The Secret Language of Bees-ness

When you are in a committed relationship, sometimes you find that you have a secret language with the other person. "You're a turkey" means 'I love you', "Burgers for dinner" means 'Let's have sex', and you both practically convulse with laughter when anyone mentions 'brownies'.

And other people just don't get it.

But relationships are only one of many things in life that you have to know the secret language of to enjoy.

Take for instance: Starbucks. Have you ever wondered what those teenagers texting with one hand, swiping Daddy's debit card with the other were really ordering? What in the hell are they talking about?

I am going to assume you have a basic concept of coffee and available coffee drinks, and offer just a few insights into the secret language of coffee. If you need more info, please ask.

Latte: Shot of espresso with steamed milk and a bit of foam.
Cappuccino: Much like a latte, but about half steamed milk and half foam.
Americano: Shot of espresso diluted with hot water.

Dry: Less milk and more foam. Used most commonly with a cappuccino when wanting a stronger coffee taste and less milk. Hint: ordering a drink dry only works with a drink including milk.

Wet: Again, used most commonly with cappuccinos. Opposite of Dry - this drink has more milk and less foam. Not quite a latte, but more than half full of milk.

Small: Supposedly, you can order an 8 oz drink that is smaller than the normal 12 oz 'tall'. As I like my drinks like I like my men, I haven't tested this one out. Let me know if you try it.

Breve: Maybe its listed on the menu, maybe its not. I can't remember. Basically, this is a latte made with half-and-half. If I remember correctly, some diets recommend this drink. Don't remember why (my memory sucks!) but has something to do with either fat, sugars or calories. But don't quote me on that.

Not too difficult to understand this secret language. Any coffee guru worth their weight in free trade beans would gladly help you decode this in your local cafe.

Sometimes its even easier to decode secret languages. I had always heard about In-and-Out Burger, and after moving to Arizona two years ago, I have been addicted. It is the only place besides my home that I will eat a burger. I trust their meat. But, even though the menu only lists burgers - I don't have to eat one. Now I know I can order a grilled cheese. Or order a burger animal style. Or protein style.

Oh, just check out this website and see for yourself.
http://www.in-n-out.com/secretmenu.asp

It makes me wonder. . . . . what else am I missing because I don't know its there?

My brother is getting married in four days. . .

'Nuff said.

At least we're not in foreclosure!!!

Toilet repair: $100
Patio turf removal: $500
Garbage disposal fix: $85
Tree removal: $800
Air conditioning repair: $465

Owning your own home: EXPENSIVE

Sigh. We've only been in this house one year. Only 49 more years to go until it's paid off!

Hey good-looking, whatcha got cooking??

Right before I married, I was given some very wise advice.

"Don't do anything in your first year of marriage that you won't want to do for the rest of your life."

And, I remember thinking at the time - "What could there possibly be that I don't want to do for the rest of my life? I love washing my husband's shorts and pairing his socks. I love scraping caked-on food off dirty dishes! I don't mind. . . because it's for him!"

What an idealistic bride I was. And what bullshit.

I really don't have any problem with laundry or dishes. For me, those are two soothing ways to clean and relax. Honestly.

What I really hate is cooking.

If you ask me what I'm making for dinner, I will tense up. My body goes rigid, my muscles clench and my head starts pounding. Why? Because I have no idea what we're having for dinner. All I know is I am not cooking it.

See, I really didn't take the wifely advice to heart. (If I had, the dirty socks from last year would still be under the bed and our furniture would never have been dusted.) But I didn't change what I normally did. Before I was a wife, I paired socks and hand-washed delicates. I loaded and unloaded dishwashers. I dusted furniture, and spent extra time once a month on baseboards and windows.

But I didn't cook.

I watched my roommate's cook. I might have even helped them dice and chop a few times. But my crowning culinary achievement was in college when I taught my roommie how to make bagel pizzas. (Preheart oven to about 350. Take a bagel, split it in half. Cover with leftover pasta sauces. Douse with cheese and top with your choice of bell peppers, pepperoni and sausage. Throw in oven until cheese darkens and bubbles.)

Hubby, on the other hand, cooks. In college, he would spend an entire day making the perfect stew, perfect chili or perfet five-course meal. And I would watch. Usually drinking something cold and alcoholic. Occasionally I would help dice, but we didn't always like blood with our food.

So, when I got married, I didn't change a thing. I did all the normal cleaning stuff I didn't mind, but I never had food on the table when Hubby came home from work. I never wore a little apron and pulled a roast out of the oven just as - perfect timing! - Hubby walked through the door. I never had anything more planned than a bowl of guacamole and some chips.

And, to this day, I still don't have supper waiting. Hubby comes home from work and opens up the fridge to start cooking. Or he calls on the way home to ask what we have in the pantry that we could use. But he doesn't ever ask what I am making for dinner.

Because he knows there are no buns cooking in this oven.

Love is hardwood floors and a white picket fence

I love my home.

I love that I send money each month towards my mortgage - not rent - to, essentially, my future self through an investment rather than to some fat cat landlord who can't be bothered to fix outdated outlets or a backed-up toilet.

I love the paned glass window frame I found at Goodwill that hangs right next to my front door.

I love that I come home and immediately am comforted by the familiar, loving things I keep around me. The pictures of holidays and vacations. An old typewriter that sits near my writing place. An antique pitcher filled with sunflowers. A teapot with feet. My most loved and precious belongings - my books - strewn in every direction, covers cracked, pages folded over and some - very few, but admittedly, some - with stains from long ago spilt drinks. Because what good are the things I love if they are kept pristine and stiff as if in a museum?

I love the wall where family wedding pictures (grandparents, parents, US) hang in antique frames. And spaces for future weddings are already reserved.

I love the juxtapositioning it takes to make a home from the random shit that two completely different and opposite people bring into a marriage. His football helmet next to my Brazilian chess set. My books lined up above his guitars. The list goes on.

But most of all - and I just realized this tonight as I made my way across a dark kitchen floor to grab a glass of water (aren't the most important things realized in the simplest of times) - but most of all. . .

I love knowing where all the light switches are without having to fumble and grope along the wall.

Just a day like any other!

The first thing Hubby says when he gets home from work everyday is "Tell me your story!"

Why? Because it seems that I have so many stories of crazy things that happen every day. Either none of this stuff happens to other people, others don't pass on their stories, or they don't dramatize them the way (Drama Queen that I am) do. It seems like I always have something to report.

But I digress.

Yesterday. . . .

About 2 in the afternoon, I went outside to wash my car. Spent about 45 minutes in my driveway, washing and vaccumming and all that good stuff. Came inside, took a shower and was starting my after-cleaning routine when I heard "Residents, stay inside your homes. No one leave your home. No one leave your home."

WHAT?!?!?

Where was that voice coming from?? Was it God? Why would He tell me to stay in my home? I checked my shower radio to make sure I had turned it off. Yup, it was off. And the voice sounded like it was on a bullhorn outside of my home. Hmmm. . . maybe I was just imagining things. But just to be on the safe side, I made sure our house alarm was on, all doors locked and all blinds/curtains closed.

Because then I peeked out of the window to see a helicopter circling my home. Not circling my neighborhood, not circling my city. It looked like it was circling MY HOME!

My thoughts: Although I might have been imagining the bullhorn voice, I might not have been, either. Best to stay in my house and watch from a window. (And - OMG! - not twenty minutes earlier, I had been outside, washing my car, and something could have been happening right in front of me!!!) It was probably border control finding a drop house. Or maybe they caught a robber, and he was racing - like robbers do in the movies - from backyard to backyard, hopping fences and dodging pools. So, I carefully continued to peek out the window to catch a glimpse of something.

This went on for about 45 minutes.

Forty-five minutes of the helicopter overhead. Of not knowing what was happening. Of frantically searching the internet for any story that might make sense of all this.

Nothing.

Finally, about 4:30-ish, I realized the helicopter was no longer buzzing overhead. And I was SO curious as to what happened.

So, Dog and I took a walk to check the mail. We ran into two young school-age girls walking home who asked me what had happened. I told them about the helicopter, but admitted that was all I knew. They told me this: Their school - three blocks away- had been on lockdown since 3:05 (the time the buses normally ran). Everyone was put into the rooms, doors locked and buses not leaving the schoolyard. They had just been dropped off by their bus, and seen about 10 police cars lined up and down the major street our complex turns in from.

Since it was safe enough for kids to walk home, I figured it was safe enough for me to walk around the neighborhood some more. Dog and I walked around our complex, only to find - at a house two streets directly behind my home - about five police cars in the middle of the street and a house wrapped in caution tape.

Oh, shit.

I was going home, locking the doors and waiting for Hubby to come home.

But, it was kind of exciting (terror always is!) and it was more exhilarating than scary. I liked being in the middle of something crazy - as long as I wasn't really IN THE MIDDLE OF IT.

We found out, after reading and watching the news, that some bank robbers that have hit over 15 banks in the Phoenix area were caught after robbing a bank in my sleepy little town. Police had chased them to a field near our neighborhood, and then went to find their accomplices (whom - I think - live in the house surrounded by caution tape).

Oh yeah, it wasn't JUST city police. According to the online news, those cornering the men were police from FOUR of the cities surrounding our town and - get this! - the FBI!!!!

A police press conference is supposed to be held sometime today. I can't wait to hear what they say. Think anyone would buy our house now if we put it on the market??

And that's my story. :)

Take a walk with me. . .

I like to walk down memory lane just as much as anyone, so when I saw this on a friend's blog, I couldn't resist! It's simple. It's easy. And it takes almost no time at all. Try it, you'll like it!

1. As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot - or even if you know me at all. Maybe THIS is our first memory together! :) (In which case, welcome to my patio of the blogging world!)

2. Next, re-post this on your blog. I'll comment back on memories of you and we will both have made someone's day!