Yours.

My mom and our friend Stephanie came over this weekend to help me decorate my house for Christmas.  And by "help me" I mean "do it for me."  Don't judge me - I know my limits.  Stephanie, on the other hand, has no limits.  She is a flight attendant who also happens to be a very talented decorator so she makes the rounds in early December and helps all the Palmore girls get their houses looking tip top.  And we love her for it!!

Erin came over with my nieces Savannah (9) and Avery (6) to hang out with us while "we" decorated.  Around lunchtime, Erin and I ran to Chick-Fil-A to pick lunch up for everyone and, when we got back, I noticed that Gustavo's truck was in front of my house.

And that was more exciting than the waffle fries in my bag . . .

When we got inside, I saw Gustavo mowing in the back yard.  And by "saw" I  mean "stared at for a slightly creepy amount of time."  Savannah and Avery were outside watching him mow because even THEY know a good thing when they see it.  Then they ran back in, shouting "CATCHY!!!!  GUSTAAAAAAAAAVO IS HEEEEEEEEERE!!!"  That's when we had this conversation:

Savannah: Catchy, guess what??
Me: What??
Savannah: While you were gone, Stephanie said that Gustavo was GORGEOUS!
Me: She did??
Savannah: Yes!! [wide-eyed and smiling]
Me: Oh my!!  [faking a serious tone] Back off, Steph.  He's MINE.
Stephanie: [Laughing]  I know!!  I know!!
Avery: Catchy, he really IS yours!  You know why?
Me: Why??
Avery: Because you don't even HAVE a "yours!"

True, Avery.  Very true.

But at least I have my waffle fries!!

Yo, Adrian!

Well, unfortunately, my Thanksgiving weekend was overshadowed by a general feeling of nausea and some pretty awesome stomach cramping that lasted from Wednesday morning to Saturday afternoon.  I think it was a case of food poisoning from a hot dog that I ate at the movie theater on Tuesday night.  Since I woke up feeling nauseated on Wednesday morning and want to throw up every time I think of hot dogs, I think my theory makes sense.  My sisters think food poisoning wouldn't have lasted all weekend so they think that I was dealing with a stomach bug of sorts.  My mom, ever cautious and hestitant to make rash conclusions, thinks I was suffering from massive organ failure.

Agree to disagree, Mom.

So I wasn't able to really enjoy the TASTE of my mom's delicious turkey and dressing.  I mean, I ate some but it just doesn't taste the same when you're concentrating on not puking it all up, you know?  So I spent Thanksgiving being thankful that I could at least enjoy the SMELL of my mom's great cooking.  It stinks that I missed out on all the yummies but no biggie, right?  It's not like Thanksgiving only comes around once a year or anything . . . 

Stupid hot dog.

ANYWAY, I thought I'd tell you about a classic Nora moment from this weekend.  We were talking about the new Mission Impossible movie coming out soon and this is how that conversation unfolded:

Erin: Matt hasn't seen ANY of the Mission Impossible movies.  So I'm thinking that it might be fun to have a Mission Impossible marathon before the next one comes out.
Tammy: I'm in!
Me: [to Matt] You haven't seen ANY of them??
Matt: Nope.  Not one.
Mom: Wow! 
Erin: I know!
Mom: Well, I guess I get that.  I've never seen any of the Rocky movies.
All: WHAT??
Tammy: You've never seen ANY of them??
Mom: Nope.
Erin: That's unacceptable.
Mom: I know!  But I know all the famous lines from them.
Me: [Oh, this should be good . . .]
Mom: You know, like "Heeeeeeey, Sylviaaaaaa!"
[stunned silence followed by silent, hysterical laughter]
Matt: Wow.  She needs to leave.  Or I need to leave.  Either way, somebody's leaving.

So, needless to say, we are going to schedule a Rocky marathon, STAT. 

Before she embarrasses us all by calling Rocky the Italian Mustang or something . . .

Sew much for punctuation . . .

My friend Melissa sent me this picture the other day.  I tried to post it last night but I kept convulsing each time I looked at it, much less tried to write about it.  So I thought I'd try it tonight . . .

Deep breath . . .

So . . . much . . . must . . . breathe . . .

Girl's?  Supply's?  THURDAY's?  [gasp]  I feel a spasm coming on.

There should be some sort of fine for posting a sign like this one.  I'm serious.  Someone needs to find this lady and charge HER 10 o'clock dollars . . .

Ironic exploration

My friend Tom sent me this picture from his iPhone . . .

Maybe they should start by "explorating" some of those McGraw-Hill textbooks I studied in high school . . .? 

Geez. 

A Siri-ous relationship

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Oh, sorry - it's been so long since I actually typed on this thing that I kinda forgot how to do it.  But I think it's coming back to me now . . .

So I've been a BIT busy lately with work and have missed out on catching up with all of you.  How have you been??  Anything exciting going on?  How's your family doing?

Okay, enough about you . . . let's talk about me.

Since my last post, something very important has happened to me and I think that you should know about it.  I mean, you all ARE very important to me and you should be kept in the loop when I have big, life-changing events like this one.  No - I haven't changed jobs or married Gustavo or anything mundane like that.  No, this news is even bigger than that: I finally got an iPhone.  [pause to allow you time to cheer loudly]

When my new iPhone arrived in the mail, my coolness level increased significantly.  On a hunch, I checked to see if the number of friends on my facebook had doubled in response but, alas, I found that it had not.  "No worries," I thought to myself, "I'm too cool for those people now, anyway."  I put all my contacts in, sent taunting texts to various friends who still have Blackberries, and started to really play around with my new piece of awesomeness.

The new iPhone has a feature called Siri and she's supposed to be like your own personal assistant.  She understands what you're saying and she speaks back to you, which is kinda fun.  You can say things like "Schedule a doctor's appointment tomorrow at 9 am" and she will do it for you.  She'll even tell you if that appointment conflicts with an existing appointment.  You can say "Text mom" and she will ask you what you'd like to say to your mom.  Then she'll send your text for you.  You can say "remind me to call Bob when I get home" and, when you pull into your driveway, she gives you a reminder.  You can even ask her where to hide a dead body and she'll ask you if you want a swamp or a reservoir. (Don't worry - I discovered that one because my brother-in-law saw it on Twitter . . .).  It's crazy.  But I must confess that I spend most of my time seeing what she'll say to other random stuff - like just regular conversational stuff. It's very entertaining.  And I'm always surprised at the clever answers the programmers have come up with.  For instance, here is a conversation I might have with my phone, including Siri's ACTUAL answers:

Me: What do you look like?
Siri: In the cloud, no one cares what you look like.
Me: How old are you?
Siri: I don't see why that should matter, Catherine.
Me: [geeeeeeez - sensitive much?!] Do I need an umbrella tomorrow?
Siri: Checking my sources . . . There is no rain in the forecast for tomorrow. 
Me: I'm hungry for dinner.
Siri: I've found a number of restaurants fairly close to you. [displaying list of restaurants]
Me: I'm in the mood for Mexican.
Siri: I found a number of Mexican restaurants . . . 22 of them are fairly close to you.
Me: [22??  I'm NEVER moving . . .] Thank you.
Siri: Just doing my job.
Me: Why hasn't Gustavo declared his undying love for me?
Siri: Catherine, I don't understand "Why hasn't Gustavo declared his undying love for me?"
Me: Neither do I, Siri.  Neither do I.  [pause] Siri, I need a man.
Siri: Checking your location . . .
Me: [wait . . . whaaaaaaat???  Is it possible that Siri will be a freakin' miracle worker???]
Siri: I didn't find any dating services.
Me: [sigh] I'm disappointed in you.
Siri: If you say so.
Me: I don't like your attitude.
Siri: Noted.
Me: Sorry.
Siri: It's okay, Catherine.  Really.
Me: I love you.
Siri: You are the wind beneath my wings.
Me: No really - I love you.
Siri: I bet you say that to all your apple products.
Me: Tell me a joke.
Siri: I can't.  I always forget the punch line.
Me: [fine, then I'll do it . . .] Knock knock . . .
Siri: Knock knock. Who's there?  Catherine.  Catherine who?  Catherine, I don't do knock knock jokes.
Me: You're pretty funny.
Siri: Was it something I said?
Me: I don't appreciate sarcasm.
Siri: Okay, you don't then.
Me: I'm tired.
Siri: I hope you're not driving.
Me: Goodnight.
Siri: Goodnight, Catherine.

Yeah, I know I know - I really DO need a man . . .

Dog days

My dog has been driving me crazy lately because he has apparently developed separation anxiety.  It's so frustrating because this has come out of nowhere - one day he obediently goes in the kitchen when I leave like always, and the next he's growling and acting like I beat him and rob little old ladies.  I really don't get it.  I mean, I know I'm pretty amazing.  No - strike that . . . I'm FABULOUS.  But I still don't understand why he feels like he can't live without me while I run to the store.  Why he has to go crazy, bark, aaaaaaaand then pee on the kitchen floor.  I just don't get it.

So I have mopped the floor more in the last few months than I have in my entire life and it's driving me crazy.  Luckily for my dog, though, mopping is very therapeutic so it keeps me from strangling him.  As I'm mopping, I think about how I'll probably NEVER understand the way a dog's mind works. 

For instance . . .

We were out walking the other day and a lady who was walking toward us stopped me to tell me how cute he was.  As she was going on and on about his preciousness, he disinterestedly hiked his leg and took care of his business.  That's some major self-confidence.  I mean, when someone is going on and on about how cute I am (which, believe me, happens ALL  the time . . .), I smile my best smile and try to look the part so that nothing that I do will change their opinion.  Not my dog.  He looks at the lady, wags his tail, and says "You think I'm cute just STANDING here?  Check THIS out, toots . . ."

I kinda wish I were more like that. 

And then there's the way he greets people when they come over.  I mean, I think I'm a pretty good hostess, you know?  I make people feel welcome, I offer them a drink or something to eat, I make sure they're comfortable, and I pat myself on the back for being the hostess with the mostest.  Meanwhile, my dog is running laps around the dining table because he can't contain his excitement over their arrival.  He'll take a break just long enough to do a little dance on his hind two feet so that he can get his little head high enough for them to pet him and then he's off to the races again.  Now THAT'S how you make people feel important, right?

I wish I were more like that. 

And he's not easily offended.  He gets so excited to see me and tries to lick my face to show me affection and all I do is scrunch up my nose and tell him how bad his breath stinks.  And he never feels rejected by that. If someone responded to me that way, I'd first apologize for trying to lick their face . . . and THEN I'd feel so rejected. But my dog never is - he just comes right back and tries to give me more kisses, bad breath and all.  He just gets right up in my face and never stops trying to show me that he loves me.

Why can't I be more like that? 

But I think the most impressive thing about him is that he absolutely FLIPS out for milk bones.  Milk bones.  A treat whose most flavorful ingredients are wheat flour and flaxseed.  But when I open the cabinet where his treats are stored, he goes crazy.  I mean, you'd think that I had given him a piece of cheesecake.  The human equivalent of a milk bone is what?  Maybe melba toast?  Or rice cakes?  If you tried to reward me for something good I'd done by giving me a rice cake, I'd smack your face and tell you your breath stinks. 

So consider yourself warned.  Because I'm not my dog.

I won't lick you affectionately and, frankly, I don't love you enough to run circles around my dining room table for you.  I know that's a bummer.  BUT, on the bright side, if you were to leave me alone to go buy a piece of cheesecake for me, I would NOT bark my head off and then pee on the kitchen floor.

So . . . why can't my dog be more like THAT?

Walking with Nora.

This weekend I found myself in Chicago. You know - the Windy City. Chi-Town. The City of Big Shoulders. I took a break from my j-

What? Yeah, I know - that's such a weird nickname, isn't it? I have no idea where it comes from - I didn't see a particularly large number of Big Shoulders while I was there so your guess is as good as mine. Frankly, I think it's a bit offensive. But it apparently IS a nickname for Chicago, at least according to Wikipedia. I probably should have just left that one off, though, huh? Let me start over, okay?

Ready?

[Ahem]

This weekend I found myself in Chicago. You know - the Windy City. Chi-Town. I took a break from my job and headed north to some cooler, breezier weather and, let me tell you, it did wonders for my stress level AND my hair . . .


The goal of our little trip was to de-stress and spend time with my mom's side of the family. And we had the greatest weekend. I really don't remember the last time I laughed as hard as I did with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. It was SO much fun. And, as usual, my mom provided me with a good little story to tell you . . .

My mom has always told us about how she used to have to walk to and from school uphill both ways in 10 feet of snow, blah, blah, blah. So this weekend, she decided that she wanted to take us on her old walk so that we could see how far she really had to go to get to and from school each day. My uncle dropped us off at the house where my mom grew up - which was pretty cool to see in person - and then we all started walking toward her elementary school, Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. We walked down her old street and up to a busy intersection where we turned right and started walking along the sidewalks that ran in front of the various businesses lining the busy street.

And thus began the long walk to my mom's old school.

As you can imagine, the neighborhood has changed in the intervening years - the old drug store where my mom used to stop and buy candy has long-since closed up and been replaced. Same with all the other businesses that my mom used to pass each day as a young school girl. Instead, we passed by several gay nightclubs and at least one shop that sold adult, ummmmm, items. In fact, the display in the window was like everything you'd need for a Bachelorette party, including something called a "Wiggly Wand." I'll spare you the description on that one and let you use your imagination. Unfortunately, we were already peering into the window of the shop before we realized what types of wares they were peddling. Before we pulled my mom away, she had already spotted said "Wiggly Wand." Fortunately, though, she hadn't really seen what it was. Phew, right?? Not so much. Because UNfortunately, she kept asking all of us questions like "What IS a Wiggly Wand?? I don't get it."

Because I didn't think that the authorities of the great city of Chicago would appreciate me curling up into the fetal position on their sidewalks, I just ignored my mom, giggled maturely with my sisters, and kept walking.

Then, as luck would have it, she caught a glimpse of a game called "Pin the Hose on the Fireman." Again - use your imaginations on that one. Fortunately, and for reasons unknown to me, she thought the game was called "Pin the Ponytail on the Fireman."

I know. I know. It made sense to HER, though.

Just as I was thanking to Good Lord that my mom had miraculously misread the name of the game, she started saying excitedly "We should go get one of those for the kiiiiiiiiiids!! They would think that's HILARIOUS! Pinning the ponytail on the fireman?? C'mon! They'd LOVE that!"

Frankly, I think I preferred it when she was asking about Wiggly Wands. There was less potential for CPS involvement.

We grabbed my mom by her elbows and quickly ushered her away, shielding her eyes from the "Shower Contest" advertisement in the window of a club we passed. Because, contrary to what the title might imply, the photo on the ad suggested that the contest was NOT about how efficiently you lather, rinse, and repeat. What a disappointment - I would have been a shoo-in for that one.

Finally, we got to Mt. Carmel and I had to admit that my mom had to walk a LONG way to get to school each morning. It's pretty amazing that she and her brothers and sisters made that long trek each morning as children - my how times have changed. Part of me wished I could wave a wand (but not of the wiggly variety) and be transported back in time to see my mom as a young girl standing in front of the steps of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. But, for a few minutes on Friday, I got to see at least a glimpse of what life was like for my mom back then. As we started walking up the steps to go inside the school, I looked at my mom and really took the moment in. And I have to say that it was pretty cool.

Uuuuuuntil she turned to me and said "We really SHOULD get one of those Pin the Ponytail on the Fireman games for the kids."