Iron Nosed Voters

Still no internet. Seriously. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, but the blog is suffering. I know. So I’ll do a quick post with my hijacked signal.

So I voted yesterday. No, I’m not discussing who I voted for, because quite honestly I’m exhausted from all the political bickering that I have witnessed and yes, even taken part in (whooo meeeeee?). But I did have a few thoughts on the process.

1. Early voting was the way to go. I was in & out in a remarkably short amount of time, and the entire process was mostly painless (more on this in a bit). I’m really interested to see if the insane waits on election day materialize or if all us early birds helped to stave it off.

2. If you can’t form complete, grammatically correct sentences in a voter’s guide to which YOU submit written answers, I can’t vote for you. Call me a stickler for the details, but seriously. No matter how unappealing your opponent is, I just can’t do it. It’s a matter of principle. The particular case I am talking about was not just something a grammar Nazi would point out either. It looked like my 2 oldest nieces had collaborated to draft the statement for him, and there is a combined 5 years between the two of them. Actually that’s insulting to K and E. Scratch that. (note: this was in a local election, not the big daddy one. The presidential candidates didn't have blurbs, but I am sure they would have been proof read if they did)

3. The polling location that I went to was not so nice. The short line that existed, was right next to a men’s room. With no door. That someone had obviously abused. But I’m not complaining. I watched “Iron Jawed Angels” this weekend on HBO, about Alice Paul, Lucy Burns and other women of the era and their battle to give women the right to vote. It was intense. Standing next to a stinky bathroom pales in comparison to being hung by your arms, hunger strikes and forced feedings. Its not even a cake walk. It's whatever is easier than a cake walk….a Twinkie walk? A Honey Bun walk? I don’t know, but you get the picture. The point of this little story is: Vote. I’m not much interested in who you vote for, that’s up to you. But just vote. Alice and Lucy are watching, and they were tough ladies. I wouldn’t want to mess with them. Besides, we will not be taking one single complaint for the next four years from those of you who fail to exercise your rights. And I’m keeping track.

Hanging Tough

I have so much to share with you guys, it’s really hard to know where to start. First off, we ended our stand off with Comcast by firing them. Getting everything reconnected with other providers has reminded me why I hate moving, and that customer service is truly dead in this country. I don’t understand why people who are incapable of showing even a modicum of civility insist on working at call centers. Surely they can find a better line of work. Like Satan’s helper or something. The result of all this is that we finally have cable (after missing pretty much every premier of the season) and we still have no internet or phone. Hence the no blogging. I will hijack a signal for this lone update, as several developments in my life are worth noting.

I turned 30 yesterday. Yes, 30. I feel no wiser. I do however feel more run down. I’m sure that has everything to do with my whirlwind birthday weekend though, and nothing to do with the fact that I just can’t hang any longer. To kick off the weekend (I use that term loosely, as it was Thursday) I went with 7 other fabulous ladies to re-live a part of our childhood. Well not mine apparently. Out of the 8 of us who were at the New Kids concert, only McD and I had never been before. Most of them had been to several. I was pretty certain I knew what to expect since I had been to other teeny-bopper boy band concerts. Only I was wrong. At this concert, there were no teeny-boppers. Only a bunch of 30-somethings that had seen better days. And could scream. I mean really scream. I later heard a DJ on the radio comment that you could tell that most of those women (almost exclusively btw) had been good looking their first time around with the New Kids. Only this wasn’t the first time around. A lot of miles had been put on that crowd, and they showed every inch of it. Jeez louise. I really enjoyed all the people watching. Including my own group. It was oddly comforting to know that 7 of the smartest, most successful women I know, could still be reduced to a quivering mass of girlish screams when confronted by a shirtless Jordan Knight. McD gets the trooper of the night award for dealing with that crowd, pregnant and in turn, totally sober. I briefly wondered if Jelly Bean’s ear drums would be damaged in utero by all the screaming and madness, but decided in the end the only result would probably be some kick-ass taste in music. I will be reminding him when he’s 14 and looking down his nose at boy-bands (as he inevitably will) that he has been to exactly the same number of NKOTB concerts as me. I also have to give a shout out to Jenny for enabling me to come thisclose to touching a New Kid. Sure I was pissed, at first, that she practically broke my arm when yanking me off the chair (yes I was standing on a chair). But when I realized she astutely figured out the bands escape plan and that it was directly past our seats, I wanted to kiss her. She had more luck on laying hands on Donnie. I was jealous. Really. 30 year old me has a thing for Donnie even though 13 year old me preferred Joey or Jordan. I think its because the Halfstreet has been watching Band of Brothers for the past month (annoying when you only get one disc at a time from Blockbuster online). It was surreal to see this man dodging grenades in World War II on my tv one night and the next to see him gyrating on stage and wearing glittery pants in person. As a special bonus, I also saw Jay-Z that night. No he wasn’t at the concert, but I bet he would have been if he hadn’t been playing at the House of Blues. He was at the 4 Seasons, where some of us had convened after the concert to relive the show, minute by minute. Awesome.

On Saturday (most of Friday was spent recovering and spreading the gospel of the New Kids to anyone who would listen) the Rice Owls won a football game for me! Before the game we tailgated, ate yummy food and cake brought by the HSH, and visited with friends new and old. After the game, we drank, sang songs in bars, and I pulled a 6 inch long nail out of a guys nose (don’t ask). It was really a perfect day. I even got to dance a little! Sunday I spent the entire day in my Pajamas, flipping back and forth between football and old movies (Dirty Dancing!). I consider it a totally successful birthday weekend.

Keep your fingers crossed that we get internet access back at the Halfstreet soon!

Screw You Too Comcast

We’re not dead. Unless you count being bored to death because we still don’t have cable, which in turn means we have no phone or internet! Damn you bundled services! Anyway, no internet at home has translated to no blog updates. Which is really a shame because we’ve done the following noteworthy things since our last update:

1. Survived a hurricane and no power for 13 days (with the help of some fantastic family & friends)
2. Visited the Newport Martini’ including newest addition Sofia.
3. Went to a wedding in Lexington Va (in case you’re keeping score at home, that is two in one year)
4. Tried to smuggle 3 cases of the HSH’s favorite, unavailable in TX, beer back home from Lexington
5. Had an adorable baby Tripp take a nap on me for about an hour. I was scared to move and disturb his peaceful slumber and today my shoulder feels like I pitched 9 innings of baseball. (note to self: must develop Mommy muscles before starting family)


Things are kinda sorta beginning to return to normal. Once we have internet at home, I’ll resume updates including photos of many of the above things. If you don’t like it, feel free to call Comcast to complain. They are no long accepting our phone calls. 1-800-266-2278

Call Me Tina

Some friends/family up north have been asking me some hurricane related questions, so here are some assorted answers and information.

Hurricanes have special significance for the Halfstreet. Since the HSH and I are both in the natural gas industry, we have to handle things a little differently. The price of natural gas tends to change dramatically when a hurricane enters the gulf since that is where much of the natural gas production for the country is located. Not only are fortunes made and lost during these times, but natural gas is a pretty important thing to keep running. You’d be surprised what you can’t do if gas isn’t flowing, and I’m not talking about just your fancy gas stove. Of course many trading companies have the extra wrinkle of being located in a city (Htown…holla!) that is also subject to a hurricane related inconvenience or two. With this in mind most trading companies have pretty extensive evacuation plans that are worked on and maintained year round. With so much money at stake, these companies like to have their employees available to make gas flow, and not be hunkered down in their bathtubs. As a result we frequently get evacuated way before public evacuation orders are given. This is not for safety reasons; it’s for money and business continuity reasons. Plain and simple. Just because we’re leaving, doesn’t mean curtains for Houston. They just prefer to not take a chance.

My company evacuated to Dallas last night. The goal of a situation like this is to have complete coverage of duties in both the evacuation site, and homebase. That way we are covered regardless of what happens, and who gets stuck in what traffic in & out of the city. Back in my single days, I was part of the team that flew the coop to Dallas. It was just easier for me to get mobile than someone with a family and kids to think about. (Usually the time between when you’re told you’re leaving and when leaving is pretty minimal.) This time around I requested to not be on the E-vac team. The HSH’s company had not made the call to evacuate, and I didn’t like the idea of getting out of Dodge without him. I should add that not evacuating with the company in no way prevents me from leaving on my own at a later time. It’s not like they say ‘you must stay there’. That’s the good part about sending the advance team. If the storm gets significantly worse, and I decide I want to get out of the way on my own, I have coverage up there to take care of my responsibilities.

So that brings us to now. As of now, the Halfstreet will be “sheltering in place.” The rule of thumb about these things is “Run from Water, Hide from Wind”. So if you’re not in the storm surge, which Houston shouldn’t be, it is considered safer to hunker down, and ride it out. So that’s what we’re going with for now. Like the good little Girl Scout I am, the Halfstreet is stocked up on water (we keep a stash for this purpose) and other essentials. Plus I think the HSH is looking forward to finally using that hand cranked radio/flashlight that Mom gave him for Christmas last year.

We’ll keep you updated! For now I’m considering us a Tina to this Ike. Not the tortured early Tina. The leave-Ike’s-ass-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-go-on-to-have-a-wildly-successful-solo-career-while-he-goes-on-to-amount-to-nothing Tina.

If you are a Houston based friend, and you are in a lower laying area, or a place with a lot of windows, you are always welcome at the Halfstreet. You know where to find us.

The Wrath of the Valet

Boy. I had some bad kharma shine down on me with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns this past week. Hate valet parking and the bars on Washington for no valid reason, missy? Oh we’ll give you a reason to complain, don’t you worry your little head.

So last Thursday I went to a work happy hour downtown. The HSH met me there, and then we headed over to Kobain’s to meet other assorted people. I looked in vain for parking on the street, but after calling the HSH (we were in separate cars) and confirming he had valeted, I figured what the hay, I’ll do it too. Bad idea. I was already annoyed when exiting the bar because the valet was taking his sweet time in crossing the parking lot to get my ticket, then his sweet time to get back to the key stand. Then I got super annoyed when he started heading back toward me on foot, as opposed to in my car. “What kind of car was it?” Uhhhhhh, do I get to pick? I mean, if I’m getting a free pass here, I’m sure I can find something in the lot I like. But honest as I am (plus I’m not trying to go to jail for grand theft auto or anything), I told him my car, and off he went again. Still at the pace of a sponge. Good thing this guy is not working for tips. Oh wait.

Anyway, he came back about 5 minutes later, this time with a cohort. Turns out, they had my car, but they didn’t have my keys. Small problem. I described my keys, even went over to look for them myself in the key box, and nothing. No keys. No where. Seriously. I can’t make this stuff up. The absolute worst part about it was that these guys seemed to care less. I mean you’re a VALET! Keys are your bread and butter! HOW DO YOU LOSE KEYS!?! Even worse (it gets worse) I walked over to my car to see if they had locked them inside somehow. Hard to lock keys in an UNLOCKED CAR! I don’t know what pissed me off more: the fact that my car was left unlocked all night, or that my keys weren’t just in there so I could go home and put this all behind me. The valet offered to pay for me to find a cab home. This was their version of making the situation right. Are you kidding me? Thankfully for me, the HSH had gone home before me. Not so thankfully for him, he had to get out of bed to bring me my spare key and a house key. That pissed me off as well. What if I had been a single gal? A cab ride home would have been about as useful as hind legs on a whale since my house key was on my key ring that the valet had just lost. (The first person to lecture me on separating my keys when valeting might lose an eye). Anyway, the owner of the company swore up and down that he would pay to have my car & house re-keyed as I left the premises. Of course he promptly forgot that he promised that, when I contacted him in the morning to tell him how much it was going to cost him. He didn’t see why he should have to have my house rekeyed. Despite me explaining that my car had been unlocked all night long, and anyone with a brain could look inside my glove compartment and get an address off of my insurance cards. He assured me his guys had kept an eye on the car and no one had broken into it. SERIOUSLY? Your guys couldn’t even be trusted to keep an eye on my KEYS and you want me to believe they kept an eye on my car? Please. Sell crazy to someone else because we’re all stocked up here.

After a threatening letter was sent over documenting my expenses to have everything re-keyed, I was pretty sure they were going to pay. And then you know what happened? Those of you in the audience guessing that my keys turned up would win a gold star for the day. Turns out the valet left my keys in another customer’s car and they returned them that night. Or so they say. All I know is that now, more than ever, I hate valets—despite what kharma that brings down on me.

Special shout out to NJ & Bossman who hung with me during the ordeal, and NJ for her letter writing skillz.

Sofia!

My newest niece is here! I can't wait to meet her. In the mean time, hop on over to the Newport branch of our family to check out some pictures!

My Husband Isn't Speaking To Me

And it has something to do with this...




You see, for months I’ve been talking about how I want better flower beds in front of my charming little house. Makes sense right? Charming houses have charming gardens. I’ve lived here for 2 years now, and I’ve always sensed my front yard was begging me for an upgrade. I avoid walking through the front door, because the low whimper I hear from it tugs at my heart strings. Last Sunday I couldn’t take it anymore. So while the HSH was off being a football coach (of the fantasy nature) I enlisted the help of Bossman and together we destroyed my front yard. And by together I mean I somehow roped him into doing all the digging while I fetched water and halfheartedly poked at the dirt under the guise of ‘breaking it up’. Why is he my friend? I’m not sure, but I fully expect our friendship to end shortly unless I buy him his weight in beer to make up for this escapade. Anyway, by the time the HSH came home, I was sitting on the couch and the only progress I had made toward a charming garden was replacing a large chunk of my husbands wonderfully maintained grass, with a mixture of sand & clay (see picture). A word about our lawn: we could have it cut for about 20 bucks. But the HSH is one of those freaks that actually enjoys doing the yard. Plus he received an “Extreme Home Make-Over”’s worth of lawn equipment for the wedding, so it only makes sense that he get some use out of it. Even if our yard is so small Ripken could water it solely with the drool he creates while barking at the stray cats from behind the fence. I digress.

Point is, this whole task has been a little harder than I anticipated, and the HSH is none too pleased. Tonight, we will till in some good dirt, to make up for all the bad dirt that lays beneath the current grass. Then on Saturday we will purchase some fancy rocks that I want to use as a border. The goal is to have the beds ready for plants that I will purchase and put in the ground sometime in the first few weeks of September. I will keep you updated, on both the garden, and when the HSH starts speaking to me again.