In the past couple of days, I've started planning our annual holiday open house. I love entertaining but it's so hard to get everyone together in one place at the same time. This year, instead of trying to do it in the crazy few weeks before Christmas, I've decided to wait until the Saturday between Christmas and New Year's, when the big holiday rush has died down a bit.

Last year's party was a big success, although I had been miserably sick, recovering from strep throat with a fever that I just couldn't shake. We had about forty relatives, some neighbors and very close friends at the house. I made mini bacon-and-cheese quiches, hot crab dip, and shrimp cocktail, some baked ziti, and bought some catered food too...hot roast beef, green beans Amandine, roasted red bliss potatoes, and--undoubtedly the MOST popular item on the buffet line--Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets! Man, those things just about disappeared right before my eyes.

For dessert, I made a few trays of brownies and dozens of different kinds of Christmas cookies. The other big hit of the party was the electric, multi-tiered chocolate fountain that I won from my office's holiday gift exchange. I cranked that sucker up and put out long wooden skewers and yellow cake cubes, pretzels, and marshmallows for dipping.

This year the invite list has gotten bigger...I'm a little afraid that everyone is actually going to RSVP "yes!" Oh well, the more, the merrier, right?

Next steps: print the invites, mail them, and test some new recipes.

Any good recipe suggestions for a buffet?

Labels: decisions, family, friends, holidays

I'm thinking of getting another tattoo.

I never thought I'd be adding to the collection at this point in my life. But I've been contemplating it for the past few weeks...and what I'm thinking of getting is a small double-F script tattoo (the Foo Fighters logo) somewhere on my back.



Much like the one shown here on Dave Grohl's neck, only smaller. This picture is from the cover of their album There Is Nothing Left to Lose.

So...am I crazy? Be honest.

Labels: decisions, Foo Fighters, premature mid-life crisis, tattoos

Though I'm still toying with the idea of going for the QPFC designation, I saw some sobering statistics this morning:

Only 37 (!) people who sat for the PFC-1 exam passed it.

Only 17 (!!!) people who sat for the PFC-2 exam passed it.

Gulp.

Anyhoo...in keeping with the above title (quite literally), I'm going to a client meeting later this morning near Oxford, PA. With today's humidity level at nearly 100%, I'm sure to enjoy the lovely aroma of manure that permeates the air in that part of the world (DubyaTM). Most of the mushrooms consumed in the U.S. come from that region--Kennett Square, Toughkenamon, West Grove, et al. Called the "Mushroom Capital of the World." And you know what mushrooms are grown in, right? Yup. Horse and/or cow crap.

The last time I was down there for a client visit coincided with an intense heatwave back in July. I got out of my car and was just about knocked over by the stench of, um, that fresh country air.

I have no idea how people live there. It's a million miles away from everything, and it stinks.

That's all I got for today, folks.

Labels: decisions, travel, work

I must be crazy. Or a complete masochist, at least.

Remember how I had tied myself into a veritable ball of knots for the past year while studying for the ASPPA Qualified 401K Administrator designation? And how many hours of sleep I lost due to my extreme anxiety about taking those damn exams?

Well, just call me a total sucker for punishment. Because now I'm mulling over the idea of going for the latest ASPPA designation, the QPFC (Qualified Plan Financial Consultant). This designation is brand spanking new--it was just created this year.

I just have this thing for collecting as many designations as I possibly can. Most likely because I don't have a college degree and I feel like I need all the professional credentials I can get. I already have the NASD Series 6 and 63. I already have the Pennsylvania life insurance and annuities license. I already have the QKA designation.

Since I already have the QKA, ASPPA will waive two of the four exams for the QPFC designation for me. So that leaves only the PFC-1 and PFC-2 exams.

It's tempting. So very tempting. But studying for these exams is an enormous time-suck. Three months of my life devoted, in nearly a monastic way, to studying. Housework falls to the wayside. Working out falls to the wayside. My social life falls to the wayside. My marriage falls to the wayside. And yet, it's like a need. I must do it, just to prove to myself that I can. There is no other explanation.

In the week or so before the exam, I am an utter wreck. Insomnia sets in. I cannot fall asleep, and when I finally do, I cannot remain asleep. I cannot eat. I feel like there is a 250-pound weight on my chest, and I cannot take a deep breath.

After I pass the exam, I have no idea what to do with myself for at least a month. I feel like a stranger in my own life.

There are many things to consider, not the least of which is that The Huz and I are trying to conceive. I'm afraid that I will get pregnant and either lose interest in the exam altogether, or I will be so exhausted and mentally distracted that I'll fail it.

What the heck should I do?

Labels: accomplishments, decisions, work

I have a dilemma on my hands, people. As some of you may remember, we moved into a new neighborhood in August 2005. Since then, we've met most of our neighbors and they're very nice people.

BUT. (You knew there was a "but" coming, right?)

There is this family who lives two houses down and across the street from us. A husband, wife and at least two little kids. Maybe more. They also have a beagle.

My problem is the way this man treats the beagle. I have witnessed the guy screaming at the top of his lungs at this poor little dog. For the record, I have never seen any of the family members actually take the dog for a walk. Instead, they tether the dog to a stake in the front lawn and leave it out there for hours. It howls and whimpers, and occasionally the man sticks his head out the front door and yells at it to shut up. Why do people like this even own a dog?

Somehow, I've managed to look the other way about this since we moved in, but something happened yesterday afternoon that made my blood absolutely boil.

We had invited my parents and grandmother over for brunch to celebrate Mother's Day. They left around 2 p.m., and Brian and I stood on our front porch to wave goodbye as my mom's car began slowly driving down the street. As she passed that family's house, the beagle somehow got loose and darted in front of my mom's car in the street. My mother slammed on her brakes and thankfully, the dog ran back up on the lawn, unharmed.

The "man" of the house (I use that term with reservations) was doing some kind of garden work at the time and saw everything that happened. He hollered an apology at my mother, who I am sure was quite shaken by the close call. Then, as soon as the beagle returned to him on the lawn, he scooped it up in his arms and started beating it and screaming at it.

I watched this from our front step and Brian had to physically restrain me from marching across the street and giving this asshole a piece of my mind. How a grown man can beat a 25-lb dog is completely beyond me. Worse, what exactly are his young children learning from this? More than once I have seen the guy scream at and smack the dog right in front of his kids. It makes me sick and I feel like I should take action.

So the question is, what do I do? Do I ring his bell and try to speak to him about it myself? Do I call the Humane Society and let them deal with it? Do I send an anonymous letter? I don't even know their names, but I could find that out easily enough.

I am not a violent person, but when I see animals or children being mistreated, it just about puts me over the edge.

Labels: decisions, family, holidays, neighborhood stuff, pets

I did something this weekend that surprised even ME. I mean, I've been thinking about it for a while now...perhaps even a year or so...but what I bought on Sunday brought me just one step closer to the reality of what I believe will lead to the next chapter of my life.

I bought a basal thermometer.

I know...sounds ridiculous, doesn't it, because those five words appear so minor and meaningless. But you have to understand my position: I have spent over a decade trying to AVOID getting pregnant. So it feels fantastically and almost indescribably odd to turn in the other direction.

Scared to death and signing off for now...

Labels: decisions, health, life events, marriage, parenting, scary

I know I posted about this before, but I'm still stuck.

This past Saturday, our new sofa and chair for the basement arrived. They are upholstered in a brick reddish chenille. The sofa has two toss pillows upholstered in a geometric pattern, with little squares of the same color as the sofa, plus small chocolate brown and dark gold squares.

So what color should I paint the walls?

Here are some facts:

We are going for a cozy, masculine, pub-type of look.

The current carpet (which I hate) is a greyish-beige berber with little flecks of dark red, dark grey, and eggplant. Yuck, but I'll have to live with it for now.

The basement gets no natural light at all. The two windows down there are located in the unfinished part of the basement, behind closed doors. But there are many recessed lights in the ceiling of the finished portion of the room.

We're thinking of putting up chair rail moulding around the perimeter of the entire room.

I've been looking at a dark green with greyish undertones. Green is red's opposite on the color wheel, which supposedly is a good choice, according to many interior decorating websites I've seen. However, I'm afraid that putting a red sofa and chair against green walls will make it seem like Christmas year-round. Granted, the green is very dark, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

Then again, I've been looking at a chocolatey brown for the walls, a few shades lighter than the brown in the throw pillows.

Also, should I paint the wall two different colors if we do wind up installing a chair rail? Like a darker color on the bottom half of the wall and a lighter color on the top half?

Usually I am pretty good at picking colors and pulling a decorating scheme together. I don't know why I'm struggling so much this time. I think it's because the walls are currently two different but equally garish shades of robin's egg blue. It looks like a Smurf threw up all over the basement. If the walls were off-white, it would probably be easier to make a decision.

I promise I'll post some photos soon.

Labels: decisions, home improvement

...but going to see Def Leppard in concert most definitely takes some of the sting out of it!!

WOOHOO! A few friends and I are going to the Def Leppard/Journey concert in June at the Tweeter Center in Camden. You cannot possibly imagine how much this excites me. Going to see DL live represents the fulfillment of a lifelong dream for me. I can barely sit still, I am that amped!!

When I was a kid, my parents were pretty much like the Gestapo. Every television program, movie, and album I wanted was heavily scrutinzed before my parents decided whether or not I could watch it or listen to it. For example, I was not allowed to watch MTV (then again, the MTV of my youth was like Mr. Fucking Rogers' Neighborhood compared to the soft porn they broadcast these days!). I was not allowed to own any cassette tapes with the parental warning labels on them. I was not allowed to talk on the phone on school nights after 7 p.m.

Yeah, it sucked. And yeah, they had hell to pay for it in later years, when I rebelled by sneaking my boyfriends into my bedroom in the middle of the night and spending almost two straight years stoned off my ass. Let me tell ya, I could roll the TIGHTEST joint ever! Ahem. But those are stories for another post...

Anyhoo. In 1987, my cousin Tracie, who is eight years my senior and was, in my eyes, the arbiter of all things cool, turned me on to Def Leppard. I was about 10 years old. This was around the time when Hysteria was first released. For me, it was love at first listen. Not only did I immediately adore their music, but I also developed an extreme prepubescent crush on Rick Allen, the one-armed drummer.

All of my weekly allowance was funneled to the purchase of magazines like Metal Edge and Hit Parader, as I began to accumulate photos of the band. At one point, I had over four hundred posters and pictures of Def Leppard taped to the walls of my bedroom. My parents were suspicious, but they never made me take down those posters. Tracie, knowing how strict my parents were, made me a copy of Hysteria on a blank, unmarked cassette tape. I listened to it nearly every waking minute of each day, until it eventually was eaten by my Walkman.

I decided to take the chance and buy my own copy of Hysteria at Wall to Wall Sound and Video (remember that store?). Shortly thereafter, my parents were on to me. They read the playlist and saw song titles like "Women," "Pour Some Sugar on Me," and "Armageddon It" (my mother: "Is this that SATANIC music?!?") and immediately took the tape away from me. I was crushed. I begged and pleaded with them to give me back the tape, to no avail. They wouldn't even reimburse me the damn allowance money that I spent to buy it. I was crushed...but only briefly.

You see, what they DIDN'T realize was that I knew that they'd hidden the tape in one of the drawers of my father's dresser. So as soon as my parents weren't around, I snatched the tape and dubbed another copy of it for myself. Then I replaced the original back in my dad's dresser, and they were never the wiser.

I was a sneaky, underhanded, conniving child. Indeed.

So going to see Def Leppard in concert now is guaranteed to bring back all of those fond memories for me.

Plus, they're playing with Journey. Freaking Journey! DON'T STOP...BELIEVIN'!

(I know, Steve Perry hasn't been with Journey in years, so I'm kinda bummed out about that, but still. There is NO way I would miss this show.)

My real concern is, should I break out the acidwashed denim and curl my bangs sky-high for this show?

Labels: childhood, concerts, decisions, Def Leppard, family, friends, memories, music