And the beat goes on

24 swings, and 22 strikes, at the cages.  Next time it's slow pitch softball...

As if the charge I racked up last week at Big-O for a set of tires wasn't enough, I had to make a return trip today for an alignment.  For almost 2 hours I paced and sat and stood among stacks of expensive rubber, applied and reapplied hand sanitizer and watched the incoming crowd with similar tire troubles.  A young kid needed a flat repaired, just as I did last summer, but 15 bucks later, his fix wasn't as free as mine had been.  Oh, the perks of being a female in a greasy tire shop.  One woman claimed struts cost less in Georgia and was planning to drive across the country to get them, dangit.  An old man had animals on his suspenders and a biker woman was tardy to her appointment because she had to "put on her face."  A few guys even dared to twist the candy machine for a handful of Skittles.  Unfortunately, my Purell wipes were in my car.  I even eavesdropped on a phone conversation,"Let's get Chinese for dinner tonight.  Okay. Okay."  Click.  No hello, no goodbye, and not even a hint of love.  Signs you've been married for over 40 years...  

And then to get in touch with my feminine side, I shopped at Target for mascara and egg whites and treated (okay, not really a treat when I do it every month) myself to a mani and pedi.  There were a handful of eager workers waiting for the next set of fingers and toes, so imagine my disbelief when I was greeted by the same woman who, on my last visit, gave me the worst damn pedicure known to (wo)man.  This time I vowed to speak up at the first hint of shoddy work.  I kept my cool.  Two minutes later she was called to handle a late appointment and politely excused herself.  Whew!  Someone else would take over!  God so wanted me to have pretty toes!  After my soak and scrub I looked down to see all ten toes turning black (it looked brown in the bottle!) so I felt a bit silly when I requested a French instead.  Oops.  

This weekend is Doors Open: Denver, an annual event for public peeks into historic buildings across the city.  Lisa, Dave and I made a few stops, one of them at the Scottish Rite Masonic Center; I'm still a bit unclear at the purpose of this men's club, but it does involve a costume collection worth nearly 3 million dollars (that got my attention).  So naturally, one of the men was dressed in a kilt, and as I was admiring his pretty knit knee high socks, I got a view of, shall we say, his Britney.  I appreciate a man in a kilt, but you still gotta do it like a lady...

Pretty in pink

        

A little bit country

I wonder who was more embarrassed in the produce aisle at Safeway: the cute guy dressed in baby blue Ralph Lauren flannel pajama pants and house slippers, or me, dressed way under par in a t-shirt and tennis shoes and messy hair.  Of course words and vegetable tongs were exchanged (Murphy's Law) as we took turns scooping up broccoli and carrot sticks.   And I should know better: Safeway is the scene.

And how convenient that Amazon.com saves your credit card number for easy check out.  Last week, on a whim, I decided to purchase Super Natural Cooking by Heidi Swanson, chef and photographer extraordinaire and author of one of my favorite websites, 101 Cookbooks.  Without even thinking, a quick mouse click added the item to my cart, another took me to checkout.  And just one more click and viola!, the book was mine.  Absent was the tedious step of entering my credit card information, which had it been requested, I would've closed the window instead.  Clever indeed; I wonder if more websites are this savvy.  Perhaps I should enter my information into the Frye website should I ever have the sudden urge to buy those lovely (albeit pricy) boots.  Who knew e-commerce could get any easier?

Saturday, as mom and I were walking into the stock show, I overheard a woman exiting say she wanted to get the hell out of there.  It was cold and windy and dusty outside and a small pickup truck was covered in anti-Obama and God lovin' (yeehaw!) bumper stickers, conditions almost expected for any type of country shindig.  But I smiled the moment I smelled the sweet aromas of hay and BBQ, onions and farm animals.  My boots weren't Justin Boots and my hair wasn't as big and curly as those Texas rodeo queens, but there was something attractive about the cowboys selling farm equipment and water tanks and horse saddles.  I almost wish I would've eaten an onion blossom and turkey leg just to get the whole experience.  The rodeo reaffirmed my beliefs that I would date a cowboy, learn to ride a big white horse, and one day, enroll my kids in mutton bustin lessons.  I even purchased black and white cowhide coasters that will have to do until I have my very own full size rug.  The antler chandelier, however, will have to find another home.