*Every day on my way to work I pass the same car. A white Intrepid with four bumper stickers: 94 HJY, B101 and two Sushi Go stickers.
He's usually driving about five miles slower than me and we usually glance at each other as I pass him. One co-commuter to the next.
Today, however, things were a little different. As I merged onto Rt. 1 I saw a car quickly approaching in my rear view mirror. Suddenly, Mr. Bumper Sticker flew by me, looking directly at me as he did. I was so surprised! Was he late? Did he see it was me and decided today would be the day he was the faster car? Was this an invitation to rumble?
Ten minutes later I strolled on by him, as he had slowed down to his usual speed. I don't get it.
*I also passed a school bus with tinted windows. Tinted Windows! When did school buses get pimped out?
I heard that Snoop Dog coaches some youth football league and pimped out their bus like no other. Speakers in the seats, flat screen TVs. Maybe the Westerly School District is taking cues from the Dog himself. What's next? Gin and juice boxes?
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
A Day Of Practice...But Not That Much Fun
So newsflash: I survived the dentist. And big surprise, it wasn't such a big deal after all. I really have to work on this anxiety thing. It blows.
I arrived 15 minutes early. I was nervous. Really nervous. I looked around for a magazine but the selection was sub-par. Parenting or Seventeen? Seventeen it is.
"Guest Editor Hillary Duff!!!!" Ooooh boy. This should keep my mind off the dreaded needle for a few seconds. It didn't. I couldn't focus on Hillary's blinding smile, let alone remember if leopard print leggings meant your personality is "eclectic" or "wild."
So minus the details of filling my cavity....I made it. Yes, the hygienist had to hold my hands. But I'm ok with that.
When I got home Michael was just getting ready to go try out the sailboat for the first time. Did I want to come? Sure did! Visions of us sailing, wind blowing my hair as he took control of the sails all manly-like flashed before my eyes. How romantic! How exciting! How...New England!
Yeah. It didn't quite go exactly like that.
Let me just say that I know nothing about sailing. Michael was eager to teach me...and he was doing a really good job. He was patient and understanding when I was obviously not steering the boat into the wind like he asked me to. But in his quest to teach me all about sailing, he thought it best to use the correct terminology.
"Wrap the line around that cleat!"
"She's got [I can't remember the number] pounds of ballast." (Or something like that
Huh? Cleat? Like on shoes? Shoes I know. If he was shouting out "Stiletto!" or "Kitten heal!" or "T-Strap!" I'd be great. Of course, he was not. He might as well been speaking another language.
And did you know sailboats lean really far over when they sail? I did not know that.
And then it hit me. A sudden wave of nausea that left me dry heaving over the side of the boat. Greeeeaaaat. Sea sickness. Mom was right. I should have taken Dramamine. Lesson learned.
Eventually, the nausea passed, the boat was pointed into the wind and I looked up at my handsome Boy standing tall in his sailboat, his hair blowing in the wind.
It really wasn't so bad after all. In fact, I kind of loved it.
I arrived 15 minutes early. I was nervous. Really nervous. I looked around for a magazine but the selection was sub-par. Parenting or Seventeen? Seventeen it is.
"Guest Editor Hillary Duff!!!!" Ooooh boy. This should keep my mind off the dreaded needle for a few seconds. It didn't. I couldn't focus on Hillary's blinding smile, let alone remember if leopard print leggings meant your personality is "eclectic" or "wild."
So minus the details of filling my cavity....I made it. Yes, the hygienist had to hold my hands. But I'm ok with that.
When I got home Michael was just getting ready to go try out the sailboat for the first time. Did I want to come? Sure did! Visions of us sailing, wind blowing my hair as he took control of the sails all manly-like flashed before my eyes. How romantic! How exciting! How...New England!
Yeah. It didn't quite go exactly like that.
Let me just say that I know nothing about sailing. Michael was eager to teach me...and he was doing a really good job. He was patient and understanding when I was obviously not steering the boat into the wind like he asked me to. But in his quest to teach me all about sailing, he thought it best to use the correct terminology.
"Wrap the line around that cleat!"
"She's got [I can't remember the number] pounds of ballast." (Or something like that
Huh? Cleat? Like on shoes? Shoes I know. If he was shouting out "Stiletto!" or "Kitten heal!" or "T-Strap!" I'd be great. Of course, he was not. He might as well been speaking another language.
And did you know sailboats lean really far over when they sail? I did not know that.
And then it hit me. A sudden wave of nausea that left me dry heaving over the side of the boat. Greeeeaaaat. Sea sickness. Mom was right. I should have taken Dramamine. Lesson learned.
Eventually, the nausea passed, the boat was pointed into the wind and I looked up at my handsome Boy standing tall in his sailboat, his hair blowing in the wind.
It really wasn't so bad after all. In fact, I kind of loved it.
Dread
In 42 minutes I have to leave work to go to the dentist. Woo-hoo, you might think. But you would think wrong.
I hate the dentist.
If this were a routine cleaning visit I would be ok. But it's not. It's a cavity filling visit. A drilling in your tooth, novocaine injecting visit.
I am terrified of getting novocaine. The way some people feel about having their eyes touched is the way I feel about someone sticking a GIANT NEEDLE into my gums. Get the hell away!
It wasn't always this way. Not until I had my wisdom teeth removed the summer before I started college. I opted not to be put under (what was I thinking??) and had the laughing gas instead. This meant massive amounts of novocaine, including a white-hot, searing pain injection into the roof of my mouth. It brought tears to my eyes.
Have you ever had novocaine in your pallet? It makes a *snap*. Shudder.
So now, over five years later, I would rather stick my hand up an elephant's butt instead of getting novocaine.
Sure, I'm being a baby. Yeah, it's not going to be that much novocaine. Right, I'm going to be fine
But I can't see that right now. All I can see is the potential for BLINDING PAIN.
In preparation for the visit I brought with me to work my toothbrush, (toothpaste already in the work bathroom!) floss and mouthwash. You know you do it too....make your teeth immaculate right before the dentist in the hopes that you will trick them into thinking you're always that on top of things
Perhaps if I had been so diligent about oral care before I would not be in this position now.
I hate the dentist.
If this were a routine cleaning visit I would be ok. But it's not. It's a cavity filling visit. A drilling in your tooth, novocaine injecting visit.
I am terrified of getting novocaine. The way some people feel about having their eyes touched is the way I feel about someone sticking a GIANT NEEDLE into my gums. Get the hell away!
It wasn't always this way. Not until I had my wisdom teeth removed the summer before I started college. I opted not to be put under (what was I thinking??) and had the laughing gas instead. This meant massive amounts of novocaine, including a white-hot, searing pain injection into the roof of my mouth. It brought tears to my eyes.
Have you ever had novocaine in your pallet? It makes a *snap*. Shudder.
So now, over five years later, I would rather stick my hand up an elephant's butt instead of getting novocaine.
Sure, I'm being a baby. Yeah, it's not going to be that much novocaine. Right, I'm going to be fine
But I can't see that right now. All I can see is the potential for BLINDING PAIN.
In preparation for the visit I brought with me to work my toothbrush, (toothpaste already in the work bathroom!) floss and mouthwash. You know you do it too....make your teeth immaculate right before the dentist in the hopes that you will trick them into thinking you're always that on top of things
Perhaps if I had been so diligent about oral care before I would not be in this position now.
Newfie-isms
If Kodiak could talk I'm sure he'd tell me:
The best spot in the yard is the wettest, dirtiest spot.
A ride in the car is one of life's simplest pleasures.
It's fun to hide biscuits under the couch, behind the door, in the dirt and under the bed.
Bringing all your toys to the door when someone comes home is a sign of love.
The best place to lie down is on your feet while you're trying to get ready for work.
It's funny to drink a lot of water, then come put my face on your leg.
My face is cute. Give me treats.
My farts smell worse than boy farts. Get used to it.
I really love peanut butter.
I get jealous when Mom and Dad hug and kiss. I will squeeze myself in between you and whine.
Speaking of squeezing....I like to fit my 120lb body in the tiniest places. Like between the desk and the chair.
And whining....didn't know I could sound like a little girl, did you?
I don't like lawnmowers. Or the garbage truck. I will bark at them.
Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark. It's fun to stand in the yard and bark at the sky.
Your hands taste really good. So do your feet. Licking them is fun.
That was a dumb move buying down throw pillows. They taste like geese. I like geese.
I will give you big sad eyes when you leave.
It's only because I love you.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
15 Minutes of Pain
You know what would be really awful? To be one of those people featured on the news as "America's Obesity Problem."
You're going about your morning, eating your breakfast, ironing your pants (not necessarily at the same time) when BAM! Smack on the screen is your midsection, the CNN ticker gliding over your knees.
There's no mistaking it's you. How many people really own that Larry, Mo and Curly tee-shirt? (No, seriously. How many? They need to be confiscated.) Would other people know it's you? Would you care?
Or what if you were featured in the "Don'ts" section of Glamour? Sure, you thought the tapered, acid wash jeans cinched around your middle, giving you the ever popular "muffin top" was sexy. Yes, the neon, cropped, mesh shirt was popular. In 1986. And where did you ever find a mini-backpack these days? (Mine was black with a brown suede flap. I'm really impressed you found a clear plastic one...they were tough to come by.)
You made these choices. You thought you were styling. Would you consider your 15 minutes in Glamour to be a good thing?
Me? I would be mortified. The prospect of being on the news, for any reason, freaks me out. There is a chance that with the nature of my job this could one day occur. I'm so not looking forward to that.
Good thing I no longer wear red high-tops with Tweety Bird on them.
What? You didn't wear those? Yeah, um, me neither.....
You're going about your morning, eating your breakfast, ironing your pants (not necessarily at the same time) when BAM! Smack on the screen is your midsection, the CNN ticker gliding over your knees.
There's no mistaking it's you. How many people really own that Larry, Mo and Curly tee-shirt? (No, seriously. How many? They need to be confiscated.) Would other people know it's you? Would you care?
Or what if you were featured in the "Don'ts" section of Glamour? Sure, you thought the tapered, acid wash jeans cinched around your middle, giving you the ever popular "muffin top" was sexy. Yes, the neon, cropped, mesh shirt was popular. In 1986. And where did you ever find a mini-backpack these days? (Mine was black with a brown suede flap. I'm really impressed you found a clear plastic one...they were tough to come by.)
You made these choices. You thought you were styling. Would you consider your 15 minutes in Glamour to be a good thing?
Me? I would be mortified. The prospect of being on the news, for any reason, freaks me out. There is a chance that with the nature of my job this could one day occur. I'm so not looking forward to that.
Good thing I no longer wear red high-tops with Tweety Bird on them.
What? You didn't wear those? Yeah, um, me neither.....
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
The Great Cereal Debate
I've mentioned I don't like grocery shopping. But it's inevitable. Eventually I have to break down and go. Today was that day.
It wasn't going to badly. I started off getting a parking spot relatively close to the entrance. My cart did not have a squeaky, off kilter wheel. Only one of the guys behind the deli counter was staring and it wasn't the usual icky guy with the neck acne.
Fruits and vegetables? Check. (Healthy choices, healthy choices!) Chicken? Check. 27 different kinds of drinks because Michael is always thirsty and we go through them like it's our job? Check.
Doritos. ON SALE!!! Mmmmm cheesy, crunchy goodness. No. No, no, no! Walk away from the Doritos. Phew...that was close.
And then...the cereal aisle. I reach for my usual box of Special K with almonds. But wait! So many other choices! Do I want the Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats? What about the Cracklin' Oat Bran? Or the 3,000 different [Brand] CRUNCH!? (I mean, seriously, does everything need to be crunchy now? Does that crunch really make it that much better?)
And what does Michael want? Do I get one we both like an risk not having enough for a bowl at the end of the week? Or do I get him one of his own? And which one? And why are they all so expensive?
The struggle continues for a good three or four minutes. I am literally pacing the aisle back and forth....from Post to General Mills. Back and forth, back and forth. What do I do?
A lone mother with a cart full of three rowdy toddlers makes it in and out of the aisle with no trouble. What is my problem? This is easy. JUST MAKE A CHOICE!
Ok! Quaker Oat Squares for me, Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats for Michael.
Oat Squares? When have you ever bought Oat Squares? Is this logical? Is this really the best decision????? I slowly back out of the aisle.
Ugh. I hate grocery shopping.
It wasn't going to badly. I started off getting a parking spot relatively close to the entrance. My cart did not have a squeaky, off kilter wheel. Only one of the guys behind the deli counter was staring and it wasn't the usual icky guy with the neck acne.
Fruits and vegetables? Check. (Healthy choices, healthy choices!) Chicken? Check. 27 different kinds of drinks because Michael is always thirsty and we go through them like it's our job? Check.
Doritos. ON SALE!!! Mmmmm cheesy, crunchy goodness. No. No, no, no! Walk away from the Doritos. Phew...that was close.
And then...the cereal aisle. I reach for my usual box of Special K with almonds. But wait! So many other choices! Do I want the Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats? What about the Cracklin' Oat Bran? Or the 3,000 different [Brand] CRUNCH!? (I mean, seriously, does everything need to be crunchy now? Does that crunch really make it that much better?)
And what does Michael want? Do I get one we both like an risk not having enough for a bowl at the end of the week? Or do I get him one of his own? And which one? And why are they all so expensive?
The struggle continues for a good three or four minutes. I am literally pacing the aisle back and forth....from Post to General Mills. Back and forth, back and forth. What do I do?
A lone mother with a cart full of three rowdy toddlers makes it in and out of the aisle with no trouble. What is my problem? This is easy. JUST MAKE A CHOICE!
Ok! Quaker Oat Squares for me, Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats for Michael.
Oat Squares? When have you ever bought Oat Squares? Is this logical? Is this really the best decision????? I slowly back out of the aisle.
Ugh. I hate grocery shopping.
I Know You Know I Know
Message received this morning:
"Hi Molly, this is Donna calling from [dentist's] office. Just calling to confirm your appointment for Thursday. Please confirm you got this message by calling to confirm your appointment. Thank you."
So what do I say?
"I'm calling to confirm your message confirming my confirmed appointment?"
"Hi Molly, this is Donna calling from [dentist's] office. Just calling to confirm your appointment for Thursday. Please confirm you got this message by calling to confirm your appointment. Thank you."
So what do I say?
"I'm calling to confirm your message confirming my confirmed appointment?"
Monday, September 25, 2006
Randomness
*What is it about the hours between 3 and 5? I like my job (I'm serious. I really do like my job!) but even with stuff to do those last two hours just drag.
*I mentioned how The Last Kiss is completely heart-wrenching. So I'm coming down from the bad after taste of the movie as I'm scanning the channels last night. I stop on Nip/Tuck. Just as the married plastic surgeon is cheating on his pregnant wife! What the hell?! Insert psycho internal conflict:
-Oh my god he's going to cheat on me.
-No he's not. He loves you. He would never cheat on you.
-But what if he meets some perky brunette (ahhh die Rachel Bilson) and has an affair.
-He loves you
-Arrrrrrggghhhhhh!!!
Cut to Michael reassuring me that, no, he would never cheat on me. He loves me. He will always love me.
I'm sticking to romantic comedies from now on.
*I have to go grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping. The responsible part of me heads to the chicken, the vegetables and healthy cereal, stocking up for the week ahead.
The irresponsible part of me (the one that is still an 18-year old loose in the store for the first time..."I'm on my own! I can eat whatever I want!") is eyeing the peanut butter cup ice cream and the Doritos. The thing is, I'm not 18 anymore. When I was 18 I could eat a huge bowl of pasta with butter and Parmesan cheese (mmmmmm), then turn around and eat half a pint of ice cream and never see a fluctuation in my weight.
Yeah. That's not the case anymore. I guess I'll be heading directly to the fruits and vegetables. Although let's be honest, when Michael works late I sometimes still eat that big bowl of pasta. It's so easy.
And SO GOOD.
*I mentioned how The Last Kiss is completely heart-wrenching. So I'm coming down from the bad after taste of the movie as I'm scanning the channels last night. I stop on Nip/Tuck. Just as the married plastic surgeon is cheating on his pregnant wife! What the hell?! Insert psycho internal conflict:
-Oh my god he's going to cheat on me.
-No he's not. He loves you. He would never cheat on you.
-But what if he meets some perky brunette (ahhh die Rachel Bilson) and has an affair.
-He loves you
-Arrrrrrggghhhhhh!!!
Cut to Michael reassuring me that, no, he would never cheat on me. He loves me. He will always love me.
I'm sticking to romantic comedies from now on.
*I have to go grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping. The responsible part of me heads to the chicken, the vegetables and healthy cereal, stocking up for the week ahead.
The irresponsible part of me (the one that is still an 18-year old loose in the store for the first time..."I'm on my own! I can eat whatever I want!") is eyeing the peanut butter cup ice cream and the Doritos. The thing is, I'm not 18 anymore. When I was 18 I could eat a huge bowl of pasta with butter and Parmesan cheese (mmmmmm), then turn around and eat half a pint of ice cream and never see a fluctuation in my weight.
Yeah. That's not the case anymore. I guess I'll be heading directly to the fruits and vegetables. Although let's be honest, when Michael works late I sometimes still eat that big bowl of pasta. It's so easy.
And SO GOOD.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Scrubs Will Never Be The Same
Want to see a movie that will make you question all men and leave you feeling emotionally unstable? Then go see The Last Kiss.
I think Clink said it best.
Blaaaaah.
I think Clink said it best.
Blaaaaah.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Yee Ha....
Carrie Underwood is going to be the spokes pop idol for a literacy program in Oklahoma called "Read Ya'll."
Oh. My.
Oh. My.
A Day In The Life
7:06 a.m.- Baaaarrgghhh I don't want to get up.
7:07 a.m.- Dog is whining. Getting up.
7:58 a.m.- I have nothing to wear. I feel fat.
8:04 a.m.- I still feel fat. I know, I'll pack a healthy lunch. With yogurt! And fruit! And a granola bar!
8:57 a.m.- Pull into parking lot. Score! A spot. Score! I'm early. Walk up to office.
8:59 a.m. - Crap. Left phone in the car. Walk back to car.
9:01 a.m.- Walk back to office.
9:02 a.m.-12:03 p.m. - Work.
12:04 p.m. - I'm hungry. My lunch sucks. I don't want to eat it. I want a chicken sandwich. Yeah...and french fries. Mmmmmm french fries.
12:05 p.m. - Think "You are not getting french fries. You have a healthy lunch. You feel fat. Eat your lunch."
12:06 p.m.- I'm getting french fries.
12:07 p.m.- Boss wants a vanilla milkshake. I do a little shake and sing "Vanilla milllkshake." Could I be any whiter? (Vanilla-er?)
12:09 p.m.- Pull out of parking lot. Anticipate that my spot will be gone when I return.
12:10 p.m.- Pull into traffic. The person in front of me lets four cars pull out in front of her before she moves. Car number five gives me a death-stare for not letting her out. Pppffffft!
12:11 p.m.- Retro lunch hour! "People don't you know, don't you know it's about time....pump it, pump it, pump, pump it up!" I resist doing the Carlton. My windows are down.
12:13 p.m.- Decide to wait in the drive-through lane. Hello, retro lunch hour.
12:16 p.m.- Get to pay window. Paco takes my money.
Paco: "Didn't I see you yesterday?"
Me: "I don't think so."
Paco: "What about the day before?"
Me: "No...."
Paco: "The day before that?"
Me: "Am I all set?????"
Paco: "Awwww damn baby!"
Great. Paco thought I was cute. I guess it's flattering. Even though he was greasy. And didn't speak much English. And works at McDonalds. Ok, maybe not so flattering.
I bet Paco hits on all the ladies.
12:19 p.m. - Mmmm french fries smell gooooood.
12:21 p.m.- My spot is still there! Yay!
12:22 p.m.- No one will stop to let me cross the street. One lady drives by and stares at me as she does. I give her my best "you're such as ass" glare. Really.
12:23 p.m. - FRENCH FRIES!!!!!!!!!
12:36 p.m.- I feel fat.
7:07 a.m.- Dog is whining. Getting up.
7:58 a.m.- I have nothing to wear. I feel fat.
8:04 a.m.- I still feel fat. I know, I'll pack a healthy lunch. With yogurt! And fruit! And a granola bar!
8:57 a.m.- Pull into parking lot. Score! A spot. Score! I'm early. Walk up to office.
8:59 a.m. - Crap. Left phone in the car. Walk back to car.
9:01 a.m.- Walk back to office.
9:02 a.m.-12:03 p.m. - Work.
12:04 p.m. - I'm hungry. My lunch sucks. I don't want to eat it. I want a chicken sandwich. Yeah...and french fries. Mmmmmm french fries.
12:05 p.m. - Think "You are not getting french fries. You have a healthy lunch. You feel fat. Eat your lunch."
12:06 p.m.- I'm getting french fries.
12:07 p.m.- Boss wants a vanilla milkshake. I do a little shake and sing "Vanilla milllkshake." Could I be any whiter? (Vanilla-er?)
12:09 p.m.- Pull out of parking lot. Anticipate that my spot will be gone when I return.
12:10 p.m.- Pull into traffic. The person in front of me lets four cars pull out in front of her before she moves. Car number five gives me a death-stare for not letting her out. Pppffffft!
12:11 p.m.- Retro lunch hour! "People don't you know, don't you know it's about time....pump it, pump it, pump, pump it up!" I resist doing the Carlton. My windows are down.
12:13 p.m.- Decide to wait in the drive-through lane. Hello, retro lunch hour.
12:16 p.m.- Get to pay window. Paco takes my money.
Paco: "Didn't I see you yesterday?"
Me: "I don't think so."
Paco: "What about the day before?"
Me: "No...."
Paco: "The day before that?"
Me: "Am I all set?????"
Paco: "Awwww damn baby!"
Great. Paco thought I was cute. I guess it's flattering. Even though he was greasy. And didn't speak much English. And works at McDonalds. Ok, maybe not so flattering.
I bet Paco hits on all the ladies.
12:19 p.m. - Mmmm french fries smell gooooood.
12:21 p.m.- My spot is still there! Yay!
12:22 p.m.- No one will stop to let me cross the street. One lady drives by and stares at me as she does. I give her my best "you're such as ass" glare. Really.
12:23 p.m. - FRENCH FRIES!!!!!!!!!
12:36 p.m.- I feel fat.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Dani California
You know that friend? The one you've never had a fight with. The one you spent countless hours with as a kid playing "teenagers" or recording a radio show. The one that was Stacey from the Babysitters Club (because you were Claudia) and whose mom always had a plate of carrot and celery sticks with ranch dressing.
The friend that introduced you to Ace Ventura, Hot Shots! Part Deux, Clueless and of course, the Babysitter's Club Movie.
The friend who you used walk with to the A&P to buy a can of icing, two cokes and a jumbo Hershey bar. The friend you would sit next to watching Full House as you stuffed your face with said goodies.
The friend who you would pool your change with, then go get slices of pizza, not realizing until years later that you would totally short-change the waitress.
The friend you would go tick-or-treating with, then attempt to play poker and use your candy as chips. Even though you would just share everything anyway.
The friend you would play Hudson Valley-Opoly with at 2 a.m. until you got yelled at by her parents for laughing too loudly.
The friend you sat next to on the couch and made a pact that even though her parents said they had to move, you would plant your butt firmly on the floor and tell potential buyers that there were mice in the house.
I have that friend. She's one of my best friends, even though I don't get to see her as much as I'd like to. The friend that never judged, never said mean words and always made me laugh.
That friend is getting ready to embark on a new and exciting part of her life. Moving all the way across the country. I'm going to miss her like crazy.
Here's to you, Dani California.
I love you!
The friend that introduced you to Ace Ventura, Hot Shots! Part Deux, Clueless and of course, the Babysitter's Club Movie.
The friend who you used walk with to the A&P to buy a can of icing, two cokes and a jumbo Hershey bar. The friend you would sit next to watching Full House as you stuffed your face with said goodies.
The friend who you would pool your change with, then go get slices of pizza, not realizing until years later that you would totally short-change the waitress.
The friend you would go tick-or-treating with, then attempt to play poker and use your candy as chips. Even though you would just share everything anyway.
The friend you would play Hudson Valley-Opoly with at 2 a.m. until you got yelled at by her parents for laughing too loudly.
The friend you sat next to on the couch and made a pact that even though her parents said they had to move, you would plant your butt firmly on the floor and tell potential buyers that there were mice in the house.
I have that friend. She's one of my best friends, even though I don't get to see her as much as I'd like to. The friend that never judged, never said mean words and always made me laugh.
That friend is getting ready to embark on a new and exciting part of her life. Moving all the way across the country. I'm going to miss her like crazy.
Here's to you, Dani California.
I love you!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
How Come It's (K)not My Turn?
So many people I went to high school with are getting married. How do I know? Hi, Myspace.
I'm happy for them. It's so great to be in love and find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. But some of these people....I just can't believe they're getting married.
Before me.
Yes, that's right. I want to get married. Badly. I have found the love of my life. I am happier than I could have ever imagined. And I dream about walking down the aisle and meeting him at the altar.
Some of my friends don't understand why I want to be married now. "You're so young. Experience life before you get married!"
But the thing is, I am experiencing life. And I'm experiencing it with him. I'm not missing out on anything.
I've already traveled the world. And I will again. With him. I've already dated. And I know in my heart that there is no one I'd rather be with. He doesn't hold me back from doing whatever I want to do. He's caring, loving and supportive. Always. We've been together almost five years. The happiest five years of my life.
So don't tell me I'm too young.
Even though I don't want to admit it, I'm kind of jealous of all these ridiculously happy high school people planning their futures with their spouse-to-be. I want a spouse-to-be!
Have I mentioned I'm in love? I am. After four years I still get excited when I know he's coming home from work. My heart still beats fast when he kisses me. I looooove him.
I can't help but think about it. Say what you want. I want to marry the man of my dreams.
I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
I'm happy for them. It's so great to be in love and find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. But some of these people....I just can't believe they're getting married.
Before me.
Yes, that's right. I want to get married. Badly. I have found the love of my life. I am happier than I could have ever imagined. And I dream about walking down the aisle and meeting him at the altar.
Some of my friends don't understand why I want to be married now. "You're so young. Experience life before you get married!"
But the thing is, I am experiencing life. And I'm experiencing it with him. I'm not missing out on anything.
I've already traveled the world. And I will again. With him. I've already dated. And I know in my heart that there is no one I'd rather be with. He doesn't hold me back from doing whatever I want to do. He's caring, loving and supportive. Always. We've been together almost five years. The happiest five years of my life.
So don't tell me I'm too young.
Even though I don't want to admit it, I'm kind of jealous of all these ridiculously happy high school people planning their futures with their spouse-to-be. I want a spouse-to-be!
Have I mentioned I'm in love? I am. After four years I still get excited when I know he's coming home from work. My heart still beats fast when he kisses me. I looooove him.
I can't help but think about it. Say what you want. I want to marry the man of my dreams.
I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
Friday, September 15, 2006
6,218 Days Ago
I became a big sister.
I was so proud. I wore a button with her picture on it to my first grade class. I showed everyone and told them that she was my little sister.
I relished every second of those early moments of being a big sister. I would sit and look at her, smell her baby smell and invevitably, I got in her face and made her cry. It was great.
Eventually, being seven years apart showed its ugly side. She followed me everywhere. She copied everything I did. She always was underfoot. What I know now was just the highest form of flattery, I found to be annoying and irritating then. She drove me nuts.
So I did what any normal 12 year old would do. I dropped shoes on the staircase so she would hear it think I walked downstairs. I told her we found her in a field. I told her the Big Bad Wolf was in our room.
Luckily, she doesn't hold this against me.
One day my sister was no longer a five year old child following me around. She was a really unique, intelligent tween who I liked spending time with.
The day I moved into my college dorm was really hard. She held me tight and didn't want me to leave.
I'm going home this weekend to see my beautiful, talented 17 year old sister perform in a play.
The little girl with BIG EYES is all grown up.
I am so proud to be her sister.
I was so proud. I wore a button with her picture on it to my first grade class. I showed everyone and told them that she was my little sister.
I relished every second of those early moments of being a big sister. I would sit and look at her, smell her baby smell and invevitably, I got in her face and made her cry. It was great.
Eventually, being seven years apart showed its ugly side. She followed me everywhere. She copied everything I did. She always was underfoot. What I know now was just the highest form of flattery, I found to be annoying and irritating then. She drove me nuts.
So I did what any normal 12 year old would do. I dropped shoes on the staircase so she would hear it think I walked downstairs. I told her we found her in a field. I told her the Big Bad Wolf was in our room.
Luckily, she doesn't hold this against me.
One day my sister was no longer a five year old child following me around. She was a really unique, intelligent tween who I liked spending time with.
The day I moved into my college dorm was really hard. She held me tight and didn't want me to leave.
I'm going home this weekend to see my beautiful, talented 17 year old sister perform in a play.
The little girl with BIG EYES is all grown up.
I am so proud to be her sister.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Randomness
*Why do Jeep drivers need to wave at every Jeep they pass? I don't wave at every Honda that goes by. Is this some sort of culture that I don't understand? I was behind a guy in a Jeep the other day and he must have waved at four Jeeps in 10 minutes. And none of them waved back!
*Fall is officially here. We took off the summer quilt and put on the fluffy white down comforter. I love it! So cozy.
* Hey, zit. Yeah, you. The one that wanted to pop up on my chin. Get the hell away from me and go find some greasy 15 year old boy to live on. I'm too old for your nonsense.
*Britney Spears has another child. Does this make anyone else nervous
*I was watching tv the other night and stopped to take a look around me. Snuggled up next to me on the couch, reading his magazine under the light of the cute new lamps I bought, was Michael. Puppa was snoozing at our feet. Michael looked up at me, smiled, and ran his hand through my hair.
I'm really lucky.
*Fall is officially here. We took off the summer quilt and put on the fluffy white down comforter. I love it! So cozy.
* Hey, zit. Yeah, you. The one that wanted to pop up on my chin. Get the hell away from me and go find some greasy 15 year old boy to live on. I'm too old for your nonsense.
*Britney Spears has another child. Does this make anyone else nervous
*I was watching tv the other night and stopped to take a look around me. Snuggled up next to me on the couch, reading his magazine under the light of the cute new lamps I bought, was Michael. Puppa was snoozing at our feet. Michael looked up at me, smiled, and ran his hand through my hair.
I'm really lucky.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Stepping Over the Line With Her Platform Shoe
Michael and I went out to dinner on Saturday. Waiting for your table provides a great opportunity for people watching. So that's what we were doing.
A young woman comes in with another woman, most likely her mother. They look similar and it is clear the older woman has at least 20 years on the younger one.
The young woman is dressed as you would expect a girl of her age, presumably around 19, to be dressed. Jeans, fitted shirt, hoodie, flip flops.
The mother was dressed as you would expect a girl of her daughter's age to be dressed. Tight, cropped, rhinestone encrusted jeans, a extremely low-cute tee and metallic, platform sandals. The effect she was going for wasn't working. She looked old and slightly pathetic. Like she was trying too hard.
I think of my mother. Stylish? Yes. Cute? Always. Inappropriate? Never.
It got me thinking. When is the age appropriate line drawn?
I make an effort to look adult, pulled together, classy, work appropriate. It's more difficult for me to pick out an outfit to wear out to the bar now than it is to get dressed in the morning. I could never picture myself at 55 adjusting my thong beneath my low slung jeans.
Getting older doesn't mean you have to be boring. No one is suggesting you run out and buy a pair of "mom jeans." Just cover the girls a little more than you did when you were 18. And ditch the 5" platform sandals, lady. Super trashy.
Look at Hollywood. Some of the most beautiful actresses are in their 40s and 50s. That should be inspiring!
I hope I age with beauty and grace. If you ever catch me teetering after my teenage daughter in ridiculous shoes with my butt hanging out of my pants, please stop me.
Not that I would ever wear ridiculous shoes.
A young woman comes in with another woman, most likely her mother. They look similar and it is clear the older woman has at least 20 years on the younger one.
The young woman is dressed as you would expect a girl of her age, presumably around 19, to be dressed. Jeans, fitted shirt, hoodie, flip flops.
The mother was dressed as you would expect a girl of her daughter's age to be dressed. Tight, cropped, rhinestone encrusted jeans, a extremely low-cute tee and metallic, platform sandals. The effect she was going for wasn't working. She looked old and slightly pathetic. Like she was trying too hard.
I think of my mother. Stylish? Yes. Cute? Always. Inappropriate? Never.
It got me thinking. When is the age appropriate line drawn?
I make an effort to look adult, pulled together, classy, work appropriate. It's more difficult for me to pick out an outfit to wear out to the bar now than it is to get dressed in the morning. I could never picture myself at 55 adjusting my thong beneath my low slung jeans.
Getting older doesn't mean you have to be boring. No one is suggesting you run out and buy a pair of "mom jeans." Just cover the girls a little more than you did when you were 18. And ditch the 5" platform sandals, lady. Super trashy.
Look at Hollywood. Some of the most beautiful actresses are in their 40s and 50s. That should be inspiring!
I hope I age with beauty and grace. If you ever catch me teetering after my teenage daughter in ridiculous shoes with my butt hanging out of my pants, please stop me.
Not that I would ever wear ridiculous shoes.
Monday, September 11, 2006
It's Been Five Years
It's been five years, and I can't watch the news today. CNN is playing their original coverage of 9/11 all day. I. Just. Can't. Watch.
It's been five years, and this year there have been a few movies about that day. I can't help but think that the country just isn't ready for them yet. Maybe in another five years. But now? The wounds are still fresh.
While flipping channels Saturday night, Jen's friend stopped on a History Channel documentary about 9/11. Just in time to see bodies falling. Again.
It's been five years and those images are still etched onto my brain.
It's been five years. Five years ago today I was sitting in my Theatre 100 class when a kid came in and said the tower had been hit. Five years ago today I sat in my dorm room and cried at the images on the tv screen.
It's been five years, and in five years a lot of good has happened in my life. I made some great friends, I met Michael, I graduated college, I got a job. But the memory of that day still haunts me.
It's been five years, and I can't watch the news today.
It's been five years, and this year there have been a few movies about that day. I can't help but think that the country just isn't ready for them yet. Maybe in another five years. But now? The wounds are still fresh.
While flipping channels Saturday night, Jen's friend stopped on a History Channel documentary about 9/11. Just in time to see bodies falling. Again.
It's been five years and those images are still etched onto my brain.
It's been five years. Five years ago today I was sitting in my Theatre 100 class when a kid came in and said the tower had been hit. Five years ago today I sat in my dorm room and cried at the images on the tv screen.
It's been five years, and in five years a lot of good has happened in my life. I made some great friends, I met Michael, I graduated college, I got a job. But the memory of that day still haunts me.
It's been five years, and I can't watch the news today.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Wrong Words
For as long as I can remember there have been some words I don't like. It's not the connotation of the word, rather the way it sounds.
Some examples:
Moist
Mound
Crevice Lozenge
Bovine
Junk
Ointment
Unit
My friends think this is funny. They will even form sentences using as many of the words from the list as they can.
"The bovine had a lozenge stuck in his moist crevice." (Thank you, Brian.)
Or Michael will stretch out a word slowly and irritatingly until it makes me want to cringe. "Unit. Uuuuunit. Uuuuuuuuuuuuunit."
The worst is when I'm not prepared. I was once in a setting with people I didn't know and a woman offered me a lozenge. In my head I'm thinking, why not cough drop? Who really says lozenge anyway? But I couldn't say anything so I politely declined. Then she proceeded to offer up lozenges to people all around me. Lozenge. Over and over again. Lozenge? Would you like a looozzzzenge? LOZENGE!!!
Does anyone else have this problem?
Some examples:
Moist
Mound
Crevice Lozenge
Bovine
Junk
Ointment
Unit
My friends think this is funny. They will even form sentences using as many of the words from the list as they can.
"The bovine had a lozenge stuck in his moist crevice." (Thank you, Brian.)
Or Michael will stretch out a word slowly and irritatingly until it makes me want to cringe. "Unit. Uuuuunit. Uuuuuuuuuuuuunit."
The worst is when I'm not prepared. I was once in a setting with people I didn't know and a woman offered me a lozenge. In my head I'm thinking, why not cough drop? Who really says lozenge anyway? But I couldn't say anything so I politely declined. Then she proceeded to offer up lozenges to people all around me. Lozenge. Over and over again. Lozenge? Would you like a looozzzzenge? LOZENGE!!!
Does anyone else have this problem?
Monday, September 04, 2006
Deli Delights
Seen while waiting at the deli counter:
A woman orders the two most disgusting looking (and sounding) meats available: olive loaf and head cheese.
Olive loaf. Pretty self explainable. A loaf of meat with olives nestled into it.
Head cheese. (Just say that out loud.....oh....ew....so gross.....)
A jellied loaf or sausage made from chopped and boiled parts of the feet, head, and sometimes the tongue and heart of an animal, usually a hog.
That's exactly what it looks like, too. Head cheese. Head cheese???? There are a few really nasty images that conjure up at the sound of that. There's not even any cheese in it. I mean, why not head loaf? Or variety loaf? Yeah, variety loaf. That doesn't sound too bad.
Variety loaf: a sampling of rare pieces of meat combined into a loaf.
Ugh...I still wouldn't want to eat it.
A woman orders the two most disgusting looking (and sounding) meats available: olive loaf and head cheese.
Olive loaf. Pretty self explainable. A loaf of meat with olives nestled into it.
Head cheese. (Just say that out loud.....oh....ew....so gross.....)
A jellied loaf or sausage made from chopped and boiled parts of the feet, head, and sometimes the tongue and heart of an animal, usually a hog.
That's exactly what it looks like, too. Head cheese. Head cheese???? There are a few really nasty images that conjure up at the sound of that. There's not even any cheese in it. I mean, why not head loaf? Or variety loaf? Yeah, variety loaf. That doesn't sound too bad.
Variety loaf: a sampling of rare pieces of meat combined into a loaf.
Ugh...I still wouldn't want to eat it.
Friday, September 01, 2006
What Not to Wear
While taking a walk around the grounds I noticed three couples that were wearing matching outfits.
Couple #1: Black polos, jeans, sneakers. Child's outfit did not match the parents'.
Couple #2: Green tee-shirts (one sage green, one lime green...ugh), khaki shorts, brown sandals.
Child was wearing a striped green shirt.
Couple # 3: Bright Orange shirts. Woman in a tee-shirt, man in a tank top. Black shorts. Baby in an orange onesie, completing the pumpkin patch.
Is this normal? Do these couples discuss what they're going to wear ahead of time or is this something that comes with being in a couple. Do Michael and I dress alike and not even know it?
The Great Pumpkin family could not have been an accident.
What would Stacey and Clinton say?!
Couple #1: Black polos, jeans, sneakers. Child's outfit did not match the parents'.
Couple #2: Green tee-shirts (one sage green, one lime green...ugh), khaki shorts, brown sandals.
Child was wearing a striped green shirt.
Couple # 3: Bright Orange shirts. Woman in a tee-shirt, man in a tank top. Black shorts. Baby in an orange onesie, completing the pumpkin patch.
Is this normal? Do these couples discuss what they're going to wear ahead of time or is this something that comes with being in a couple. Do Michael and I dress alike and not even know it?
The Great Pumpkin family could not have been an accident.
What would Stacey and Clinton say?!
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