Rarely do I ever have/get the cool keyword searches/phrases that Shannon Stacey gets, but this one, this one I’m :happy0194:

are me and heather going to do it tonight?

No, but thank you for the laugh. :kuss:

I do. :yahoo:

Seriously, it takes little to make me happy these days–okay, so that is a complete total lie, it takes a lot to make me happy. Turning my kitchen into a canning center today, making the whole house smell like vinegar and the kids going, “Euw, what’s that smell?”, playing, tasting and experimenting–made me happy.

I made 5 Pint sized jars–well, filled them with homemade–by yours truly–bread and butter pickles that would make my Grandma Betty extremely proud if she were here. I picked the cucumbers out of my garden, sliced them, soaked them and played with a recipe and feel certain these are as close to hers as I could get without her making them herself. Also thought of her when the bunny hauled ass out of the garden after s/he scared me to death. She’d called me a couple of years ago to check and see how my garden was because she’d heard there was a big old groundhog running around the town pillaging people’s gardens and she was concerned about mine. I miss her and our talks.

Is there one special dish that someone special made that you’d love to know how to make?

 

 

Is it National Asshole week?

Yesterday afternoon, the kids and I went shopping. We were enroute to The Mills via the Bypass ( people around here will follow this better ) when we decided we wanted to go to another mall because near the other mall near Pittsburgh, inside they have American Eagle, Hollister, Abercrombie…and they have a place called Plato’s Closet across from the mall. I’d never been so, we decided to stop at the McDonald’s out near Kmart. Now, they’ve been doing construction of some sort for weeks, proabably months. I’m not sure WHAT they’re doing out there and to be quite honest, I don’t think they know what they’re doing.

We shoot through the drive through at McDonald’s and are now going past a high school to a light. The light is green and there’s a guy holding one of those stop/slow signs across the intersection. I come to a complete stop even though the light is green and he turns the sign to slow. I start to pull forward and the light turns yellow. No problem, I think I have lots of time and besides, his sign says slow. I’m going slow. The other worker, we’ll call him the asshole comes running towards me and he yells into my window, “You think that red light is only meant for you!”

:what: I slammed on my brakes and my oldest is yelling, “Mom, just go.”

Nope.

I lean out my window. “Excuse me?”

“You went through the red light.”

I shake my head profusely. :flex: ”The light was yellow, buddy.” Okay, I don’t know if it’s finally hit me that I’m not smoking or the moodiness has finally hit or if I’m just going to have really crabby days–but I’m pissed–livid that he ran towards my moving car to yell at me for nothing. “And FYI, your flagman, he waved me on.” :finger: And I pulled away.

I didn’t give him the finger, but I wanted too.  I’m not a perfect driver, but he had to watch me come to a complete stop at the green light and since it was still green when the sign got turned, I assumed it was for me, because the SLOW was facing towards ME. He could’ve said, :doh:

 

 

What’s official?

My grandma called me this morning. She’s having her carpets cleaned and she didn’t want to walk on them while they were wet, so she’d scheduled a haircut. Then, she’s coming here for a Spaghetti dinner because she’s been craving it. She’d invited herself. But it’s okay, we’re all hungry for spaghetti. But this isn’t what’s official.

Nope.

This is what’s official.

“Heather, the beauty shop called and asked if I could go to my hair appointment earlier. I said I didn’t think it’d be a problem, but they said to call and make sure that it was okay with my ride.”

I’ve become a Taxi. :shock:

 

 

There’s something about Dallas that doesn’t agree with me. The last time I was in Dallas, I felt funky. This time was no exception. I hit the ground running on Thursday when I arrived and I don’t know if not truly getting any downtime made a difference or not, after all I am getting older.  I had fun, there are some stories and they will be posted, along with pictures. But right now, I need to catch up on a few things—emails and my children who just got home from a three week visit with their father—oh and I have a book coming out….tomorrow!

 

Nothing special planned today besides packing and grabbing last minute things to take with me to Dallas. But here’s a slice of virtual cake for all of you.

Best present I gave myself? This is day ten without a cigarette. :yahoo:

I’m going to the Def Leppard/Reo Speedwagon/ Styx concert with a couple of friends and My Guy, tonight. It’s at an Ampitheater and we plan on sitting on blankets if we get tired, in the grass. All my Grandma knew was that we were going to a concert. Any time my Grandma is bored or curious, you play a game with her called twenty or more–usually more–questions. Our conversation went a little something like this:

GM: What are you wearing?
Me: I don’t know.
GM: Are you going to dinner?
Me: Does McDonalds or Subway count?
GM: Why would you do that?
Me: Because we’re probably going to tailgate/party in the parking lot.
GM: Why?
Me: Because beer is outrageously expensive inside the gate.
GM: Inside the gate?
Me: Yup
GM: Is it outside?
Me: Yup
GM: It’s outside! What kind of concert is this?
Me: Rock and Roll.
GM: Oh, brother. There’s probably going to be dope there.
Me Thinking: Is the sky blue?
GM: You’re not saying anything. You’re not into that are you?
Me: No. I am not a dope smoker. ****
GM: What are you going to do if someone is smoking it near you?
Me thinking: Is this a pop quiz?
Me (smartassed and sarcastic as I can be): I’ll just say no. I’ll ask them politely to put it out.
GM: You’re making fun of me
Me: Yes, yes I am.

When my Aunt finished giggling at this story, she said maybe she’s onto something. Maybe we should all get high and then deal with her. That might work. :happy0194: Of course, I’m kidding.

I have a confession. :chair:

Got your attention?

I came out of the closet. The writing closet, that is with My Guy’s family. I don’t talk about my writing much offline, unless I’m on the phone with one of my writing buddies. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, it’s just that a lot of people don’t fully get it and after years of justifying it, you tend to give up. I believe we told his mom, and I know she saw the article last summer in the paper, but I think the pure shock of seeing no mention of My Guy ( entirely the paper’s fault ) I think she thought we broke up and was afraid to call.

A friend of mine makes baskets and candles, so I asked her to make me up something for My Guy’s mom and I put an autographed copy of my book in there. She loved the basket, loved the candle, looked at the book and set it down on the table.

Hmm. Maybe a bad call on my part.

Two days later, his mom called.

I’ll spare you all the details of our hour long conversation, but she said she loved it. She asked me a lot of questions about how I can write dialogue for more than one person and asked me when the second and third books were going to be done and if I had anymore that I’d written that she could read. The dusty manuscripts under my bed let out a small cry as I said no, not right now.

Fast forward to Father’s Day weekend. The Friday before, My Guy’s Parents had a weenie roast. My Guy’s sister came in from out of state and the whole fam damily was going to be there. In our hugs, his mom grabbed me and said, “I have an announcement to make. I want to introduce you all to author Heather Rae Scott.” :redface:  His dad, on a mission, came half running past us and he hollered, “Hey, when you are you going to give your mother-in-law your second book?” 

His sister out of state said she was going to read it and people congratulated me. Later, I was grabbing chips and one of the many of neices my guy has–our son is the only grandson–approached me. She said she was mad at her Nana. I said why? (She’s my daughter’s age ) She said sheepishly, “I was reading your book and Nana made me put it down and stop. Why did I have to stop?”

I explained that there were parts in the book that weren’t appropriate for her age. She asked me if I was ever going to write one she could read, because my book was very good. And I told her I’d see what I could do.

As we were going home, My Guy looked at me and said, “I told you so.”

I hate it when he gets to say that. ;)