Seriously.

Can my nephews get any cuter?



And because there's nothing in common between my perfect, sweet, wonderful nephews and gangsta rap, I can't get this song out of my head today:

Morning Conversation

Her: "Hello?"
Me: "Yo."
Her: "Hello?!"
Me: "Hey, what's going on?"
Her: "Can I call you right back? My kid just shit in the shower."
Me: "Yeah, bye."

I hung up cracking up.

There are only so many people you can call in the morning on their home phones, but be prepared, a conversation like this is not uncommon.

Ouch or My Husband Beats Me or Damn Dog or SOLICITORS, grrrr

I just fell. Ate shit. Found the floor. Bit a big one (no, not THE big one).

I was in my typical 5:30 pm mode: clean up before KP gets home and it looks like I haven't been doing anything all day. Except today, I did lots. Usually I do lots, but today I did even more. I braved the cold (28 degrees), fought the shopping crowds, finally totaled our expenditures for the year (that's a freaking big one, and you other self-employed maniacs out there feel my pain on that one), vacuumed the leaves (yep, you read that right), went to home depot for a rake (they were sold out, not lying), grocery shopped, did laundry, and found someone to feed our cat while are holiday-ing (yep, finally claimed him as mine and yes, I made up a word). How was that for a run-on?

5:30 pm mode. I was happily washing the last dish in the sink. I had the dishwasher door open for loading, and as usual, all the dogs surrounded me. Then my phone rang. It was not a familiar ring, so I quickly dried my hands, turned to run toward the phone, tripped on a dog, then the dishwasher door, slid on my slippers, and fell to the ground. I landed on my right thigh and wrist. Ouch.

My first instinct was to cry, but then I laughed. You see, when I was young, 3 or 4 years-old, I had some reflex issues. Of course I did not know this. All I remember of these issues was the testing I endured to make sure I was going to be okay. I recall being in a padded room, laying on my stomach across a big ball and that ball rolling forward. Unfortunately, I do not think I put my arms out to catch myself. I think I just fell on my face. That's a serious ouch. Not only did I fall on my head, but there was a good chance that I was not going to have good reflexes for the rest of forever.

Luckily, things change and I caught myself this time. Just like I caught myself when I fell down several metal stairs at my graduation party. Remember those bruises? And the time I ate it crossing the 24th Street and Tracy laughed hysterically at me. And the time I tripped in the flooding rain and all of my things scattered into pools of water on campus at UT? Yep, just like all of those times. And this hurts, just like it hurt all of those times.

To add insult to (real) injury, it was a solicitor calling. And he left a message. Grrr.

I tell you, falling when you are big is not fun. Off to drink my pain away.

An Old Dog Cannot Learn New Tricks

I have a terrible habit of letting the dogs sleep in the bed. In fact, this was one of the main reasons we got a king-sized bed. I love having the dogs all snuggled up. KP, on the other hand, hates it 95% of the time. So, the pugs all cuddle up to me. Good think I have created enough body mass to give them each a spot. Zeus is our fist pug. He is now seven. His hyperactivity changed to stubborn lethargy years ago. He is the alpha and everyone else knows it.

When we first got Zeus, he would sleep on my head or neck. This I did not enjoy. I am a side-sleeper, so Zeus soon moved to stretch out along my chest and stomach. I held him just like a teddy bear. Then we got Gus. I think Zeus was thankful to have a brother and allowed Gus to take over his prized spot in bed. Zeus moved to my knee pits. Imagine it: I am lying in bed, fetal position, Gus snuggled to my chest and Zeus snuggled to my legs. Makes for very warm, toss-n-turn free sleeping.

Every few hours, Zeus has to come out from under the bedding. He gets so hot when covered with layers of sheets, blankets, and comforters, that he can't catch his breath. He goes straight to his knee pit spot, except on top of the bedding. When he finally cools off, he nudges his way back to warmth.

Then, Mac came along. Mac is a different breed, well not really, but he might as well be. He has no particular spot, except that it has to be as close to KP or me as possible.

Last night, something strange happened. As Zeus was moving to his cool spot, Gus suddenly snuck in and took Zeus' warm spot. Zeus found himself lost. He circled the bed for a minute or so looking for a place to land, and finally ended up directly on top of Mac. I tried to encourage him to lay down in his original, now Gus', position, but he was having none of that.

At this point, I look up to see that it is 3 am and I have the sudden, strong desire to be asleep. Quickly, I dig under the covers, scoop Gus out, lift Zeus off of Mac, shove Zeus back to his desired nest, pull Gus back to me, and thrust my head back onto the pillow. Ahh, 4 additional hours of rest.

That Zeus, he's just as bull headed as his mama.

Wondering where KP was? Asleep on the couch. Why, you ask. Because he refuses to shower. Please give him shit.

Let Your Love Flow

And not in a gross, moist way.

That was for you Amy #1.

Tonight we spent the evening with our good friends; they fed us a fabulous meal. Who doesn't love king crab legs? As we sat around, Pauly D played the guitar, Amy #1 and I sang, and KP, well, he zoned out on his decongestants. I thought aloud, "I hope we remember these days."

I really do. I know the immediate future is up in the air and that it has the potential to change drastically. I know that little ones will want to crawl into the D's fire and that when they finally reach an age where we can trust that they wont want to lick burning flames, they will hate us. No really, they will think our singing is the worst they have ever heard, including American Idol 2019.

I hope we don't forget our carefree ways. I hope we remember the simple things. Friends. Family. Wine. Singing. Good Food. Dancing. Laughter.

I cannot think of an enjoyable time in my recent past that includes anything but the above.

That takes me to my title. KP bought me several bunches of flowers for my 29th birthday, 6 weeks ago. One single flower has survived all six weeks. And by survived, I mean I have not tossed it out. It has not disintegrated, nor has it flown out of my favorite Nambe vase and into the trash or an imaginary compost pile. It remains.



I would like to dedicate this song to my lone daisy. I tried to let my love flow.


Oh, and the word moist is dedicated to Amy #1. If you know her, please repeat it to her several times every time you see her.

Nine Years

A little vintage KP & ADP.

I have a cold and am a wuss, which means that I have been down for the count, as Mom would say. Last night, KP kindly drove me to drop off some paperwork across town. I complained about him not magically making me dinner on his way home from work and he tuned me out. On the way back down South I thought, this man is really good to me. If he was complaining about something so unreasonable, I would bite his head off or at least take a little chunk out of his arm.

At that moment, I realized that we have been together for nine years. NINE years.

We don't have a dating anniversary. KP squelched that early on. He didn't want to have to celebrate another "holiday" until we were stuck together for life. I guess that "I was his girl" sometime around the birthday I turned 20. Seriously, the way I knew we were official was that he introduced me as his girl. I still remember how nervous and excited those words made me feel. In this laid-back, severely understated way, he told me I had his heart.

Back to the car. After realizing that I have almost spent one-third of my life with this sweet, funny, wild man, I said, "Babe, did you know that we have been together for nine years? It certainly doesn't feel like nine years." He said, "Hm, feels longer?" I said, "No. It feels like time has flown. I can remember being 20 so well." He said, " I wonder what the rest will feel like." I said, "hopefully, an eternity."

In a Nyquil induced stupor, I woke this morning to pitchers of Gatorade and Orange Juice. And as an added bonus, KP did the dishes and put up all of the laundry. I am so grateful for his thoughtfulness. Happy nine-year-non-anniversary, KP.

Accumulation

Sue called at about 1o o'clock last night to tell me that she heard my town might be getting some accumulation. I told her it was already sleeting/snowing/hailing and that the accumulation had begun. She said she was jealous.

The precipitation coming down!

My car covered in ice, as seen through my 2" blinds!

The pug topiary with a little snow on his back. We decided to be good dog parents to those who breathe and let them sleep snuggled up with us. Oh, and by we, I do mean we. The pugs are little heaters that both KP and I enjoy cuddling in the winter.

The State of Real Estate - Weekly Update

In the past month, my friends, family, and naysayers alike have all begun asking about the real estate market. What they are really asking, many times, is how are you doing in this market? Honestly, my answer depends on who you are. The bones of my reply are always the same, but if you are a non-believer in the entrepreneurial spirit, I'll sugarcoat it for you some, just so you can't climb to the highest point of Frost Tower and shout, "I told you so!"

Now, if you are reading this, you probably know me and support my goals of rocking it in real estate. Therefore, you know that this market is no fun, for me or most other agents. I have also given you a straight answer about how it is affecting me, KP, our goals, and our future. And the disbelievers, I am sure you think I live in la-la land.

The truth is, the market is good. Prices are affordable, yet equity continues to build in most areas. Interest rates are the lowest they have been in four years, and the second lowest they have been in something like two decades. People can still get into homes with about 5% down, and the government has great incentives for first-time home buyers. All of that said, people are scared and are not buying.

Working in real estate, you hear, "you make your money on your buy," all of the time. No really, like twice a day. That overused statement means: If you buy at the right time, in the right neighborhood, for the right price, you will build equity at a fast pace. Then, when you go to sell, you won't need to ask for an unreasonable price in order to get your money's worth to buy a new home. You will get what you need out of your home in order to purchase your next good buy.

So, have I convinced you all to buy now? I didn't think so. Times are still scary, but this is when you will see the investors start to get more active, which is what appears to be going on. I do understand that buying a home is one of the biggest things people do (emotionally and financially), but logically, investing in real estate, whether it's your home or investment property still makes sense.

As for me, I have a couple of appointments this week that seem encouraging. I am keeping my head in this game. I do understand that I will need to supplement this work at some point very soon (and no, I am not going to work at Starbucks like order sis and Lukers would like), but I want to remain poised and available for the time when things pick up. It's just around the corner...

Beans

On Friday I made beans for the first time. Yep, you read that right. And why is this monumental or even worth typing about?

You see, growing up we had a bag of dried garbanzo beans in our pantry for as long as I can remember. Why did my Mom buy dried garbanzo beans? She probably didn't buy them at all. We moved so often there for a while, that those beans were probably previous inhabitants of one of our homes. I also remember a can of water chestnuts staring at me from the pantry of a couple of homes on Ferris Street.

Back to the beans. I was about 10 years old when my Mom decided to teach us to play poker. She got the cards out and sent us to come up with something to wager. Bellaire girls that we were, we searched for pennies and nickels. (Come on, it was the early nineties, before the dot com boom, when we would have searched for bills.) I guess Mom realized that it could become complicated if everything wasn't in the same denominator; she went into the kitchen to come up with a better plan. Out came the garbanzo beans!

(As a side, I also tried the water chestnuts that day. Crunchy, virtually tasteless, mostly pointless. I get their texture use, but think I could come up with something better in most cases.)

Until about six months ago, I had never seen anyone cook beans from their dried state. With a little coaching from Christine, the South Austin, famed, southern cook, I made my first pot of beans. I took the pot, wrapped in a Flintstones towel cause I am fancy like that, over to her house Friday night, where my beans were served with rice and cornbread and quickly devoured.

Now it's Monday again. Back to eating "right", which I am pretty sure is not supposed to include beans (with sausage). I bet a garbanzo bean soup with water chestnuts would be approved. But, that's not right in so many other ways.

Hooligans Broke into our House

They took all of our stuff, moved it around, put it where it doesn't belong, and left, without taking anything.




I am lying, of course. I like saying and writing the word hooligans, so I blamed the mess on them. KP and I most certainly did not create this mess over the past week and not even care to clean it up. We also most certainly did not have friends meet us over here, amongst our mess, for a drink before a holiday party elsewhere. Nope.

The pictures above do not include our bedroom for two reasons. 1) KP was still asleep this morning when I decided to document our filth. 2) It is so messy that it is embarrassing. I don't even know where to start in there. Can you identify the 5 pairs of shoes strewn about my living room? How about the 3 purses I have been switching between this weekend? A welding hood? Ok, that one's easy.

No worries, the washing machine is running, the dishwasher is cleaning, and I will be too, as soon as I finish my coffee and decide to get up from under my warm computer.

In other morning news, I woke to this face.



With this song in my head.


Nothing like waking up nose to nose with your youngest pup, smelly breath and all, and dropping a few F Bombs.

Soundtrack

Is it true that when you can't get a song out of your head, that it must be relevant to your situation? I just made that up. Really. I live my life by a constant soundtrack of moistly crappy music, because that's what I listen to and happen to enjoy. Each of you remind me of a song or two. Every time I hear a song that I connect to a person or situation, neither distance nor time can separate me from my people.

So, what's the song of the night? Here I go Again.

Catch a theme for today? Either it's motivation or hair. I am still sticking to the hair.

Buenos Noches.

Crickets and Elephants when I really Wanted Giraffes

So, this is the new 'do. It's a darker version of what I awoke to this morning, and it's sleeker, shinier, and oh-so-much more manageable. It does smell a little like a bon fire, but according to my fabu stylist, that's just a technicality caused by the near dozen products now clinging to my follicles.

I have always been a lover of the hair do. I distinctly remember (as does everyone in my family) the best hair cut of my life. I was in college and it was spunky, flirty, colorful, and fun. But damn was it a chore to fix. If I sported that 'do now, I'd be 10 years behind the times and might not have anyone take me seriously. But, that night at Landry's in Keemah, I thought older sis was so jealous of my wild wig that she could just kill me. Wait, maybe it was because of how many times I said, "I have the best hair cut EVER." Yeah, that's probably it. She doesn't really do jealousy.

This elephant-sized economic downturn has had me in the dumps. This morning I committed to having just one more day of pity and then I would have to move on. So what if I had a week from the trenches of debt, boredom, weight gain, and family concerns. Five full days of self-pity-indulgence is enough. But then something happened.

I walked into my salon, plopped myself in the chair and told my stylist to have her way with me. No dirty thoughts, please. The result is above. My summer-looking golden locks were transformed into a rich wintery brown with honey tones. My wild and frizzy mane was managed into a sleek bob. I am a new woman.

So, I'll have to explain the crickets, elephants, and giraffes later. I need to find some plans for the evening and get to showing this hair off.