Heartbreak

There is a man in my life that I call Cute Mass Guy. I call him this because I don't know his real name. Because we've never actually met. (This is the part where you shake your head and say"Oh, Karen...")

I noticed CMG one of the first times I went to mass at St. Mary's in Greenville. Week after week he was there at the same mass as me. There aren't many singles at church, so he stuck out. For the past year and a half, he has almost always been at the 11 o clock mass when I'm there, and he is ALWAYS alone. Every. Single. Time. (Take note of this; it will be important later) He usually sits within one or two pews of me; a couple times we've sat in the same pew.

I've mentioned CMG to my friends, because, what else would we have to talk about? Really. But none of them have ever actually seen him with their own eyes.

WELL. Yesterday was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception (happy Catholic birthday to me!) and I hit mass last night with several of my friends. Just as I was sitting down, I noticed CMG take a seat directly in front of us, at which point I started freaking out and waving my hands to Stacey and V sitting next to me, trying to indicate with wild hand motions that THIS! WAS! CUTE MASS GUY! RIGHT IN FRONT OF US! Luckily they are both well-versed in the Crazy that is Karen and immediately understood.

So I sat through Mass, happily staring at CMG's broad shoulders, and feeling pleased that I'd finally proved he was a real person and not a figment of my imagination. And then something terrible happened.

We got up for communion, CMG turned around, and I saw it. A WEDDING RING.

WHAT? WHAT?!?!?!?! A feeling of adulterous horror settled into the pit of my stomach as I craned my neck to see if maybe it was just a class ring worn on the very WRONG finger, but unless his alma mater is in the habit of issuing plain gold bands to their graduates, I'm out of luck.

Oh Cute Mass Guy, where is your wife? Yeah, yeah, maybe she's not Catholic, but neither is my mom, and I promise you that she's been to church with my dad at least ONCE in 2009. Also, HOW did I miss that tell-tale sign? Since graduating college, I like to think I have perfected the art of ring-spotting: that is, the ability to identify a wedding band on any man between the ages of 18 and 35 within a 50foot radius. How could my ring radar fail me in such a crucial endeavor?

Sigh. I need to go to the mall, drown my sorrows in an Auntie Anne's pretzel and hone my skills. Clearly. If you need me, you know where to find me.

Blue Bell Tastes "Just Like the Good 'ol Days"

Thanksgiving 2009 was a holiday that Must be Blogged About, but it will have to wait for now. At the moment, there are more pressing matters.

Today, I hopped over to the Nielsen homestead for a quick panini lunch. Alycia does, true to her word, make a mean panini, but the deliciousness of the grilled sandwich was quickly overshadowed by dessert:

Blue Bell White Chocolate Almond Ice Cream

Ahhhhh.

I'm pretty sure Blue Bell can only be found in the south, so for all you sapsin the north: too damn bad, as they say. Sorry, sorry, that lacked compassion: It is sad for all you Yankees. Enjoy your many liberties. I'll enjoy another bowl of Blue Bell.

I should produce commercials.

Seriously, though, about this ice cream- it's soooooooo good. And when i went to the website today to check it out, I discovered it's a seasonal flavor so you can bet your patootie I'll be celebrating Advent like it's 1 BC by eating my body weight in creamy white chocolate deliciousness.

Speaking of which, Happy Advent, all!

Guess what? I'm FULL

Can you hear it? Shh. That- there, the faint whispering. That's right, it's the sound of bargain shoppers everywhere mopping up there piles of drool while they pore over the ads for this weekend. BLACK FRIDAY IS UPON US, MY FRIENDS, and like a soldier headed into battle, I am prepared for the greatest holiday of the year, just four short days away. Ahhh bliss.

I honestly don't know which I'm more excited for- Black Friday, or having my whole family here for Thanksgiving. Ah, who am I kidding, we all know the answer to that.

But I truly am excited to host my mom, dad, brothers, and Meg in my home-away-from-hometown. Except I'm not really hosting because we're actually staying at a house in the mountains, and my mom is bringing enough food to keep a ten-person family full from now until Christmas.

That's the problem with my mom and me, we're both 'hosters'. I am exactly like my mother in a frightening number of ways, including but not limited to: our penchant for sobbing at episodes of Extreme Makeover Home Edition, our love of a good bargain, and keeping snacks in our purse. I have been buying/cooking/baking like a madwoman the past few days, certain that the only thing standing in the way of lasting happiness for our family this Thanksgiving is 12 boxes of wheat thins and more varieties of cookies than Mrs. Fields has to offer.

Unfortunately, mi madre is doing the exact same thing, except to an even greater extent because she has some 30+ years experience on me. We've been firing emails back and forth for weeks with menu plans, ingredients stocked, food ideas, etc.

Luckily, I am physically, mentally, and emotionally prepared for Thanksgiving Fiesta 2009, as we pre-gamed it at Craig's last night with a ham dinner set on an air hockey table covered in a 'tablecloth' of a fitted sheet. Bachelors. Despite the somewhat, er, un-traditional setting, we had some AMAZING food and we all stuffed ourselves. Sarah, Margaret and I all came home and totally coma-d out at 10 pm.

So, my stomach is now ready for multiple varieties of banana breads, cornbread stuffing, and a liter or two of wine. Happy Thanksgiving, Internet. May your turkey be plentiful.

Playing Anthropologist

Last night, Alycia and I, both northerners by birth, played the Jane Goodall of the south, and slipped on down to the Blind Horse Saloon for their songwriters showcase concert. When Alycia emailed me about the show last week, I assumed it was going to feature a few local bands, since the tickets were FREE.

Uh, not quite- turned out to be Josh Turner, Kellie Pickler, Bucky Covington, and Joe Nichols. They were all AWESOME live and we had a blast, even though there were some 1400 people packed into a slightly oversized bar, and the tallest woman in the human race was, of course, standing directly in front of us. Get to the back, Amazon woman. You look better in me than jeans, I should get front row privileges. Trade-offs.

Some thoughts, post concert:

• I've always acknowledged that Josh Turner is attractive, but up close and personal, he is SO. CUTE. And his voice- ahhhh. It reminds me of a certain extremely tall, deep-voiced, old camp friend of mine that I used to drool over every time he sang. There's just something about a man with a baritone- I'm a total sucker.
• Kellie Pickler has some anger issues she needs to work on, I think. I realized that most/all of her songs have to do with revenge on ex-boyfriends. "Red High Heels" - about going out all skanked up to show the ex what he's missing, "Best Days of Your Life" - the 'you may have a new girlfriend now but you spent your youth with me and you can never get that back muahahaha' song, and perhaps the creepiest of all "Rocks Instead of Rice" - about crashing her ex-boyfriend's wedding and wishing she could throw rocks at them instead of the more traditional rice. On one hand, I say "PREACH, girlfriend. I feel ya." but on the other hand, maybe look into some therapy sessions, Kellie. You can afford it now.
• Am I the only one who thinks the name 'Bucky Covington' sounds like a rip-off of Billy Currington? It's like the name you would use for a really bad cover-up, like if Billy was trying to get advice from someone- "See I've got this friend, let's call him, uh, Bucky Covington. Yeah, that's right. And see, this "friend" has a huge crush on a girl..." Don't they make stars change their names all the time? Wouldn't you think Bucky would fall into this category? Also, as Alycia pointed out, with names like 'Bucky' and 'Rocky' (his twin brother- I'm not kidding), life doesn't really set you up with a lot of options. It's pretty much either car maintenance or country music. You don't meet a lot of bankers by the name of Bucky.
• Joe Nichols was just plain good. He has a normal name, he's moderately attractive but nothing to write home about, and his songs don't suggest the need for intensive counseling, so what else it there to say? Sing on, Joe, sing on.

With drinks under $5, it was all-around a great evening- the fact that we almost got involved in a brawl on the dance floor was just icing on the cake.

Blitzkrieged at Sabroso: An International Affair

Saturday morning is far and away my favorite time of the week. There is nothing like waking up a little 'late' (around 9 am) and spending the subsequent hours drinking coffee, cleaning and reading lazily. This particular Saturday morning is a gorgeous one and I feel sorry for all those who, whether by geographic placement or sleep patterns, are not getting to enjoy it as I am now.

Last night, Sarah, V and I quenched our Mexican cravings at Sabroso, which ended up being really good except for two minor, er, incidents. We got there around 8 and toward the end of the meal, they were already vacuuming around our table and putting chairs up. Um... what? This was not the Country Cafe we were dining at- it was a full-fledged Mexican restaurant... on a Friday night. Do you really shut down at 9pm?

Secondly, as we sat there post-meal, letting our food (and drinks) digest, our waiter came up and asked how we had liked our margaritas. We responded that they were quite good, and with an impish smile he said "How about some shots, eh? Shots on the casa?" We politely declined (however counter-nature it was for me to turn down free alcohol), explaining that we were sobering up for the drive home. His smile grew as he said "I have a car outside- I drive you home!"

We left very shortly after that and as we were getting into the car, I asked my companions, "Just to be clear, that guy did just try to get us drunk and take us home in his sketch-mobile, right?" They confirmed the events that had just conspired and we took off for Barnes and Noble, which apparently stays open later than the fine dining establishments of the south-of-the-border variety in this town, and soaked up the literary goodness for the remainder of the evening.

The most hilarious book I stumbled upon was Drunk, an illustrated dictionary containing some 3000 synonyms for the title term, my favorite being the classic 'blitzkrieged'. Not sure how a military term from one of the most horrific wars of our time came to describe the state of being saturated with drink, but the German in me likes it.

Wined and dined. Mostly wined

For some reason, I've been on a major Disney music kick at work lately. It's got me really craving a good Disney flick, so I may have to remedy that with a little Mulan or Hercules this weekend. Or Moulin Rouge. Really, I just want to watch copious amounts of singing and dancing. Is that so wrong? Millions of Glee viewers would say no.

Busy week. My eighth-graders are getting confirmed tonight and I know I'm going to cry. We had rehearsal for them on Tuesday night and I had a total 'mom' moment (to add to the hundreds already in my holster. If I ever write a memoir, it's going to be called "You look like a mom: My life as a twenties-something"). One of my girls is carrying up the gifts and I asked her if she was doing it alone. She replied that she wasn't, pointed to a boy in the pew behind us and said "he's taking them up with me. But I don't know him." And I found myself, as though having an out-of-body experience, reaching over and tapping on the young boy's shoulder, asking his name. "Uh, Brendan" he told me with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Well Brendan" I said, "This is Victoria. You two are taking up the gifts together." I turned triumphantly back to Victoria, who greeted me with a look that was a mixture of horror and gratitude (he was a cutie) and it was at that moment I realized I am 45 years old.

If my mom or dad ever did that to me, and trust me, I am not short on those experiences, I would cut off all communication to them for... well a long, long time. I am so far removed from the awkwardness of 8th grade that I actually relish in embarrassing them beyond recovery. It's times like these that get me pondering life's big questions, like "Who am I?", "Why am I here?" and "When am I going to start shopping exclusively at Christopher and Banks?" Time flies, my friends.

Speaking of friends (lame segue, I know), I spent last evening with a few of my favorites at Sassafras, who has half price bottles of wine on Wednesday nights. Um. Yeah. To the good people at Sassafras, I say: THANK YOU for combining what are possibly my two favorite things in the universe besides sandwiches- wine and bargains. It is indeed a joyous time in which two such wonderful and sacred things have occasion to overlap in the ven diagram that is my life.

But seriously, Sassafras, you have my heart, even if it does take me at least three tries to spell your name correctly. We had this fantastic red zindandel (Who knew that was a thing? Certainly not the girl who frequents Green's Discount Beer and Wine) and we got the whole high-class experience, which we were totally not used to, a fact that became quite apparent when our server presented the bottle to Alycia and she was like "Uh...yeah. Looks good. Nice label."

We also shared their blue crab and pepperjack fondue nachos and a plate of fried green tomatoes. Have I ever mentioned that I love living in the south? They'll fry anything you can grow in a garden down here, and a lot of things you can't. It's a beautiful thing.

In any case, I'm pretty sure a tradition was born last night. Sassafras has a really neat atmosphere (it's in a converted church, and retains a lot of the original architecture, including stained glass windows) and I am pretty much powerless to resist the lure of a delicious $4 glass of wine and deep-fried vegetables. We will doubtless be back. Like maybe tomorrow. Like maybe tonight. Like maybe... er, gotta go.

Halloween Recap 2009

You know what they say... the more things change, the more they stay the same, right? Here's some Halloween-y proof for you.


I just can't decide which version of Minnie-me is cuter.

So, in the name of telling sick-ness to shove it, I had an extravaganza of a Halloween weekend, complete with two costumes, apple cider, and samples of pumpkin spice coffee from the Harry and David Outlet in Gaffney. And speaking of pumpkins, how cute is this one??


But all the disney-ness and adorable gourd-babies paled in comparison to my crowning achievement of the weekend: dressing up as Kanye to surprise Craig as Taylor Swift.


Let me tell you about what putting half a stick of eyeliner on your jawline will do for your feminine confidence. Pretty much nothing.

In any case, I'm feeling much better, so maybe there was something in the facial hair. But probably it had more to do with the 8 consecutive hours of nothing-ness I did on Sunday. It's days like that where I still relish in being out of school. No catching up on studying Sunday nights for me! Thank God for adulthood...

I will be well

This afternoon I was looking for something on my desk when I uncovered a sticky note with CANADA written across the top, a Florida area code phone number, and the words "fried food" scrawled over and over again.

If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is.

Yesterday was not a good day. As the day went on, I developed a sore throat and fever and by the time I left work, I was tired and stressed and sad and several other whiny adjectives. On the way home, I was trying not to feel sorry for myself, but instead trying to think of all the people out there who were suffering far worse than I was. But still there was that tiny, selfish part of me that was like "God, it would be really nice if there was something to cheer me up when I got home. Just like a good piece of mail or something". I tried to tell myself that it was better not to have that worldly comfort and to just suck it up and remember to be grateful for all I have.

Well. I pulled into my apartment complex, turned on to my street, and there I beheld half a dozen good-looking guys my age playing football right in front of my building. I have never seen these guys before. I have no idea who they are where they came from. I can't make this stuff up- seriously, I lack the imagination. And people say God doesn't answer prayers.

Anyway, I felt AWFUL last night. I felt so awful I couldn't even watch The Office. That's right, I could not muster the energy necessary to roll off my bed, crawl twenty feet into the living room, and collapse onto the couch. Instead I caught up on episodes of Greek online. Clearly another cry for help.

However, I've decided that I'm not going to be sick. I'm just not going to do it. No way am I giving those people at Urgent Care the satisfaction of showing up for the third week in a row. So I dragged myself out of bed this morning and took a shower sitting down. On my way to work, I had to get off the expressway and pull into the nearest parking lot where I threw up outside of my car.

I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize to the people of the Roper Mountain Business Center, and hope that none of you were unfortunate enough to step in my regurgitated orange juice. Please know that it was not a comment on your establishment but simply an act of desperation.

So I will soldier on. I will continue to consume tylenol like a bag of skittles and I will nap and rest and enjoy my Halloween for all it's worth. And I'd like to apologize ahead of time to any parking lots who may take the brunt of my stubbornness in the upcoming days. I am so sorry.

I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE

For Alycia's birthday, I gave her a copy of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. NOT because she needs it- seriously, girlfriend already looked better than I ever have about nine seconds after giving birth. I know, because I was there. Rather, she had complained to me several times about wanting to find a good workout DVD and I told her about my love-hate relationship with Jillian. She mentioned borrowing it but I knew that if I loaned it to her I would never in a million years ask for it back ("No no! You keep it! No really!") so I just bought her one instead. I know, my dedication to physical exercise is inspiring.

So today I received an email from Alycia with the subject line 'f'. It read:

"i just finished the first workout on that DVD. F***. I think I'm going to puke."

(Clearly, being a mother has cleaned up her act, because a year ago, there would not have been asterisks in that sentence.)

I just appreciate the affirmation that it is not all in my head. Jillian, you are the devil and everyone knows it.

I've been running more than shredding lately (though I've managed to steer clear of participating in any high school sports), as the weather has been generally agreeable. Also, when I'm busy, it's easier to go running right after work than try to work in a shred at 11pm. Let's pause for a moment and think of the hundreds of millions of things I'd rather do than shred after a 14-hour day, including ripping all of my own fingernails out and titrating a solution. Oh my gosh I hated high school chemistry class.

Anyway I'm headed for a well-balanced weekend. Confirmation retreat tonight, a celebration of Fall tomorrow, and then the zoo on Sunday.

Misadventures of an Overheated Drug Addict

Ugh. Today is just one of those days that is not destined for greatness. I knew this to be the case when I woke up half an hour before my alarm went off, sweating profusely and unable to fall back asleep. It's just started to get cold down here and we haven't quite figured out the heating system in our apartment yet. It's consistently freezing in the living room, but I think that's because all the heat is being channeled into my room, where it waits and gathers power in the vent before blasting me at 3 in the morning.

Speaking of apartment quirks, our internet has been flaky at best the past few days. After spending the weekend writing verbal hatemail to Charter ("Dear Charter, you are not nice. We do not like you and sometimes wish you would die." Hey I never said we were wordsmiths...) my roommate and I discovered that the problem lay with an Ethernet cord gone bad. And by 'discovered', I mean I placed a technical support phone call to my brother, who immediately diagnosed the problem. Oops. Excuse me while I contact the fine people at Charter to cancel the service appointment I demanded yesterday.

I've been to the doctor twice in the past six days, which has me thinking it really might be time to get my own physician in Greenville. I think the people at Urgent Care are starting to get suspicious, like I'm just a lonely person who has nowhere else to go on Monday nights. Which is only half of the truth. The other half is the swelling of my right ear to several times its normal size, which caused the latest visit. The doctor was like "Oh, yup, that's an abscess. Let's get that outta there". Ew. He numbed my ear then basically cut into it like a thanksgiving turkey. And of course, just because you are numb during a procedure doesn't mean you aren't going to feel it later... and when I saw the amount of blood coming out of my ears, I knew it was going to hurt once that shot wore off.

It took me back to my first ear piercing, when the teenage girl at Claire's got the gun stuck in my ear and started screaming. I couldn't feel anything but I knew the look of horror on her face was probably not a good sign, a suspicion confirmed when I saw the rivers of blood pouring from my ear. I don't think they had equipped her for that kind of medical emergency in high school health class. And that was only the first in a series of dramatic events which ultimately led to getting my ears pierced by our family physician.

And here's something I'll bet you've never thought about one way or another- you can't really rip a band-aid off your ear. It's pretty much guaranteed to be slow and painful no matter what you do.

Anyway. What was I saying? Oh yes. In case I didn't feel like enough of a drug addict going to the same Rite Aid pharmacy twice in one week, when I handed in my prescription today, the pharmacist pointed out that the doctor had signed the prescription but forgotten to put my name on it. That's right. I gave a signed, nameless drug order to my friendly neighborhood pharmacist. Sigh.

There have been a few bright spots lately: I went apple picking this weekend and came home with approximately 10,000 pounds of apples. The first batch of applesauce has already been cooked and eaten, and hardly a dent has been made in the stash. We drove up into the mountains, which I always love, and after the orchard, we ate dinner at Haus Heidelberg in Hendersonville, which is AUTHENTIC. GERMAN. FOOD. I tell you what. Like every-item-on-the-menu-included-some-kind-of-schnitzel authentic. The highlights for me were definitely the spatzle and my beer, which happily was called The Optimator. It was so rich and heavy, I couldn't even finish this beast, though goodness know I tried. At $4.50 for a 17oz glass, you can bet your boots I'll be back soon.

Well, I'm off to Rite Aid, for potentially the last time ever. I don't think I'll be comfortable showing my face there again after recent events...

Consequences

One of my pet peeves is when you tell someone you're sick and they respond by saying "well don't get me sick. I just can NOT afford to get sick right now."

*blink*

First of all, thank you for your compassion. How about an "I'm so sorry! What is it, the flu?" or "You poor thing! Can I get you anything?" Even a "that sucks, dude" would be nice. But can we agree that it's just a wee bit selfish if your first spoken thought is about how another person's misery might affect you? I'm just saying.

Secondly, thank GOODNESS it was me that got sick and not you, because you just couldn't make the time for an illness. But me, I've been spending my days at work practicing the 180-degree Dr.-Evil-stroking-a-cat turn in my desk chair, so I've got time to spare. Bring on the virus.

Seriously, who can afford to check out of life for days on end? I've been sick for three days and I've had to cancel five commitments and stay home from work a day. It's not like I needed puking and sneezing to fill in the gaps in my day. However, during my vacation from reality, I have watched The Proposal, Ghost of Girlfriends Past, and caught up on all the TV I missed while I was in Hillsdale, which, ironically, is what got me sick in the first place. So I suppose not all is lost.

(Incidentally, my other big pet peeve is when people refer to their parents as 'mom' and 'dad' instead of 'my mom' and 'my dad'. Unless Bill and Cindy have been keeping something from me, they're your mom and your dad and it shouldn't be that difficult for you to make the distinction. But that's neither here nor there.)

So yes, I've been sick, but at least it isn't making me cranky. Clearly. And Hillsdale was well worth feeling like I've been hit by a freight train repeatedly. But the best part of all was that I was lying in the backseat of a car traveling somewhere in Southern Indiana when my roommates found a mouse in our pantry. That's what I call providential timing.

A for Effort

I think I accidentally ran in a high school cross country meet today.

I run at Cleveland Park downtown pretty often, and it butts up next to the Greenville Zoo. I usually park in their parking lot and start running from there. In retrospect, there were a few red flags that should have tipped me off to the fact that this was not a normal afternoon, like the occasional fleet-footed teenager zipping past me in a snappy uniform, or the middle-aged moms standing on the side of the path with stopwatches. But it wasn't until I rounded a corner coming out of the woods and was met with a wall of people, cheering and taking pictures, that I finally thought "uh...." I mean, the people of Greenville are friendly, but this was ridiculous. And then I saw the busses parked nearby... and the tables full of water coolers... and I realized "oh sweet lawsy I'm running a 5k with 200 high schoolers."

As soon as I recognized what was going on, I tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. As there were several thousand people there, this was not an easy feat, and eventually entailed me sprinting off the path and into the woods, trying to look as natural as possible, as though that was my normal running route.

I told Kristen the story and she texted me later to tell me she was proud of me for doing so well in my race. I appreciate the sentiment, but I think it would be best for everyone if I quietly step down from competing in the high school circuit.

I really do not need ESPN the Ocho... no one does

I think if Dante were writing The Inferno today, he would reserve the seventh circle of hell for Charter Representatives. Seriously.

Look, Charter guy, I don't think you're stupid- I really don't. I just think there must be some sort of bug on the phone line that garbles the message between my mouth and your ears. Because when I said "I'd like to cancel my service" what you apparently heard was "I'd like to upgrade to the most expensive package you offer". And you phrased it in such a way that I replied by saying "Yes. That's correct. Do that." So don't act all put out when I ask you what my next bill will be and then freak out when you give me a figure that's twice the amount of the original number I wanted slashed.

In other news that DOESN'T make me want to slit my wrists, I had the most lovely time this past weekend at the Sippin' Safari. Now, gorillas and booze are two things I never would have put together, but thank heavens the good people at the Greenville Zoo are capable of thinking outside the box. Turns out wine and primates are a perfect complement.

Let me set up this delightful scenario for you: 4 hours on a Friday night spent eating any number of delicious foods (including cupcakes with little icing animals on them) and drinking about 45 different varieties of wine... all while strolling leisurely past monkeys, lemurs and tigers. Let's ignore the fact that the "fence" surrounding the elephant habitat barely came up to my waist. If I can climb over it, I feel pretty confident that Dumbo can as well. But fear of stampedes aside, it was truly a perfect evening.

And now we've moved merrily into autumn time and I am just itching to get my hands on a bushel or 17 of apples so that I can continuously run the crockpot full of applesauce until Thanksgiving. Too bad it's still 85 degrees out...

Does God have a Tim Tebow complex?

I'll admit to not even knowing the name 'Tim Tebow' before I moved to South Carolina and began to work for my Florida Gators-obsessed boss, but I've since developed a bit of a fascination with him. I still haven't decided whether or not I like him, but I'm certainly intrigued.

I stumbled upon this article- lengthy, but really interesting.

'He played that day with the Biblical citation john 3:16 painted in the ovals of eye black on his cheeks; during and after the game, "John 3:16" was the top search phrase on Google. "Millions of people lookin' up what's under my eyes," Tebow says, shaking his head.'

John Paul

True Love