Granny without a doubt

You know how I have the body of a 97 year old?  And how I have a blog appropriately titled "Shauni is a Granny: Tales of a 25 year old (antacid poppin') granny?"  Well, in case you forgot, I just wanted to remind you.

Not only am I being tested for thyroid problems (always cold), and not only do I have Acid Reflux Disease and high blood pressure, but my eye doctor told me this week that I have early stages of cataracts.

CATARACTS.

Let me remind you that I am 26 years old.

Completely bewildered,
Your 26-year-old Bubbie

Uh-oh

It's no secret that I hate living back in the upper valley.  I thought moving back here would solve all of my problems and I would be happy again.


Guess again.


The upper valley region sucks.  While it is nice to be near family again, we have no friends here, and family can get overwhelming sometimes. (Gasp!  Shocking, I know.)  And everything is so...stuck in it's redneck, naive, unworldly ways.  Sure, it is beautiful here, and there are some gems and not everyone is redneck and naive and unworldly.  But in general, the sense I get when I drive down 12A in West Lebanon is...horrible.  I hate looking at our "bursting metropolis" and seeing BK Lounge and McDonalds.  And PizzaHut.  And a mall with 9 stores in it.


And living out west, though there was very little in my town, we were a short drive away from lovely Reno, Nevada (sarcasm) where there were movie theaters, Sacs Off 5th, Old Navy, Sephora, etc.  And I miss it.  (Somewhere in downtown Reno, an Elvis impersonator is laughing at my expense right now.)


The other day, I received a text from my dear friend Bryony, mother to my goddaughter Olive, who is in the process of moving to Boone, North Carolina.  This is what the text read:


"Come live in the mountains in Boone!  Super awesome town, tons of rural farm land with cheap houses right outside, and ski resorts all over!  Plus, Olive lives there!"


I quickly brushed it off and just shook my head.  Me?  North Carolina?  Never.


But she kept texting.  And finally I mentioned to Mr. G that Bryony and Joe and Olive said we should move to Boone, NC.  Mr. G gave me a death stare that said "hell no."  And then he said, "Hell no."


But now I have Boone on the brain.  So I started doing some research, and this is what I found:

The Town of Boone is a university town in Watauga County, atop the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina and serves as the county seat and market town. 

The Town of Boone was incorporated in 1872 and its current population is 14,813. Boone has the highest elevation (3,300 feet) of any town of its size (over 10,000 population) east of the Mississippi River. During summer, high temperatures in Boone are typically 76°F. Winters are colder with snowfall common.

Located off the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway, Boone offers its residents and visitors a four-season playground for sports and outdoor activities. Boone is recognized by travel journalists as an "ultimate outdoor adventure destination" in the Southeast. It is also home to Appalachian State University, the Appalachian Regional Medical Center, scores of businesses, large and small as well as tourist attractions and a progressive school system consistently ranked for its excellence.

I have fallen in love.  

There are tons of restaurants and shops.  There are shopping malls and outlets near by.  There is skiing in the winter (hello, job security for Mr. G!) and mountain biking, hiking, and fishing in the summer.

And there are houses like this that are dirt cheap:

(So cute.  1 acre of land.  $179,000.  What the what?!?!)

And it is beautiful, with mountains, farm land, and rural goodness all around:

AND there is a cute little downtown area too:

All in all, now I want to move to Boone.  There is a cute, historic downtown area.  There are colleges there.  There is rural farmland and woods to explore.  There is also shopping and restaurants.  There are ski areas to employ Mr. G and likely something for me to do there as well.  People are outdoorsy and seem cool (this is a fact I state from the extensive research I have done and from the pictures I have seen on Google).  There is a great music scene.  And it is so affordable!  There is the hope that this will be the place I fall in love with and want to spend the rest of my life in.  That we will have friends.  That everything about this town will just be perfect and will complete me.

Now I just need to convince Mr. G.  And wait another year since we just renewed our lease.

Ready to hit the road,

Granny

Halp

Today, for what seemed like the first time in two weeks (oh wait, that's because it WAS the first time in two weeks...), it was sunny and warm.  It was gorgeous.

Of course, I was in my office all day, staring out at it, freezing as the AC in the building blasted down on me at a lovely 58 degrees.

((My feet are blue.))

All day I was thinking about the run I was going to go on after work.  The BBQ bison burgers we were going to make for dinner.  It is the only thing getting me through.

Welp, it's 5:01 and I am getting ready to leave.

And it is about to pour.

What's up, Murphy's Law?

Looking for my rain jacket...,
Bubbie

Way to go

Welp, we made it.  Sorry to the 97 of you out there that believed you were going to parish this weekend.

Happy to be alive,

Gran

Burn, baby, burn

Today I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the Goodwin household:

Gill the grill Goodwin

Despite the fact that it has been raining here since last weekend and that the forecast shows nothing but rain 'til kingdom come, I have done nothing but want to grill.

It is turning into a problem.

This is what our menu looks like for the next week:

• Grilled fish steaks
• BBQ chicken
• Grilled pork loin
• Fresh bruschetta pasta
• Buffalo burgers on the grill
• Homemade lobster raviolis in a brown butter sage sauce
• Grilled steaks

*please note that the two non-grilled items are both quick and easy pasta dinners.  I love carbs, so sue me.

Gerren is already worried about the propane we will burn through this summer.  But I NEED to grill.  In lovely Truckee-Town, California, USA, we did not have a grill.  Two years with no grilled meats.  No grilled asparagus.  No BBQ scents wafting through the air...

I was, quite frankly, heartbroken.  And I have to make up for lost time.

Already lickin' my chops,

Bubbie

I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too

Once you get married, the pressure of having babies really starts.

"Do you guys want to have kids?"

"When are you two going to start trying to get pregnant?"

Or if you are like my mother or my inlaws:

"We're not going to be around forever you know!  Get going!"

And it's bullshit.  BULL SHIT I TELL YOU.

Don't get me wrong.  Mr. G and I want to have a small (ie, the two of us, 1 perfect child, and one perfect golden doodle), family some day.  And to be honest, that "someday" is probably not as far in the future as I might like (read: I don't want to have a kid for 2378729 years).  But for now, as much as I love a little baby in my arms, all curled up and sweet and coo-ey, and as much as I love the adorableness of the worlds cutest almost-2-year-old goddaughter, and as much fun as I have with my little 7 year old friend Suka, NO THANKS, I CHOSE MYSELF.  And to be honest, kids wear me out.  I get bored.  Kids are dirty.  I don't generally like them. (Again, the exceptions to this rule are: all infants, all fat babies like baby Jack, Suka, my goddaughter Olive, and any and all children related to me and Mr. G.  They are all good.)

My married friends all around me are going and getting knocked up.  And if they are not peeing on sticks yet, they are all TRYNG to get knocked up.  (Disclaimer, Mr. G and I are good at the "trying" part.  We just have a barrier between us so none of his little swimmers get close to my little eggs.)  I am so happy for all of my friends.  And the excitement and joy I see in their faces makes me well up with happiness.  So much so that I almost want to be a mom myself.  Almost.

Except not really.  

Let me list some things I would rather do than have a baby right now or reasons why I really shouldn't be with child:

• I love to sleep
• I love wine
• I still have 25 pounds to lose
• I will be that REALLY overweight pregnant woman, not a cute pregnant woman
• Stretch marks
• I want to travel to places without a child tagging along
• I like to take baths and read a book for a good 45 minutes without interruption or guilt
• I want to spend my money on me and Mr. G
• What money?  We are broke...
• I would rather lay on the beach and read a book and just talk to my friends (aka, Mr. G) than keep my eye on a kid running towards the water
• I would rather buy myself a bedroom set than by one for a baby
• I don't get paid to be a mom
• I don't want to get peed on
• 2 am feedings and changings sound horrible
• Labor?!?!?!
• I want to bake when I want to bake
• I want to run when I want to run
• I want to read when I want to read
• I want to do ANYTHING when I want to do it

While I question the sanity of all of my young friends who have children, I do understand the desire, love, and need to be a momma.  I want to be one.  Someday.  But for now, I will continue on my selfish path while I can, and I will just coo at the rest of ya'lls little [whiny, dirty, annoying, loud, crying, peeing, pooping, boring, repetitive, exhausting] bundles of joy.

Not quite ready,

Grams

Soggy

What the fuck.

Signed,

Pissed off Granny

Buckets and Buckets of...

When Mr. G and I started dating 47 years ago, I often told him "Ladies do not sweat.  Ladies glisten."


47 years later, the jig is up.

I am a huge sweater.  And not just in the ol' pits (as a matter of fact, thanks to that fancy prescription strength deod you can now get at any store, my pits are the LEAST sweaty part of my anatomy).  I walk up a flight of stairs and I sweat.  When I run (whole other story) and workout?  I mean, look out, I am a soaking wet, bright red freak.  But at least then it makes sense to sweat, so it's cool, right?  Right???

On my little trip up to Toronto, my boss, who is the worlds most athletic human being, with the worlds longest legs, decided walking from the airport to the hotel would be a nice quick thing to do after traveling all day.  We had our huge roll-y suitcases with us.  It was 64 degrees and sunny.  He walks an eleven minute mile.  We got lost and that four block walk turned into about eight.

I knew I would be sweaty by the time we arrived at our swank and fancy hotel.  But I didn't know how bad.

Until I was leaning over the granite counter at check-in and drops (big, huge fat drops) of sweat fell from my face onto the counter.

AWKBURG.

I was literally wet.  All over.  Head to toe wet.  Soaked right through my three shirts.  My hair looked like I had just showered.  I smelled glorious.  GLORIOUS I TELL YOU.

None of this is important, I just wanted to share with you that I am the worlds heaviest sweater.

Lots of sweaty love,
Bubbikins

Hey Soul Sister

Tia-wee-ya, Sissypoo, TeeTee,

Please, PLEASE, for the love of god, move to Toronto.  It is known as the NYC of Canada.  Aside from that alone, let me list some reasons why you should move here:

-HUGE, like 3 million peeps.
-One of the most diverse cities in the WORLD.
-Better politics.
-So much to do!
-Young, hip, city.  Everyone I meet reminds me of you in some way.
-People are nicer than in NYC.
-It is cleaner than NYC.
-It is prettier than NYC.
-There is a neighborhood called "Little Ethiopia."  Enough said.
-Also there is "Little India," "Korea-Town," "Japan Town," "Little Portugal," etc.
-Large Jewish population.
-Great museums.
-Near a body of water.
-People say "oot and aboot."
-There is a great LGBT health community here.  You can use your same set of skills!

I really want you to move here.  You will love it.  And I will love visiting you :)

Please, at least consider it!

Love,
Sissypoo

Ooot and abooot

Today I blog to you from a foreign land.  Out of the country.  Far, far away.

But not really. 

I am just in Canada, land of the hockey-loving maple leafs.

Aside from a few trips up to Montreal as a teen (hello, age 18 drinking laws), my perceptions of our friendly northern neighbors were predominately based on comedians and TV shows.  

Imagine my surprise when I stepped into the city of Toronto and did not see a city falling apart due to socialized medicine (and GASP, I was even at a medical conference.  People were not being hospitalized in hospitals with falling apart ceilings.  They look just like our pricey US hospitals.), folks were not walking around drinking maple syrup out of jars in the streets, nobody was wearing head to toe denim.

Just about the only two stereotypes I did encounter were that the Canucks love their hockey and they love, love, LOVE to say "oot and aboot." (Eh?)

I am having a great time in Toronto, a city with so much diversity and culture.  Who knew?  I assumed that Canada, like all of it's snow, was a white country.  But even that is not true.  I am headed out tonight (in 65 degree weather, no snow in site) to Little Ethiopia to grab dinner.  I could have chosen little Afghanistan, Little India, Little Portugal...but when in Rome, errr, Toronto (3rd largest Ethiopian population in the world)...

Funny story about my visit to Canadaland...I am here for business.  Which is nice and lovely.  But ironically, my dear friend, Clayton, was here visiting as well.  Within SECONDS of arriving at the Toronto airport (another weird thing--the airport, though EXTREMELY small, is on it's own island in the middle [edge] of the city) dear old Clayton started calling my cell phone every 3 or 4 minutes.  Even after I told him "I am being detained at customs, I will call you when I get through," or "I am on the bus to my hotel, I will call you when I am in my room," or "CLAYTON, I AM CHECKING IN AT THE FRONT DESK, I WILL FUCKING CALL IN YOU 3 MINUTES WHEN I AM IN MY ROOM!"  Still, the Dbag kept calling to see where I was.

I finally made it up to my room, in between answering the phone and wiping my brow from lugging 60 pounds of luggage across the city, and I told Clayton I needed to hop into the shower and I would meet him downtown in 25 minutes.  Exactly 25 minutes later, I called him back to say I was walking downtown and...he had already left and gone to the apartment he was staying at.  That Clayton, he is a gentleman, I tell ya.

I eventually made it to said apartment (he called me 3 more times while I was in the cab.  Speaking to my nice Ethiopian cab driver) and found Clayton surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women.  I immediately asked Clayton (tall, dark, and handsome) how he felt being surrounded by so many gorgeous gals.  He just smiled a big smile.  I told the group of ladies "Don't worry, girls, just tell him you are all lesbians!  Then he will not bother you." 

They all smiled at me and said "we ARE all lesbians."

Insert foot in mouth.

Cut to hours of Clayton and the lessies drinking heavily for hours.  I head back to my hotel, perfectly content after discovering apple pie vodka, but certainly still coherent.  I wash up and fall asleep happily in my large hotel bed.

And then Clayton starts his phone calls again.  I got a call at 1:04 am.  Then another at 1:54 am.  And 1:55. 1:56.  2:01.  2:02.  I ignored them all (duh) but the next day found out from my mother that Clayton had called there at 2 am as well (It is important to note that I have not lived at home with my parents since 2006...).

And the next day, much like all of the other men in my life who do stupid drunken things in the night (please refer to my last blog entry), Mr. Frat Boy himself had not a single memory of his drunken dials the night before.

Even "overseas" I cannot escape the drunk escapades of my male comrades.

That's it for now,

Granny

Saving lives, one party at a time

This weekend away in Tejas with the famed Stephen Brockway was much needed.  It was a blast.  Mr. G and I had a great time.  Booze was flowing, weather was mostly fantastic (aside from some minor hail, 24 hours of non-stop thunder and lightening, and freezing cold rain for our last day there), and the crawfish boil exceeded all expectations.  The Jerry Springer style breakup we witnessed even provided some comedic entertainment (but probably not to the poor couple).  All in all it was a great trip.

Except for that part where the house almost burnt to the ground and I saved everyone's lives.

After a full day of of booze, sun, crawfish, et. al., the four of us (myself, Mr. G, Mr. Brockway, and Mr. Kyle--Mr. Brockway's lovable, albeit republican, roommate) went to bed.  I had no idea how intoxicated the three men were.

I woke up at 3:45am to the sound of the worlds.loudest fire alarm.  You know regular house fire alarms?  And how they are loud but not as loud as say, a fire alarm in a school or public building?  The fire alarm in this house was even more insane than a school fire alarm.  There were at least 3 different pitches.  Lights flashed.  I lost hearing in my left ear due to the sound of this alarm.  I expected a fully armed SWAT team to propel out of the air at any second this alarm was so intense.

Not only was the worlds loudest fire alarm going off, but the house was completely filled with black smoke.

I immediately jumped out of the bed I was sharing with Mr. G.  I assumed he was right behind me, and as I ran blindly* out into the hallway, I expected the other two manly men to be out there helping to figure out what the hell was going on.

(*Please note, it is important to remember that I am almost legally blind without my contacts in.  Because I am 67.)

I stumbled out into the living room, and through the smoke and my lack of vision I was able to determine two things: 1, nobody else in the house was awake and 2, something on the stove was engulfed in orange flames.

I immediately ran over to the stove and grabbed the pot that was on fire.  I turned off the gas and threw the pot into the sink, dumping running water over it.  At this point, the alarm is still going off at an insanely loud volume, and I cannot tell due to my lack of vision if the fire is completely out or if I am missing something.

I spot Stephen lying on the couch, fully clothed, leg hanging off the side.  I run over to him, amazed that he has continued to sleep through all of this, and start yelling and screaming at him to wake up.  Nothing.  I start hitting him, slapping him, shaking him.  He FINALLY wakes up, and I yell to him "YOU CAUGHT THE HOUSE ON FIRE!!  HELP!!!!" and run on to the next room.

I burst in to Kyle's room.  "KYLE!  WAKE UP!!!"
"huh?"
"KYLE!  THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!  HELP!"
Silence.  No answer.  No help.

Onward to the last room, I run to save my beloved, and maybe, at this point, get a little assistance in confirming that the fire is out, calming my nerves, getting the alarm to turn off, etc.

"MR.G!  WHAT THE FUCK!!! GET UP!  DON'T YOU HEAR THIS ALARM?  THE FUCKING HOUSE IS ON FIRE!!!"

Mr. G's perfect response?

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HEAR ANYTHING OVER ALL THIS NOISE?!?!"

And he laid back down and went back to bed.

It turns out, I did get the fire completely out.  Doors were opened and fans turned on, and the smoke cleared out and the alarm stopped.  My heart was pounding.  Not so much with fear or adrenaline at this point, but with anger that the three men drunk bastards had slept right through this huge commotion.

Come Sunday morning, none of them even knew what had happened and that I, she-rah woman, hear me roar, had saved all of their drunk asses.  Not a damn clue.

Signing off,
Super Granny

Let me get something off my chest

I will be back to blogging about the fun and wild time I had in Tejas with Mr. G shortly.  In the mean time, something has been bothering me since Sunday night.


My dear friend Lia also wrote about it.  As she is a wonderful and eloquent writer, feel free to skip this blog posting and head right over to her site for a better version of what I am talking about.


Bin Laden has been caught and killed.  By our US Military.  Nearly ten years of our military's hard work and perseverance has been paid off.  We should all be extremely happy and united that the world's most wanted terrorist is no longer a threat.  Our military personnel, though still working vigilantly to protect our great country from another attack, has been successful and should be proud.  There is some justice for those family members who lost loved ones due to the 9/11 attacks and for those who lost family members over seas to seek that justice.


But instead, our nation seems to be torn apart again.  Instead of uniting as one nation, we are once again pointing fingers.  Within seconds of the news about Bin Laden, I was hearing things such as "Oh god, Obama is just trying to get reelected.  Just what we need!"  "Why is Obama taking all of the credit for this? He needs to stop acting like he did anything about this."  "Maybe of Obama had focused on this instead of basketball, Bin Laden would have been captured years ago."  "Good, now he can focus on the deficit and our budget problems." "Obama doesn't even support our military."


Remember September 11th?  Of course you do.  Remember those feelings that everyone in our great nation had?  Fear, confusion, extreme sadness, anger.  Regardless of which of these emotions you experienced, as a nation, we were united in grief.  We were united in sadness.  We were united in patriotism and knew that we needed to join together to support one another.  To find the people responsible for this act.  We were Americans and we were joined together, differences or not, because of this attack against us.  Our President, Barack Obama, said it best on Sunday night--


‎"On September 11, 2001, in our time of grief, the American people came together. We offered our neighbors a hand, and we offered the wounded our blood. We reaffirmed our ties to each other, and our love of community and country. On that day, no matter where we came from, what God we prayed to, or what race or ethnicity we were, we were united as one American family.”


But now, now that this monster has been caught and killed, instead of seeing our nation unite again, united in hope, in honoring those fallen, in supporting our President, we see blame.  We hear heckling.  We see an even deeper party divide.


I don't care what your politics are, or who you vote for.  You have your own opinions and I have mine.  But if capturing Bin Laden cannot unite us as Americans, if only grief and destruction can do that, then I am scared, fearful, hopeless and sad.


Please, be respectful.  This man is the President of our great country.  He is our leader.  Dislike him for this politics, but do not be disrespectful.  He just lead our country, our military, into one of our greatest accomplishments as a country.  Thousands of lives have been lost to get us to this point.  Respect those men and women.  Come together and be thankful.  Be thankful for those who gave their lives for us to see this moment.  Be thankful for our President, taking control and seeing this event come to head.  Be thankful that one more violent monster is no longer a threat.  Please, let us be united with our appreciation, our thankfulness, our respect.  


This is a victory.  A victory for our President.  A victory for our military.  A victory for Americans. Let this unite us.