When blogging becomes BRAgging....

It's not every day one gets to travel to London and Paris...

With a bra.

Named Olga.

This black, lacy number has traveled the world and wormed her way into some pretty fantastic photo shoots.

The bitch went to the SUPER BOWL, for God's sake.

Without extending me an invitation.

Yet, she was bold enough to ask if she could accompany me and Apes on our vacation.

I couldn't say no.

I couldn't be the reason her cups began to sag.

And I'll admit it.

I'm way competitive. I wanted to get the best Olga shots out there.

For those of you who plan on walking a mile in Olga's cups in the future, you should know that she has a mind of her own. She creates her own photo opportunities and is QUITE the handful.

My plans for her went out the window. She had her own agenda.

Like challenging April the MOMENT we arrived in London to see who had the biggest pear. I mean, pair...


Once Olga and Apes finished their battle of the breast competition, I suggested we head to the Ely Cathedral.

After all, I've seen photographic evidence of Olga's outings and if anyone needs to repent, it's her.

She agreed to go, but passed on participating in confession. We were only going to be overseas for ten days and she didn't want to start something she couldn't finish.

She did come out to pray, though. Which impressed me, until I realized she was praying for the death of Victoria Secret...


I gave up on trying to save Olga's soul and we began to head back to our car. But we didn't get far.

Right across the street, Olga saw something that made her feel right at home. She demanded we go in.


Olga sure knows how to pick her pubs. We were at the Minister's Tavern...right across the street from the cathedral.

Malinda, my "other mother", knows how to treat her guests and quickly made sure Olga felt the London lurve.


Shortly after Olga had a few sips under her straps, she got bold. Very bold.

She wanted her picture taken with the super busy bartender.

I needed to prepare myself to do the asking.


I approached Mr. Very Busy Bartender...


and...

you'll have to tune in tomorrow to see his reaction.

Sorry.

I have to pee.

And write some thank you notes to all the folks who took such great care of us on our trip.

I've missed ya'll!

H

Reunited. With My Bed.

After an AMAZING vacation spent traipsing around London and Paris, April and I are home.

With a TON of stories to tell.

Rent-by-the-hour hotels (with icky stains, peeling wall paper, holes in the wall and a questionable bed that even Paris Hilton wouldn't sleep in)

Homeless men yelling at us in the airport

Missing luggage

A near brawl with a French caricature artist

Finding the perfect photo ops for Olga

Reliving fond memories with Malinda, my second mom, while making new ones

Visiting the Eiffel tower while the sky spits snow

Freezing our asses off - the entire TEN days we were overseas

Hanging out with Lisa and That Guy in Paris - amazing friends, great conversation and a good amount of wine consumption

Subway artists and musicians galore

Photos. Of Just about all of it.

Which I will post, along with more in-depth blogs, this week.

For now, my bed is calling me.

It's missed me.

And I've missed it.

And the way it cradles me, my girl, and our dawgs who haven't left our side all day.

Forget a bed of roses.

I'll take my bed of love.

Any day.

London, get ready!

We made it, we made it!

Apes and I (and Olga) arrived and are headed out to have us some fun.

Pics to come. And stories.

Lots and lots of stories.

Olga is a trip.

You Can't Keep a Good Bra Down...

So, as you'uns know, Olga is hitching a ride with Apes and I to London tomorrow.

She's begged and begged to be packed in April's suitcase.

Frankly, I take offense.

I mean, sure, in Ape's suitcase she'll have her own space and won't feel all violated because some toothbrush is all up in her cups, but whatever.

I never pegged Olga to be a prude.

However, Apes insists I must respect Olga's wishes, so fine....

I've already determined that April and Olga are gonna be like two breasts in a bra.

Olga arrived a few days ago and she does NOT like to be all laced up with nowhere to go.

I explained Apes and I had to work a few more days and that she'd have to entertain herself.

She immediately helped herself to my beloved Diet Coke, risking serious injury. She's lucky I like her as much as I do:


She made fast friends with Stewart, riding breast-back all around the house:


We can't get her out of our newly remodeled shower:


Olga and I may not agree on whose bag she should ride in across the big pond, but we DO clearly share an affinity for Guitar Hero:


Needless to say, she is not one to sit around and twiddle her straps.

We'll be sure to post more about our adventures along the way.

I can't wait to see what Lisa has in store for all of us when we get to Paris!

H

MIA.

I totally miss blogging everyday.

April has done some absolutely ridiculous things that are begging to be blogged about.

For instance, right this minute, she's organizing the shed.

WHO DOES THAT?

Seriously.

Who?

I have tons of posts in the works, but we've been so busy between the bathroom and trying to get ready for our trip to London on Wednesday, that I haven't had time to write everyday.

I admit I feel a bit empty.

I miss it.

I miss answering all your comments as you leave them - thank you for all the bathroom accolades - we are still glowing over our remodeling success!

We leave on Wednesday for 10 days and won't be taking a computer with us - but I'll be hopping online at cyber cafes when I can.

We have Olga and you KNOW everywhere there's a lacy black bra, there are good stories to be told and even better pictures to view!

H

TAAAA-DAAA!

Finally, I can keep my eyes open long enough to post pictures of our bathroom remodel.

I'd say "remodel hell," but that's not entirely true.

I mean, sure, there was the whole "um, the plumbing is all f'd up" issue; and none of our walls happen to be square; and we probably slept 16 hours over the course of 4days and it felt a bit like TLC boot camp - but it wasn't hell.

It was actually a lot of fun and also incredibly meaningful for me.

My parents took vacation time, drove from Boston and worked their ASSES off for four straight days.

We didn't even feed them until 10pm most nights.

They were machines and stopped at nothing to make sure the project was complete and that we were happy.

Happy is an understatement.

Our bathroom ROCKS.

Seriously.

I have the best parents in the world.

Seriously.

I'm incredibly lucky.

Here's the proof, in pictures....

Here's a reminder of what our bathroom looked like BEFORE:





Right. It was an eyesore. I know.

I told April ya'll scolded her for not wearing safety goggles when doing tile demo...she made sure I took this picture:


Pulling up the old flooring SUCKED. A lot:


Apes and my mom had to finish pulling up the floor. I was over it:


My dad versus the old, nasty toilet:


Nekkid shower stall:


Mid-plumbing issue (insert lots of cursing here) - and yes, I wore my slippers during remodeling. So what.:


Apes cleaning off the baseboards we took off the bathroom floor:


My dad figuring out our new nozzles. Notice the bandage on his head. He whacked himself with a crow bar. Don't ask...:


My mom came up with a fantabulous idea for built in shelves. Staining the shelves sucked. That's why April is working and I'm "documenting" the process:


Apes learning a few things about cutting angles from my dad:


The WORST part of the whole process. Mudding and sanding. I swallowed so much dust, I'm certain my innards will never be the same:


After we laid the floor tile, I began to see a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel:


Next came the shower tile. This 32x32 feet of space is my favorite spot in the house now. I won't get into how my father had to engineer each tile piece to fit our bowed walls...:


We had to cover our room with plastic in order to use the wet saw to cut the tiles. I was most exhausted this night - we worked on that shower for about 8 hours straight:


And now...

drum roll, please....

Pics of our ROCKIN' bathroom:



Our shower:


Inside our shower (notice the inset box my dad built for shampoo and such):


Our new vanity and a peek at our built in shelves (hard to get a full picture because of the bathroom's angles):


We are still in awe of our new bathroom.

My mother took an afternoon and shopped for all our accessories. She amazes me with her ability to pull a room together in her head.

She outfitted our bathroom perfectly and totally got the look we were aiming for.

Mom and dad, you guys are truly the best and your efforts meant the world to Apes and I.

Dad, we also appreciate you fixing: our dryer, our electrical outlets, the flash coating in the attic; our water leak and the water temperature in the bathroom downstairs.

I forgot how handy ya'll were to have 'round. Maybe I'll take you in when you're old and crippled after all...

Shoooo - Weee.

We are STILL in remodel turmoil.

My parents were supposed to leave this morning, but had to stay an extra day or else leave Apes and I crying over a sort-of finished bathroom.

I splotch when I cry and it's not pretty - no one wanted to see that, so they agreed to stay.

We've been to Home Depot 5 times a day for the past 4 days.

Not kidding.

And I look every bit of not-at-all pretty.

It's amazing what home repair will do to a girl's hands, hair and skin...

Can't wait to show ya'll the finished product!

It'll probably be tomorrow night sometime before I have a chance to download all the photos.

More soon!

We're off to Home Depot...again...

Dear God In Heaven

My parents and I have been working 15-16 hour days to try and get this remodel done in 4 days (Apes is at work - someone has to pay for this stuff...).

They have to leave tomorrow and we're still at the grouting stage.

I'm so tired I can hardly stand up.

And my hands are so dry they feel like they are going to fall off.

I have a ton of pics and as soon as my dad stops cracking the whip, I'll post 'em.

Now where in the hell are my knee pads....

ps. Joshua, I promise I'll never use the word "prolly" again. I'm sorry for causing you unnecessary pain.

Remodel Update

Up to our eyeballs in paint, tile, and a plumbing issue we didn't, um, expect.

#*($@&*##!!

Lots of pics to post tonight or tomorrow.

It's going to look awesome, though.

Perhaps my favorite room in the house.

Is that weird?

That I'll want to hang out in the bathroom?

Prolly.

Tonight...

I'm simply loving being with her.

Mushy but true.

.....

My folks are trapped somewhere in NYC and should be here 'round 3am.

Bathroom remodel starts tomorrow.

Pics to come!

Who's Judging Who?

Last weekend I realized that I don't give people enough credit.

That in EXPECTING someone to judge me before they actually do it, I am actually judging them.

It's crazy backwards.

April, myself and our newly married pals Heidi and Teri snuck away for the weekend. We lounged around the house, watched movies, chowed down on some home made chili and talked until way past our bed times.

It was an adult slumber party.

Well, not "adult"...

After holing up in the house all weekend, we decided to go into town for breakfast.

Picture your very typical, stereotypical small Southern town.

Teri's grandmother had recommended a country cookin' restaurant that she used to frequent with her husband who passed away fairly recently.

We all agreed we had to go.

We pulled up to this small restaurant and I admit to immediately feeling a twinge of not-so-comfortable.

Thanks to Teri's grandmother, I already knew the joint served good food. I was wondering if they served lesbians.

The only time I ever think this way is if I'm in a small town and feel like the people around me might be uncomfortable.

Which makes me uncomfortable. It shouldn't, but it does.

Sometimes.

We've been stared at. Whispered about.

Never confronted in a rude manner, but it can make you feel uneasy.

The hostess that greeted us at the door was friendly enough, somewhere in her mid 50s and very southern.

I peeked around her to see several elderly couples filling their bellies with dumplings and veggies.

There might have been 10 tables in the entire restaurant. Small tables.

She sat us at one in the back and I wondered if she was thinking, "we don't get many of these in here...."

Moments later, our flaming gay waiter came out (no pun intended) to take our order.

As we headed up to the cash register to pay for our amazing meal, another clearly gay waiter passed by us with a smile.

As we paid our bill, our Southern hostess warmly greeted a very obvious male-to-female transgendered person who had come in to place a to-go order.

I left that small restaurant feeling small minded.

It was a great lesson.

Us vs. Bathroom Remodel. Winner TBD.

Last night Apes and I spent the better part of 3 hours wandering the aisles of Home Depot and throwing most of our monthly salaries down the bathroom remodel drain.

Grout, mortar, tile, fixtures, tape, backer board, a knife to cut the backer board, band aides for when I cut myself instead of the backer board...

That shit adds up.

Fast.

Tonight was Day 1 of bathroom demolition. I honestly though ripping up the floor and sledge hammering tiles would be more fun than it was.

I was wrong. A lot wrong.

Our bathroom is t-tiny which made taking pictures difficult, but I think you'll be able to get the idea.

Clearly, these pictures are pre-demolition. I'm almost embarrassed to post them as this bathroom is the only eyesore in our home (unless you ask April and she'll tell you any room I've been in for more than 5 minutes is an eyesore thanks to my refusal to put anything away. But she'd be wrong).

Our shower is to the left and our sink is on the other side of the wall:


I can't WAIT to replace this thing:


Before we started swinging any hammers, we called my dad to make sure we couldn't screw something up so badly that the house would cave in on itself.

He said he was sure even we couldn't screw up that bad.

Well, he said he was "pretty sure."

I got put on floor duty, pulling up nasty vinyl that some misguided widow from the 1950s thought was elegant. Thank God my mom told me to use a hair dryer to help loosen the adhesive backing.

April's 90210 hair dryer to the rescue! (Seriously, she has a 90210 hair dryer. Like, from the TV show. It's blue and pink. She's not nearly as ashamed as she should be and don't ask me why she won't get rid of it. If I knew, I too could sleep better at night).

Here I am, obviously having trouble containing my fun:


This was right before I got a huge splinter under one of my fingernails and started bleeding (no fainting this time):


What was Apes doing while I sat hunch-backed on a sticky floor, you ask?

Taking out a little aggression (it's my turn to wail on the tile tomorrow!):




We spent hours holed up in our itty bitty bathroom, banging away and singing old Ann Murray songs (I love my "Relax Dammit" Ipod playlist) - and we still have lots to do before my parents arrive late Friday night.

They'll be here for 4 days, helping us transform our bathroom into something we aren't embarrassed to take a crap in.

I'll post photos of our progress in between beer runs.

I gotta keep dad happy somehow...after all, my folks aren't charging us for their labor.

Shit...I should probably double check that....

......................

ps - I am WAY behind on reading most of your blogs and I hope to play catch up next week. I hate not knowing what you kids are getting in to (or getting out of, as the case may be...) :)

pss - Apes wants to know if ya'll know a short cut to getting tiles off a wall.

You don't always get what you pay for...

I was a damn lucky college kid.

Florida State University was rated the #1 party school in the nation when I attended; I could funnel a beer faster than any guy living on the second floor of my apartment complex; we won the National Championship in 1993; AND I got to spend my summers in Naples, Italy with my family.

I love the Air Force. And the fact they buy airline tickets for active duty dependents until they graduate college.

I'd forgotten all about this particular Italian incident until yesterday - an email from my pal Lisa triggered the memory.

She was warning April and I to be very careful on the Chunnel ride from London to Paris because some thieves have gotten very clever about how to steal luggage and purses.

I was immediately reminded of a sweltering Italian summer afternoon that my brother and I spent with my father in Thieves Alley.

The morning of the fateful trip, my father sat us down at the kitchen table and lectured us for what felt like an hour about this little section of town populated by con artists.

"Most people lose their shirts because they lose focus," said my father sternly, as if he were preparing us for battle. "There are a lot of great deals to be had if you're smart and watch every move the vendor makes."

My brother and I nodded, hardly perplexed.

Between the two of us, we might have had the equivalent of $10.00.

My dad went on to give example after example of how these con artists have mastered the bait-and-switch technique, selling a tourist one thing and then packaging/wrapping something entirely different.

"Keep your eyes on them at all times," he continued to lecture as we walked the cobble streets.

After about an hour of perusing merchandise that was probably stolen, my father zeroed in on a video camera.

The one we owned at the time was bigger than a Volvo and my dad was enamored by how compact the new models were.

Two Italian men spoke rapid-fire broken English, shoved the camera in my dad's face and nearly pulled his wallet out of his pants.

My father countered their price and they refused it.

They wanted $200.

My dad shook his head and played the "I'm not interested game."

They set the camera back on their make-shift table made out of a cardboard box, but continued to try and sell my father.

As they bartered back and forth, my brother and I began to walk away, certain my dad was not going to buy the camera without being offered a deal.

Prying money out of his hands is nearly impossible. I hate to call the man cheap, but I'm still bitter about not getting my own Mickey Mouse ice cream cone at Disney World when I was a kid because my dad thought paying $5.75 for a cone was ridiculous. I had to share with my brother and he ate both ears. It was completely unfair and despite my complaints, went unpunished.

So imagine our surprise when we turned around and witnessed the short, scrawny Italian man pull a box out from under his make-shift table and put the video camera in it.

My dad was watching him like a hawk.

He removed the box from the table and bent down to put it in a plastic bag.

My father traded his hard earned cash for the bag and we were off.

The smile on his face read, "that's how it's done kids," and I knew he was desperate to try out his new purchase.

We ducked into a shoe store and he pulled the box out of the bag.

Like a kid at Christmas, he opened the box...

and. just. stared.

At a box of sugar.

A $200 box of sugar.

I would have laughed, but I knew better.

"Damn it! He switched the box when he bent down to put it in the bag!" yelled my dad.

We raced out of the store, back to the street corner where we bought the camera, but no surprise...they were gone.

My dad fumed all the way home and threatened our inheritance if we uttered a word of what happened to our mother.

I barely stifled my giggles as I watched my father place the most expensive bag of sugar EVER in the pantry.

I couldn't help it.

I had to ask:

"So, um, dad...tell me again why they call it Thieves Alley?"

He so deserved it.

ps. I love you dad.