A Veritable Smörgåsbord

Just when I started to believe that you can't get anything for free anymore, my husband restores my faith in society. I've never been so happy to be wrong. Buddy had an American Physical Therapy Association conference last week over at Mandalay Bay and had me glowing with pride at the end of the week when he not only showed me the loot, but organized the stash into categories - I AM rubbing off!
Many of his peers took to refusing any stuff they didn't plan to use, but not my Buddy. Anything and everything that people offered him wound up in his little goodie bag. To name a few...

• 46 pens
  
• 7 chapsticks
• 7 keychains (featuring a model of the spine & pelvis, the brain, a bottle opener & a whistle)
  
• 6 highlighters
• 6 stress balls
• 4 goniometers
• 4 measuring tapes
• 4 magnet clips
• 3 satchels
• 2 sewing kits
• 2 daily planners
• 2 mouse pads
• 2 bottle warmers
• 2 cups
• 2 bottles of hand sanitizer
  
• 1 yo-yo
• 1 massager
  
• 1 magic 8 ball
• 1 beach ball
• 1 ping pong ball
  
• 1 collapsible water bottle
• 1 tiny frisbee
• 1 deck of cards
• 1 calculator
• 1 luggage tag
• and last, but certainly not least: a glowing shot glass.
  

To quote Buddy whilst showing me the above: "Happy Valentine's Day!" Nothing says romance like free hand sanitizer and ergonomically correct highlighters. No, we aren't completely devoid of sentiment on this, the day to celebrate love or lack thereof. We'll be heading out to Wal-Mart later today with $5 bucks and 5 minutes to split up and find each other gifts. As long as I don't get any fridge magnets or pens, I'll be happy - and I use the term "happy" fairly loosely here. That's to be determined. Ah, the endless romance that is The Richardses.
In other news, several of you have requested footage of the great beard growing extravaganza known as Furry February. We'll, we're going on day 14 and as you can see, he's made a bit of progress. Chuck Norris would be proud...or he'd roundhouse kick Buddy across the face and demand that his facial hair grow faster. I hope this satisfies your curiosity. And if it looks scraggly, you can blame me as I refuse to let him cut it. He wanted to trim it to "give the shorter ones a chance to catch up". I don't think it gets much shorter, sweetheart.

In other news...

• It should be mentioned that Buddy organized his loot with the intent of taking pictures and (get this) POSTING THEM ON THE BLOG! That's right, the silent partner in The Richardses has spoken up. Granted, he had nothing more to do with this post, but I'll take what I can get!
  
• Buddy's sister Amanda and cousins T-Rav & Kelly came to see us last weekend to get away from cold, cloudy Provo. It rained the whole weekend, but nevertheless we were very happy to see them. Here's a tease:

More Pictures to follow...

• Fantastic Blonde Moment **Dad, if you're reading this, please stop here**: I hate gassing up. I avoid it at all costs. But, I thought I'd be a good woman and gas it up on the way into work on Wednesday so that Buddy didn't have to make a special trip. I live in constant fear that everyone there is watching me and that I'm going mess up, press the wrong button, or end up like this poor woman:

But, I mustered up the courage, filled up (at $2.10, no less) and got all the way to work, patting myself on the back for having done such a great job. That is, until I went to return my debit card to its rightful place in my wallet. It was gone.
I report to my Office Manager and drive back to the gas station, hoping that there are still enough honest people left in Las Vegas to turn in my poor, defenseless debit card. No such luck. It didn't seem to be left in the pump, but the man there at the time didn't speak English well enough to know what I was asking. I frantically ran around the car park, hoping to see it on the ground, but to no avail. I left my name and phone numbers with the cashier, who to this point hadn't heard anything.
So, I call the number on the back of my credit card and my call won't go through. I try again, and am on hold for what I feel is an unacceptable amount of time for someone whose financial situation is in such immediate danger. Remembering that our bank is across the car park from the gas station, I peel out and pull up to the bank, only to realize that it's 8:30 (I was supposed to start work at 8:00) and the bank doesn't open until 9:00. Perfect. I get back on hold and finally connect with someone, and only after I'd given her all of my information, does she let me know that I need to be speaking to a different department. Back on hold I go, all the while cursing the human race and picturing my already sad bank account wasting away to nothing, penny by penny. A lovely customer service agent finally cancels my debit card and tells me that no charges have been made in the interim. Sweet relief! She tells me not to worry and that it's probably on the floor of my car somewhere. Really, lady? Give me a little credit, I'm not an idiot. An illustration of how I felt at this point:The whole day I'm complaining to my friends at work about what the world has come to when people don't return property with someone's name on it and worrying that perhaps there was a computer glitch and my card wasn't canceled after all and that the paycheck I deposited the night before has now vanished.
I pick Buddy & his friend up from the APTA Conference and resume complaining about mankind and the downfall of society. Incidentally, as a result of us sharing an account, both of our cards have been canceled so we are without access to our account for a week. As I get out of the car to let Buddy drive, I scoot the seat all the back from being all the way forward and see, glistening in the setting sun, my now completely useless debit card wedged underneath the driver's seat. Remember when I claimed not to be an idiot? Statement officially retracted. I'd also like to lift all of those curses I put on those innocent people who visited the Sinclair station after me that day as well as take back those nasty things I said about the human race. We really aren't that bad.
But one thing is true: Mum & Dad, as hard as you tried, I can't fight the blondeness. I'll remind you of a previous post, entitled "Stupid's a bad word, but I still am". It's something I'm working on. I'll keep you posted...
(Sorry for the shortage of pictures. I usually pride myself on visuals, but alas, I took no pictures to remember this wretched experience. But here's a picture documenting my earliest use of the "I'm a Blonde" excuse.)