Squealing Like A Hysterical Little Girl

I was just in the car, listening to the radio and a Van Halen song came on. In September. we went to see Van Halen in concert here in Houston. I was especially excited because the band was touring with Sammy Hagar as their front-man and I'm one of about 7 people in the world who likes Sammy Hagar better than David Lee Roth (the original lead singer for the band). I've been a fan of Van Halen for years now, so I was very excited to find out that Kevin had gotten us tickets. Well, as the concert day approached, I was really busy, lacking sleep and going to the concert seemed like more of a nuisance than anything--not to mention, we were supposed to have some serious thunderstorms roll through the area at about the time that we'd be heading to the Toyota Center for the concert. On my way to pick up Kevin at work that afternoon, still feeling dismal about the prospect of scavenging for a parking spot downtown, then breaking down and paying $15 to park, 10 blocks away, in the rain, I flipped through the radio stations and found that our local hard rock station (KLOL, may it rest in peace, as it's now a Techno Tejano station) was playing Van Halen songs non-stop all evening. After jamming to about 4 songs on my way to get Kevin, I was officially pumped and remembered just how much I love that band and their music.

So, we arrive at Toyota Center, locate our seats--which were really good seats--and settle in for a great show. Suddenly, the lights go out and the room begins to buzz. I hear the first drum licks of Poundcake and I suddenly found myself on the verge of tears, jumping up and down and screaming. The next thing I know, the lights stream onstage and I see the 4 men who I've listened to, make their fabulous music for so many years...there, only 100 yards or so from me. It was the best show that I've ever seen, in good part because they played all of their old songs. I knew the words to every song and sang them at the top of my lungs! I suddenly understood those pictures and videos that I see where teenage girls are screaming and crying upon seeing the Beatles or Elvis--I felt the same way.

In the aftermath of the concert, I was deaf in one ear for about a week and even the outside of my ears were numb, like when you sleep on your side for too long. My throat was hoarse and scratchy, from all of the screaming and singing that I did. It was the best time and now, whenever I hear a Van Halen song on the radio, I smile from deaf ear to deaf ear and do a little silent scream in the car.

What Is Up With This?

I've been stalking the Target website (and store) a lot lately, perusing all of their Holiday decor. You just gotta love Target--I don't know anyone who doesn't. You can always find the coolest, most unique stuff there. So, you can imagine my shock and horror when I came upon this: http://www.target.com/gp/detail.html/ref=br_1_15/602-1693177-8976611?%5Fencoding=UTF8&frombrowse=1&asin=B0002Y27DM

If you read the description of it, it comes decorated like that (Oh, Unholy Tannenbaum!), rises (via remote control, of course--so you don't even have to touch the vile thing!) in 5 minutes and only takes 2 minutes to take down. Ok, who--oh who, I ask you?--would buy this? Discuss amongst yourselves....

The Fruit House

A little background on our flora blunders as home owners: the most tragic was our assumption that most plants could survive on our Hellishly hot deck, with no shade and that gets so hot during the Summer that you can't even walk bare-footed on the wood. We spent our first 2 Summers here, trying in vain to grow little flowers, vines and bulbs. Looking back on it, I suppose our reasoning was that with enough watering, (at times, I was watering our plants 3-4 times a day) love and attention, anything could thrive. We tried everything...vegetables, (our garden bounty consisted of 1 small, lonely, anemic tomato a couple of Summers ago) agressive--downright hard-headed--plants (so aggressive that they're considered a vegetational pest in a lot of parts of Texas and are thus, being eradicated) and then, finally, after 3 years of committing terrible acts of plantacide, we've conceded to just having cacti on our deck. So far, so good.

So, you might understand the irony in the fact that the entire front of our townhome, at this very moment is covered (and I do mean covered!) in a fruiting vine--that is well, fruiting. We've had this Creeping Fig vine growing on the front of our house (obviously not of our planting, otherwise it wouldn't have thrived) the whole time that we've lived here. I like having it around because it covers up what is a not-so-architecturally-interesting townhome. Plus, in the past year, it's been slowly covering up our front windows as well. This has allowed us the opportunity to run around the house in only our skivvies, secure in the fact that none of our nosey neighbors can see through this vine. Well, we noticed a few days ago, while inspecting the vine with a possible landscaper who might cut back this beast for us, that all over this vine are these green, lime-looking fruits--figs, I presume--given the fact that the vine is called Creeping Fig. There are so many figs attached to the front of our house right now, it's really comical--especially considering our background in the Gardening Arts. We don't know if these figs are edible and I'm actually wondering if the birds that roost in our nearby trees are anxiously awaiting some arbitrary time in the fig-ripening process (that only birds are privy to...they have their own little Bird Farmer's Almanac thingy, I'll bet) wherein they will all descend on our house and feast, feast, feast (and you know what also comes after the feasting: pooping, pooping, pooping!). So, we'll see what becomes of the Crazy Fig House. I definitely plan to pick one of the figs and dissect it before the vine is trimmed. I'm sure that you'll all be on the edge of your seats (or your ergonomic computer chairs, as it were) to find out what these crazy figs look like on the inside. If anyone's interested in pitching in to form a Fig Fund, I'll even try eating one. The Fig Fund would have to be greater than or equal to our health insurance deductible though, just in case. So, in the meantime (between now and when the landscaper/produce manager comes to trim our figs), I guess I can use the colloquialism, "I don't give a creeping fig" and it will be strikingly honest! Yay! I've been waiting for this moment my whole life!

The Beauty of a Home With In-Direct Lighting

Who knew that I could spew forth this many thoughts in the 2 whole days that I've officially been a "blogger" (which sounds like a wordy-derd if you're not Internet savvy).

There's a house in our neighborhood that I drive by several times a day--not because I'm necessarily a stalker (although that's open to speculation) but because it's right on my "beaten path" of everyday activities. This house was purchased earlier this year by an overly-attractive, young couple. For starters, this house is fabulous--a typical Heights bungalow that had been completely remodeled (read: 2 bathrooms, granite countertops, crown molding). In fact, when the house was still on the market last year, Kevin and I went over just to be nosey and check it out. Not only was it the perfect house, it was also very expensive. This is why, when I saw this perky, young couple moving in after the SOLD sign had been added to the realtor sign in the front yard, I felt a stab of jealousy. Only adding to this jealousy was a few months later when I saw this perky, young couple walking their precious new yellow lab puppy up and down our street on many weekend mornings. They'd sometimes walk the puppy with their little expensive, Starbucks stainless steel travel mugs in hand. Sometimes, I'd see one of them frantically running with the dog down the street--usually around 9PM at night, in an obvious (and probably futile) attempt to "poop out the puppy before bedtime" in the hopes of getting a good night's sleep. Over the past year, I've watched this yellow lab puppy grow up as he's been going on walks in front of our house. He's grown from a gangly, hyper puppy, barely being constrained on his leash, to a stocky, handsome little man who's a dreamboat on a leash. I've also watched his walking partners morph from happy couple to just the guy. I've watched their perfect little house be decorated for Valentine's Day, with a cute little shabby-chic heart carefully attached to the front door, to a Springtime wreath bursting with brightly-colored flowers. The last new front door fixture that I saw was some sort of Summertime herby-looking wreath. Now, driving by, I see a withered, brown herby-looking wreath. I really didn't think anything about it for a long time.

Recently, driving by their perfect bungalow, something struck me as odd--I realized that for days, weeks, possibly months, the front blinds (perfect, custom-made wood blinds, I might add) had been closed. That doesn't sound so odd, right? This is Houston, for goodness sake--it's darn hot when that punishing sun shines through your windows. Good quality blinds can make the difference between a $50 energy bill and a $300 energy bill. After days on end of driving by this precious house and cringing at the closed blinds, thinking how dark and dismal the inside of the house must be, it dawned on me: No woman, who puts up seasonal door wreaths would obscure the sunlight from her perfect, 2 bedroom cottage. I surmised that there was trouble in paradise. I'm still not sure exactly what is going on at the "dream house"--all I know is that there is only 1 car parked in the driveway in the evenings, I only see the handsome lab being walked by the handsome guy, the blinds have yet to be open in the past few months and there's still a sad, dead, withering wreath hanging on the front door--as well as 2 hanging baskets that are rotten and brown.

This got me thinking of what typical guy behavior this all is. I feel certain that if I didn't live in this house with Kevin, he'd probably not open the blinds in the mornings and close them in the evenings like I do. He'd also not appreciate the importance of lamps and the fabulous in-direct light that they cast about the living room--he'd definitely rely soley on our overhead lights. I know that Kevin probably wouldn't light the millions of candles that I have placed all over the house as well--not only for their scents, but also for the beautiful glow that they cast on our surroundings.

For the first time in almost a year don't feel even the slightest twinge of jealousy toward this seemingly perfect couple and their perfectly remodeled bungalow. There's so much more to a couple, their relationship and their home than how many square feet it has, how much custom cabinetry there is and if this house still has it's original claw-foot tub. I love my 1980's style townhome with cheap-o apartment-quality, prefab cabinets and everyone who lives within it's walls. I wouldn't trade it for anything.