Let It Snow?

I was so happy to see snow falling this morning. Everything was quiet and the trees sparkled with white. Big, fluffy snow flakes were falling. It's finally winter! Kodiak ran outside and pranced around the yard. He loves the cold. It was very cute.

The magic of the first snow quickly disappeared when I went to start my car. That beautiful snow? The snow that sparkled and came down like soft, white feathers? Was attached to my car in the form of heavy, wet slush. Bleh.

But it still looked pretty. But I guess Connecticut didn't get snow because work is snow-free.

In other news, my puppy is not 100%. Turns out he did hurt his paw. He has to wear a bandage for about six weeks and although it breaks my heart, I think it looks so cute. It's bright yellow and since he's a black dog he looks very trendy. I call it his boo boo bandage, but Michael prefers Workout Band, as it is more manly. And we don't want to give the dog a complex.

Unfortunately, even with all the preventative measures we took, he was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. I know the pain that is Lyme, as I've had it twice. He was prescribed the exact same medication I had to take. My poor puppy.

I guess the paw injury was a blessing in disguise because we caught the Lyme early enough to prevent any damage to his system. He doesn’t even seem to be having an side effects. He’s just happy to be getting extra peanut butter every day. Hides the pills great.

My house is also Christmas-ized with the candles in the windows and a yummy smelling wreath on the door. I’m trying to convince Michael to go and get the tree with me, but he’s resisting until a later date. I will win this battle!

And also, there’s only three weeks till Christmas. I’m almost done shopping, but three weeks! I better get a move on.

Oh Yes It's Ladies' Night

My town has the cutest main street. Lots of little shops and restaurants and it's all decorated with pretty Christmas lights. And tonight they did the most genius thing. They had a Ladies' Night, complete with sales, hors d'oeuvres and free wine at every store. That's right...FREE WINE! Which I happily helped myself to.

Jen and I made the rounds, sampling this cookie and that wine and browsing the stores full of jewelry, gifts and art. I've never seen Main St. so crowded before. This idea definitely worked and I can only hope they do it again every year. It didn't hurt that despite it being the last day of November, it's 60 degrees out.

I did make a purchase...for myself. Even though I thought I might find some cute gifts. But hey, it's Ladies' Night. And I'm a lady...a slightly tipsy lady buzzing on free wine. And I deserve a present.

So Happy Holidays to me!

Poor Puppy

I am not a crazy dog person. I love my dog, but I don't dress him up or carry him around with me all day. Especially since I would need a wheelbarrow to do so. But despite what people might say, he's part of the family. My big furry baby.


I got home late last night and noticed Kodiak was licking his paw. It didn't seem too unusual since he does that occasionally. I put him in his crate and went to bed.


This morning I went downstairs and just like every other morning, I went to let him out. Usually he's up and wagging his tail and will run at me with kisses as soon as I open the crate. Today he was lying down and licking the paw. A lot. I practically had to drag him out of the crate.


I tried to look at his paw in between him nosing my hand out of the way so he could continue licking. I thought it might be his dewclaw, the nail on the side of the paw. It seemed long to me. Could he have caught it on something? Is it stabbing him? My poor dog!


I went upstairs and woke up Michael. The two of us spent the next 15 minutes in our pajamas on the kitchen floor trying to figure out what was wrong. Michael trimmed his nails and we hoped that would fix the problem.


I felt awful. We had failed as parents. We didn't keep up on dog maintenance and now he was hurt. He had big sad eyes and my heart ached. We didn't take care of our dog! What about when we're parents? Are we going to forget something with our babies?


I spent the next 15 minutes petting him and brushing him and telling him he was a good boy. Then he went outside with Michael and from the way he was running around and fetching his ball, it seemed we had fixed the problem. I felt so relieved.


So maybe I am a little crazy about my dog.

Tagged

I don't usually do these, but Domestic Goddess tagged me and she rocks so for her, I will.

Six weird things about you:

1. I'm right handed, but I carry my bag on my left shoulder and hold my cell phone in my left hand.

2. I love to watch operation shows but pass out when I have blood taken.

3. When I was little I used to put baby wipes over the tops of lamps and would melt plastic figurines on light bulbs. This had nothing to do with being a pyro, I just liked the way the wipes and the plastic smelled when they got warm. This didn't last long because my mom caught me and flipped out. Something about how I could burn the house down...

4. Speaking of smells, I also used to love the smell of my mom's deodorant.

5. I love cleaning under my finger nails. There's something really satisfying about it.

6. I think sometimes dinner tastes better if you're eating standing up in the kitchen.

I'm Such A Third Grader

Because I totally spread a rumor faster than you would believe and it's only 10 a.m.

When I was in college sites like Friendster and Facebook became popular. At first it was really cool. You'd become "friends" with someone you know from college or you used to hang out with in high school. You can read their profiles and see what they're up to, look at their pictures and assess the person they're dating. Fun.

And until Myspace came along, it wasn't too stalker-ish. You could only see a profile of someone who chose to be "friends" with you. Now anyone can see what you put out there and it's pretty freaky. Anyway, rambling...

I still like to look at Facebook because you can choose your privacy settings and still see how everyone is doing. So that's what I was doing this morning when I noticed a family friend (background: the girl is the daughter of my aunt's close friend) had changed her relationship status from "single" to "engaged." I was so surprised! So I emailed my dad and asked him if he had heard anything.

Within minutes there were emails from my dad, my aunt and both my cousins.

"I just talked to her mother!" my aunt exclaimed. "All she said is that she had a sore throat!"

The emails came at rapid fire full of speculation and doubt. And maybe because I have a severe case of Wedding Brain, I wanted to think it might actually be true.

So I went right to the source. Because she's in college and I knew she'd be on IM. I signed on and sure enough, there she was.

Her response? (And this is an exact quote) "HAHHAHAHAHAHAH! NOOOOOOOO it's not true hahahah that is sooooooooooooooooooo funny though Omg I love you! hahah I am not engaged...I dont even have a boyfriend hahahah."

The writer in me cringed reading this. The punctuation! The capitalization! The....oh, wait. She's not engaged? Time for a little damage control.

Out went another email. This time from me saying oops! Just kidding!

And calmness once again resumed. I better start keeping my mouth shut.

Or my fingers quiet. However you want to look at it.

I Don't Even Want To Look At Turkey

This long weekend was so nice. I spent time with my family, ate lots and lots and lots of food, visited with Dani California and almost completed all my Christmas shopping. It was great.

Getting to NY, however, was not so nice. A trip that should have taken me two hours from work took FOUR. I even left early to prevent getting stuck. But no. I should have known. I-84 is pure hell. I sat in stand-still traffic for almost two hours until I couldn't take it anymore. After getting alternate directions from my mom I got off the highway, drove 10 minutes...and got stuck behind an accident. At this point my blood was boiling. I was tired, I was hungry and my butt hurt from sitting so long. I said, the hell with it, I was two exits away from where I needed to be. I'd just get back on the highway and deal with it.

So that's what I did. And wouldn't you know that not five minutes later the traffic broke and I was on my way. The cause of the traffic? NOTHING!!!! No accident, no exit, no merge. Nothing. I hate I-84.

As for shopping, I got gifts for Michael's mother, the children she's fostering, my aunt and gifts for Michael to give to people. I even got something for me. I've wanted a reed diffuser forever but couldn't find one. I thought it would be so nice for my desk at work. And this weekend Pier 1 was having a big sale and had them! Yay! And I bought new pillows for the couch because I am oh so domestic.

All and all a great weekend. And it was so nice to come home to Michael and the big dog yesterday. Kodiak nearly knocked me over with kisses when I came in the door. So cute! And Michael was full of I love you's and hugs and kisses and I know he missed me.

And now that Thanksgiving is over it is officially time for Christmas music, candles in the windows and a wreath on the door.

I love the holidays.

Rambling Because It Feels Like A Friday

In less than three hours I will begin my trip home to NY. I'm crossing my fingers that by taking a half-day and leaving way before rush hour I will not get stuck in boat loads (car loads?) of traffic.

I'm really looking forward to the trip. I don't get to see my family often and I miss them a lot. My mom has lots of Hawaii pictures to show me, my sister has a new hair color every time I come home (I think it's dark blue this time) and it's THANKSGIVING which means one of my favorite foods of all time: stuffing. In abundance. All weekend. The gym and I will reconnect after Sunday.

I'll also get to visit with some high school friends that I haven't seen in forever. There are the select few that I'm really excited about seeing but then there are those random people that you know you will run into at the bar and the general feeling is eh. The ones that no matter how many years it's been since you walked those halls together still ask you what your high school boyfriend is up to (no clue) or if you remember that time so and so said so and so and it was SO FUNNY! (Um, no, sorry. I don't recall that.)

Michael and I have spent the last four Christmases together but we've always split up Thanksgiving. It's easier with work schedules and then his mother doesn't feel slighted. (If we don't travel we spend Christmas with my family.) I will miss him lots and lots but then it will be so nice to see him again on Sunday.

Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving and think of me when you eat lots and lots of stuffing.

One Time Deal

For the first time ever I'm taking down a post. The last one I wrote. Because once again I was complaining about not being engaged and you know what? That's enough.

At least it's enough for this week. Because I'm sure I'll complain about it again. Even though I'm going to try really hard not to. But the whole post was about it. The. Whole. Thing.

Because the thing is, I don't want to be the girl that whines and asks over and over again "when are you going to marry me???" That's not who I am. That's not who I want to become. And I don't want Michael to propose just to get me to shut up!

I'm not going to pretend and promise that it won't come up in posts again. Because it will. Because it's on my mind A LOT and that's what this blog is for. Plus, Clink and I have to stick together now that Ms. Sass is going to be Mrs. Sass! (Congrats again!) And it's fun to be impatient with Clink. She gets it.

So, again. Enough for whining for this week.

All in due time. Right?

Shades Of Red And Green

And no, I'm not talking about Christmas.

I'm angry. I'm not only angry, I'm flabbergasted. Somebody stole my lunch. Stole my lunch right out of the fridge at a professional business where adults work.

Stole. My. Lunch.

And the thing is, it's not an isolated incident. Stuff has been stolen out of our fridge before. I just can't understand why anyone would go into an office that doesn't belong to them and steal someone's lunch. Specifically, MY LUNCH.

And I'm hungry. And fuming. And...HUNGRY.

Secondly, I'm jealous. I'm jealous because a girl I know (who let me say is a really big sweetheart and deserves this happiness a ton) just got engaged to a guy she's been dating for a year and a half. I'm happy for her in the sense that she is in love and will be getting married but jealous that I've been with Michael and in love for almost five years and want this more than anything.

This Monday is definitely not starting the week off right.

I Survived

I survived IKEA. And thank you for all the tips because I really did eat the granola bar and drink my bottled water. And broke out the one pair of non-gym sneakers I own. (Cute little red ones that Michael calls wrestling shoes, if you were curious.)

As we approached IKEA I was still undaunted. Sure, it was big, but we snagged a parking space easily and headed towards the Returns entrance. Once inside, my friend returned a rug quickly and smoothly and we were off to the main entrance.

Here's where it starts to get complicated.

The airport-like signs direct you to two different locations: Showroom and Marketplace. Where to start? Look, all those people are getting in the elevator. We'll get in it too. DING! Ooooh look! The Showroom! With every available room set up you could imagine. Bathrooms, full kitchens, bedrooms, offices! But wait, how come I can't go over to that bedroom? I can see it...I. Just. Can't. Get. There.

No. You have to stay on The Path. The Path that winds around and around and around and AROUND until you've seen every single set up in the showroom. It's a great marketing plan. It's a pain in the ass. I looked longingly at the exit doors that warn you ALARM WILL SOUND. It's all a ploy. I bet the alarm wouldn't sound. They just want to scare you so you'll stay on The Path. It worked.

Oh, did I mention we had also already grabbed a cart? Yeah. We did. So we pushed it, empty, around and around and around....

We finally made it to the end, hopped on the elevator and arrived at the Marketplace. I was tempted to buy a lot more than I did. After looking at every imaginable piece of glassware, kitchen gadgets and storage containers, we made it to the rugs. This was the real reason for the trip and I'm not kidding when I say we spent almost 45 minutes in this section alone.

While looking at rugs there was an odd woman who appeared to be following us wherever we went. She even made a comment that she wasn't following us, which makes it even more evident that she was. And she was following us holding this in the air and saying out loud that one was more yellow than the other and it was probably because the sheep rolled in something. Great.

Overall, the IKEA trip was successful, albeit a little overwhelming. And that granola bar tasted great between Lighting and Home Decor.

What did I buy? I bought a Marienta Ruta, a Signe and an Alvine Satin. That's two rugs for the kitchen and a duvet cover, respectively. I didn't eat any Swedish meatballs, but the cinnamon buns did smell tasty.

Truth be told, I don't think I'll be going back any time soon. I needed a nap when it was over!

In Which I Say "Meatballs"...Twice

I woke up this morning to a text saying that Christmas music was on the radio. (Thanks, Jen!) I know it's a cliche, but this really is my favorite time of year. There's something about Thanksgiving through New Years that's so warm and cozy and happy. I love it.

So despite the fact that it's 60 degrees out, I listened to Christmas music the whole ride to work and now have it playing at my desk. Yay! Michael (a.k.a. Scrooge) will cringe when he reads this. He doesn't want to hear Christmas music until the week of Christmas, and even then he thinks it's too much. Too bad he lives with me!

I've already bopped around my desk to Mariah ("All I want for Christmas is yoouuuuu!") and am currently being serenaded by Frosty the Snowman. Love it!

On to some randomness, because really, it's Friday.

I confessed to Michael that I look at wedding stuff and that I might possibly (i.e. absolutely) have found the place for a reception. As in, I started drooling all over myself when I found it. And we could afford it! And...hi, I'm not even engaged.

His response? He wasn't surprised. Or freaked out. He laughed...and then smiled. He's so cute.

I really pushed myself at the gym last night (yes, I did go!) and as a result I am not wearing heels today. Legs = ow. But a good ow.

Tomorrow is a big day. Tomorrow I am going to Ikea. IKEA! The magical store that goes on forever and has stemware, couches, beds and meatballs! Couches and meatballs! In the same store! Oh those crazy Scandinavians!

I've been given some tips to survive my first experience within the window-less blue box. Bring a granola bar. Follow the signs. Charge your cell before leaving and always have a buddy. With these tips I'm sure popping my Ikea cherry will be a fun adventure. Details to follow.

Happy Friday!

"Siillllleeeent Niiight. Hooooooly Niiiight..."

I Hate It When He's Right

My plan was to go to the gym last night. But when I got home we had nothing for dinner so we had to go grocery shopping. You know how I feel about grocery shopping.

But Michael was home so he came with me and his company makes the experience tolerable. So we're in the store, adding things to the cart that we really don't need, (salsa flavored tortilla chips?) and it was getting late.

I made a reference to this as we were standing in the frozen foods aisle and suggested that I might just go to the gym in the morning.

This is where Michael started laughing.

"No you won't!"

"I will too! I'm motivated!"

[Laughing] "Who are you kidding. The alarm will go off and you will roll over and go back to sleep. I know you!"

This is where I began huffing and puffing and pouting. I almost stomped my feet. I am not above doing that in the middle of the grocery store. I was furious! Oh ye of little faith! I'll show him.

"I will go in the morning. I bet you. How much you wanna bet?"

"900 dollars."

"You're on!"

I was so mad at him. How could he doubt me? I made a commitment to myself to go to the gym at least three times a week. I was going in the morning. What was his problem? I was mad at him the whole way home, while I was putting away groceries and as I prepared dinner. I was right, he was wrong.

The end.

P.S. Anyone got 900 bucks I can borrow?

I Believe...

- in the power of black eye liner, great jeans and killer heels.

- in always having a box on instant pudding in the cabinet. Because there's always room for J-E-L-L-O.

- there's something magical in the quiet of a snow storm.

- in sometimes having a good cry.

- that everyone should own a big down comforter.

- (I love) when the song you're listening too ends just as you pull into the driveway.

- that the ocean, sunrises, mountain tops and babies' smiles prove there is a something greater than us.

- that love is the answer.

Have I Mentioned I Hate Bad Drivers?

I was still in my post-adolescent funk last night when I started the drive home from work. It was dark. It was raining, but not that hard. Not hard enough to justify the driving that I encountered the whole way home.

First there was the Creepy Crawly.

The driver that inches their way along the road at least five miles under the speed limit. Their wipers are on top speed (even though it's just a step above drizzling) and if you're close enough, you might be able to make out the top of clear plastic bonnet covering white hair.

Next came Big Truck You Cannot See Around. (BTYCSA)

BTYCSA drives in the left lane. He usually has some large equipment in his cab or things tied down under a tarp. He's going a mile or two under the speed limit but remains in the left lane. He also stays right next to the person in the right lane so there is no chance of getting around either of them. His massive size will not allow you too see around him or through his wind shied, so you have no idea what's going on in front of him. And he kicks up so much dirt and water that you have to use your wipers even though it's not raining that hard.

Then there was He Who Does Not Know Blinker Is On.

Blinker Boy will put on his blinker and get in the lane next to you. He will then continue to drive for miles with it on...blink, blink, blink. Is he turning? Is he going to cut me off unexpectedly? Does he hear the incessant BLINK, BLINK, BLINK?

And finally, my least favorite encounter of the evening: Mrs. Mini Van.

I HATE MINI VANS. I have never come across a person driving a mini van that was a good driver. They usually fall into one of two extremes:

One: They are so slow. There is a gaggle of children inside, toys are being thrown, stickers are all over the windows and they are just basically in your way.

Two: They are maniacs. They have a soccer ball decal on their back window, a "My Child Is A (insert school here) Honor Roll Student!" bumper sticker, they're talking on their cell phone and they are FLYING. I cannot tell you how many times I've been tailgated by a mini van only to have them soar by me going 80.

Put this all together over the course of a 40 minute commute and you have me gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

I better not encounter this again tonight. I spent an hour in the gym releasing my road rage last night and I'm too sore to go back today.

So I Guess This Is Growing Up

It was really nice to have Boobeski come visit. The minute she walked in the door it was like we were right back at 38 BP. After catching up we immediately started reminiscing about the beginning of our friendship. There were a lot of "I can't believe I did that" moments followed by lots of laughter. How is it possible that we've been friends for almost six years?

As promised, the evening included good food and good drinks with Michael and his friend from work. The four of us laughed and talked (I'd like to say late into the evening...but it wasn't really that late. We were tired...we work now!) and had a really nice time.

The next day we went shopping. And while I didn't buy any shoes, (I know, I'm shocked too) I left with a nice assortment of...work clothes.

Work clothes? What's happening to me? When did deciding what to wear to work become more important than finding a cute top to go with those great jeans? When did I start putting the fabulous coat back on the hanger because I should really use that money for Christmas presents? How did professionalism, practicalism and fiscal savviness creep into my life without me knowing it? And why is it showing its ugly face while I'm shopping?!

Sure, I'm not old. My boss will read this and say, "you're so 23." But to me, this is change.

Last night I took a late night run to CVS. Late night errands always remind me of college...Wendy's, Dunkin', Cumberland Farms...and I was feeling nostalgic for my friends.

I went in and headed for the sign marked Hosiery. I inwardly groaned as I walked down the aisle. Hosiery. Hosiery? Hosiery! I haven't worn stockings since, I don't know, middle school? OK, maybe not that long ago but I really couldn't remember the last time. I don't wear stockings. Grown ups wear stockings. I am not a grown up.

But despite what Glamour says, I cannot get away with bare legs all winter at work. I'm fair skinned. We're talking super-light. Bare legs + winter = legs look like a cadaver. Let's not even go there. Plus, I'm always cold. If I want to continue to wear adorable skirts and dresses, stockings must make an appearance.

So there I am, standing in front of rows and rows of various colors of hosiery and completely stumped. What do I buy? What is the difference between Off Black, Soft Black and Black Mist? It look me 15 minutes to pick out two pairs. Fifteen minutes. Seriously.

So here I am, pondering where my adolescence went and wearing my stockings and crossing my fingers that I don't put a run in them.

I can totally see a quarter-life crisis in my future.

Friday Ramblings

I am so ready for the weekend. It's been one of those weeks where I feel so disconnected from myself...like I'm functioning and going about my daily business but not really here. Does that make any sense? No? I guess a simpler way to say it is I feel really out of it.

Aside from the fact that I have a ton to do this afternoon and no real time to do it and I still haven't cleaned the house even though Boobeski is coming tonight, I think it will be a good weekend.

And despite the small fortune I spent on my hair last night, the weekend will be filled with good company, good food, good drink and outlet shopping. Discounted shoes? YES.

And my hair? I can't stop touching it. Because it's so soft and smells like deliciously expensive hair products that I won't buy for myself.

And this post? Are you bored out of your skull from reading it?

Workin' It (At Work...Not On The Streets)

I came into work early because I have to leave early today. Do you know how strange an office is a half hour before everyone comes in? It's eerily quiet...no computers running, no printers going, no yelling from room to room. (What, people don't yell in your office?)

I kind of enjoyed the quiet. Not so much that I would want to work in a quiet office, though. Because my office has character. And chocolate. And hardwood floors. And....chocolate.

So today has the potential to be a pretty good day. I'm having lunch with a friend, the intern might not wear her overly strong perfume (fingers crossed) and it won't be completely dark out when I leave. Not like last night when Rt. 1 was a freaking death trap. And later this evening is my much needed hair appointment (roots=bad) which was delayed a week because of the dinner. I love the tag line for SunSilk. "Get hairapy." So true.

In exciting news that has nothing to do with me? Daily Editor might be getting engaged soon!!!! So excited for you, girlie. You know there's a bunch of us green with envy right now. Her boy basically confirmed he is ring shopping. (Or has ring-shopped already!) Yay!

And shout-out to the male reader who felt neglected when I thanked all the ladies. Thanks for reading, man. How about a little male perspective?

In other news, Boobeski is coming to visit tomorrow. Which means massive amounts of house cleaning tonight. Damn you, Boobs.

(It will be interesting to see how many people end up here through a Google search of "damn boobs." Ha!)

Surprise

When I started this blog I did it mostly as an outlet for my writing, my thoughts, etc. I didn't really think people would start reading it.

But people are reading it. And what's come of it is this amazing network of women who *shock* are going through really similar things.

Whether it be agonizing over when we will get engaged, complaining that we are bloated, hungry and bitchy or relishing in a new pair of shoes, these women are right in step with me.

So that's pretty cool. Especially during this whole future (near future????? Please???) mother in law thing...I couldn't have asked for better support.

Thank you ladies, you know who you are.

Randomness

* I'm still fuming over the relationship with Michael's mom. I don't know why it's getting to me so much. I'm almost at the point where I want to sit down with her or write her a letter...anything to get my feelings across. Because right now I feel like she's taking advantage of the fact I haven't said anything to her.

The last few dinners with her? Awful. And at her birthday I really feel she took advantage of having an audience to be even more standoff-ish to me. Like she's saying, "Look, I told you she's not good enough."

And I've really had it up to here with the conservative, close minded statements. Yes, I'm liberal. Deal with it. Newsflash: liberal does not equal devil. It's not like I'm chained to a tree, burning my bra, making out with a woman all while aborting my unborn baby just because I can.

Sorry. That was a bit much. But you get my point.

And if I was really so awful, why would her intelligent, ADULT son be with me???

Thoughts, anyone?

*My first story is being published through work. I'm really excited about it because I worked really hard on it and it means that, oh yeah, I have a real job and I actually do something. The only downside is for whatever reason I won't be credited for it. At least not this time. No, it's not the New York Times, but I'm still disappointed. It's nice to see your name under your work.

*My mother is currently in the air flying to Hawaii for a week. I am not. You can see how happy I am about this.

*After tonight there will be no more political commercials. I cannot wait. If I have to see one more "the many hats of Chaffee" commercial I will scream.

*16 days till Thanksgiving! Yum!

Wake Up Call

How do you perceive things?

How To Annoy Me

This past weekend was spent in Vermont with Michael and the dog. It was so nice to nap on the couch, walk in the crisp mountain air and not answer the phone. I even got to indulge in maple sugar candies which are soooo good.

But four hours in the car each way did not make me happy. Don't get me wrong, I loved the time with Michael. Actually, driving with him is something I really enjoy. But when faced with a four hour trip, there is bound to be some mishaps along the way.

On the way to VT we hit traffic in Massachusetts. Some type of bridge work that really should have been done in the middle of the night, not on a Saturday afternoon. Really.

The main reason for the holdup was that two lanes had to merge into one. There was a big orange sign that said "RIGHT LANE ENDS ONE MILE" that most people took to mean the right lane was ending.

But not all people.

No. Not Ms. Mini-van. (Have I ever written about how much I hate mini-vans? No? Remind me to.) Ms. Mini-van was so concerned about getting ahead just a few more feet that she would speed up in the right lane and try to pass all of those (specifically us) who had followed the sign and gotten in the left lane. Luckily for us, the guy in front of us wasn't having it either. He straddled the middle line just enough so she couldn't pass him and we stayed right behind him so she couldn't get in front of us.

But she wouldn't let up. There she was, right next to me rolling her eyes and getting agitated. And I had enough. My window was down. I turned around. I may have thrown my hands in the air. And said "you're going to get in an accident! Get over it and get behind us!"

Another eye roll, but she got behind us. Michael was surprised at my passenger-seat road rage. But HONESTLY. Some people.

On the way home we hit traffic again. This time it appeared to be for no reason, until....Oh. I-84. How I loathe you 84. The worst leg of the trip when I head home to NY and here it is again, dumping traffic onto 90 when all I want to do is get home!

We decided this would be a good time for a pee and snack break so we pulled off into a rest area. You know, a fancy one, with a McDonalds and a Papa Johns. And an Auntie Anne's Pretzels. Like I said, fancy.

We parted towards our respective bathrooms. I waited for a stall and when one of the doors opened, the girl coming out looked and me and kept on going. So I went in. And saw that she hadn't flushed. What? Ew. What is wrong with people?

I wasn't about to wait again so I flushed it for her as I pressed myself against the door willing her excrements to stay in the bowl and away from me. When I was done I went out to wash my hands.

Sink #1, no soap. Sink #2, no soap. Sinks 3, 4, AND 5....NO SOAP! Sink #6 finally had soap and it was the icky rest stop smelling soap. You know, the pink kind.

Michael was waiting for me when I came out and we were hungry so we decided to get a pretzel. Well apparently they don't make the parmesan anymore (the best kind) so I settled for a regular and he chose a cinnamon sugar.

"We only have one regular right now, but we have an almond one," said the cashier.

"That's it?" Michael asked.

"We're making more now," she replied. "They'll be ready in about seven minutes."

I'd be damned if we were going to stay in that rest stop for another seven minutes.

"We'll take the regular," Michael said.

Can I just tell you that the regular was dinky and unsatisfying. What ever happened to big, doughy pretzels?

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The dog made up for lost time in his yard by running around and barking at the sky. I made dinner and we settled in for some Sunday night TV.

A great weekend. Minus the traffic.

And the pretzel.

Just. Breathe.

Last night left me completely emotionally exhausted. Do you know how hard it is to keep your mouth shut when you disagree so vehemently with the conversation going on around you but you know that saying something will just make it worse?

Back to that in a minute.

Dinner went basically exactly as I anticipated. Michael's mom thanked him very sincerely for the card both of us wrote in.

She shared a look (you know the kind) with her friend across the table when Michael's grandmother made a reference to our first Christmas tree.

She snapped at me for my choice of outerwear:

Me: Brrr, it got cold out!

Her: Well, Molly. Maybe if you were wearing a proper jacket, you wouldn't be so cold. I mean, really. It's not that cold out.

Me: I came directly from work. This jacket was just fine this afternoon.

Her: Well, it's not really worth complaining about, is it?

Right. Silly me. What was I thinking--rushing home from work to attend your birthday because 6 o'clock (rather than 6:30) is really better for you--and not bringing a suitable jacket for the drop in temperature that was bound to happen in the two hours we were in the restaurant??

Oh, the conversation that left me wanting to just die?

The nicest way to put it is that it was very, very, very close minded and bigoted. And I had already used my bathroom break escape to avoid an earlier conversation so I couldn't leave the table again without looking like I had a serious bladder problem.

I love Michael. I really, really, really, really do.

And now I completely understand why he doesn't like to go to his mother's for dinner.

Matriarchal Mess

Today is one of those days. You know the kind I mean. It's rainy, it's cold. Your bed was so warm and getting out of it was soooo hard.

It's that kind of day.

Coupled by the fact that I feel crampy and bloated and just want to eat chocolate all day. Which I will. Go ahead, judge me.

And, to top it off, tonight we are going out for Michael's mom's birthday.

This isn't all bad. The food will be good. His grandmother will be there and she loves me.

However, his mom? Doesn't love me so much. Sure, she's kind. She'll give me a hug and thank me for coming. But that's where it will end. The rest of the evening she will barely talk to me because her Son is there and that is the most important thing.

And no one is good enough for her Son. No. One.

Except maybe the daughter of a minister. Which I am definitely not.

Why does this bother me so much? Michael and I are happy together. I shouldn't worry about conquering the impossible task of getting his mom to love me. Isn't it true for all moms? There's no woman good enough for their boy?

Both his grandmothers love me. They even ask I call them Grandma. His dad liked me. His siblings like me. WHY DOES THIS BOTHER ME?

Oh, well. I guess it's just something I'm going to have to live with. I'm definitely having a glass of wine tonight.

She'll hate that.

Better Than Last Year

Last year was our first year in the house and I was really excited to have trick-or-treaters. Being way past the age of actually trick-or-treating myself, and not yet with a child of my own to take out, I was really looking forward to being the nice neighbor handing out treats.

I went out and bought bags of candy and sat down in the living room anticipating the doorbell ringing all night.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And not once did the doorbell ring. No scary ghosts. No pretty ballerinas. No Spidermen.

Zip. Zero. Notta.

I was so disappointed.

So this year I thought, why bother? If no one is going to come I am not going to bring bags of chocolate (mmmmmm chocolate) into this house for no reason!

But I thought about it. And thought about it. And I knew that if I didn't get any candy then the doorbell wouldn't stop ringing.

I stopped at CVS on my way home from work and stood...on... line... with all the other people buying last minute candy.

I pulled into the driveway, unlocked the door, said hi to the dog and...

DING DONG!!!!!

A trick-or-treater!!!!!!!!!

A little boy named Noah dressed as a soldier was my very first trick-or-treater. He was followed by....

Three more.

OK. So it's not what I had imagined. But all four kids were excited to get candy from my house and now they'll come back next year.

Good enough for me.

Happy Halloween!

In honor of Halloween, I thought I'd share a little bit of my Halloween history. For your viewing pleasure, a look back at me and Dani...because it's just too funny!

Here we are as a witch and a.....I don't know if we ever figured out exactly what Dani was. A weird, Halloween thing. Actually, a few years later we both went as a weird Halloween thing. But she pioneered it this year.

As usual, all you can see in this picture is my huge mouth and non-existent eyes. And no, the hair is not real. Although after ringing the doorbell at one house some woman started stroking my head and asking if the hair was mine!







Here we are as Dionne and Amber from Clueless. This photo was taken exactly 10 years ago today. Don't you just love the tan colored stockings? What you can't see is the super trendy clear plastic platform Jellies we were wearing. What I remember most vividly from that night was stepping into a giant puddle and having wet and steamy plastic Jellies for the rest of the night. Ewww.

Haha, oh man. Miss you Dani!

Happy Halloween!

Seeing Stars

Last month I wrote about my adventure on the sailboat. This included a good half hour of sea sickness that was just awful.

It's not just boats that make me queasy. Cars do it to. If I'm in the passenger seat, there is a good chance I'll be nauseous by the end of the trip.

And today I learned of another place that makes me feel dizzy and nauseous and gross.

The planetarium.

"What? The planetarium? You're weird."

I know! But apparently it's true. While I sat there trying to enjoy Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper and the North Star all I could think was "where's the barf bag?"

Totally uncool, people. And I was staring at the horizon! (Well, the horizon being where the dome meets the wall, but it's supposed to represent the horizon....) Isn't that supposed to help?

I mean, honestly. This is just too ridiculous to be justified in any way.

Hi, I'm Molly. Planetariums make me sick.

A Hairy Situation

Women don't have it easy. When it comes to the bathroom, that is. Here's the thing. We were not born with an extra appendage. In all other life situations I am quite happy to be sporting a va-jing and not walking around with something wagging between my legs.

But when it comes to the bathroom, particularly a public bathroom, well, guys just have it made.

All the ladies reading are quite familiar with the process. You go into the public bathroom and assess the situation. You feel slightly deflated because even if the seat looks clean, there is no way you're going to sit on it. So you squat. Which is why we all have super-strong thighs. Because we have no choice.

Now let's get to the real issue at hand. The work bathroom. This is one of the bathrooms that I don't feel all that uncomfortable letting go of the bathroom issues and actually sitting. Because it's not really a public bathroom. There's maximum 10 people who use it and seven of them are women. It gets cleaned every day. It's pretty much safe.

HOWEVER.

I just went in there and staring up at me, a dark gash against the stark white porcelain, was a hair. One loan hair

"AH!" I thought. "Ahhhhh!!!!"

Because a hair? In the bathroom? On the toilet? Ew, ew, ew, ew.

As I balled up the TP to swipe it into the bowl I tried to tell myself whatever I could to make myself feel better about The Hair.

"It's from someone's head/arm/leg....nose! It's got to be."

But you know it wasn't from someone's head/arm/leg or nose. And I know it too.

Sigh.

Useless And In My Way, But Here To Stay

There are some things in my house that when purchased, seemed like a really good idea. However, the more I think about it, I realize that these things are just....there.

For example:

Potato Masher- I probably make mashed potatoes twice a year. Maybe three times. And the masher? Awkward shape. Takes up room in the drawer. Makes me irritated when drawer won't close.

Candle Centerpiece for Dining Room Table - looks really pretty. Has been lit once. To see how it would look. Candles collect dust. Makes Molly mad.

Extra Large Space Saver Bag - great in theory, but the bag is HUGE. I don't have enough stuff to put in it to suck out all the air with the vacuum and store it under the bed. (I've done this with three or four Large bags...very fun

Super On Sale 20 Rolls of Our Favorite Toilet Paper - great money wise, not so great when the bathroom cabinet is thisbig and has to store everything else. I must say, I'm pretty proud of my TP stacking skills.

Ottoman- I still have hopes for this one. It's cute. It's functional. It matches the living room color scheme perfectly. It gets used as a giant coaster. Which. Drives. Me. Crazy.

Giant Mop - I (thankfully) cannot take credit for this one. When Michael was away for a month for work (bad, bad, evil away. Stupid work.) his grandmother stopped by one day unannounced. I hadn't vacuumed yet and she not-so-subtly told me that I needed to do something about the dog hair. (Hi, 120 lb black dog that blows his coat in the summer? You try keeping up with all the hair. It will kill you.) Her solution? A giant mop. No, not a Swisher that picks up dirt and hair and dust with static electricity. A mop. As in...mop. Yeah, the kind you put in a bucket. With water. And soap. How this was supposed to pick up dog hair, I did not know. But I tried it (dry) and I tried it (wet) and know what? It doesn't work. It's just a big ol' mop. That now resides in the hall closet just being a mop. Mopping around. Mop, mop, mop.

Also, for some reason, in the short time we've lived together we've somehow collected enough blankets and comforters to swaddle 3 million babies. (OK, maybe just 2 million.) There are only two of us sleeping there. And we use one giant, deliciously fluffy and warm down comforter. The guest room also has its own comforter. But the other 999,998 blankets...they've taken residence in the guest room. Where they will continue to live until I can figure out what to do with them.

The Extra Large Space Saver Bag, you say? Now, I've thought of that. But even the XL can only hold a few...and it's not really worth it to me.

Actually, I wonder if it could hold shoes.....

Sheltered

Elementary schools in Wyoming, Washington and Massachusetts have banned tag from recess. According to one principal, recess is "a time when accidents can happen."

Tag? Really? What about gym class? Isn't that "a time when accidents can happen"? I remember being hit with one or two dodge balls. My sister broke her arm running relays on wet grass, per the teacher's instructions. How many kids walk away with a black eye from softball? So based on this logic, shouldn't gym be banned too? And what about riding bikes? Or jumping rope? Or climbing the monkey bars? Because, people, these are times when accidents can happen!

I just don't understand why kids have to be so sheltered these days. We were all exposed to the same stuff. We're basically all OK. And those who aren't OK, can you really blame it on tag?

I used to work at a daycare. We'd play our games and sing our songs, but when it came to singing "There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly," well, forget it.

You know the words: "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly/I don't know why she swallowed a fly/perhaps she'll die.....there was a old lady who swallowed a horse. She died, of course!"

Well, we were instructed to change to words. To "perhaps she'll cry." Because oh no, don't let children hear the word "die". No, no. They'll have nightmares. They'll be scarred for life!

But let me just tell you, it's really a life lesson. Because if you swallowed a horse to catch the dog to catch the cat to catch the bird to catch the spider...the wriggled and wriggled and jiggled inside her....to catch the fly. Well kiddos, you'd probably die. That's what happens when you swallow foreign objects.

And what about Looney Tunes? Remember the great Saturday morning cartoons that we watched and our parents watched? Oh no. Not now. Too violent. I mean, kids might actually drop anvils on their friend's heads. And dropping anvils on people is wrong.

But Bratz, where cartoon tweens walk around in skanky outfits and babies are wearing high heels and makeup?

Well, that's OK. As long as they're not playing tag.

Swish

When I was little I used walk around our property collecting the long, brown pine needles that fell off the trees. I would wrap them in a leaf and tie them with a long piece of grass. Then I'd go in the back yard and scatter them, pretending I was feeding chickens.

That's a great childhood memory for me. As soon as I smell that warm pine scent I'm transported to that time.

So imagine how happy I was to pull into the parking lot at work the other day and see those very needles all over the ground. I opened my door and took a deep breath, inhaling that yummy smell.

But imagine my disappointment/frustration/annoyance when I came back to my car at 5 p.m. only to find that it was the ONLY ONE in the lot completely covered in pine needles. Completely. As in, my car was now brown. And spiky. And....needle-y.

And it had just rained. So those suckers weren't going anywhere.

I cleared off my windshield as best I could and started the ride home. But the roads were wet so I had to intermittently use my wipers. And one lone needle was stuck on the driver side wiper.

Swish. Big wet line left from needle.

Swish. Big wet line left from needle getting bigger.

Swish. Big wet line left from needle IN MY WAY.

It held on the whole way home until I pulled it off in the driveway. Maybe it's life's way of telling me I'm grown up. As a child I only saw the good things in life. Now some of those good things can be a really big pain in the butt.

I miss feeding those imaginary chickens.

We're So Related

The conversation I had with my sister last night was classic Us. It went something like this....

Sister: I really hate those commercials for the pads with the wipe attached.

Me: Yeah, they're kind of gross, but I guess it's a good idea.

S: I guess, but they're all, "Hi, I'm dirty. I need a wipe."

M: Ha. Ew.

S: At least the Summer's Eve commercials are more vague. They're more "Feel Fresh!" You don't know, they could be talking about your feet.

This was followed by a very serious discussion on ice cream.

S: I don't like mint chocolate chip ice cream. But I feel like I should. It's kind of the way I feel about pickles and Shakespeare.

M: -------

S: Every time I get a pickle with a sandwich I take a bite hoping hoping I will like it. But I don't. So I take another bite because I think that if I keep eating it I will eventually like it. But I don't really like that bite either. So I finish the pickle because I must like it if I eat the whole thing. But in the end, I still don't like it.

M: But pickles are a food and a drink in one!

S: That is so disgusting.

M: It's a quote from Friends.

S: Of course it is.

M: And Shakespeare?

S: Oh, I just don't like Shakespeare

M: Right.....

Seriously, could we be any more related? (Catch the Chandler reference? Oh, yeah.)

Realizations

I'm not feeling especially creative today, but instead of not posting at all, here you go:

It has come to my attention that there are some things I'm just never going to be able to do. This list includes:

- balancing my checkbook, thanks to the wonderful world of debit cards

- washing the dishes right after dinner

- putting my bag anywhere but the kitchen counter

- folding a fitted sheet (I just CAN'T DO IT. Michael does it perfectly. How??)

- not watching romantic comedies with sappy endings

- washing my car

- following politics, even though I know I should

There are, however, some things I'm pretty good at. For example:

- walking in heels

- folding towels (that's right, my towels look fabulous)

- memorizing quotes from Friends

- updating my blog (you're welcome)

- recapping exactly what happened on Gilmore Girls

I know. The important things in life.

**UPDATE**

Because my mother thinks I sound vapid, I must clarify. I do follow my banking, just online. I check my bank statement. I know how much money I have and where it's going. Also, I know what's going on in the world. I watch the news, I read the paper. I know about who I vote for and why. I just don't find politics all that interesting. OK?

Recap

Well, the weekend was fantastic. The food was delicious (mmmm lobster), the drinks were wonderful (ahhhh sangria), and the company was better than I could have asked for. But what I realized is that I'm not 21 anymore. Apparently 23 is old because it's Monday morning and I already need a nap! A non-stop weekend is so much fun, but it really takes a toll on you.

Anyway, some highlights:

MoElle was reunited. My face hurt all weekend from laughing.

Ashley was there! And she lives in my town! So there will be more Ashley! Yay

A non-highlight? How about our dinner Saturday night. 45 minutes to get our meals. And our waitress? The one with pigtail braids and and knee high tights? She was SITTING IN THE KITCHEN DOING NOTHING. Hi, I could see you, Pipi. And when we finally asked the manager about it? "Well, the grill is backed up."

Oh. The grill. Is backed up. OK?

The rest of Saturday was great. Dancing, dancing, dancing! But people, I have to tell you, that

THIS:



Quite possibly the scariest thing I have ever seen. That's right, she has climbed him like a ladder. He is trying not to fall over. I wish I could sure you how she was molesting the floor (numerous times during the night) and other patrons of the bar, but this is not that kind of website

And now some rules for all the men that frequent these establishments:

1. We do not want your business all up in our business. Your crotch is not welcome near our fronts, our backs or our sides. In fact, your crotch in not welcome in a 10-foot radius around us.

2. When you enter said radius with said crotch and attempt to bump and grind on my friend, I will grab her and start dancing with her elsewhere. This is not an invitation for you to join. This is especially not an invitation for you to aim your crotch at me. WE DO NOT LIKE YOUR CROTCH.

3. Pinching my butt when I am taking a picture is not OK. I do not know you. I do not want to know you. My butt is not for you to pinch. You are banished to outside the radius as well.

Learn these rules and a woman might actually dance with you!

So all in all, a great weekend. Too much money was spent, not enough sleep was had, and it was fantastic.

I can't wait to do it again.

Yaaay!!!

Today is a fabulous day because it marks the start of what is going to be a fabulous weekend! It's homecoming at the ol' alma matter. I have no intention of going to the game, but what a great excuse for a gathering of the alumni and current ladies of Zeta Epsilon Tau Alpha! I am so freaking excited.

But most of all....the best part? ELLE IS COMING TODAY!!!! (That's right, as in one-half of the infamous MoElle.)We've been talking about it all week. We're slightly obsessed with each other.

And the other good part? The Brian is coming into town! Two of my favorite people in one weekend? This is just too good to be true.

For your viewing pleasure, a look at the hotness that is Moelle and The Brian (and Boobeski!!! Miss you Boobs!)


We were being soap opera stars. Couldn't you tell? Of course Elle is a skinny-minny now (even though I think she looks tres cute in that picture) and I no longer have all that hair.

Here we are looking all cute again the end of senior year. I love us.

See you Monday!

In the Mood for Some Randomness? Yeah, You Are.

*I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person, nor will I ever be a morning person. If left to sleep in I usually wake up around 8:30 anyway. Not wasting any precious time, people.

I can do the whole get-up-for-work thing. Somehow I actually manage to get everything done in an hour and out the door on time. But today? Today was not a usual day. Today was Get To Work An Hour Early Day for an all-staff meeting. Yaaaay.

Let me just tell you, even showering and making my lunch the night before did not make getting up an hour earlier any easier. Because, did you know it's DARK at 6 a.m.? And cold? And I had to wake the dog up because even HE was still sleeping!! Um, yeah. The only time I see 6 a.m. is when I open my eyes and groggily look and the clock and think "mmm, one more hour," before zonking back out. One hour apparently makes a huge difference. And three cups of caffeinated tea? Only makes you pee. A lot. So now I'm tired. And a little cranky. So I will complain to you.

*My boss is taping a segment on the Montel Williams Show today. (About our place of business, not because he's someone's baby's daddy. Well, he is...but he's, like, married to her and stuff....)
Did you know that show was still on? It is. In all it's glory. Yesterday we spent some time deciding what he should wear to the taping. He decided on a shirt and tie and looked very presentable and camera-ready.

But if I were on the Montel Show? I'd totally go Lycra jumpsuit. Way more appropriate for when I confront the audience members.

"Shut yo mouth! You don't even know me! I look good! I look good! Look at you! You don't even know me!"

OK....so that's more Jenny Jones. Or Ricki Lake. (Ricki! Ricki! Ricki!) Where did all the good TV go?

* I had to pick a speaker up at the airport the other day. While I was waiting for him an old man in full lederhosen walked by me. Then he stopped. And turned around. And hit on me. An old man. In LEDERHOSEN.

Better watch out, Michael.

Sappy Sappy

For those of you who make fun of me for being a total love-nut, you might want to stop reading. I'm warning you. Total mush ahead.

Michael and I had a fight last night. Actually, I guess it's not really a fight because I was the one who was upset and he wasn't really saying anything. I don't know what you would call it. We'll just leave it at I was upset.

After he fell asleep, I lay awake for almost two hours thinking about the upset-ness and realized that whatever the problem is, we can get through it. I know I've said it before, but I'm one lucky girl. Yes, I love the big romantic stuff that comes along every now and then, but it's really all the little things that he does daily that let me know how much he loves me. For example:

He came home from the grocery store with dinner and some other things we needed. Then he pulled out one container of perfectly ripe raspberries. I love raspberries, but I hardly ever buy them because they are so expensive for such a little bit of fruit. But Michael bought them. For me. Because he knows I love them.

And he brought home a slice of key-lime pie because I mentioned I wanted some over two weeks ago. Yum.

He worries about my car. He remembers the oil changes, new wipers, etc. when I don't. He looked all over the place to find a replacement tail light. He's even spontaneously washed my car (probably because he's tired of looking at the dirt) numerous times.

He shovels the snow because I hate shoveling snow. He also scoops the dog poop, kills the bugs, and smells things in the fridge for me.

He lets me lie on the big couch while he sits on the love seat, even though he's 6'4" and bought the couch because it's big enough for him to lie on.

When he works early in the morning he always fixes the blanket and tucks the big, fluffy comforter around me and kisses me goodbye. Even though I'm half asleep, the gesture means a lot.

The list goes on. Sure, he puts glasses on the ottoman, leaving ring marks, leaves socks on the floor and dishes thisclose to but not in the dishwasher. (Preparation for a house full of boys, he tells me.)

But when he cleans my hair out of the drain or picks up the mail I left on the counter for the umpteenth time, I know he loves me.

And I love him, too.

I Said "Ketchup Only!"

Freaking Panera Bread.

Every time I go there they get my order wrong. Every. Single. Time. Someone please explain to me what is so difficult about NO ONIONS on a sandwich.

I know she heard me. I placed my order and she nodded while repeating "no onions." What the hell.

At least this time it was easily fixable. I begrudgingly pulled the onions off. I've been there before when they just botch the entire sandwich leaving no resemblance to what I originally ordered. And it's not even just one store. I've been to one in a different part of the state that does the exact same thing.

I'm not picky. I just like things the way I like things. The blog title is in reference to a late night Wendy's run in college where I very specifically ordered ketchup only on my cheeseburger. You can guess how that turned out.

I can't say I'll just stop going, because I won't. The food is good.

Is it too much to ask to have it be right?

Tick, Tick, Tick

This face makes me want to be a mom.

Manda, she's beautiful!

Choices, Choices

I hate getting food from a place where the menu is up on the wall and you have to wait in line to order. It's not the waiting in line that bothers me. It's the ordering.

Looming in front of you is this giant board with hundreds (OK, maybe tens) of choices. And if this isn't an establishment you frequent often, you're going to need a minute (or five) to figure out what you want.

The problem is that the staff never gives you that minute. As soon as you walk in it's all "Can I help you?" or "What can I get for you?" Never "Just give me a holler when you're ready!" or something to that effect.

So here you are, sweating bullets as five staff members stare at you, willing you to make a decision NOW and you're all flustered because you don't know what you want and WHY ARE YOU PRESSURING ME?!!!!

And THEN, when you've made up your mind and are ready to enjoy your delicious breakfast sandwich/doughnut/ice cream cone.....there's no one to help you.

Where did they go? Where are the five eager faces ready to help assemble the breakfast sandwich, bag the doughnut or scoop the ice cream? Gone. Busy with the family of six, cleaning the tables, refilling the napkin holders.

So you wait. And you look at the menu. And now maybe you want that ice cream instead because you really like chocolate chunks and this one promises lots of chunks and.....

"Can I help you?????"

And the cycle continues.

Pink!

It's October and that means it's Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Go Pink to raise awareness and support the fighters and survivors and help raise money to find a cure.

Go here daily and click to fund free mammograms.

I love you Mom!

Atonement

I'm not Jewish (although someone would argue I am) but today is Yom Kippur. And I think everyone should have a day to atone their sins. So here we go

Michael, I'm sorry I took the last granola bar this morning. I knew you wanted it, but I really wanted it. So I grabbed it before you went to the cabinet.

Old Friend, I'm sorry I've been ignoring your phone calls lately. It's just that you've been so negative lately and you get bitchy when you hear I'm happy.

Mom, I'm sorry I don't come home more. I really love to be home, but I hate the drive. And life gets in the way. I miss you.

Shay, I'm sorry I told you we found you in a field. And I'm sorry I talk to you like a parent sometimes. It's just that I love you so much and I worry about you.

People I make fun of in my blog, I'm sorry if I offend you. But you make for really good material.

Teenage girls at the movie theater, I'm sorry I went "New York" on you a few weeks ago. But you were cutting a long line of people. And if I have to stand behind old-guy-with-gross-gray-greasy-ponytail, you have to too.

Woman that I avoided calling back until the last possible minute because, really, I heard you the first time when you said, "Well, I'm a writer. This is important.," well, I'm really not too sorry about that.

Kodiak, I'm sorry I didn't take you out to pee the other morning. I thought Michael had before he left for work and I took your whining to be you were in an annoying mood. I'm sorry you didn't pee for over 12 hours. I felt like such a bad parent but you were a good boy and didn't pee in the house. Thanks for that.

Ladies of 38 BP, I'm sorry I don't call you as much as I should. I miss you all so much, I'm just bad with the phone.

Spiders on the living room wall, I'm sorry I vacuumed you up. I try to be kind to all nature, but well, you're spiders.

Boss man, I'm sorry I make fun of your taste in music. But hey, you make fun of me too. We're even.

Michael, I'm sorry I left the laundry in the dryer for three days and then got mad that you didn't take it out. You didn't know it was in there because I forgot to tell you. Actually, I don't think you even knew I was mad.

Ok. I feel better.

Shuffle

Put your iPod on shuffle. Write about the what the songs remind you of. (I've done this before, but it's cool to see what comes up.)

Everytime- Britney Spears: First of all, yeah, I know. Britney Spears. But for some reason I like this song. When I used to work at the beach we'd have the radio on 92.3 all day and would count how many times this song would come on during an 8-hour day. A lot. Like 12 times or something like that. Actually, it's a wonder I still like this song

Breathe-Telepopmusik: That car commercial where they're all dancing around robotic-like and that one girl has a cool hat. Mitsubishi? I can't remember. This song is a really good car song on a rainy day

Two Step (Live)- Dave Matthews Band: My favorite version of this song. Probably the first DMB song I ever loved and always will.

We Trying To Stay Alive-Wyclef Jean & Refugees: Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion! They do this stupid dance in the club and it always makes me laugh.

Push-Matchbox 20: My very fist concert ever. It was at the Poughkeepsie Civic Center and I wore a yellow, blue and white striped tank top. There were so many people and I remember at the end of the night I figured that half the sweat on me wasn't mine. Ew. I also caught the guitarist's pick until some big ugly girl grabbed it out of my hand. Abby jumped on her back and started yelling at her, but the pick got lost on the floor.

Perfect Blue Buildings-Counting Crows: When Michael and I first started talking we would send each other music we liked. I had always liked Counting Crows but usually skipped over this song for some reason. I really listened to it the night he sent it to me and loved it. Makes me think of him

Return to Innocence-Enigma: Remember the CD that was always for sale on TV? Pure Moods? They would play this in the background. And P.S. I think Michelle owns this!

*Big surprise: spell check doesn't recognize Poughkeepsie.

Morning Thoughts

*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?

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.

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.

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.

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.....

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.

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?"

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.

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.

Yee Ha....

Carrie Underwood is going to be the spokes pop idol for a literacy program in Oklahoma called "Read Ya'll."

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.

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!

There Is Cause For Concern

When the work kitchen....


....smells like toilet.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?!