For some (aka Tyler), prom dress shopping may seem like the world's worst punishment for a crime they didn't commit. For others (aka me) it is like Christmas in March. So when my little sister called and asked if I would be home to go shopping in Virginia for her senior prom dress, I gladly jumped at the opportunity. And forced Tyler to come along. I could barely sit through the car ride there, anxiously holding my camera in my lap, ready to take pictures of Angela in every dress she tried on so we could go back and compare which ones we liked best. (I was alone in this superfluous excitement, however, because though I was talking a hundred miles an hour about dress styles and colors, Angela fell asleep within the first few minutes of the ride.) The dress shop we finally settled on wouldn't allow pictures to be taken and trust me, they were beyond strict with this particular rule. I found a spot right outside the dressing room with my camera in hand, ready for her to open the door, revealing layers of fabric and embellishments. I got one picture before feeling like a deflated balloon when the saleswoman told me (in a very rude tone, I might add) that "no cameras are allowed in the store!" I wasn't about to give up that easy. I snuck inside the dressing room, barely the size of a half-bathroom, pretending to be an integral part of fastening the back of the dress before she could come out. I was able to get the rest of my pictures in there. The first dress Angela tried on (and the only one of which I was able to secretly snap a picture) was a beautiful red dress that we all were surprised to like as much as we did. The hanger didn't do it justice. 
She went back into the dressing room to try on a second dress, the definition of a princess dress. The sequins and beading were in the shape of stars, there were layers of pink tulle, and the back laced up like a shoe. As soon as Angela put it on, she knew it was her dress, as did the onlooking spectators outside the dressing room. Without a doubt. Just for the sake of trying on more than two dresses, and because I wasn't ready for the shopping experience to end, she tried on a third dress, knowing the previous one was still the frontrunner. The third dress was a pretty blue fitted dress, though the fit was sort of weird, and we knew it would be a waste of time to keep trying on more. 
When we asked the price of the dress (coincidentally it didn't have a price tag--always a bad sign), it was entirely too expensive. Thanks to Mom's haggling skills, though, we were able to get the perfect dress at the perfect price and we walked out of the store elated.
When we asked the price of the dress (coincidentally it didn't have a price tag--always a bad sign), it was entirely too expensive. Thanks to Mom's haggling skills, though, we were able to get the perfect dress at the perfect price and we walked out of the store elated.I wanted to work through Spring break, so I was given a ton of hours at the independent pharmacy for which I have worked since I was 14 years old. I had Monday off, but Tyler was scheduled to work (he's a pharmacist at the same pharmacy), so I decided to try my hand at some domestic skills around the new house he purchased. I told him I'd do some cleaning while he was at work, and he gladly accepted the offer. The man who had previously owned the house left the remnants of a hammock swing that had once been affixed on the front porch. Tyler and I had been talking for awhile about wanting to reinstall it but never got around to actually completing the task, so I had the brilliant idea of surprising him when he got home from work by having the swing up and running. What I didn't realize was this:
1) A hammock swing is heavier than it looks when attempting to carry it up a flight of stairs.
2) Rusted screws are impossible to pry loose.
3) Attempting to assemble a swing without looking at a picture of it first is a bad idea.
4) Dad can do anything.
To assemble this monstrosity, you had to unscrew rusted bolts from either side, slide the hammock part onto the wood (so that it doesn't fall through the middle as soon as weight is applied), and screw the bolts back on. Well, all the bolts had been weathered by years of salt air and moisture, and all of my strength couldn't disassemble those bolts. They didn't even budge. After realizing this task was way over my head, I called the one person I know can fix anything in the world--my dad. He told me to meet him at Ace Hardware, where we'd purchase new nuts, washers, hooks, etc. and asked me to bring one of the nut/washer combos so he'd know what size to get. What I didn't tell him was that I had been unsuccessful in ALL of my attempts to unscrew them, so I did what any logical person would do next. I carried that swing back down the steps and loaded it into the Suburban, chains and all. (You should've seen Dad's face when he asked where the bolt was, expecting me to hand him a small screw.) A few hours later, Tyler's front porch had a beautiful hammock swing for him to enjoy through the Spring and Summer. 
I spent a while testing it out, then went inside to clean. 
Wanting to tackle the wooden kitchen floors first, I looked under the sink for cleaning wipes to go on the bottom of his Swiffer. I found a spray bottle of Orange Glow wood cleaner and decided to use that instead. I tend to use a liberal amount of cleaner, especially because I wanted his house to smell really clean when he walked in, so I nearly dumped the entire bottle all over the floor. Noticing it was creating a slick layer of cleaner on the surface of the wood, I nervously tried to spread it out, to no avail. By the time I had finished, the floor was more like an ice skating rink than a kitchen surface and I prayed that he wouldn't have to go in the kitchen for about the next week until it finally wore off. That prayer didn't get answered. I wasn't at the house when he got home from work, but he said he noticed a layer of what looked like dew congealing on the floor. He walked over to get a closer look, in his socks, and found out exactly how well Orange Glow wood polish works. Later that night, I came over and ecstatically hurried him out to the porch to try out the swing for the first time. As soon as we sat down, we heard an ominous creaking coming from above, and before we had time to escape, then entire swing had dismantled from the ceiling and fallen on the floor. Here is what I learned:
Wanting to tackle the wooden kitchen floors first, I looked under the sink for cleaning wipes to go on the bottom of his Swiffer. I found a spray bottle of Orange Glow wood cleaner and decided to use that instead. I tend to use a liberal amount of cleaner, especially because I wanted his house to smell really clean when he walked in, so I nearly dumped the entire bottle all over the floor. Noticing it was creating a slick layer of cleaner on the surface of the wood, I nervously tried to spread it out, to no avail. By the time I had finished, the floor was more like an ice skating rink than a kitchen surface and I prayed that he wouldn't have to go in the kitchen for about the next week until it finally wore off. That prayer didn't get answered. I wasn't at the house when he got home from work, but he said he noticed a layer of what looked like dew congealing on the floor. He walked over to get a closer look, in his socks, and found out exactly how well Orange Glow wood polish works. Later that night, I came over and ecstatically hurried him out to the porch to try out the swing for the first time. As soon as we sat down, we heard an ominous creaking coming from above, and before we had time to escape, then entire swing had dismantled from the ceiling and fallen on the floor. Here is what I learned:1) Replace ALL rusted hooks on an old hammock swing.
2) Use Orange Glow sparingly.
3) If you mess up while cleaning, there's a good chance you won't get asked to clean again. This blonde is smarter than she looks...
Last night was the 2011 Ducks Unlimited Banquet at Duck Woods Country Club and, as payment for our tickets, Tyler and I worked the Hi/Low card game until the live auction and raffle at the end of the night. Though the reining champ of last year's Hi/Low game purchased over 50 rounds (a total dollar amount that would make the average non-gambling person sick), he was still defeated by a man who had bought only 6 rounds. (Dad came in as a close second-place!) I hadn't been to an auction since I was about 8 years old and I was amazed at the entire process. The auctioneer was hilarious and everyone had a great time, including "Super Dad," a nickname we gave to the guy who spent an ungodly amount on a child's bike and camouflage guitar. 
When it came time for the raffle, I knew my chances were slim--I am entirely too unlucky in raffles. Surprisingly, though, I won a "spa day" for Antoinne (Tyler's Camry) from Colony Tire, a Ducks Unlimited quilt, and multiple jewelry sets. The rest of the family (except Tyler, a fact I still find humorous) faired just as well.
Tomorrow, it will be time to head back to Chapel Hill for less than two months until graduation and me and Tyler's vacation to CANCUN, MEXICO! It's a strange feeling to be in love with two places at the same time, not knowing whether it's the beach or Chapel Hill I miss more.
Until next time,
Nicole
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