Month: February 2016

At some point during the 30 minute ride to the resort the word “sucker” appeared on both our foreheads. During check-in we paid for a room upgrade AND agreed to check out the company’s newest resort (‘no sales pitch señora we succeed on word of mouth advertising. We just want you to see our 5 diamond resort and tell your friends back home.  Is 2 hours of you time and you get a free romantic dinner on the beach’); Dan heard free so…

With check-in behind us we were escorted to our newly upgraded room (as luck would have it.. we got the LAST AVAILABLE UPGRADE) annnnnd our key didn’t work (sorta along the lines of ‘Here’s your gourmet dinner, now lemme track down some silverware…’)

Not to worry – Fernando took care of it and 15 minutes later he opened the door to serenity; my stress instantly melted… I felt younger, the world seemed simpler, Dan looked hotter… it was all coming together for me – the hours of planning led to this (no choir but there was a ray of sunlight). And then… we looked closer – listen, our son has called our house a dump and quite frankly, he ain’t far off (the kitchen and bathrooms are the exception – they are über clean, mostly, the rest of the house? squalor) yet, it seems acceptable to surround myself with my own filth – but other people’s filth…no, uhuh, no way.. yuck!

We requested another room, got it and found it acceptable (never mind we had to have the sheets changed in the 2nd room —  ew).  Ok let the beach vacation begin… ‘cept all our stuff was still in the filth parlor we originally checked into…

2 hours and 6 mini Coronas later, in strolled our luggage, just in time to sit on our patio and watch the downpour.

We rounded out the shit day with a fabulous dinner and a few Malibu and pineapples (always reminds me of Lal). We watched a sax player and an acrobatics show then put this less-than-stellar experience to bed.

The 1st full day in paradise started with our alarm waking us because my husband hates me; he scheduled us in the 8am “non-sales pitch” time slot. Oddly… we were the only couple in attendance. I say ‘oddly’ because the scheister who originally got us said, “You must be the luckiest people on earth… there is but 1 spot left on the 8am breakfast” – dear god our level of idiot/loserdom has never seen such heights. The tour was as one would imagine – the finest rooms, “would you be ok staying here at minimal price 2 times every year?” yadda, yadda, yadda.  It got tense when I let our ‘tour guide’ know that I wasn’t happy with their tactics – he looked to Dan and said, “the lady is intimidating, no?” Dan responded with only his eyes – that knowing glance that says, buddy I’ve had 22 years of it… now it’s your turn.

During the ride to the 5-diamond I specifically told Dan, “stay strong, they got nuttin’ we want!” Sonuvabitch if he wasn’t all but inviting the sales guy to use our ‘new time share’. I couldn’t believe his level of interest; I was dumbfounded, standing there thinking, “Ya gotta be fucking kidding me…he’s hooked.” Meanwhile the guy starts talking numbers and I see the color drain from Dan’s face.  “today you pay only $18,563…” hahaha suddenly, of the 2 of us – I was the most cordial.

They quickly (and with a smidge less ceremony) got us back to our resort and 22 hours later I was finally in my bathing suit.  There is no word or phrase that can capture my level of disgust regarding me in minimally covering spandex – I have however,  found that rum and tequila help my psyche in this regard.

The rest of the day  was vacation at its finest – waves, sun, sand and nice guys making sure I never ran out of spandex therapy.

Dan and I? ….so in love.  I was waxing romantic in the pool and finished up with my best eyelash-fluttering, come hither smile.  He missed it – I guess he was too engrossed in the balancing of his beer with his lips in an attempt to see if it would stay afloat in the pool.

We took a romantic walk on the beach (my husband is not one to sit and relax but to his credit he did so, masterfully yesterday – the walk was my idea but I swear I saw relief when I suggested it).  So we walked hand-in-hand for about an hour; sometimes talking, sometimes in comfortable silence, but always passing people (there’s no strolling with my guy).  I started to worry about the sun setting (the beach has random rocks jutting out) so we decided to turn around. He looked at me, pointed to the couple ahead of us and said, “We were gaining on them and suddenly, now they’re all but sprinting…” He embodies romance (meanwhile, at the spa today, I was shouting answers at him so he could get his papers filled out before the other couple finished – my papers were the 1st to be turned in! why yes, we do have competition issues).

The romantic dinner on the beach? …was wonderfully romantic. Dan looked out and said, “look at the refection of the moon on the water, the moon is hidden behind that thatched umbrella but that makes it even more beautiful.” I leaned in to see it, my ear grazing Dan’s lips, I closed my eyes and waited for him to speak; he whispered, “Do you believe it’s been 43 years since man has walked on the moon?”

 

We’re sleeping in Houston tonight – after eating our way westward across Louisiana this seemed the best place to fly out of for a trip to Cancun…
Never mind the fact we (read: Dan) had to drive through a mini tsunami to get here. I actually made him leave Avery Island ahead of schedule because… well to be honest once the radio stations started with that ominous “public broadcasting system warning” shit – I was over our trip to Louisiana. He saw the stacked barrels of [pre-Tabasco sauce] pepper mash (which stunk, by the way), he saw them bottle, cap, and label the green and chipotle sauce; and he spent $174 in the Tabasco General Store… what I’m saying is – he walked away early, but happy (the $174? ha! the Packers Pro Shop owns the rights to a couple of our kids….). We stopped in Lake Charles, La to ship back extra clothes and souvenirs and happened upon an excellent seafood restaurant (they, too, had sinks outside the restrooms – my food choice today did not warrant gloves….). And… then… we (Dan) rounded out the drive fighting gale force winds because clearly everything IS bigger in Texas. Now we sleep and prepare for relaxing on the shores of Cancun….
Lemme say this: I’m not a Cancun person – I’m a jam-myself-in-a-parka-and-wedge-myself-into-my-bleacher-seat kinda girl. Those maxi dresses that look so damned cute in the magazine? I can’t even get those bastards on – there’s straps and elastic and I’m generally a sweaty, pissed off mess by the time I pull it down; then I look in the mirror and say, “What the fuck did they send me?”
I’m distraught thinking about my clothing for the next few days – but the poolside drinks and inevitable sun poisoning drew me in. As a side note it should be mentioned that my well-meaning, dolt of a husband has answered all of my self-conscious worries with such comments as, “oh you’ll never see those people again…” (PSA announcement to husbands – this ain’t the way to go). Another (male) friend said, “Once you see the other women there you’ll realize there’s always worse.” Again – men – shut yer stupid, fucking mouths and tell us how hot we are; it ain’t brain surgery for chrissake.
So… the next 4 days should be fun… Of course, when I’m lying there wishing I hadn’t forgotten to diet, I can always think back on tonight’s phone call home and remember Pop saying, “nahhhh they’re fine. You know they’re never any troub… Oh good – the big one has her sax out. Thank you for that….”

First off… Who knew Creole is a New Orleans reference and Cajun a Lafayette? And, how ’bout me using the correct moniker based on our location… ok so I fell into that shit solely by luck – I prefered ‘Creole Karen’ so I used it 1st – still I’m pretty badass.
Creole Karen woke up not too awfully bad off considering the daiquiries, beers and 1/2 hurricane I downed the day before.  New Orleans was great but we were ready to head west and… after 20 minutes trying to get back to the very same streets we schlepped the previous 2 days, we did just that – headed west, forgoing the beignets I vowed to make a priority. I don’t even know how to explain a 3 block radius confusing us from the different angle of car vs. foot but, alas… there we were on I10 west transitioning Creole Karen to Cajun Karen sans Louisiana’s finest contribution to diabetes.
The drive to Lafayette was somethin’. Torrential downpours and swamp lands… the entire interstate is essentially a low hanging bridge. Bridges bother me – swamp life scares the shit outta me. I looked at Dan and said, “While it’s true we ARE technically on a bridge, and my usual bridge -crossing practice is to have my hand on the window button should we go over; let me just say – here… in this spot… I’m goin’ down with the fuckin’ car. Close the vents and lets hope I’m dead before those asshole reptiles get to me…”
We (finally) made it safely to Avery Island. Dan’s mecca; his Graceland… His.Lambeau.Field. I thought I was hearing a choir as we pulled into the parking lot (I did …it was him). We’d made it just in time for the food tour – 3 hours well spent! I only spit 1 thing into my napkin the entire time (boudin casing); the most stomach churning of all? The Bears fan I hada keep sitting next to…. We’ll go back tomorrow to tour the bottling plant and blow our retirement on Tabasco toenail clippers and such.
On the way to our hotel we stopped at a microbrewery to get a highly coveted craft beer for my favorite USPS guy, Brandon. They were sold out but had a last keg on draught – I’m assuming the picture of us throwing back a ‘Ghost in the Machine’ didn’t really hold the same appeal for Brandon as drinking one himself.
After getting situated in our room we found a place to eat (so much for the food tour being the entire day’s sustenance) and it was ridiculous! The Boil 1/2 and 1/2 (2lbs crawfish and 1/2 lb gulf shrimp) was worth every mile driving over snakes and gators! The waitress said, “regular or spicy? Probably regular…” so… of course I had to get the spicy – lots of sniffling, whistling and sweating (and that was before the meal came – bad dum ting). A quick glance around the room helped me quickly pick out the jackasses – latex gloves people? Really??? At one point I rolled my eyes and said, “I hate that family from their ear-piercing, squealing baby right down to their pansy ass plastic gloves!” Once I hit maximum density I headed to the bathroom to wash up – I stopped short at the row of sinks outside the bathrooms (these people are on it). First I pressed the soap dispenser and completely tore it off the wall – the guy next to me didn’t even snicker, who keeps a straight face during that mess? After the reassembling, I rinsed and reached over to the 2 paper towel machines next to me – I waved my hand in front of, under, to the side of the damned machines to no avail. …for like 3 solid minutes (I’m nothing if not persistent); finally Mr. Straight-face says, “I’m pretty sure they’re both empty how ’bout you try these on this wall.”

I turned just in time to see the jackasses deglove and walk out…

Well… We are taking New Orleans by storm (I guess that’s not the greatest way to put it, considering). Our 1st stop was a pharmacy museum (dorks? Or geniuses? We can now write part of it off as a business trip). Extremely interesting. In all honesty the set up looked like our back room at the store – so now all of you poor saps who let me fill your prescriptions are gonna be charged a museum fee (nah, not really – if we were charging customers to look at old stuff we’d’a made a fortune off Connie years ago). It is interesting to note NOLA boasts the 1st licensed pharmacist in the US (it was his store we marveled our way through); we do truly love our profession.
We then walked the streets of the French Quarter. Beer to go, daquiries to go, Bloody Mary’s to go… We drank a few beers, Dan had a fantastic Bloody Mary – the liquor drinks scare the hell outta me but I will not leave here without trying a Hurricane (you most likely won’t hear from me later).
We ate gumbo at The Famous Gumbo Pot, and I had grilled redfish and crab at The Red Fish Grill (thank you Mr. Walsh for the heads up). The evening peaked when we ducked into a small hotel bar and listened to some phenomenal jazz. 5 guys, 8 instruments and a hellishly large chandellier over them. Dan was in his glory. While I immensley enjoyed the music, Dan was one with it; he tried to explain “bending a note” on the clarinet – just can’t let me mindlessly enjoy something. As a side note: you have never experienced good music until you’ve seen/heard a big guy rip a Sousaphone.
Now we’re gonna hit the rooftop, heated pool (gotta work off A FEW of those beers anyway); then a brunch cruise on the last authentuc steamboat in the US, a preformance of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and round out the day with a cemetery tour.
Somewhere…. somehow… I’ll get me that hurricane.

So here I sit at the start of our romantic week away, 40,000 feet in the air… I put untold hours into planning this trip for us; picking the perfect activities (not the least of which involves the Tabasco plant), finding fabulous hotels and the all-inclusive we’ll enjoy during the second leg of our journey, getting tickets for The Preservation Jazz Hall Band, researching eateries… Dan packed his bag.
As we boarded the plane 160th and 161st in line I still had the quirky travel hopefulness that lies in stark contrast to my day to day cynicism…
I’m currently enjoying 2/3 of my $243.76 seat, my right shoulder and arm forced into the neutral space of the aisle; next to a heavy-set woman with sinus troubles and flying-induced anxiety (are we taking off now? I hate take off. I’m scared, I DON’T FEEL GOOD ABOUT THIS!). Her heavier-set husband is doing a fine job of redirecting the sun off his tablet into my eye with each productive, hacking cough. And because grown, adult individuals have bladders incapable of holding the 1.7 ounces of liquid offered by the airline for 2.5 hours my right arm is being nudged every 48 seconds on average as they scurry to unload the massive burden (to be fair – each cup has 2 ice cubes… so… you know… that’s gotta be factored in to any liquid intake stats).
Meanwhile, Dan is 1/2 row back, across the aisle all smiles and joy; exchanging pleasantries with a tall lanky couple who are so enamored with each other they are folded into one seat.

We had a ” Big Reveal” date with the Dinocennti’s last night (alright ya buncha pervs – we’ve both had some remodeling done recently).  Our sun room is only about 60% but it’s sixty mostly-high-impact percent so we wanted to show it off. Annie claims WE won the “Big Reveal” (not sure why everything has to be a competition with her) and while I do hafta say our sun room looks fab… no way we beat them.
These people have a remote control for their toilet fer chrissake! I’m serious. I was sorta nervous but she insisted I try it out. Let’s just say my lacking tech-knowledge was never more apparent. Yes, I have literally reached my low point – I was outsmarted by a toilet.
There was deodorizing (which, for the record, was unnecessary – dear God I don’t even talk about pooping let alone DO it outside of my home), rinsing, blow drying… quite frankly, I’m mentally scarred.
Incidentally, they haven’t yet fully programmed the remote; I have forbidden them to tell me who will be ‘User 1’ or ‘User 2’ – I’m gonna spend my entire summer trying to figure it out on my own….
With the reveals outta the way, pizza and beer flowing, random symptoms and subsequent diagnosing behind us (this is the Annie/Karen specialty); we moved on to the 2 I’s upcoming vacation – European Karen of 2014 has evolved to Cancun Karen in 2016. How we had gotten to this point in our lives without Annie knowing of my leg waxing appointment later this morning, I’ll never know; yet here it was completely fresh news that had her mesmerized. I’d like to say that her request to see my 5-weeks growth was awkward, but… it just wasn’t. As I started to pull up my pant leg I said, “The appointment keeps getting pushed back and every time the woman says – don’t touch anything – longer is better! …it’s my armpits that are really the most appalling. Everyday as I look over to put on my deodorant I think to myself, ‘Karen… what have you become?'” I then, briefly, considered getting Annie’s reaction to the armpit but the look on our husbands’ faces stopped me in my tracks.  And that, my friends, was the end of “Big Reveal” night……..

Hey kids… here’s a tip. If mom takes time outta her busy morning to drive you to school solely because you “don’t feel like riding the bus” – it didn’t zip by without you on it, your bari sax is already at school, you’re carrying no fragile popsicle stick and glue project, there’s no early morning activity for you to attend – you just wanted mom to chauffeur you… You had better *AT THE VERY LEAST* say ‘thank you’. Throwing in a ‘have a good day’ or ‘I love you’ is golden (sweet Calvie), but with no ‘thanks mom!’ you will rue the day electronic windows became standard options in vehicles.
I’m not sure I would’ve had the gumption to reach over and crank the window back in the day, but today, with the push of a single button I was able to make sure my little ingrate heard me, “Bye Alex, honey! Have a good day dear, mommy loves you very much, baby doll!” The true beauty of the window toggle requiring but a single finger?  It freed up my other hand for waving and blowing kisses…

The Isemingers are getting new flooring in the kitchen today and tomorrow (sure… why not? We started this remodel in October – of course the floors would be installed the 2 days prior to my vacation… 4 months later).

It was with mixed emotions that I dared enter that pantry last evening to begin the emptying.  I mean… on the one hand – who doesn’t love a good cleanse and purge, ya know?  On the other – our pantry is to Dan’s hoarding as a nucleus is to a cell, it is the sun to his hoarding galaxy…. My husband is a foodie; I’ve seen him tear up in grocery stores, a good condiment… makes his eyes roll back in his head.
Anywho, I made the mistake of encouraging him to help me (encouraging? demanding? you say potato…). First thing he grabs, “hmmmmm this expired in November but I bet it’s still good.”
“Get out! Get the hell outta here now, I’ll do it myself! I just can’t trust you!”
About 20 minutes later I glared at him and said, “Why are you not helping me? You do understand the floor is coming tomorrow, right?”
Now… lemme say this… I can kinda see how this might possibly be a tad confusing for Dan.  Buuuut after some coaching (“this has an intact seal and it expired in early ’14… is this truly worthy of the court costs?”) and a little, gentle nudging (“I’m telling you… if I find ONE expired thing put BACK on those shelves I will shiv you in the kidney”) we got down to it.
Our first priority was betting on the worst expiration date and establishing a spot for that food to rest until unseated (we had 5 lead changes during the course of the pantry sweep, by the way and Dan’s prediction was closest to the actual date).
I gotta say, I think I’m more put out by the lack of disgust(?) or awe(?)  from people upon hearing the story than I am about having brown rice that expired in August 2012.

WHAT IS GOING ON IN KITCHENS ACROSS AMERICA, PEOPLE????

Apparently 4 years-expired food qualifies us as rookies. People literally shamed me for my feeble shot at the “I Live in Squalor” award… buncha damned expiration date bullies.
I swear to you here and now… I will not throw out that rice. I’m gonna shove that shit to the back of the pantry and DARE anybody to go after it!
Me and the rice’ll see you people in 2025…

Today I’m starting a new “job” – ok, ok, ok its a hobby not a job, nonetheless… toilets and eating are high priority no matter my purpose.

Welcome to my blog!  From the outset you need to know a few things:

• I have to be one of the most technologically challenged individuals on the face of the earth so don’t expect this thing to be high tech – the fact that I got to this point is simply a testament to my competitive-to-the-point-of-being-a-pain-in-the-ass nature
• this is a blog about my family – period; you will learn nothing, you will never know my political views, my religious beliefs or any causes that I support.  I am here to entertain you with the quirky goings-on of my family.  I gave up facebook and my friends said, “please blog, we need your stories.”  You hate my blog? Fine, I’ll give you the names of all those blog pushers
• I am passionate about 6 things in life: my oldest daughter Alex, my son Cal, my youngest Abby, my husband Dan, my dad Dan (odd, right?) and the Green Bay Packers.  At the moment this list is ordered correctly (with all 3 kids tied for 1st) – this order is not static…  it changes depending on the season (football vs. non-football), my menstrual cycle, the state of my home, my level of sobriety, etc….
• I swear
• a lot
• I will unmercifully ridicule my family.  I will praise them too, but mostly I’ll make fun of them.  I’ll throw myself into the grinder here and there in a show of solidarity but mostly I’m here to draw attention to my faimly’s typical, everyday idiocy.  There will be the occasional proud mom moment but that shit irritates the crap outta me so I’ll keep it to a minimum.
• If you were my friend on facebook – I apologize for the redundancy.  Many of my stories are going to be rehashed for my new audience (awfully optimistic aren’t I?)
• I write it like I say it – my college writing professor would be aghast.  She was a hateful, hateful woman however, so maybe this is my way of exacting revenge, posthumously…
• I’ve never done anything like this so please be gentle with me
• I’m long winded (I added this one after I completed this draft)

Now, if my love of the Packers didn’t deter you and you’re still hanging on, I’ll tell you a little about the main characters – the 5 I’s and Pop (my dad).

Dan and I met at work in 1993, decided to get married in ’97 and go to pharmacy school together (awful, AWFUL idea – the “together” part that is) and the day before graduation (2001) we found out there was going to be 3 Isemingers on that University at Buffalo stage (…could be why I craved cheese and cried constantly; although both still hold true all these years postpartum).  We moved to Everett, Pennsylvania a few days after graduation. I was born in Everett and my parents were slated to retire in Everett in a few short years; the decision was fairly straightforward.

Over the next 5 years (2002-2006) we had our 3 kids – “we” ha! ‘We’ were cut from our bellybutton to our baby-maker 3 times (it seems a bad thing… three C-sections… but a quick glance at Cal’s head and you’ll agree – #2 was a good decision).

Fast forward to 2009 when Dan and I bought the independent pharmacy for which I had worked the previous 8 years.  We still own the store; I love it and my customers, unabashedly.  I’ll complain about insurance companies and such from time to time but my philosophy is this: everybody’s job sucks, mine’s no different, other than the reason(s) it sucks; I refuse to bore you with how unfairly my profession is treating me (sometimes the sheer lunacy of it all pushes me to write something, I’ll apologize for those posts now).

In 2011 I sat in a little, teeny, tiny room with my dad and a neurosurgeon who told us we had, at most, 15 months with my mom; fucking brain cancer gave us a whopping 107 days with her.  It’s not something I talk about, my gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, life-altering grief is my own; all you need to know is – I feel it with every breath I take.  I will mention my mom (Lalee) here and there but I don’t grieve publicly (that’s not to say it’s wrong for those who do, it’s just not for me).

My dad (Pop – yes my kids’ grandparents are Lalee and Pop, purely coincidental) is the most rugged, bad-ass I know.  He worked construction for 40 some odd years, is outdoorsy, lives for Nascar, the Steelers and my kids.  He’s a hulk of a man and I’m pretty sure, at the age of 66, my dad can beat up your dad on any given day.  I look like my mom (she was prettier) and I act like my dad (my language is worse) – this combination has worked out ok for me but I’m only 45 years in so who knows how it’ll turn out….

Dan is my soulmate; of this, I have no question.  He is also the biggest pain in my ass I’ve ever come across; this, too, is undeniable.  This guy is borderline ADD and OCD with a little bit of hoarding issues thrown in for good measure; I am a type A organizational freak – let that union sink in for a minute or 2.  He’s the best pharmacist I know and his professional capabilities are overshadowed only by his prowess as a human being and a dad.  He’s handsome and obscurely rugged (him on a 4-wheeler really gets me worked up).  He knows all kindsa shit without ever reading (“I wanted to read that comic strip but did you see how many words it had?”).  What he’s most famous for? putting up with me and my baggage for 20 or so years.  He is my very best friend in the world and the person I most often want to stab in the eye.

My kids are 14, 12 and 9;  and you will get to know them pretty well.  Alexandra is a phenomenal student, an ok basketball player (she’s afraid to dribble and shoot [true story] – rebounding is her specialty), she’s a kick ass catcher and plays the sax; she taught herself the clarinet.  She is an old soul, was born that way – even down to her fashion sense.  Most days I could punch her in her teenage-girl throat but she made me a mom and she’s utterly perfect.

Calvin is the dumbest smart kid I know.  His mind is brilliant – his common sense is nonexistent.  He is a ridiculous athlete (and promises to let me pitch to him in the MLB All-Star Home Run Derby someday) and a pretty decent musician in his own right.  He is the kindest, sweetest, most big-hearted kid I’ve ever met.  A momma and her boy… he melts my heart every.single.day.

Abigail is… trouble, we’ve called her ‘Demon Spawn’ from the start.  She is my kindred-spirit; she loves hard and hates harder.  I have a feeling she’s going to be our basketball star but her true love is gymnastics. Abby is very bright but we admittedly did wrong by her – the other 2 had beaten us down by the time she came along and we didn’t make the time to work with her; she holds her own but it’s more of a struggle.  Whereas Cal has no common sense – Abby, at the ripe old age of 9, is street smart.    This girl is a little sprite of a thing with a sharp sense of fashion and the body to pull it off.

Me?  I’m a chubby, cynical, graying red-head, with control issues – Dan is one lucky sombitch…

These are the main characters of my life but there are literally hundreds of supporting characters – I have friends from every walk of life and they will find their way into my stories.  If you’re looking for mindless entertainment at the expense of some pretty fun people… you’ve come to the right blog!