preach on, helen reddy

I tend to describe myself as a pretty independent woman.

I remember very clearly, around the time of my parents' divorce, my mom looked at me and said "Never let yourself become dependent upon a man." This message emblazoned itself on my brain, and I have tried to live accordingly ever since. I can kill my own spiders, mow my own lawn, pay all my own bills, read maps by myself, and use power tools to fix things. I have followed my mother's advice in almost every way, except when it comes to one thing.

Flat tires.

For some reason, whenever I get a flat tire (which happens to me quite often--I can get a flat tire just by thinking about one), my first instinct is to call a boy. I'm pretty sure, in our first year of dating alone, Todd changed three flats for me. I am quick to look for help in this area, and I've even played the "damsel in distress" on the side of the highway and let a benevolent motorist change the tire for me. I know, it's terrible.

But then, today happened.

I was on my way home from running at the park, and as I was driving down the street, I hit something. I could hear a clicking noise, and I assumed that I ran over something that was now stuck and being dragged under the car. So I pulled into the driveway, and as soon as I got out, I could hear the air gushing out of one of the tires. I had hit a pair of pliers, and somehow one of the handles of the pliers had become completely lodged in the tire. (I honestly don't know how these things happen to me.)

My first thought, as I stood there looking at the completely flat tire? Crap, Todd is out of town.

My second thought? I could call my running partner. Since I had just finished running with him, I knew he was out and about.

I sent him a text message inquiring about his availability to help, and as I was sitting in my driveway waiting for his response, I re-evaluated the situation.

1. It was around 9:00am on a Saturday morning, and I really didn't have anywhere else I needed to be.
2. My car was conveniently located in my own driveway, away from any traffic.
3. I was already sweaty and gross from running.

So I asked myself, could there be any better opportunity for me to teach myself to change a tire?
And my answer? Probably not.

So I sent another text message saying that I thought I might have everything under control, and I went to work. Having watched my tire get changed plenty of times, I had a pretty good idea of what had to happen. And, in fact, I only made one mistake, which was jacking up the car before I loosened the lug nuts on the tire. So, I let it back down, loosened the lug nuts, then jacked it back up.

And then I proceeded to change my tire, all my myself. And when I drove it to the tire store in Rivergate, guess what? The spare totally didn't fall off.

And you know what I was thinking then? Oh, yeah:

"I am strong, I am invincible, I am woooooooooooman!"

(You knew that was coming, right?)

I could be just slightly neurotic...

It's possible. I do have some habits that could lean toward that description.

For example, I will check under the bed from time to time, particularly when Todd is out of town, just to make sure that there aren't any axe murderers lying in wait for me to hit REM sleep before they jump out and go all ginsu on my dormant body. Of course, now that I have dogs I tend to do this less often, because I assume that one of them would alert me if someone was hiding under my bed, especially since that is at their nose level and all. I guess I tend to think that axe murderers would be fairly odoriferous and catch the attention of my nosy mutts.

And then there's work, where we have a slight brown recluse problem. And by "slight" I mean that we see them scurrying down the hall or along the wall quite often, which means that there are probably 2,000 more hiding behind the walls. So, everytime I go to the bathroom, I lift the toilet seat and look underneath, just to make sure that one of the little buggers isn't crouching under there, ready to take a bite out of my bum when I sit down. Brown recluse bites ain't no joke--they make your skin and muscle tissue fall off. Not that I would mind terribly if part of my bum fell off, so I could fit in my size 6 jeans again...but I would prefer that the venom of a recluse spider not be involved.

And finally, the car. And parking lots. I'm always hyper-vigilant when walking to my car in a parking lot, because I've heard too many stories about people's ankles being slashed by gang members hiding under the cars, or stowaways hidden in the backseat (again with the axe murderers), and so on and so forth. I realize that most of these tales are urban myths, but still. Also, if there is a large white van parked on the driver's side of my car, I will be entering my car from the passenger side, thank you. Of course, the irony here is that my soon-to-be husband drives a large, white van. Now, if Todd wants to surprise me and pull me into the back of his van to have his way with me, I'm ok with that. As long as he moves the table saw out of the way. With other random vans, I'm not going to take my chances.

So maybe I'm not actually neurotic, maybe I'm just a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But, if my overactive fear anxieties keep me from getting my butt dissolved by a spider bite, or prevent me from being kid-napped (adult-napped?) in a Target parking lot, or mean that an axe murderer is going to have to kill me to my face instead of in my sleep, then so be it. Call me a scaredy-cat all you want.

i do my little turn on the katwalk

It's official. Ya'll, I just found a new place to feed my shoe addiction.

And you know I only break out the "ya'll" when I'm really excited.

As many of my friends know, I have been a frequent shopper at "Shoe Time", which I lovingly refer to as the ghetto shoe mart. It's a tiny storefront in a strip mall on Gallatin Road, right next to the Save-a-Lot. And it has been my go-to place for cheap, unique shoes.

However, for the last few weeks, their blinking neon "open" sign has been darkened. There still appears to be inventory inside, so everytime I drive by, I think "maybe today...maybe they've just been on vacation...maybe they did a huge, 4-week restocking extravaganza." Yet, nothing.

But then, the other day, I noticed something.

Down the street about a block, on the other side of the road, a new shoe store has opened. Enter, Katwalk Shoes. My curiosity got the better of me, so yesterday, I went in to explore.

Ladies, it is a bright and shiny shoe mecca. The Gallatin Road version of Off Broadway.

Need some pink leopard-print kicks? Oh yeah, they got 'em.

Want a lime green pair of stilettos, with a metallic heel? Right here, aisle 2.

How about some sandals that make it look like a bejeweled serpent is slithering up your foot? Yep. In three colors, no less.

Ok, so there may be quite a few shoes in here that you would never really purchase, unless you have a hot date on Dickerson Pike later, but there are a plethora of cute shoes in the mix as well.

And the best part? None of them are over $20.

So, my exploring adventure quickly turned into a purchasing adventure, and I walked out with some strappy sandals with a tall cork wedge heel that make me about 6-foot-5 when I wear them. Absolutely fabulous.

And as I checked out, the very nice sales girl let me know that they get in new inventory every Monday.

Katwalk Tuesdays, anyone? I see a tradition beginning...

letting the days go by

Things I have learned about myself recently, in no particular order:

* I have a hole in my head. No, really. There's a very large dent/soft spot in my skull near the front of my head, and I'm not sure if it just recently occurred, or if I just recently discovered it. It's disconcerting, but I probably won't go to the doctor about it unless it gets bigger, or unless I start randomly fainting.
* I really don't like fake meat products that try too hard to taste like meat. I know that my Chik'n Griller is made of soy, so I'm o.k. with it if it tastes more like tofu than meat. If it tastes more like a freezer-burned version of a McD's chicken patty, then ick.
* I can still get a tan. I thought I had lost the ability to tan, because I haven't had much color to my skin since the mid-90's. However, doing lots of yardwork lately has led to a nice golden skin tone. So, I discovered that my problem is actually that I grew up and got a job that no longer allows me to spend all of my summers outside, and not, in fact, my suspicion that I used up all of my melanin when I was a tanning teenager.
* I run kind of like Phoebe on Friends. I've always known that I run somewhat awkwardly, because I have long arms and legs that tend to fly about when I am attempting to propel myself forward at increased speeds. But, pictures from the 1/2 Marathon gave me photographic proof that it is worse than I imagined. Just ask my running partner.
* I can eat an entire pizza by myself. Multiple hours of yardwork does wonders for the appetite. After a day of manual labor, I can down 8-10 pieces of pizza as fast as you can say "Would you like to try a slice of the 'East of Eden'?"
* I definitely don't need/want more than 2 pets. Pet-sitting for friends is great, and I honestly don't mind doing it, but I'm always glad when our crazy home life drops back down to the dull roar of a 2-dog household. So, if I ever even mention the possibility of adopting another pet, please lock me in a closet until the urge passes. Unless it's a fish. No, wait--I can just imagine Tucker attempting to go fishin' in the tank while we're not home. Nevermind.

what does 50/50 look like?

As someone who is about to get married, and who has recently been struggling with my mate regarding the division of labor within the household, I found this New York Times article on gender roles and equal responsibilities within a marital partnership to be incredibly interesting.

We've come a long way from the 1930's wives, as a fun test on a friend's blog reveals, but how much do their ghosts still haunt us?

eat your veggies...carefully

I am a pesco-vegetarian, which basically means that I am a vegetarian with a seafood problem. It also means that Sir Paul McCartney thinks I'm living wrong. But, as a mostly-vegetarian, I tend to think that I am safe from most diseases associated with the consumption of meat. However, the last couple of years have proven otherwise.

First, my beloved spinach was victim, as tons of fresh spinach were recalled in September of 2006 due to an e-coli outbreak. I eat spinach every day, and when I say that, I'm not exaggerating. Going to my local grocery store and finding the shelves cleared of spinach was rather depressing. But, with the spinach issue, disaster could be averted by washing the spinach thoroughly enough, or by cooking it.

Now, tomatoes are being recalled all across the United States because of a salmonella scare. And with salmonella, washing doesn't necessarily get rid of the bacteria. You could cook it away, but then you just end up with tomato mush. And this is the time of year when I should be able to buy a tomato, slice it up, add a little fresh basil and mozzarella, and be good to go.

Yep, next year I think I will definitely be joining a CSA, or planting a very large garden in my backyard.

In other food news, Spam and Ramen seem to be making a comeback, due to the rising cost of groceries. Ugh. I think I'd rather take my chances with the tomatoes...

did someone order a sauna?

Here's your 4-day forecast:

Today
Sunny
Hi 93°F


Friday
Sunny
Hi 92°F


Saturday
Mostly Sunny
Hi 92°F


Sunday
Mostly Sunny
Hi 93°F


Welcome to summer in Nashville. I think we might need to move our August outdoor wedding underground. Or invest in backyard A/C.