the guy about stealing my phone!!”. So, I did what any crazy person would do, I stepped across the aisle, asked the man if that was his phone and stated that I could not find my phone that looked VERY similar to his and that he might have taken it out of my coat pocket while on the jet way (I really, REALLY wish I could say that any part of this story was made up…but it’s not 🙂  ).  The worst part? The guy sitting next to me and another passenger helped me accuse the poor guy. They said they also observed him standing too close to me. I asked to see his phone – the first person in the phone book was someone named Adam. I don’t know any Adams – it was then that I realized I had just wrongly accused a guy of stealing my phone. Please note, I was not alone in accusing him. This is not a defense, but merely a hope you won’t think I’m totally mental!

Another passenger got smart and decided to call my phone – three calls later, I heard it. It hit me all at once – the sweet relief that the phone wasn’t missing after all, and the absolute horror that I had to admit that it had been in my coat pocket the entire time. Yup. If I was a quicker person, I would have made up that it fell between the seats or something. Sadly, I’m not that fast on my feet and had to play the dumb blonde card…

The worst part is that the poor guy I accused hustled off the plane so fast that I couldn’t profusely apologize. Also, it was a connecting flight and most of the people on the first flight, were also on my second flight to DC. FIVE people asked me while waiting in line to board the second flight if I had my phone with me – they were then quick to let me know that they did not have it, just in case.

The moral of the story is that if you really think someone stole your phone, be sure to involve the entire plane in accusing them. But first, turn out all pockets of your coat, bag and jeans.

The Face Book Miracle is when you and a long-lost friend (or frienemy) reconnect on FB – if only for the stalking.

We all have those friends on FB that have the super glamorous (I hear Fergie in my head spelling that out for me) posts on their pages – you know “headed to the gym and then a relaxing spa day!” on a Tuesday.  Or “sat next to Huge Jackman on the plane and now me and the hubs are headed down under for Christmas!”. “Half day at work, massage and then dinner with the ladies at Nobu – taking spring break next week to Hawaii!”. And one of my favorites “Out on the town tonight  looking fabulous, as always!!”.  The only part that makes me happy about these kinds of posts is that they are lies. All of them. No one has this glamorous of a life because if you did, what the hell are you doing on FB?

On the flip side, there are those who always are griping on their FB status. And not funny griping like yours truly, but like bitter angry gripes: “It’s ‘tell your coworkers to go to hell’ day at the office and I am fully participating!” (that’s a paraphrase, but damn close to an actual post I read).  “SOOO exhausted!” when the person has no kids, no husband, no pets and a straight 40 hour a week job – if you can’t figure it out now hon, you never will.

I love the super boring status’ that just state what the person is doing “checking email”, “riding to work”, “eating dinner”. Awesome. Get a Twitter account or something. Or better yet, a new hobby.

There are also the freakishly personal posts. You know the ones that make you a little uncomfortable and you think, why doesn’t this person realize that the ENTIRE WORLD is reading this?? Such as “Walk of shame!” I mean really, we know you’re that kind of girl, we don’t need to read it too. Or “the kids threw up on me and then pooped all over the crib and the dog ate it”. While I sympathize, I have my own issues with a smelly kiddo, I don’t need to read yours in graphic detail. My favorite has been inappropriate pregnancy pictures – there have been more than one offender. Without going into detail, these friends have taken pictures in various states of pregnancy with very little to no clothing AND THEN POSTED THEM. If you want to have those pictures to torture your offspring with, by all means, go nuts. But don’t put them out there for you coworkers, neighbors, grade school, high school and college classmates to see!

The lesson? Think about your in-laws reading your status – if that embarrasses you, think twice. If it doesn’t, you either have a decent status update or you’re a weirdo who has an odd relationship with their in-laws.  Happy Face Booking!