They're charming, really.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Adventues in Anxiety: Part 2
I can't imagine any words I wanted to hear less coming from the cockpit this morning than these: "Well, folks, we've got a bit of bad news for you. We've got an indicator that our left engine is going bad... now, we think it's just a faulty indicator, and that the engine is fine, but in the interest of safety, we're going to land in Knoxville to check it out!" This was of course followed by an assurance that everything was FINE and there was no reason to worry. Clearly.
These are the scenarios I make up in my head that cause the weeping and the drinking and the praying and the more drinking- and there it was, unfolding in front of me in real-life. All I could think of was officials reviewing the black box tapes later and the subsequent newspaper articles- "The first indication that something was wrong came around 11:42 am when Captian Mike Jones alerted passengers that there was some possible engine trouble, though there was no need for worry... he was so, so wrong."
But there were no tragedies for me today save the two teenagers making out in the seat next to me. They parked us at Knoxville for a couple of nail-biting hours, and the kind people at Northwest gave us all food vouchers to tide us over the lunch hour, apologizing profusely while handing them out- which, I get it, they're concerned about customer service, but in this kind of situation, it's not some scheduling error causing a delay, it's an effort to keep us from dying. And while I appreciate a free Quizno's sub, I am really really okay with the sitatuion at hand.
Note to any and all professionals who may ever provide me any type of service during my future here on earth: Don't ever, ever, EVER apologize for doing things that end in me being more or less alive as opposed to dead. I actually appreciate these efforts a great deal. I would rather spend 2 hours reading in the airport than bursting into flames somewhere over the Smoky Mountains.
So I made it to balmy 70 degrees Grenville (so THIS is why I moved to South Carolina), but not without a few gray hairs. The best part about flying out of Greenville is that the airport is lovely and small and approximately three planes a day fly out of there, meaning there is virtually no wait time for anything. But the worst part is that I always end up on these tiny planes that are barely bigger than my parents' old Grand Marquis, and you can feel every tiny bump riding in one of those flying Mini Coopers. There's none of the smooth, graceful takeoffs and landings like you get with the behemoth planes; instead it feels like you're bouncing down a gravel road on the side of a mountain with brakes that have just gone out. It is an experience that does not exactly instill one with confidence. Or happiness. Or the desire to ever patronize an airline company again.
On a much, much, MUCH happier note, here's my whole, wonderful family at our fake Christmas this past weekend:
And here is a pictorial testament to my brothers' nerdiness- their idea of a family portrait:
A little piece of my shoe-shopping self dies every time something like this happens. (And yes, there are five of us under there, and yes that is a John Deere book on the far left. Hey, like your family is normal??)
Near-death (in my mind, anyway) experiences and extreme nerdiness aside, it was one of the best Christmases in my memory, even if it was on the short side. The newfallen snow I spied on the front lawn upon waking "Christmas" morning was literally icing on the cake... if our earth was filled with German Chocolate and snow was butter cream frosting.
These are the scenarios I make up in my head that cause the weeping and the drinking and the praying and the more drinking- and there it was, unfolding in front of me in real-life. All I could think of was officials reviewing the black box tapes later and the subsequent newspaper articles- "The first indication that something was wrong came around 11:42 am when Captian Mike Jones alerted passengers that there was some possible engine trouble, though there was no need for worry... he was so, so wrong."
But there were no tragedies for me today save the two teenagers making out in the seat next to me. They parked us at Knoxville for a couple of nail-biting hours, and the kind people at Northwest gave us all food vouchers to tide us over the lunch hour, apologizing profusely while handing them out- which, I get it, they're concerned about customer service, but in this kind of situation, it's not some scheduling error causing a delay, it's an effort to keep us from dying. And while I appreciate a free Quizno's sub, I am really really okay with the sitatuion at hand.
Note to any and all professionals who may ever provide me any type of service during my future here on earth: Don't ever, ever, EVER apologize for doing things that end in me being more or less alive as opposed to dead. I actually appreciate these efforts a great deal. I would rather spend 2 hours reading in the airport than bursting into flames somewhere over the Smoky Mountains.
So I made it to balmy 70 degrees Grenville (so THIS is why I moved to South Carolina), but not without a few gray hairs. The best part about flying out of Greenville is that the airport is lovely and small and approximately three planes a day fly out of there, meaning there is virtually no wait time for anything. But the worst part is that I always end up on these tiny planes that are barely bigger than my parents' old Grand Marquis, and you can feel every tiny bump riding in one of those flying Mini Coopers. There's none of the smooth, graceful takeoffs and landings like you get with the behemoth planes; instead it feels like you're bouncing down a gravel road on the side of a mountain with brakes that have just gone out. It is an experience that does not exactly instill one with confidence. Or happiness. Or the desire to ever patronize an airline company again.
On a much, much, MUCH happier note, here's my whole, wonderful family at our fake Christmas this past weekend:
And here is a pictorial testament to my brothers' nerdiness- their idea of a family portrait:
A little piece of my shoe-shopping self dies every time something like this happens. (And yes, there are five of us under there, and yes that is a John Deere book on the far left. Hey, like your family is normal??)Near-death (in my mind, anyway) experiences and extreme nerdiness aside, it was one of the best Christmases in my memory, even if it was on the short side. The newfallen snow I spied on the front lawn upon waking "Christmas" morning was literally icing on the cake... if our earth was filled with German Chocolate and snow was butter cream frosting.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Obviously I made it alive or you wouldn't be reading this post
I write this from 26,000 feet in the air- on wordpad, of course, not the internet. I would never try to connect to the world wide web while on a plane- ever since seeing Soul Plane (not this century's greatest cinematic achievement, I know), I'm terrified of accidentally leaving my cell phone on when traveling the friendly skies and it causing the plane to explode mid-flight.
I am not what they in the industry would call 'a good flier'. I used to be a good flier- a great one in fact. I loved flying. I will never forget landing in Seoul when I flew to Korea seven years ago, after the longest. flying. experience. ever. Six-hour drive to Chicago. Couple hours sleep at the bro's apartment. One-hour drive to the airport. Four-hour flight to San Francisco. Five-hour layover /delay there. Twelve-hour flight to Korea, touching down almost 40 hours after I'd left Monroe. (and that wasn't even the end- the hold-up in Cali caused us to miss the last flight out to Pusan, and we had to spend the night in a hotel before making the one-hour trip the next morning.)
Anyway, when we finally landed in Seoul, on a clear, crisp night in November, I remember thinking "Holy wow. I'm in a DIFFERENT COUNTRY. I got on this plane in Michelle Tanner's hometown and I'm about to get off in South Korea". I was literally on the other side of the world, and the idea that a plane could do that- transport me across the planet in the span of half a day- was nothing short of magical.
But those days are long gone. As I've mentioned before, I seem to become more like my mother more with each passing day, and now I am a nervous flier . Statistics mean nothing to me, because unless you have a 100% success rate, there is always a chance that something can go wrong. Nobody gets on a plane thinking they're going to crash. It's ALWAYS A possibility.
The kicker is, I love everything about flying, except the actual in-the-air part. I love luggage and gift shops and reading a book in the waiting area and strangers in the seat next to me.
I've been particularly anxious about this flight, and by the time I was seated in row five, I was bent over in my seat, crying because it was the only thing that could release the tension. So I cried and I prayed and cried and prayed and when the flight attendant announced that they were beginning their in-flight service with adult beverages available for only $7.00, my tears came to an abrupt end.
Now, I am not one to spend seven dollars on anything (the last thing I purchased for that amount was a skirt from J. Crew, if that gives you any idea of my price threshold) but I'd just received my Christmas bonus earlier in the day and I figured if my plane was going to fall out of the sky and send me to the Happy Hunting Ground in the Sky (or in my case, the Happy Shopping Mall in the Sky) I figured the most authentically Catholic way for me to go out would be with a prayer on my lips and booze in my veins.
I drank that glass of wine like it was about to go bad, and by the time the flight attendant came back up the aisle after finishing her service (um. there were maybe ten rows behind me), I was already ready with my trash.
So I'm feeling pretty woozy, especially since I declined the complimentary pretzels, and the only thing I've eaten today was sushi for lunch, which I'm starting to regret, but at least if my plane crashes in a fiery explosion, my final thoughts will be recorded for all the world to enjoy.
On the bright side, now I can focus on the waves of nausea washing through my body instead of the crippling anxiety. God bless Cabernet.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Therapy
In regards to the last post about my heartbreak over Cute Mass Guy- which, frankly, I am still not over- my roommate offered the suggestion that perhaps it was a chastity ring causing all this trouble in our non-relationship. To which I say, if there is one way to ensure your "chastity" remains intact forever, it is to adorn your left ring finger with some solid gold bling. Moving on.
My job is strange. Some days I produce a radio show done entirely in Spanish, a language in which I'm not entirely confident I can even say 'hello'. Other days I spend an entire morning carefully removing incorrect address labels from already-stamped envelopes so that new, (hopfeully) correct labels can be applied. Today- well, today I said the word 'jackass' on a internationally broadcast radio show. I was quoting Martin Luther, but still. My job is strange.
Every once in a while I check out Post Secret, but honestly, I get bored quickly. My life is not that dramatic. I just know that if I were ever to submit one, it would be like "Sometimes I drive with both feet on the pedals because I'm too lazy to move my right foot between the gas and the brakes". Sorry, Dad.
Last night, I was helping with the 7th-graders at Religious Ed since their regular teacher couldn't make it last-minute. Since I was going off the fly, we did some trivia and I told them about Our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast day is this weekend.
Two observations: First, half of the class didn't know what three gifts the wise men brought to baby Jesus. And I don't mean they faltered momentarily over the pronunciation of frankincense (like I just faltered not-so-momentarily over its spelling). I mean they stared at me with dead eyes and a gaping mouth. Sad. Secondly, the only kid who had even heard of Our Lady of Guadalupe was the single Mexican boy. Oh how I love when people fulfill their stereotypes.
I was reminded of this over Thanksgiving when my brother's Canadian girlfriend told me she was on a curling team in high school. You. were. NOT. I think she was a smidge alarmed at my glee, but I can't help it. It just tickles me down to my very toes when I see two cops eating donuts in a coffeeshop. Makes me want to go shoe shopping and dance in formation with 40 other white people. Just for the sake of the stereotype, of course.
My job is strange. Some days I produce a radio show done entirely in Spanish, a language in which I'm not entirely confident I can even say 'hello'. Other days I spend an entire morning carefully removing incorrect address labels from already-stamped envelopes so that new, (hopfeully) correct labels can be applied. Today- well, today I said the word 'jackass' on a internationally broadcast radio show. I was quoting Martin Luther, but still. My job is strange.
Every once in a while I check out Post Secret, but honestly, I get bored quickly. My life is not that dramatic. I just know that if I were ever to submit one, it would be like "Sometimes I drive with both feet on the pedals because I'm too lazy to move my right foot between the gas and the brakes". Sorry, Dad.
Last night, I was helping with the 7th-graders at Religious Ed since their regular teacher couldn't make it last-minute. Since I was going off the fly, we did some trivia and I told them about Our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast day is this weekend.
Two observations: First, half of the class didn't know what three gifts the wise men brought to baby Jesus. And I don't mean they faltered momentarily over the pronunciation of frankincense (like I just faltered not-so-momentarily over its spelling). I mean they stared at me with dead eyes and a gaping mouth. Sad. Secondly, the only kid who had even heard of Our Lady of Guadalupe was the single Mexican boy. Oh how I love when people fulfill their stereotypes.
I was reminded of this over Thanksgiving when my brother's Canadian girlfriend told me she was on a curling team in high school. You. were. NOT. I think she was a smidge alarmed at my glee, but I can't help it. It just tickles me down to my very toes when I see two cops eating donuts in a coffeeshop. Makes me want to go shoe shopping and dance in formation with 40 other white people. Just for the sake of the stereotype, of course.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
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 Cute Mass Guy 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 a few of my closest. 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 50-foot 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.
I noticed Cute Mass Guy 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 a few of my closest. 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 50-foot 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.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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 saps in 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.
Clearly this delicious post-dinner treat is causing me to lose it a little.
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, y'all!
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 saps in 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.
Clearly this delicious post-dinner treat is causing me to lose it a little.
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, y'all!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
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:
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.
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.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 2, 2009
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 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...
Friday, October 30, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, October 23, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
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.
*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.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
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 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.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
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...
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...
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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.'
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.'
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
*Swoon*
I am recently obsessed with writer Seth Stevenson, for reasons including but not limited to the following:
- mattress shopping (oh the disdain we share)
- Inaugural balling
- "Writing" term papers
- Procrastination
Friday, July 24, 2009
In which June rocks every last one of my socks off.
In the entire history of time, I don't think there has ever existed a better period of time than the 31 (or is it 30? I never know) days of June. Unless the current month of July is planning to best it, which at this point is totally plausible.
June 5 was Moving Day for me- which, funnily enough, coincided with 'packing day'. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway I peaced out of work at lunch time, picked up a U-Haul (just a van) and proceeded to go up and down three flights of stairs approximately 87,000 times. I may never work out again, and I will STILL have killer calves thanks to that experience. We called it quits around 11 o clock that night, and, like a genius, I stayed up until 2:30 in the morning playing Apples to Apples. Which wouldn't have been a problem had I not had a 4:45 AM wake-up call for my flight to Michigan.
Then ensued: The Best Birthday Ever. Pops picked me up at Detroit Metro at 8am and 25 minutes later, giggling with glee, I pushed open the screen door at our house and tentatively called out: "mom?" My mom, who claims she had absolutely no idea I was coming (a plausible statement since she was under the impression I was moving that day), was in total shock. It was priceless. Totally worth the $200 plane ticket- especially since Ryan paid for it.
We spent the afternoon at Greenfield Village, and that night, RyRy took me to the Red Wings Stanley Cup Game 5 in Detroit for my birthday. I am not a fan of hockey, per se, but I am a fan of beer and hot dogs, and as it turns out, I just plain like sports. Sometimes I think Ryan regrets taking me to things like that, because my questions are never like "Oh, what's a power play?". They're more along the lines of "Do players get tickets to give away to EVERY SINGLE GAME? Where do their families sit?" and "Do you think they bring brand new goal nets each time? What happens to the old ones- does someone sell them on ebay?" and "I wonder what the hierarchy of Zamboni drivers looks like? Do you start out Zamboni-ing for peewee leagues, and then move up to the collegiate level until one day, after years of hard work and skill-honing you finally get your chance at the NHL? What do these guys get paid, anyway?" But I had a great time, and it was my birthday, so... there you go.
I took a break from All The Excitement for the next couple of weeks while I finished unpacking, cleaning out my old apartment (bleh, bleh, and a thousand times bleh), and taking what felt like thrice-daily trips to Goodwill to drop off copious amounts of my former belongings. Seriously, as I've mentioned multiple times, my old apartment was the size of a chest freezer- how did I fit so much unnecessary stuff in there?! All I can see is next August bearing down on me like a freight train, when I get to repeat the whole miserable process again, except this time there will be the added joy of trying to split up belongings between three roommates and trying to remember whose metal soup pots are whose. Now I understand why people marry for convenience.
June finished itself off with the Happiest Day of My Life - Jen's wedding. I can't even talk about it, the perfection is so great, but suffice to say that from the initial reunion in the airport, which garnered stares from every human being in a 100-foot radius and had us very much living up to our sorority girls title (picture lots of jumping up and down, squealing, and utterances of "omg you look, like, SO amazing!!!") to Kristen spilling cereal all over the 'breakfast room' of the hotel at 1 in the morning upon our return from the reception... there was never a dull moment. The flower guy showed up two hours late for the wedding with flowers so completely unlike what Jen had asked for that we actually asked him if he had come to the wrong place, one of their readers showed up so late that a different reader (of an opposing gender) was subbed in, and Jen completely un-did and re-did the updo her hairstylist had given her (because she was too nice to tell her that she hated it- HELLO it's your wedding day, Jen- if ever there is an excuse to be rude, or at the very least, HONEST, I'm pretty sure this is it)... but despite it all, there was beautiful Jen, eating barbecue potato chips 30 minutes before the ceremony, totally calm, and ridiculously beautiful.
One last note about the Minnesota trip- I had the chance to spend a day with an old high school friend that I hadn't seen in five years. Less than 30 minutes after he picked me up from the hotel, I asked him "So do I seem the same or different?". He smirked at me sideways and responded "Well, you're still a hitter". Meh :)
June 5 was Moving Day for me- which, funnily enough, coincided with 'packing day'. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway I peaced out of work at lunch time, picked up a U-Haul (just a van) and proceeded to go up and down three flights of stairs approximately 87,000 times. I may never work out again, and I will STILL have killer calves thanks to that experience. We called it quits around 11 o clock that night, and, like a genius, I stayed up until 2:30 in the morning playing Apples to Apples. Which wouldn't have been a problem had I not had a 4:45 AM wake-up call for my flight to Michigan.
Then ensued: The Best Birthday Ever. Pops picked me up at Detroit Metro at 8am and 25 minutes later, giggling with glee, I pushed open the screen door at our house and tentatively called out: "mom?" My mom, who claims she had absolutely no idea I was coming (a plausible statement since she was under the impression I was moving that day), was in total shock. It was priceless. Totally worth the $200 plane ticket- especially since Ryan paid for it.
We spent the afternoon at Greenfield Village, and that night, RyRy took me to the Red Wings Stanley Cup Game 5 in Detroit for my birthday. I am not a fan of hockey, per se, but I am a fan of beer and hot dogs, and as it turns out, I just plain like sports. Sometimes I think Ryan regrets taking me to things like that, because my questions are never like "Oh, what's a power play?". They're more along the lines of "Do players get tickets to give away to EVERY SINGLE GAME? Where do their families sit?" and "Do you think they bring brand new goal nets each time? What happens to the old ones- does someone sell them on ebay?" and "I wonder what the hierarchy of Zamboni drivers looks like? Do you start out Zamboni-ing for peewee leagues, and then move up to the collegiate level until one day, after years of hard work and skill-honing you finally get your chance at the NHL? What do these guys get paid, anyway?" But I had a great time, and it was my birthday, so... there you go.
I took a break from All The Excitement for the next couple of weeks while I finished unpacking, cleaning out my old apartment (bleh, bleh, and a thousand times bleh), and taking what felt like thrice-daily trips to Goodwill to drop off copious amounts of my former belongings. Seriously, as I've mentioned multiple times, my old apartment was the size of a chest freezer- how did I fit so much unnecessary stuff in there?! All I can see is next August bearing down on me like a freight train, when I get to repeat the whole miserable process again, except this time there will be the added joy of trying to split up belongings between three roommates and trying to remember whose metal soup pots are whose. Now I understand why people marry for convenience.June finished itself off with the Happiest Day of My Life - Jen's wedding. I can't even talk about it, the perfection is so great, but suffice to say that from the initial reunion in the airport, which garnered stares from every human being in a 100-foot radius and had us very much living up to our sorority girls title (picture lots of jumping up and down, squealing, and utterances of "omg you look, like, SO amazing!!!") to Kristen spilling cereal all over the 'breakfast room' of the hotel at 1 in the morning upon our return from the reception... there was never a dull moment. The flower guy showed up two hours late for the wedding with flowers so completely unlike what Jen had asked for that we actually asked him if he had come to the wrong place, one of their readers showed up so late that a different reader (of an opposing gender) was subbed in, and Jen completely un-did and re-did the updo her hairstylist had given her (because she was too nice to tell her that she hated it- HELLO it's your wedding day, Jen- if ever there is an excuse to be rude, or at the very least, HONEST, I'm pretty sure this is it)... but despite it all, there was beautiful Jen, eating barbecue potato chips 30 minutes before the ceremony, totally calm, and ridiculously beautiful.
One last note about the Minnesota trip- I had the chance to spend a day with an old high school friend that I hadn't seen in five years. Less than 30 minutes after he picked me up from the hotel, I asked him "So do I seem the same or different?". He smirked at me sideways and responded "Well, you're still a hitter". Meh :)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Bleh
Tomorrow's forecast for my lovely little corner of the world:
Sunny, very hot with the temperature approaching the record of 99 set in 1944 and humid
I like how they tack the 'and humid' on the end, as an afterthought. Like, 'oh and by the way, the air is going to be so incredibly moist you'll feel like you are walking through a puddle and will have the urge to rip every layer of your skin off in some attempt to escape the misery.'
Sunny, very hot with the temperature approaching the record of 99 set in 1944 and humid
I like how they tack the 'and humid' on the end, as an afterthought. Like, 'oh and by the way, the air is going to be so incredibly moist you'll feel like you are walking through a puddle and will have the urge to rip every layer of your skin off in some attempt to escape the misery.'
Monday, June 15, 2009
So much goodness
I knew this summer was going to be incredible, and there is still so much to look forward to, but less than two weeks into June I am already blown away by all the Good Times that have been had.
The Awesome really started with Winnie's visit about a month ago. Despite the universe's best efforts (our foiled plans include barbecue at Bucky's, calzones at Barley's, getting our nails done at my favorite place, and seeing Sabrina at the Midnight Movies in the park), we managed to have a wonderful time, the highlight probably being a three-hour dipnon-esque dinner at Smoke on the Water and subsequent beer pong at Craig's.
The good cheer followed us to Cincinnati, a destination reached by myself and Winnie via the beautiful Smokey Mountains. We took turns driving, napping and reading aloud to each other. And then, the wedding, which produced an impressive amount of memories considering the short time span: the hotel concierge trying to give Hannah and me a room with just one king-size bed, running on the country roads with Hannah, Kristen's date forgetting his pants for the wedding, Ryan Walsh throwing a classic Walsh party in his hotel room, getting to swoon over my recently-single crush-to-end-all-crushes, and just getting to spend precious time with Hannah, Kristen, and Courtney. Sigh.
May wasn't done with me yet- Memorial Weekend brought me the fulfillment of a lifelong dream: seeing Sister Hazel live in concert. The price tag on this once-in-a-lifetime experience? (seriously these guys have got to be like 90 by now; they may not be around much longer) $7.50. As far as dream fulfillment goes, I call that a bargain. And you know how much I love bargains. But the show was great; it was the first concert I've been to where I knew every word to every song since I saw NSYNC in ninth grade (For the record, if they ever do a reunion tour, I should warn you all now that I am quitting my job and following them across the country. Sushi, I expect no less from you). And afterward, we snuck through backyards, Stacey and I holding hands out of fear, following the boys against our better judgment (against our lesser judgment, too), and roasted marshmallows on the grill while we listened to the sounds of Gavin Degraw drifting over from the park and into Craig's windows.
Which pretty much brings us to June but that's a whole new set of stories...
The Awesome really started with Winnie's visit about a month ago. Despite the universe's best efforts (our foiled plans include barbecue at Bucky's, calzones at Barley's, getting our nails done at my favorite place, and seeing Sabrina at the Midnight Movies in the park), we managed to have a wonderful time, the highlight probably being a three-hour dipnon-esque dinner at Smoke on the Water and subsequent beer pong at Craig's.
The good cheer followed us to Cincinnati, a destination reached by myself and Winnie via the beautiful Smokey Mountains. We took turns driving, napping and reading aloud to each other. And then, the wedding, which produced an impressive amount of memories considering the short time span: the hotel concierge trying to give Hannah and me a room with just one king-size bed, running on the country roads with Hannah, Kristen's date forgetting his pants for the wedding, Ryan Walsh throwing a classic Walsh party in his hotel room, getting to swoon over my recently-single crush-to-end-all-crushes, and just getting to spend precious time with Hannah, Kristen, and Courtney. Sigh.
May wasn't done with me yet- Memorial Weekend brought me the fulfillment of a lifelong dream: seeing Sister Hazel live in concert. The price tag on this once-in-a-lifetime experience? (seriously these guys have got to be like 90 by now; they may not be around much longer) $7.50. As far as dream fulfillment goes, I call that a bargain. And you know how much I love bargains. But the show was great; it was the first concert I've been to where I knew every word to every song since I saw NSYNC in ninth grade (For the record, if they ever do a reunion tour, I should warn you all now that I am quitting my job and following them across the country. Sushi, I expect no less from you). And afterward, we snuck through backyards, Stacey and I holding hands out of fear, following the boys against our better judgment (against our lesser judgment, too), and roasted marshmallows on the grill while we listened to the sounds of Gavin Degraw drifting over from the park and into Craig's windows.
Which pretty much brings us to June but that's a whole new set of stories...
Thursday, May 21, 2009
My favorite email
I have to say, I am a very blessed girl. Really, my life is filled with a myriad of people that sometimes I just can't believe I have the pleasure of knowing. But of all these characters, it must be admitted that there is one above all others whose emails fill me with endless delight, and they are the ones belonging to my dear friend and former 'boss' Ben. Here is why:
Today, I received a note from Ben updating me on all the happy-haps in his life. There are too many quotable quotes to mention, but the part that really set this piece of correspondence apart was the postscript, which read:
PS: You have a thing going with David Beckham on the side and you didn't tell me about it!? Karen, I thought we had a deal about boy stories. I saw the attached photo while I was flipping through GQ...looks like you two are pretty serious! And I thought nerdy boys were your type. Is he even Catholic?
And attached was the picture below:
What's so special about a picture of David Beckham shirtless, you ask? Fair question. Allow me to get a little closer here.
Yes. That is a picture of my face tattooed on David Beckham's torso. I rest my case.
Today, I received a note from Ben updating me on all the happy-haps in his life. There are too many quotable quotes to mention, but the part that really set this piece of correspondence apart was the postscript, which read:
PS: You have a thing going with David Beckham on the side and you didn't tell me about it!? Karen, I thought we had a deal about boy stories. I saw the attached photo while I was flipping through GQ...looks like you two are pretty serious! And I thought nerdy boys were your type. Is he even Catholic?
And attached was the picture below:
What's so special about a picture of David Beckham shirtless, you ask? Fair question. Allow me to get a little closer here.
Yes. That is a picture of my face tattooed on David Beckham's torso. I rest my case.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Baby brain
The past week or so, my world has been revolving around tiny blue things. Alycia's baby is due at the end of June and her little boy, John Paul Aeneas (is that a Hillsdale name or what?) will be my godson. I just cannot wait to meet him! To tide myself over until he gets here, I've been busy spending my life savings on clothes, toys, etc- I told Alycia that I hoped she didn't plan on buying anything for him because I've inadvertently outfitted him for his first year of life. Seriously, every time I go shopping for something ELSE, I end up walking away with more baby stuff- and I don't even know that it happens. I'm driving home and I realize "Wait, that is not a black cardigan in that bag; it is seven tiny onesies in a variety of masculine colors! I've been tricked!" It's like when you pull into your driveway and the last thing you remember is getting off the expressway, with no recollection of how you got there.
Anyway, Alycia's shower was this weekend and I had so much fun planning for it. Our friend Heather was so gracious as to host the little soiree at her place, since my apartment is roughly the size of a chest freezer and can seat exactly four people comfortably. We did everything up in blues and browns and tried to make things as classy as Alycia is. We passed the afternoon chatting with a bunch of wonderful women, playing a few little games and opening presents- I was at a party later, and one of the guys asked Sarah and me "what do you do at a baby shower, anyway?" and Sarah answered "pretty much you eat a lot of food and sit around oohing and ahing at all the cute baby things the mom gets." Pretty accurate. All in all, everyone had a great time and Alycia walked away with a carful of baby gear, so I put this one in the 'win' column.
We had a delicious menu: peanut butter and chocolate chunk brownies, sugar cookies, apple cake, beer bread, spinach and artichoke dip, sausage balls, a fruit basket and a vegetable platter, along with pink lemonade and coffee.
Here's the fruit bassinet that Heather made- she did a great job, and even trimmed it with blue and brown.
I made this bouquet of 'roses' out of baby socks. It came out way better than I expected, though it was still sad compared to the pictures I copied. It was one of the more annoying crafts I've attempted lately but it worth it.
The beautiful hydrangeas that Heather found and the favors I made that I FORGOT to give to the guests! We were cleaning up after everyone left and I realized they were all still sitting there on the table. I suppose if that's the worst thing that happened, I can deal.
The little blue and brown foot cookies- so yummy, though, as Sarah pointed out, it feels a little weird to be eating feet. But not weird enough to stop any of us, apparently.
Clothesline of onesies and bibs.
The burp cloth I made for John Paul. I embroidered his name and then ironed the ribbon on using adhesive. I loved making this and it looked really cute in the end.
The mommy-to-be and me underneath the banner I made (doesn't she look sickeningly good for being almost eight months pregnant? We were out at a bar last week and a total stranger came up to Alycia and said "I just have to tell you, you are the cutest pregnant woman I have ever seen!" It's disgusting).
I feel so blessed to be a part of John Paul's life, and that I get to be here for all the excitement. But for now, I am taking a serious break from crafting and looking forward to some good things- namely, Winnie's arrival tonight, and Cody's wedding this weekend. Pillow talk in a sketchy motel, here I come!
Anyway, Alycia's shower was this weekend and I had so much fun planning for it. Our friend Heather was so gracious as to host the little soiree at her place, since my apartment is roughly the size of a chest freezer and can seat exactly four people comfortably. We did everything up in blues and browns and tried to make things as classy as Alycia is. We passed the afternoon chatting with a bunch of wonderful women, playing a few little games and opening presents- I was at a party later, and one of the guys asked Sarah and me "what do you do at a baby shower, anyway?" and Sarah answered "pretty much you eat a lot of food and sit around oohing and ahing at all the cute baby things the mom gets." Pretty accurate. All in all, everyone had a great time and Alycia walked away with a carful of baby gear, so I put this one in the 'win' column.
We had a delicious menu: peanut butter and chocolate chunk brownies, sugar cookies, apple cake, beer bread, spinach and artichoke dip, sausage balls, a fruit basket and a vegetable platter, along with pink lemonade and coffee.
Here's the fruit bassinet that Heather made- she did a great job, and even trimmed it with blue and brown.
I made this bouquet of 'roses' out of baby socks. It came out way better than I expected, though it was still sad compared to the pictures I copied. It was one of the more annoying crafts I've attempted lately but it worth it.
The beautiful hydrangeas that Heather found and the favors I made that I FORGOT to give to the guests! We were cleaning up after everyone left and I realized they were all still sitting there on the table. I suppose if that's the worst thing that happened, I can deal.
The little blue and brown foot cookies- so yummy, though, as Sarah pointed out, it feels a little weird to be eating feet. But not weird enough to stop any of us, apparently.
Clothesline of onesies and bibs.
The burp cloth I made for John Paul. I embroidered his name and then ironed the ribbon on using adhesive. I loved making this and it looked really cute in the end.
The mommy-to-be and me underneath the banner I made (doesn't she look sickeningly good for being almost eight months pregnant? We were out at a bar last week and a total stranger came up to Alycia and said "I just have to tell you, you are the cutest pregnant woman I have ever seen!" It's disgusting).
I feel so blessed to be a part of John Paul's life, and that I get to be here for all the excitement. But for now, I am taking a serious break from crafting and looking forward to some good things- namely, Winnie's arrival tonight, and Cody's wedding this weekend. Pillow talk in a sketchy motel, here I come!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Jillian Michaels, This is War
The weather here has been totally bizarre lately. It’s been raining like crazy the past couple weeks, but it’s always intermittent- we never just have a rainy day. And it’s not like it’ll be gray and drizzly with periodic showers- no, Mother Nature has a serious case of bipolarity these days. Literally eight times a day, the sky will flip-flop between gorgeous blue skies and sunshine, to torrential downpours. It adds a certain challenge to getting dressed in the morning.
Anyway, when it’s not sheeting rain, it’s unbearably muggy (lots of rain + hot pavement = sauna), thus making running outside even less appealing than usual- which, hey, who knew that was possible. So, in an effort to stay indoors as much as possible, last week I ordered Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred on a whim. This whim had more to do with the free 2-day shipping that comes with my Amazon Prime trial and less to do with a motivation to ‘get shredded’, but regardless, the DVD found its way into my mailbox, and frankly, I was a little excited when it arrived yesterday. It’s a twenty-minute workout- how hard could it be?
Um, it was the longest twenty minutes of my life. I’m pretty sure Jillian’s abilities extend beyond the realm of fitness and into the manipulation of the time-space continuum, because I felt like I was doing push-ups for hours. I KNOW HOW LONG 30-SECONDS IS, JILLIAN. It’s the time it takes to microwave one banana nut muffin. It’s how long I brush my teeth in the morning. It is NOT HOW LONG 200 PUSH-UPS LAST.
I mean, I wouldn’t describe my body as sculpted or anything, but I don’t think I’m a terribly unfit person, either. I run (mostly against my will) faithfully several times a week and I do some sort of crunches/push-ups/Pilate's pretty regularly. But honestly… I think I might have been dead for a little while last night.
Let’s just ignore (the irony, perhaps?) that I was using beer bottles instead of dumbbells. I’m too cheap to buy weights when I have a perfectly good case of Blue Moon’s summer brew sitting on my counter, okay? Let’s also, for my sake, ignore the fact that I was doing the easiest moves on the easiest level of the DVD. You know how on most workout tapes, the easiest levels are for people who literally have never raised their arms above their head before, and you, with a boost of self-confidence, because at least you’re not THAT guy, can skip to level three without breaking a sweat? Yeah, that’s not how Jillian rolls.
In any case, I’m feeling surprisingly undead this morning so maybe those jogs around the block were doing more than I thought. But now that I know the supposed "20 minutes" of shred is really a period of time long enough to comprise its own ERA, I'm not exactly looking forward to seeing Jillian, or any of her perky, six-packed compadres again.
Anyway, when it’s not sheeting rain, it’s unbearably muggy (lots of rain + hot pavement = sauna), thus making running outside even less appealing than usual- which, hey, who knew that was possible. So, in an effort to stay indoors as much as possible, last week I ordered Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred on a whim. This whim had more to do with the free 2-day shipping that comes with my Amazon Prime trial and less to do with a motivation to ‘get shredded’, but regardless, the DVD found its way into my mailbox, and frankly, I was a little excited when it arrived yesterday. It’s a twenty-minute workout- how hard could it be?
Um, it was the longest twenty minutes of my life. I’m pretty sure Jillian’s abilities extend beyond the realm of fitness and into the manipulation of the time-space continuum, because I felt like I was doing push-ups for hours. I KNOW HOW LONG 30-SECONDS IS, JILLIAN. It’s the time it takes to microwave one banana nut muffin. It’s how long I brush my teeth in the morning. It is NOT HOW LONG 200 PUSH-UPS LAST.
I mean, I wouldn’t describe my body as sculpted or anything, but I don’t think I’m a terribly unfit person, either. I run (mostly against my will) faithfully several times a week and I do some sort of crunches/push-ups/Pilate's pretty regularly. But honestly… I think I might have been dead for a little while last night.
Let’s just ignore (the irony, perhaps?) that I was using beer bottles instead of dumbbells. I’m too cheap to buy weights when I have a perfectly good case of Blue Moon’s summer brew sitting on my counter, okay? Let’s also, for my sake, ignore the fact that I was doing the easiest moves on the easiest level of the DVD. You know how on most workout tapes, the easiest levels are for people who literally have never raised their arms above their head before, and you, with a boost of self-confidence, because at least you’re not THAT guy, can skip to level three without breaking a sweat? Yeah, that’s not how Jillian rolls.
In any case, I’m feeling surprisingly undead this morning so maybe those jogs around the block were doing more than I thought. But now that I know the supposed "20 minutes" of shred is really a period of time long enough to comprise its own ERA, I'm not exactly looking forward to seeing Jillian, or any of her perky, six-packed compadres again.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Random Thoughts on my Friday "lunch break"
Alone at the office on a Friday afternoon- kinda fun, mostly freaky. Fun until I think about all the sketchy guys that walk past our building on a daily basis. And the fact that the police call the neighborhood across the street "Little Havana".
Yesterday was the first day of summer in the SC. Yes, while all you saps in the North are just now breaking out your t-shirts and admiring the little flower buds tentatively showing themselves, spring is already a thing of the past down here. And frankly, I'd forgotten how hot it gets here when it's, well, HOT. The answer, in case you were wondering, is VERY. I know this because when I got into my car after work, my skin immediately melted anywhere it touched my leather seats. Seriously, it was gross. But tonight when I get home, I am putting on something loose-fitting and scandalous, making a margarita, and drinking it while reading a trashy romance novel on the porch. Ah, summer.
Nicknames: I don't know why, but I call less than 25% percent of the people I know by their given name. Is this a girl thing? Is it a me thing? Right now, off the top of my head, here are the names of some of the people I consider friends- Javi, Shaakar, Boy Scout, Hannie, Beaver, Nay-Nay, Hal-bear, Babs, Big, Little, K.O., Ryry, Marky (known as "Bry-Bry" in some circles), Mallo, PD, Pearl, Codiz, Piko, JoJo, Sushi, LB, Sofi-Pie, Hei-Hei... and this is not like an occasional name I drop. This is how I address my correspondence to these people; the way their names are saved in my cell phone. And I have a few names of my own- most notably, Karebear, Maren Killer (which Kristen so lovingly shortens to just 'Killer' at times), and K-Millz, which seems to be the current favorite. I just think it's strange, is all. Will I grow out of this phase?
I hate when I'm flipping through the stations on the radio and I stop because some fetching tune catches my attention and I'm like "oh yeah, I like this song!" and then two seconds later I realize it's a commercial jingle. And I feel embarrassed/highly worried about my taste in music. And then I think "I wonder if there's a full, director's cut three-minute version of the Purina Dog Chow song...?" (There isn't. I checked)
And lastly, very rarely do I admit to the extreme case of boy-craziness I've been afflicted with since I was just a wee lass (second grade, in fact- I had a massive crush on Ryan Sontag. He's married now and plays minor league ball. Sigh... I should have made my move when we were cast as the shoemaker and the shoemaker's wife in our class production of The Shoemaker and the Elves).
However, it has to be said: I really think there are a disproportionate number of good-looking men in Greenville. Maybe it's because I spent the entirety of my adolescence and early adulthood in Monroe and Hillsdale, respectively, but almost daily I only narrowly miss involving myself in a fatal automobile accident because I can't take my eyes off the gorgeous guy in the car next to me... or the guy passing me in the other direction, or the guy in my rearview mirror. Seriously, they're everywhere, and a large contingent of them have taken up residence in my apartment complex. It's nice and all, but for once I'd like to just take my trash out without putting on make-up. Ya know?
Yesterday was the first day of summer in the SC. Yes, while all you saps in the North are just now breaking out your t-shirts and admiring the little flower buds tentatively showing themselves, spring is already a thing of the past down here. And frankly, I'd forgotten how hot it gets here when it's, well, HOT. The answer, in case you were wondering, is VERY. I know this because when I got into my car after work, my skin immediately melted anywhere it touched my leather seats. Seriously, it was gross. But tonight when I get home, I am putting on something loose-fitting and scandalous, making a margarita, and drinking it while reading a trashy romance novel on the porch. Ah, summer.
Nicknames: I don't know why, but I call less than 25% percent of the people I know by their given name. Is this a girl thing? Is it a me thing? Right now, off the top of my head, here are the names of some of the people I consider friends- Javi, Shaakar, Boy Scout, Hannie, Beaver, Nay-Nay, Hal-bear, Babs, Big, Little, K.O., Ryry, Marky (known as "Bry-Bry" in some circles), Mallo, PD, Pearl, Codiz, Piko, JoJo, Sushi, LB, Sofi-Pie, Hei-Hei... and this is not like an occasional name I drop. This is how I address my correspondence to these people; the way their names are saved in my cell phone. And I have a few names of my own- most notably, Karebear, Maren Killer (which Kristen so lovingly shortens to just 'Killer' at times), and K-Millz, which seems to be the current favorite. I just think it's strange, is all. Will I grow out of this phase?
I hate when I'm flipping through the stations on the radio and I stop because some fetching tune catches my attention and I'm like "oh yeah, I like this song!" and then two seconds later I realize it's a commercial jingle. And I feel embarrassed/highly worried about my taste in music. And then I think "I wonder if there's a full, director's cut three-minute version of the Purina Dog Chow song...?" (There isn't. I checked)
And lastly, very rarely do I admit to the extreme case of boy-craziness I've been afflicted with since I was just a wee lass (second grade, in fact- I had a massive crush on Ryan Sontag. He's married now and plays minor league ball. Sigh... I should have made my move when we were cast as the shoemaker and the shoemaker's wife in our class production of The Shoemaker and the Elves).
However, it has to be said: I really think there are a disproportionate number of good-looking men in Greenville. Maybe it's because I spent the entirety of my adolescence and early adulthood in Monroe and Hillsdale, respectively, but almost daily I only narrowly miss involving myself in a fatal automobile accident because I can't take my eyes off the gorgeous guy in the car next to me... or the guy passing me in the other direction, or the guy in my rearview mirror. Seriously, they're everywhere, and a large contingent of them have taken up residence in my apartment complex. It's nice and all, but for once I'd like to just take my trash out without putting on make-up. Ya know?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Stephen Colbert meets Liturgical Dance
DISCLAIMER: I am not to be held responsible for the fact that this song will be stuck in your head for approximately the next 37 hours.
Whatever you're doing right now, STOP immediately. Look around to make sure none of your cubicle mates are paying attention, plug in some headphones, and then watch this video.
I laugh. So hard. Every time.
Whatever you're doing right now, STOP immediately. Look around to make sure none of your cubicle mates are paying attention, plug in some headphones, and then watch this video.
I laugh. So hard. Every time.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Taxes, Tea Parties, and Family Life
The title of our radio show today was "Taxes, Tea Parties, and Family Life" and I laughed when I heard it, because it so aptly describes my life at the moment.
Taxes. Thanks to a very generous refund from the federal government (thanks guys!), I was able to pay off my car today, thus checking one goal off my list for 2009. I'm about the only debt-free 22-year-old I know, and yet I still can't get approved for a credit card to save my life. Hello, credit card companies of America- THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR SYSTEM. (Sidenote: why hasn't someone invented an 'all-caps' button yet? I want to just highlight a block of text, click a button, and BAM. All CAPS.)
Tea Parties. Yesterday was not a good day to live where I do- namely, directly across the street from Chief's restaurant. They held a 'tea party' protest in the afternoon, and I'm pretty sure every conservative in Greenville was there... so pretty much everyone in Greenville. It took me twenty minutes to drive the half-mile from the highway to my apartment. But then I got home and my mom had snagged me some wings from Chiefs, so my world was right-side up again, which brings me to...
Family (and friends) My parents and brother were here for Easter and we had a great time in Charleston, camping and eating more seafood than a blue whale in November. The parents are still here, and I am fully enjoying regressing into my lazy 16-year-old self. For instance, last night I put on freshly laundered pajamas, and climbed into my bed, which was not only MADE UP, but with clean sheets. Ah, bliss. Ryry is back in Chicago, relieved to be away from us and free to read 18 hours a day. Here is my favorite picture of us from the weekend- It's a classic Ryan/Karen shot, where I am all huggy and affectionate and he is all, well, not.
My oldest brother is leaving today for a several-month gig as a ranger on Mt. McKinley in Alaska, doing avalanche rescues and all kinds of fun, safe stuff like that. He'll follow that up by biking across western Canada with his girlfriend. Hmmm. I honestly can't decide which sounds less appealing. I am nothing like my brother.
And lastly, today is the birthday of my BFFUTSOLFOHBFA (five points if you can Name That Acronym) Sushi. When we met in fifth grade (at my best friend's birthday party) my first impression of Sushi was "Wait, she's not Japanese?" and then "Why is she wearing flannel?" Actually she's Indian (Sushi is short for something that I can't spell), which explains the first part, and she's also the most American person I know, which explains the second. I don't think she wears a lot of flannel these days, but she did introduce me to a whole host of important cultural things. Namely, the Disney Channel, Smirnoff Ice, and lentils. We logged a lot of hours in her room watching footage of NSYNC's television appearances and eating pop-tarts, for which I will be eternally grateful.
Mostly, though, I love her for being a loyal friend to me throughout the years, which has expressed itself in things like her forgiving me for calling her a slut in 7th-grade (I didn't know what it meant!) and patiently enduring my three-year crush on a boy we're all pretty sure is gay now (Sushi probably knew it at the time). So happy birthday Sushi- after a dozen years of putting up with me, you deserve a good one.
Taxes. Thanks to a very generous refund from the federal government (thanks guys!), I was able to pay off my car today, thus checking one goal off my list for 2009. I'm about the only debt-free 22-year-old I know, and yet I still can't get approved for a credit card to save my life. Hello, credit card companies of America- THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR SYSTEM. (Sidenote: why hasn't someone invented an 'all-caps' button yet? I want to just highlight a block of text, click a button, and BAM. All CAPS.)
Tea Parties. Yesterday was not a good day to live where I do- namely, directly across the street from Chief's restaurant. They held a 'tea party' protest in the afternoon, and I'm pretty sure every conservative in Greenville was there... so pretty much everyone in Greenville. It took me twenty minutes to drive the half-mile from the highway to my apartment. But then I got home and my mom had snagged me some wings from Chiefs, so my world was right-side up again, which brings me to...
Family (and friends) My parents and brother were here for Easter and we had a great time in Charleston, camping and eating more seafood than a blue whale in November. The parents are still here, and I am fully enjoying regressing into my lazy 16-year-old self. For instance, last night I put on freshly laundered pajamas, and climbed into my bed, which was not only MADE UP, but with clean sheets. Ah, bliss. Ryry is back in Chicago, relieved to be away from us and free to read 18 hours a day. Here is my favorite picture of us from the weekend- It's a classic Ryan/Karen shot, where I am all huggy and affectionate and he is all, well, not.
My oldest brother is leaving today for a several-month gig as a ranger on Mt. McKinley in Alaska, doing avalanche rescues and all kinds of fun, safe stuff like that. He'll follow that up by biking across western Canada with his girlfriend. Hmmm. I honestly can't decide which sounds less appealing. I am nothing like my brother.And lastly, today is the birthday of my BFFUTSOLFOHBFA (five points if you can Name That Acronym) Sushi. When we met in fifth grade (at my best friend's birthday party) my first impression of Sushi was "Wait, she's not Japanese?" and then "Why is she wearing flannel?" Actually she's Indian (Sushi is short for something that I can't spell), which explains the first part, and she's also the most American person I know, which explains the second. I don't think she wears a lot of flannel these days, but she did introduce me to a whole host of important cultural things. Namely, the Disney Channel, Smirnoff Ice, and lentils. We logged a lot of hours in her room watching footage of NSYNC's television appearances and eating pop-tarts, for which I will be eternally grateful.
Mostly, though, I love her for being a loyal friend to me throughout the years, which has expressed itself in things like her forgiving me for calling her a slut in 7th-grade (I didn't know what it meant!) and patiently enduring my three-year crush on a boy we're all pretty sure is gay now (Sushi probably knew it at the time). So happy birthday Sushi- after a dozen years of putting up with me, you deserve a good one.
Ain't she cute?
Friday, April 3, 2009
A Love Letter in Springtime
Dear Publix,
I just wanted to say, you were right- shopping with you really is a pleasure.
For the past nine months, our budding relationship has grown and blossomed, like the redbuds outside my window. I can't help but think back to our first chance encounter during the Florida trip of '07. Even then, I was enamored with the playful yet legible lettering on your storefront, and your brightly colored resuseable shopping bags, priced reasonably at just 99 cents.
Your wide aisles are well-lit and carefully laid out, and your speaker system buoys my spirits with selections such as the instrumental tribute to Backstreet Boy's "I Want It That Way." It's classics such as these that set my heart to soaring.
Publix, your pimply-faced checkout boys never fail to respectfully call me m'am and compliment me on the amazing deals I've scored. You never get mad when I use dozens of coupons, instead happily accepting them each in turn, lowering my total until I am in the single digits. Your middle-aged managers are always polite and, though I never take them up on it, your baggers always offer to carry my groceries to my car, even if it's only two boxes of Wheat Thins.
That's another thing, Publix- Wheat Thins. You are the only reason I can afford their $4.20 price tag. Your buy-one-get-one sales, combined with coupons from the newspaper inserts, mean I never have to sacrifice more than a dollar for all eight and a half ounces of that seven-grain goodness. And it doesn't stop at reduced fat crackers, no sir- you alone can quench my desire for Velveeta Shells and Cheese, Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix, and the whole array of Coffee-Mate's seasonal flavors.
Publix, you have about a thousand convenient locations in the greater Greenville area. You are, literally, always there for me. While some might consider this behavior 'loose', I just call it accommodating. My rock, my fortress...
I know we haven't known each other that long, Publix, but I really think we have something special here. My frugality and your generous spirit make us a killer team and together I think we could do great things. Like stock the pantry at St. Vincent de Paul. I don't mean to freak you out or anything, Publix, but it's spring, and I wanted to tell you how I feel.
Until next week's sales ad hits circulation, I remain faithfully yours,
Karen
I just wanted to say, you were right- shopping with you really is a pleasure.
For the past nine months, our budding relationship has grown and blossomed, like the redbuds outside my window. I can't help but think back to our first chance encounter during the Florida trip of '07. Even then, I was enamored with the playful yet legible lettering on your storefront, and your brightly colored resuseable shopping bags, priced reasonably at just 99 cents.
Your wide aisles are well-lit and carefully laid out, and your speaker system buoys my spirits with selections such as the instrumental tribute to Backstreet Boy's "I Want It That Way." It's classics such as these that set my heart to soaring.
Publix, your pimply-faced checkout boys never fail to respectfully call me m'am and compliment me on the amazing deals I've scored. You never get mad when I use dozens of coupons, instead happily accepting them each in turn, lowering my total until I am in the single digits. Your middle-aged managers are always polite and, though I never take them up on it, your baggers always offer to carry my groceries to my car, even if it's only two boxes of Wheat Thins.
That's another thing, Publix- Wheat Thins. You are the only reason I can afford their $4.20 price tag. Your buy-one-get-one sales, combined with coupons from the newspaper inserts, mean I never have to sacrifice more than a dollar for all eight and a half ounces of that seven-grain goodness. And it doesn't stop at reduced fat crackers, no sir- you alone can quench my desire for Velveeta Shells and Cheese, Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix, and the whole array of Coffee-Mate's seasonal flavors.
Publix, you have about a thousand convenient locations in the greater Greenville area. You are, literally, always there for me. While some might consider this behavior 'loose', I just call it accommodating. My rock, my fortress...
I know we haven't known each other that long, Publix, but I really think we have something special here. My frugality and your generous spirit make us a killer team and together I think we could do great things. Like stock the pantry at St. Vincent de Paul. I don't mean to freak you out or anything, Publix, but it's spring, and I wanted to tell you how I feel.
Until next week's sales ad hits circulation, I remain faithfully yours,
Karen
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
So I'm a bit on the frugal side...
Ben, on my need to find a dress for summer wedding season:
"As for a dress, my humble advice to you is this: the likelihood that you will find a beautiful gown increases exponentially when you allow yourself to consider pieces whose cost exceeds $5. Open your mind, Karen; let the beauty in. Embrace the aesthetic bliss."
"As for a dress, my humble advice to you is this: the likelihood that you will find a beautiful gown increases exponentially when you allow yourself to consider pieces whose cost exceeds $5. Open your mind, Karen; let the beauty in. Embrace the aesthetic bliss."
Monday, March 16, 2009
Bullseye
Lately, Patrick has been trying, rather unsuccessfully I had thought, to teach me to play darts. Hand-eye coordination games have never been my forte; in the past, I've typically excelled at sports like distance swimming, which requires only brute force and determination, and fighting with my brother, which again, requires only brute force and determination. So you can imagine my delight when I had a breakthrough victory this past weekend and, in Robin Hood fashion, pegged my first dart with my second dart. Check out my handiwork below.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I heart Jimmy Fallon
Things that make me feel better when I'm sick:
-ramen noodles
-ice cream
-hot baths
-my mom
but mostly... Jimmy Fallon. His interview with Tina Fey made me laugh until I cried.
-ramen noodles
-ice cream
-hot baths
-my mom
but mostly... Jimmy Fallon. His interview with Tina Fey made me laugh until I cried.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
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