Fug or Fab - The Deck Edition

Remember way back last spring when I lamented about the state of our deck? Well in true slacker fashion we did nothing about it until last week.

What we discovered was that in addition to leprosy, we also had a number of boards that needed to be replaced. There is a large Redbud tree on the south side of the deck. It provides wonderful shade, but also drip, drip, drips moisture all year round. So the number of boards that needed to be replaced turned out to be more than we originally thought.

Bad picture sent by the Saint via crackberry

I chose a nice semi-transparent stain for the deck only to be informed that it would have to be painted. Otherwise the "new" wood and the "old" wood would give our deck a somewhat uneven appearance. You may recall choosing paint colors is NOT my thing. Especially from a postage sized paint chip sample and under time pressure. (I told the Saint the week before that I needed to see a BIG swatch, or preferably a couple of boards painted, before I made my final decision. He claims he remembers no such conversation. GAAHH!!)

So take a look bleeps,

What do you think?

Is "Human Flesh" a poor color choice?

Or is it just me?

The Weekend

The Saint and I had a truly excellent weekend. We went to dinner, we saw a movie (Juno, loved it.), we did some shopping, we went to lunch, we saw another movie (Charlie Wilson’s War, also very good), we met friends for dinner, and just generally relaxed.

The weather was frigid, still is, so there was a lot of dropping this princess off at various doors so she wouldn’t freeze to death walking from point A to point B. We had lunch on Saturday at this quasi Italian place. (What? It was close to the movie theater.) I was seated while the Saint was parking and the earnest young server brought water and asked if I’d like a drink. The conversation went something like this:

Me: “I’ll have a Campari Soda.”

Server: blank stare, whaaa?

Me: making eye contact and speaking clearly, “I’ll have a Campari and soda with a lime.”

Server: “I’m sorry?”

Me: slowly and with great emphasis “I’ll.Have.A.Campari.And.Club.Soda.With.A.Lime.”

Server: nodding “Sure thing.”

He scurries off and the Saint comes in and is seated. Now, I can see the bar over the Saint’s shoulder from where I’m sitting. I watch the bartender fix my drink and also realize that he has a look of concern on his face. For that matter so does the server. They both examine the bottle of Campari. They both sniff the bottle. Then the server smells my drink and passes it back to the bartender who does the same. I start laughing. I say to the Saint, “Oh my God, they think the bottle turned!”

Now the bartender pours a wee draught into a glass. The server tastes it and is very much convinced that this can not possibly be what it’s supposed to smell or taste like. (In fairness, Campari looks a lot like Grenadine but it tastes…well…NOTHING like Grenadine.)

I’m still finding the entire scene endlessly amusing. The server shrugs, shakes his head and with much trepidation approaches the table. Before he can even set the drink down the Saint calmly remarks, “Dude, don’t worry, it’s SUPPOSED to smell like that.”

My hero.

Catch and Release

I used to say that my girls had an awesome catch and release program. Boys would come into their lives, hover about for a bit, and then be released to move on. Is it not only fair they be rotated back into the cosmic line-up after all?

The problem is that for the most part? The boys never actually LEAVE. Hell, I have "couch sitters" from three and four years ago that still circle around. Remember this sad story? The dude drove Precious Oldest back to school on Sunday! Seriously! The kid who was heartbroken! And when he came to the door? Can you say "awkward"? Do I give him a hug? Acknowledge the, ahem, "new" relationship? What?

Precious Youngest "went out with" a boy in eighth grade. (You do know they don't go anywhere? Or do anything? Except occasionally in mass numbers? Find a different name for it if all you do is sit on my couch and eat my snacks!) This boy is still around; a friend. Last year he dated a girl from a different high school. When they broke up? Precious Youngest kept the ex-girlfriend too. ( A good enough friend to lend Precious Youngest a dress when I was too mean to buy her one.)

This is not the silly break up, get back together, break up, rinse, lather, repeat either. I mean these boys come over to hang out. Have a burger. Watch the game.

So here's the question: Is this typical teen behavior or do my daughters need therapy?

Don't call your mother Dude!

Mother. Mom. Mommy. These are just a few of the names I will answer to. Why then, does Precious Youngest begin most of her remarks directed to me (especially when she is aggravated by some particularly egregious comment I’ve made; e.g. “Is you homework finished?’, “Is your laundry done?”, “Is your room clean?”, “If I go up there will I think your room is clean?”) with “DUDE……”? Really, should you address your mother as "dude"?

When I express to her that I would prefer she not call me “dude” she gets all huffy. Her excuse is that the use of the word “dude” is simply “part of her teenage vernacular”. (Um, yeah, my kids are big ole’ debating, forensicating, AP English taking geeks. They can and do use words like “vernacular” in a sentence correctly.) Nevertheless, I find the practice less than charming and have not figured out a way to break the habit.

Has anyone else had this problem and discovered a cure? Please advise!!!