What's In A Name

A New Name Game for anyone who wants to pass it on:

1. YOUR REAL NAME:
Amanda Eileen (Harris) Pavlovich

2.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:(mother and fathers middle names)
Mary Duff

3.NASCAR NAME:(first name of your mother's dad, father's dad)
Anthony Thomas

4.STAR WARS NAME:(the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Pavam

5.DETECTIVE NAME:(favorite color, favorite animal)
Celadon Elephant

6.SOAP OPERA NAME:(middle name, town where you were born)
Eileen St. John

7.SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Blue Tea

8.FLY NAME:(first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Ampa

9.ROCK STAR NAME:(current pets name, current street name)
Davey Huntersview

10. AE NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on)
Ginger Monmouth

11.YOUR GANGSTA NAME:(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle)
Amaizzle

12.YOUR IRAQI.. NAME:(2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, first two letters of your middle name, last two letters of your first name then last three letters of your last name)
Mveidaich

13.YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Beauty

14. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume, fav candy)
Fragile Reeses

Good News!

We've been settling in nicely now that we're back home in Kansas. I have some great news... starting on August 3, Alex will be working at the

as one of the newest Food & Beverage Managers. I'm really proud of him and this is something that he has wanted to do for a long time. It's a little difficult to break into Golf Course Management without knowing someone and his interview process has taken almost 3 months. You'd think he was applying for the FBI or something. This is one of the most exclusive Country Clubs in the area and not just anyone can join, you must be invited. It opened in "1900, and is the longest running private club in the state of Kansas, and to this day, continues to be the premier social and athletic facility in Wichita." Or at least that's what their web page says.

Also, I'm a soooo excited because on November 4 we're going to go see

for our 3rd anniversary! I really enjoyed this book and have been waiting forever for the chance to be in a city near enough to go see it. When I lived in Vegas I heard it was playing somewhere in California but it was already sold out. Imagine my excitement when I saw the full-page ad in the Wichita Eagle that it's coming from October 21- November 8! I plastered the refrigerator door with the ad so that Alex couldn't possibly miss the hint. Then just today, I got an email from Newman University saying that Newman students get priority pre-sale tickets! Yippee! I was so bummed at the beginning of the summer when we decided to go to Chicago because that meant I would miss the entire season of the Wichita Music Theater (Broadway actively recruits from this music theater department-they are that good) but this more than makes up for it!

Anything new with you?

Aisle 8

Aisle 8 is my Kryptonite. It is my weakness. It is my budget-busting downfall. It is my Siren or Circe and I am it's Odysseus. What is Aisle 8 you ponder? Simply put, dreaded Aisle 8 is the laundry/cleaning supply aisle in my Dillion's grocery store.

I should set the record straight by saying that I'm very strategic when I go grocery shopping. I try to exert self-control. I know enough to make a list but I don't just make any old list. I plan out each and every meal for two weeks ahead of time. I imagine snacks, and lunch, an occasional breakfast, and Alex's sweet-tooth. I day-dream my way through coupons to see if any of them will fit conveniently onto my list. Then I begin to organize the items depending upon the department I will pass through from beginning to end. Before I know it an hour has passed. Oh, it gets worse. When I finally get into the store, I write down on my list how much each and everything costs. I have budgets inside of budgets. I bargain shop to the point that Alex will no longer come grocery shopping with me and I'm perfectly fine with it. I even organize my grocery cart to get maximum storage without squishing the fruit on the bottom and yet allowing enough leeway to unload it in such a manner that all the meat, and boxes, and cans are all placed on the conveyor belt in the appropriate categories. I tell myself it helps the bagger. I tell myself a lot of things. I travel only down the aisles that I know hold the items on my list. That is until Aisle 8.

Aisle 8. Aisle 8.

It haunts me. I pass by it casually. Maybe it won't see me. Then, as it never fails, something will catch my eye and before I know it I've turned my cart around and I'm walking nonchalantly by it again. I begin to talk to myself (hopefully just in my head) or more likely talk myself out of why I need an Arm-pit stain remover. I walk past it again, only to take a quick glance over my shoulder to see how much the price of Tide is this week and the before I know it I've turned around again. I give in and turn down the walkway.

I'm not sure why I'm so drawn to this particular section. I'm lured in by new fabric softener fragrance and matching dryer sheets. I am seduced by cleaning products promising lemony-fresh disinfected surfaces and new-and-improved garbage disposal cleaning agents. I am fascinated by the question, "Why would I buy a 6-pack of Scotch-Brite scrub sponges for $6.49 when I can get two 3-packs of Scotch-Brite scrub sponges for $5.00?" I yearn for the days when I stumble across the Fabreeze scented candles that have been knocked down $2 in price. I nearly jump for joy when I find a particular soap on clearance and figure out that YES!, I can by 5 bottles of whatnot for less than the price of just one whatnot. Before I know it, I have spent nearly $80 on enough cleaning products that I could scrub the entire city clean after a nuclear holocaust.

I can't help myself. I need help. Really. It's gotten so bad that I will find someone who is working there and beg them to go down the aisle for me to get the occasional item that manages it's way upon my list. Oh, I beg. I have even managed to squeak out my horrible lack of will-power to the poor 16 year old bagger that just happened to innocently ask me if I "needed any help?" I think the pacing back and forth between Aisle 9 and 7 probably put him on alert. He did his job with a smile and I'm sure that I was the topic of much laughter later that night in the break-room.

Well, now I've done it. I've confessed it all. Anyone else out there have a secret, strange obsession? Please tell me I'm not alone. :)

When in Doubt... Find a Stump

When you're a puppy and all the chew toys, chew treats, fuzzy slippers, red squeaky puppies, human flesh, rubber balls, tug-o-war ropes, plastic water bottles, Nylabones, Kongs, fake rubber sticks, and real sticks won't due get creative and find a stump in the backyard to chew.

Chicken Wire, Our Little Beast, and the Fourth of July

Today, Davey lost his two front teeth on top. He looks pretty cute toothless but I couldn't get a good picture because he kept moving around.

We're heading back to Wichita on Sunday. Our almost 2 month vacation away from home is almost over. My in-laws have been more than generous and accommodating, but school will be starting soon for me and it is better for me to look for work now and get settled in before the real work begins. Plus, Alex can fill out applications on-line from home just as easily as he can in Chicago. We've been saying lots of prayers that he'll get a job at one of the Country Clubs in Kansas since he really wants to break into Golf Course Management.

Our dear little puppy has been quite a little boy lately. After a few days of him playing a frustrating game of "I-bet-you-can't-get-me-here-in-the-garden" we decided for the sake of my father-in-laws health to put up a fence of chicken wire. The fun didn't end there. Little Davey has since found out that its loads of fun to squeeze in between the chicken wire fence and the wooden fence while my blessed father-in-law screams profanities in Serbo-Croatian. Good times. Good times.

Then one day, I go inside to make myself some lunch. I'm gone for maybe 10 minutes. I come back to find the little beast enjoying a nice glass of Gingerale, cigarette ash, and God knows what.

He immediately knew he was in trouble and attempted to make a mad dash to safety. No luck there. I like this picture because although he's jumping onto the chair it looks like he's mid-air about to crash dangerously onto the pavement.

Then later on that week, the house became very quiet all of a sudden. Being the half negligent, half caring pet owner, I seek out the devil to see what joyous fun he's in the process of creating for me. Instead, I discovered him lounging on our bed with his favorite red squeaky puppy. It was worth the peace so I let him stay and nap. He was too darn cute to make him get down.

Right before we picked up Davey from the breeder's home, Alex and I talked about some "rules" that we wanted to establish with our black baby. One of them was to not let him sleep on our bed. Someday, he'll be as long as us and I just can't imagine sharing anymore of my bed space with yet another creature. "No problem," says Hubby. On a random day, Alex says I can have the day off from Davey. I spend a few hours watching random TV programs, movies, and checking the Internet. I wander down-stairs to discover two quiet guys enjoying their afternoon. Alex's response was that it was worth the peace to let him stay and nap. What can I say? Now we've both broken the "rule".

Last week we needed to escape for the day and explore. The weather was perfect and so we packed up our Doggie-diaper bag and headed for the Indiana Dunes. There were quite a few people there but not too many. The water was wonderfully warm. Davey loved the sand and hated the water. He wanted nothing to do with the crashing waves but he couldn't keep his face out of the sand. It didn't take long for his jowls to become a gooey sand-trap. I was able to get some kind of a picture of his sand-face, which doesn't look bad at all because right before the picture was snapped he managed to lick off some more sand. Weird dog.

Sand paws.

It looks really cloudy and over cast but all of it was miles and miles away in Chicago. The beach was really clean too.

Davey is struggling to get away from the water here. We exhausted him just by dragging him past the water for a few hours. I would really like him to be more of a water dog but some things you just can't force.

Here is a bit of the forest that we drove through to get to the sand dunes. I thought it would make a nice screen-saver.

Then came the third of July. Alex's Uncle Zika invited us over to his penthouse on Lake Michigan to watch the fireworks, mingle with his friends, and eat some food. Sure, why not? (Warning-my Chicago friends/family are about to cringe.) We left the house at 8 PM. Yes, that's correct- 8 PM. "But why, Amanda, would you ever think of driving down-town for a fireworks show at 8 PM?" Because Dad was convinced and certain that the fireworks didn't start until 9:30. He swore he read it in the paper. He swore that Zika had told him the same. He swore, and he swore, and then he swore in Serbian. It took us an hour and forty-five minutes to drive 12 miles to down-town Chicago. Yes, traffic was that bad. No, the fireworks never start at 9:30. They start at 9 and are all over by 9:15 and shortly after 8 million Chicago residents pile back in their cars and head home around 9:30. I saw one measly firework explosion in between two gigantic sky-scrappers while sitting on a highway. Okay, so things happen. Traffic happens. People even get the times wrong. No big deal, there is always tomorrow... just in case you didn't notice, the fireworks show in Chicago happens on the 3rd of July so that everyone can do their own family thing/Village thing on the 4th of July. Okay, cool. What was not cool was the hour and forty-five minute argument between my in-laws that got so ridicules that we 3 kids couldn't help but laugh and crack jokes in text messages back and forth to each other. The wonders of technology in the midst of a stressful situation. We got the to the penthouse safely, enjoyed some company, and then headed back home around midnight. This time it only took us 20 minutes to get home.

Here are the boys before the journey down-town. Too bad I don't have a picture of the boys when we got home.

The Fourth of July came and went in an uneventful manner. I sat out on the front porch with Z for a few hours and yapped about all kinds of stuff while the neighbors attempted to reenact the shelling of Fort McHenry in 1814 (the event that prompted Francis Scott Key to write the Star Spangled Banner) or in reality show off how much money they spent on highly-illegal fireworks. Either way, it was a good time.

How was your Fourth of July?