The other night I caught Diane Sawyler's interview with Randy Pausch. I had heard of him, but did not know his story. Her piece on him & his beautiful family was very moving.
I can not wait to get my hands on his book "The Last Lecture". It is just what this little old depressed woman needs. That or a kick in the butt. I plan to pick up a copy this week and start right away. It's due time for me to read a book, and I can not think of a better one.
I will keep you posted.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Fried Pickles & Hooters
I hate Hooters. I hate the image. I hate that girls think it is okay to be looked at in a derogatory way. That Hooters is referring to the waitress' breast. It's a sleazy thought.
Many years ago, when our first Hooters opened in Indianapolis, I went with an RV full of Race Fans. We had just finished watching the Indianapolis 500, and the host wanted to treat us all to a new place that had steamed oysters (a favorite of mine).
Needless to say I was slightly shocked at the restaurant. Our host's sister was working there and waited on us. It was ...uhmmm, interesting. That was about 15 years ago. I never went back.
When in Florida, my girls begged to go to Hooters where all the teens hung out. I reluctantly agreed. Peer pressure got the best of me. They love it. Love the food. Say it's a fun place. They are not allowed to buy, borrow or think about wearing a Hooters shirt.
Also when in Florida, I found a wonderful little place in Seaside that serves fried pickles. I love them. I have tried to copy making them but can't even compare to the great taste. No one in Indy will make them. I have looked everywhere.
Yesterday, Emily brought me a platter of Fried Pickles. They were the best! I loved them. OMG! Where did she get them? HOOTERS! She said, "See, it's not that bad, they serve your fried pickles". NO ONE IN INDY DOES. It is the only place I have ever heard of that does.
I am now torn. Hooters is luring me in with Fried Pickles. I am afraid, I will go. At least to get them to go.
Many years ago, when our first Hooters opened in Indianapolis, I went with an RV full of Race Fans. We had just finished watching the Indianapolis 500, and the host wanted to treat us all to a new place that had steamed oysters (a favorite of mine).
Needless to say I was slightly shocked at the restaurant. Our host's sister was working there and waited on us. It was ...uhmmm, interesting. That was about 15 years ago. I never went back.
When in Florida, my girls begged to go to Hooters where all the teens hung out. I reluctantly agreed. Peer pressure got the best of me. They love it. Love the food. Say it's a fun place. They are not allowed to buy, borrow or think about wearing a Hooters shirt.
Also when in Florida, I found a wonderful little place in Seaside that serves fried pickles. I love them. I have tried to copy making them but can't even compare to the great taste. No one in Indy will make them. I have looked everywhere.
Yesterday, Emily brought me a platter of Fried Pickles. They were the best! I loved them. OMG! Where did she get them? HOOTERS! She said, "See, it's not that bad, they serve your fried pickles". NO ONE IN INDY DOES. It is the only place I have ever heard of that does.
I am now torn. Hooters is luring me in with Fried Pickles. I am afraid, I will go. At least to get them to go.
Chipmunk Girl
Annie had her four wisdom teeth removed this morning. All went fine. We decided to go with sedation. She was extremely nervous and scared.
It was a quick procedure, finished in 30 minutes and on our way home in 45 minutes. They wheeled her to the car and she whimpered like a hurt puppy. She is sensitive, and it killed me to see her so scared. Even once she fell asleep, she kept whimpering and the tears rolled down her checks.
Once home I helped my baby out of the car and into the house. She was out of control of her movements and appeared drunk. This made her laugh. After settling in on the couch, with her ice packs and a little jello in her tummy (too funny watching someone numb try to eat jello). I got the antibiotics and the Vicodine in her and she past out for a much needed cat nap.
She now feels okay. She ate some pudding and her boyfriend is over watching movies and TV with her. I am letting him wait on her now and he is starting to understand her mumbling.
We keep applying the ice packs. They all say she will look like a chipmunk for a while because of the swelling. Even if she does look like a chipmunk, she is still an amazingly beautiful Chipmunk Girl!
It was a quick procedure, finished in 30 minutes and on our way home in 45 minutes. They wheeled her to the car and she whimpered like a hurt puppy. She is sensitive, and it killed me to see her so scared. Even once she fell asleep, she kept whimpering and the tears rolled down her checks.
Once home I helped my baby out of the car and into the house. She was out of control of her movements and appeared drunk. This made her laugh. After settling in on the couch, with her ice packs and a little jello in her tummy (too funny watching someone numb try to eat jello). I got the antibiotics and the Vicodine in her and she past out for a much needed cat nap.
She now feels okay. She ate some pudding and her boyfriend is over watching movies and TV with her. I am letting him wait on her now and he is starting to understand her mumbling.
We keep applying the ice packs. They all say she will look like a chipmunk for a while because of the swelling. Even if she does look like a chipmunk, she is still an amazingly beautiful Chipmunk Girl!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Dark Blonde
I got my hair done. Cut, color & style.
I love getting it done. Sitting in the chair, relaxing. The feeling is fabulous.
When the girls were little they "did" my hair all the time. I had very long hair, they would have me part it and each do a side. I would have 20 plus barrettes and bows in my hair. As they got older, I got more sophisticated styles. Even before my girls, I always had little girls playing with my hair. When I worked at the Deaf School, once while playing beauty shop, I had several little girls start to gather & have "worried" looks as my young stylist feverishly work away. Then, I smelled the burning hair... she had the curling iron stuck in my hair! I survived. She did too, she had never used one and didn't realize hair can burn!
Back to my new do...
My Stylist is wonderful. She always gives me a great cut. The color is always good and her prices can't be beat. We have been friends for many years and going to her shop is a pleasure. The only complaint is, well, like all Stylist, they seem to give you what they want more than what you want. She thinks I look better as a redhead. I want it lighter, blonder. We compromise and I have brown hair w/ highlights. Sometimes the highlights are red, sometimes my hair is red w/ blonde highlights. Years ago, I would get upset, today, I let her at it. She does a beautiful job and I don't care so much.
This time, she had pictures to show me her thoughts and ideals. She told me she thought I should go with color rather than the highlights and that it would process better with a nice blend. She showed me three pictures. I chose the lighter two. She told me that was what she thought I would choose and had "Dark Blonde" in the tube. I was cool with it, even excited. I think dark blond is pretty. I was anxious to see my dark blonde hair. When it was done, I looked in the mirror, and, Surprise! It's reddish brown. She asked me if I liked the blonde. I said, "Well, I like it, but maybe we could go lighter next time. I don't really see the blonde." She thinks I am crazy. She says it's blonde.
One of us is color blind.
I love getting it done. Sitting in the chair, relaxing. The feeling is fabulous.
When the girls were little they "did" my hair all the time. I had very long hair, they would have me part it and each do a side. I would have 20 plus barrettes and bows in my hair. As they got older, I got more sophisticated styles. Even before my girls, I always had little girls playing with my hair. When I worked at the Deaf School, once while playing beauty shop, I had several little girls start to gather & have "worried" looks as my young stylist feverishly work away. Then, I smelled the burning hair... she had the curling iron stuck in my hair! I survived. She did too, she had never used one and didn't realize hair can burn!
Back to my new do...
My Stylist is wonderful. She always gives me a great cut. The color is always good and her prices can't be beat. We have been friends for many years and going to her shop is a pleasure. The only complaint is, well, like all Stylist, they seem to give you what they want more than what you want. She thinks I look better as a redhead. I want it lighter, blonder. We compromise and I have brown hair w/ highlights. Sometimes the highlights are red, sometimes my hair is red w/ blonde highlights. Years ago, I would get upset, today, I let her at it. She does a beautiful job and I don't care so much.
This time, she had pictures to show me her thoughts and ideals. She told me she thought I should go with color rather than the highlights and that it would process better with a nice blend. She showed me three pictures. I chose the lighter two. She told me that was what she thought I would choose and had "Dark Blonde" in the tube. I was cool with it, even excited. I think dark blond is pretty. I was anxious to see my dark blonde hair. When it was done, I looked in the mirror, and, Surprise! It's reddish brown. She asked me if I liked the blonde. I said, "Well, I like it, but maybe we could go lighter next time. I don't really see the blonde." She thinks I am crazy. She says it's blonde.
One of us is color blind.
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