Mow it Good

Revisiting Italy

2011-09-13T21:39:00.000-04:00

I'm in the midst of a multiple-week cleaning and organizing project at my house. During the process, I've uncovered many forgotten gems: senior photos of my high school friends, abandoned craft projects, and an unbelievable amount of disjointed electronic equipment accrued from my father (mostly against my will) over the years.

I also recovered the journal I kept during my two-week trip to Italy with Ryan four years ago. The journal contains a detailed description of everything we ate, saw, and experienced, which I'm grateful for now, having forgotten many of the little details of our trip (but not the bigger ones, including my accidental purchase of $35 worth of cheese, a result of linguistic overconfidence on my part).

Below is a list of reflections and memories I wrote out while waiting in the Milan airport for our plane home:

Sometimes you just have to pay a little more to sit down for a drink or meal
The tap water is no good
Most Italians in the service industry speak enough English to make things happen
Every city is SO different
There is definitely a more 'international, European' feel in the North
It's nice that you can travel anywhere by train, bus, etc.
I got groped on a bus in Rome and almost got robbed in Milan
Probably paid too much for my leather purse in Florence
I did a surprisingly good job packing
I hate birds!
Italian towels suck
The Swiss Guards are seriously funny-looking (what's their story??)
So very many tourists
Yay for Cultural Week! (free entrance to most museums we visited)
Incredibly blessed with no late or missed trains, planes, etc.
I lost weight, despite the copious amounts of pasta, wine and gelato consumed (all that walking!)
Every city except for Milan felt safe
Loved the tour at the Coliseum (must watch Gladiator!)
Street artists EVERYWHERE
I am terrified of trains and planes
Thank you God for keeping us safe thus far
I liked the side streets in Rome
Soccer really is a huge deal here
I can't believe I drank wine every single night!
Going to the bathroom is a pain - have to pay everywhere
There's no such thing as 'a huge cup of coffee'
Italian breakfast is dumb

I hope and pray I get to return one day. Best diet ever!

Hi-Ho indeed

2011-05-01T21:30:00.001-04:00

As I drove home from my Religious Ed on Wednesday night, I felt panic rise in my chest. My spring semester of grad school had finished the night before, ending my twice weekly drives to Clemson (90 miles round trip). I was about to hand in a massive project at work, one which had kept me in stress headaches for weeks. The RE class I was leaving was the last of the year, a year spent with 20+ little monsters of the first grade variety. Despite my often-stressful job and a heavy load of grad school, the one hour a week I spent with those kids was often the most exhausting one of my week. In the end, though, it was worth it. Playing a review game as part of our end-of-the-year party, I was struck by just how much they'd learned throughout the year. Who was our first Pope? What was Jesus' grandma's name? Why did Jesus die for us? They nailed almost every question- and, at the risk of sounding like a braggart, they can now almost pronounce Bishop Guglielmone's last name. ALMOST. I figure I can consider it time well spent if even one kid manages to hang on to the knowledge of God's vast love for him/her and what that means in his/her life.

The panic I felt was of the "what am I going to do now?" variety? I was genuinely anxious when I thought of the free time I was about to have on my hands. What would I do with myself in the absence of writing research papers on Charlie Sheen and figuring out a good craft to do for the second week of Lent?

Turns out my panic was unnecessary. The answer was spending Saturday morning garage saling with Alycia. Cooking in my kitchen. Going to a baseball game downtown. Spending time with John Paul.

Speaking of which, while I recognize the depth to which my prejudice runs, can we not all agree on the cuteness herein?

*I was singing the Snow White working song to him one day, you know- "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go" and the only part that stuck with him was the "hi-ho". For whatever reason, it cracks me up every time he says it.

Life is good. I have a summer of great friends, beautiful weddings, and LOTS of reading to look forward to.

One More Class to Go This Semester and I am Wearing Thin...

2011-04-25T10:07:00.002-04:00

This pretty well describes my experience in grad school thus far.

If You Give My Dad a Can of Rustoleum...

2011-04-20T17:58:00.007-04:00

... he's going to want a jar of spot putty to go with it.

It's been a little bit 'If you Give a Mouse a Cookie' around my house this week. My parents are visiting while I'm on spring break from work, and my mom mentioned on the phone to me last week that they were bringing some stuff down to repair a few rust spots on my car. The conversation was something like "Oh we have this stuff, like a rust stopper, and I just thought we could spend a little time and put that stuff on, and then paint over it- you know, it's going to look great or anything, but it will hopefully stop the wheel well from disintegrating as you're driving down the highway one day." Okay, I agreed. That all sounds reasonable enough. Let's do it!

Oh, Karen of a Week Ago. So naive.

As we began to chip away at the relatively small area of rust, it revealed more rust underneath... and above, and to the sides and on and on. Power tools got involved and pretty soon the surface area had doubled, and then quadrupled. Alright, so there was a little MORE rust than we originally thought, but no big deal. We sprayed on the rust stopper and let it dry. In the meantime, my dad and I started watching DIY car repair youtube videos from the 80s, involving a product called Bondo Hair, which looks very much what I imagine would happen if you got an entire jar of peanut butter stuck in your hair. "Hey" said my dad. "This stuff looks better than the poly fiber strands we brought down. Maybe we should check it out at the hardware store." Okay, I agreed. There's an Advanced Auto Parts mere miles from my house. Let's do it!

Oh, Karen of Two Days Ago. So young.

On our way to the store we stopped for gas. While pumping, I was reminded that my windshield had been awfully streaky lately. "Hey dad, I noticed recently that my wipers have some little strings hanging off of them- is that bad?" He lifted one up and started laughing. "Uh, yeah. Those need to be replaced." "Really?" I asked? "How often are you supposed to do that?" He gave me a pointed look. "Every six months or so." I've owned my car for three years. Guess how many times I've replaced the windshield wipers?

So now wipers were on our shopping lists. It was about this time that my dad noticed that part of the casing on one of my back doors had become detached. Now, we can't have that, can we?

What had started as a minor spray-paint job had quickly evolved into an episode of Pimp My Ride, except I was drawing the line at painting lightning bolts down the sides of my car. (I drive a Ford Taurus. The idea of racing stripes doesn't exactly go with the 'roomy interior' and 'sizeable trunk space'.) It took multiple trips to both Advance Auto and Ace Hardware, but eventually we got our act together and would you believe that it actually worked?

Before:

*Not my actual car because we forgot to take a 'before' picture.

And after:

*Also not my actual car, but a spitting image. What can I say, I'm lazy?

Not too shabby, right? Only took eight hours to finish and a minimum of four years off of my life. All that stress makes me really want to go for a cookie. And if I'm going to have a cookie, I might as well pour myself a glass of milk to go with it...

This Post is Off the Heezy

2011-03-31T09:59:00.004-04:00

I am the youngest person by a good 15 years at my job, though I know a certain Headmaster's assistant who would swear up and down that she's 29 (a lie). But most of the women I work with are literally old enough to be my mom, and- much like my mom- aren't always totally up to speed on pop culture.

To help in their education, I recently decided to use my God-given gifts to start an 'Urban Word of the Day' email* for some of my less, er, culturally-inclined coworkers. Listed here are a few sayings particularly appropriate to my life.

Work Mouth:

A form of self-censorship practiced at work to avoid offensive or cuss words. Typically includes cuss-replacements you learned from your grandma. Potentially embarrassing if accidentally used outside of work at parties or in the company of your drunk friends. May also be used in the company of grandparents, teachers, preachers, and others who disapprove of cussing.

eg. At a party: -Did you just say fiddlesticks? -Yeah, sorry. I still have my work mouth on.

My mother has had her work mouth on since 1949, I think, though her angry phrase of choice is 'horsefeathers'. I will admit to letting the occasional f bomb fly, but when I'm really mad, when my ire is just at an all time high and I can't take it anymore, I let loose with an 'OH HORSEFEATHERS'. Then people know I mean business.

Hangry:
When you are so hungry that your lack of food causes you to become angry, frustrated or both.

Many of the women in my office joined Weight Watchers at the start of the new year, and let me tell you- most of them have been hangry since January 1. It is not a pretty sight, and I face death glares every time I pop a bag of popcorn with lunch.

Premake:
The original version of a song that another band has made a remake of, often used in a sarcastic manner.

eg -Whoa, is that Journey singing 'Don't Stop Believin'? -Yeah, it's a premake of the Glee song.

This reminds me of dear Hannah, who likes to say that foods remind her of a food flavored that way- like "Wow! This banana tastes just like banana-flavored runts!" Same concept applies here- often the things which come later surpass their humble beginnings. And true story- when I hear Phil Collins singing 'True Colors' on the radio, I can't help but sigh and wish for the Glee rendition instead.

Social Terrorism**
When someone you know comes to visit unexpectedly and inconveniently, often staying for a long time, and you can't tell them to leave without being rude.

This... is my biggest fear in life. Forget actual terrorism- I am more scared of being cornered at a party by a random acquaintance, thereby being forced into MINUTES of painful small talk, than I am of a suicide bomber targeting my city. You know how they say that we can't let fear stop us from flying in airplanes or riding the subway or what have you, because then the terrorists have won? Well the social terrorists have won, my friends. I AM AFRAID.

I duck out the side door at church, I arrive at class exactly on time and leave the moment we're dismissed, and I hide in the kitchen at work events, under the guise of helping the caterer. It's become exponentially worse since I started working at a school, and have gotten to know more and more people in the community, which translates into more and more people to avoid at the grocery store.

So to any potential 2012 presidential candidates: if you want my support, let's talk about the REAL issues affecting our country, and finally declare war on Social Terrorism.

*All definitions provided by UrbanDictionary.com
** The best depiction of social terrorism that I've ever seen comes from here.

A Smattering of Adventures

2011-03-17T21:17:00.007-04:00

As one can imagine, quite a few things transpired during my year-long absence from the interweb, which I will make note of as I think of them. Here's a random selection.

Last summer, I made a birthday cake for my sweet godson on the occasion of his first birthday, celebrated with a Curious George themed party. I was deliriously happy with the final product- I so lack any fiber of craftiness, that any creative victory, in my mind, is tantamount to producing the Mona Lisa. I can't even fake humility about it - I was all "LOOK AT MY CAKE. LOOK AT IT. IT'S LIKE WE'RE ON AN EPISODE OF CAKE BOSS OR SOMETHING".

Of course, what you can't see in this picture is the prep required for such an outcome.You can ask my sweet, patient roommates at the time: DISASTER IN THE KITCHEN. Seriously. I baked no less than 9 cakes to make that big yellow hat happen, and by the time the whole thing was over, it was like a frosting bomb went off in our kitchen and left no survivors. Not to mention that the assembling of the cake was a rather unsavory process that I'm grateful none of the cake-eaters were around to witness. There was a fair amount of 'smooshing' - that is, shoving bits of cake into holes. I mean, I washed my hands beforehand, but still, it wasn't pretty.

In August, we began the new school year. Our first crisis came on Orientation Day. The day before school started. Bodes well, doesn't it? Our Director of Student Life was out of the country at a conference and understandably, missed taking care of a few details. Like arranging for brunch for the 100+ new students and their parents who were coming in.

When we discovered this at 8 am the morning of, alerted by our panicked headmaster, my new boss, only there for less than a week, was sent to the closest grocery store for muffins and donuts, while I was charged with coffee duty. We don't have a kitchen in the school, and the only coffeemaker is located in the faculty break room, several long hallways and a staircase away from the cafeteria. On a day when we are expected to put our best foot forward, making new students feel welcome, and setting their anxious parents at ease, I found myself repeatedly speedwalking through the crowded halls with an open steaming pot of coffee in each hand, smiling reassuringly at newcomers, as though this was standard fare, an integral part of a truly Catholic education. While not one of our finest moments, it is certainly representative of what I live there, day in and day out- and why I love it so.

And lastly, New Year's 2010. Through a somewhat random processing of events, I found myself going to Florida for the New Year, after ten wonderful days at home in Michigan, during which I did very little besides eat, sleep, and shop. Truly- most days, I got up, ate a light brunch, read/watched tv/shopped, then cooked for the fam all afternoon, eating a heavy appetizer in late afternoon while doing a puzzle or playing a game, and dinner with wine in the evening. It's all a big blur of cream cheese and booze now.

I digress. My preferred Road Dawg Courtney and I decided we would make the drive from Michigan to Florida, in one day no less, and so we set out at 5 in the morning, arriving in St. Petersburg a mere eighteen and a half hours later. We joined two more friends there and spent the next few days cooking meals in our rented condo, trying to suntan, and going out on the town. Oh, and making tandem bike adventures around the islands. It was a really fun city, though I couldn't help thinking that we were driving around on a glorified sandbar and bound to sink at any moment. But we didn't, and I lived to tell the tale.

2011-03-14T22:05:00.000-04:00

My, oh my, oh my. Hello there, blog. I remember you. I nearly didn't, and then I spent the past twenty minutes re-reading my life in 2009.

I haven't posted in more than a year, and since I'm guessing that my parents have long since stopped checking to see if I've updated, it's a safe bet that no one is even reading this, but I was thinking I should get back into the groove of blogging. It's nice to have a record of the things that go on in your life- especially the little memories. It's easy to remember flying home to surprise my mom two summers ago, but harder to remember reading the book Drunk aloud with friends at Borders on a Friday night.

It's almost comical how much has changed since I last posted, but it is the genesis for my absence. Last March, I was offered a job at a Catholic school here in town, a school I loved for a thousand reasons long before I even first set foot in it. From their mission to their staff to their curriculum, it's like a less homeschooled Hillsdale who pledges allegiance to the Pope. Not hard to see why I was sold.

I spent the week before I started there in Indianapolis, Chicago and Michigan, and while sitting in Patrick and Margaret's Lincoln Park apartment on a Tuesday night, I received an email informing me that I'd been accepted to Clemson's graduate program for school counseling. And so it began.

My seventh day of work at my new job, the headmaster called me into his office. The look of doom on his assistant's face should have tipped me off that not all was well, but like a chump, I assumed the big boss was just checking in to see how my first week went. And when he started out with "I'm not sure how to say this..." my naturally guilty mind immediately thought "oh no- they found out that I checked my personal email during work hours yesterday. It was just gmail, not like I was cruising the personal ads on Craigslist! But they must be really strict here..." So wrapped up in my Catholic guilt was I, that I nearly missed big boss telling me that my immediate boss had been let go the night before. The one I was hired to directly support. Ummm.

I didn't say much except for "okay" and nod my head repeatedly- a response that has gained me a certain amount of infamy in the time since. I guess you don't know what to expect when you give someone news like that, and you prepare for the worst, so the fact that I didn't run screaming from the room instantly gave me some street cred (or the Catholic school equivalent of it).

From that point on, things ramped up very quickly. Two days later, I threw my first event for 70 of our highest-level donors, feeling very much like I was inhabiting someone else's body the whole time. I was, to use the term loosely, promoted almost immediately, and my stress level consequently jumped about 9000 percent. While I loved everything about the school I worked for- the education we provided, the people I worked with, the perks (like half-days all summer long, and wicked awesome vacation time), in my first two months there, I began to experience headaches so bad that I finally went to a doctor and told him, through tears and sniffles, that I was certain I had a brain tumor, because I hurt every day, all the time. My doctor, to his credit, tried not to laugh, and instead ran tests, finally assuring me that I was neurologically sound and based on the events that had recently transpired in my life, my choices were a) anxiety medication, b) therapy or c) waiting it out. Guess which one this anti-drug introvert chose?

So that's the job. It's much calmer now, and the headaches are gone, for the most part, thanks largely to a newfound commitment to working out. I do love it, and everything else that has come in this new phase of life. Well, perhaps not everything- there are moments when I'm sitting in class, discussing Charlie Sheen's psychological issues, when I experience a bit of nostalgia for my calm life of a year ago, but those are stories for another post.

Zombied

2010-02-24T21:36:00.005-05:00

Hey remember how I used to update this blog? Yeah, me neither.

Oh shoot, that was my opening line LAST time I posted... over two weeks ago. Unfortunately the brain farm is fresh out of creativity juice so it looks like I'll have to resort to recycling material.

Wow that was a terrible metaphor. But not even close to terrible enough for me to expend the energy required to come up with a replacement.

I'm tired, like really tired. Was the above paragraph at all an indication of that? My job is extremely busy right now, and my days are something like: go to work and run what feels like the clerical equivalent of a marathon, hit the gym and/or attend designated evening activity, come home and work until I go to bed. I realize that this is often the norm for other professions like teaching or law but in my defense, I don't get summers off nor do I pull down a six-figure salary.

But I'm not complaining, honestly- just wishing that it wasn't Lent so that I could unwind with a glass or six of wine at night. I'll be over the hump of a huge project in the next two weeks, and besides, I've discovered the secret to making it through the day in the office. Around mid-afternoon when I can feel my brain cells begin to melt out my ears, I turn my music down to 'soft white noise' level, cross my arms on my desk, and put my head down like I'm about to play a rousing game of 'Heads Up, Seven Up' with a classroom full of second-graders during indoor recess. Which is what I wish I did for a living. But ten minutes of that and I feel like a brand new person.

I know it might seem unprofessional to take a little 'rest' like that on the job, but if you want to talk unprofessional let's discuss what I've done the couple times I've been extremely sick at work or running on a couple hours sleep, which is to go downstairs into the production studio (essentially a cave), turn out all the lights, and lie down until my extremities regain feeling. That, my friends, is unprofessional. Though, I honestly don't think my boss would be fazed if he walked in and found me that way. Very little fazes him.

But, like I said, a couple more weeks and my professional life should return to its regular programming and by then, March will have kick-started into high gear with what I'm afraid is more goodness than I can handle. Next week is BRAD PAISLEY in concert, followed by a trip to Raleigh for work and a stop to see an old friend on the way, and then Holy week I say ASTA LA VISTA baby to the southland and head for greener (whiter?) pastures up north.

So forget the wine. I will relax with the promise of deep-dish Chicago pizza coming my way in just one month. I wish I were joking when I say that the cheesy deliciousness of a Giordano's masterpiece was a major part of the decision-making process when I chose my vacation destination...

Signs that I Might have been Lying about my College Degree

2010-02-09T08:02:00.003-05:00

Remember how once upon a time I updated this blog? Yeah, me neither. Apparently I'm only capable of consistent blogging when the busyness of my life falls at some specific point in the spectrum between doing nothing but watching HGTV all day every day and being too busy to breathe.

Life right now is leaning toward the latter. Work is busy, play is busy, future planning is busy, and as a result, my brain frequently take vacations.

Last week I turned the wrong way down a one-way street. In downtown Greenville. During rush hour. I wasn't even talking on the phone or putting on make-up, the two activities which constitute roughly 85% of my drive time, so I have no idea what prompted such an indiotic traffic maneuver at an intersection I drive through/past/around several times a week. I can at least blame part of it on genetics- my dad once drove the wrong way down 5th Avenue in New York City. But the other part? Totally the fault of my absent brain cells. Luckily there's a parking garage right on the corner, which I immediately turned into. Of course, then I was lost, as parking garages are not my spiritual gift and for the life of me I cannot find my way around them.

I once spent thirty minutes looking for my car in a garage in Charlotte. I kept hitting the 'lock' button, and I could hear my car beeping above me, so I'd go up a floor, search, and hit the button again, only to hear the beep below me. And so it continued. The worst part was, there was a middle-aged woman in the same predicament, and we kept awkwardly crossing paths as we circled back and forth around the same three floors for the better part of an hour.

Was I saying something about my brain being scattered? As they say, the proof is in the pudding- or, in this case, the incessant babble about parking garages.

But, like I said, despite work being stressful, I've been playing hard, too. V held our first annual Dip-Off a few weekends ago, in honor of the Seinfeld episode where they discuss one of life's bigegst questions: Why can't dip be a meal? The answer, it turns out, was that party. I consumed my body weight in cream cheese-based spreadables and woke up the next morning with a dip hangover far worse than any caused by alcohol. That, boys and girls, is why dip can't be a meal.

Not only did I eat myself into a food coma that night, but in another stunning display of mental aptitude, I made a complete fool of myself during a rousing game of Catch Phrase, in which I threw out such guesses as "Scandanavia!" for the clues "Sweden, the Netherlands, Britain" and "Whigs! Torries!" for the clues "Red coats, traitors, communism". In my defense, I didn't hear the communism bit- and how does your mind not jump straight to the Revolutionary War when you hear "redcoats?"

The whole thing was reminiscent of the infamous Outburst game of sophomore year when Kristen and I were given the topic "Battle of the Bulge" and started listing off diet fads like South Beach and Atkins, not realizing they were talking about the historic war battle. Oops.

I topped the week off by trying to buy wine at the store on Saturday and realizing I didn't have my ID when the cashier asked for it. I'm pretty sure she thought I was trying to pull a fast one on her, especially since (as I realized later) my hair was in pigtails. Awesome. So I left wine-less and full of anxiety, as I had no clue where my license could be, until hours later, when I remembered that I had taken it out of my wallet and into my jeans pocket the previous Wednesday when Alycia and I went line dancing at the Blind Horse. I'm just glad I was discovered by the teenager at Aldi rather than a cop- probably pulling me over for driving the wrong way down a one-way street.

Next Time we try Ghiradelli Squares

2010-01-16T10:55:00.005-05:00

I could write a post every Saturday morning and it would say essentially the same thing every single time: how wonderful Saturday mornings are, how especially lovely this particular one was, all the ways in which I loved that one of my roommates works on the weekends and the other has a penchant for sleeping until noon. Of all the things I enjoy about my roommates, those qualities are at the top of the list.

On this particular Saturday, I'm a bit sore after a killer workout yesterday. I say 'killer work-out' but all that really means is that I ventured beyond the elliptical machine in a rare but painful foray into the world of shoulder presses and bicep curls.

I joined my gym back in November and I love love love it. It's situated directly on my way home from work, which gives me little excuse not to stop by for at least a brief affair with the equipment there. I was originally lured in because my apartment complex pays for more than half of the monthly fee, meaning it only costs me 20 bucks a month to torture myself. They have a ladies only section, so that I can avoid embarrassing myself in front of sweaty guys with nice arms. Granted, it also means that unless I make some serious lifestyle changes, the romantic comedy of my life probably won't start at the gym.

I was glad I pushed myself, however, because last night my friend Stacey had a bonfire at her house and not only does she make a fantastic pizza dip, but she also provided all the fixins' for gourmet s'mores. This is not your typical campfire fare, my friend. We're talking Reese's cups, caramel and chocolate, oreos (or 'smoreos...).

I'm not humble enough to pretend like it wasn't my idea- one I had previously brought to fruition myself on a camping trip with my family several years ago- and I'm happy to say that the gospel of Gourmet S'mores was well received amongst my friends. My friend Kerry took a bite and said "Oh my gosh, I think my life just changed." Actually it came out more like "Ho mgusgh, fink mlufust ed" but I'm pretty sure that's what she was getting at.

I'm off to mediate a battle between self-disciple and sloth- to work out or to not work out and instead watch episodes of Chuck online while casually reading my Rachael Ray magazines, that is the question.

Mi Madre

2010-01-14T23:14:00.004-05:00

This is my mom:

*Hi mom!* (She loves natural pictures like this)

Today is my mom's birthday. She's turning 37 or some other attractive young age like that.

I often hear people talk about how great their mom is, how she's the best cook in the world, etc etc. And look, I think that's really sweet- and I'm sure your mom is a lovely person. But, I'm sorry; there's such a thing as objective truth, and that means not all of our moms can claim the title of greatest. If everyone's special, nobody's special, right?

And my mom? Is the best. The B-E-S-T. Do you see what I did there? I SPELLED the word 'best', so you know I mean business.

When I was in third grade, the first year we got lockers at my school, I opened up my locker one day to find a brand new bookbag with a little note pinned on, wishing me a great day. It was one of those drawstring knapsacks, made entirely of denim, with a red plaid flap that buckled over the opening- clearly there's no accounting for my taste, but I loved that thing.

When I turned 20, she threw me a surprise birthday party, and when I turned 21, she made pina coladas for us in the blender. I can't tell you how many parties she helped me host in junior high and high school- surprise parties for friends, New Year's celebrations, swim team functions, going away parties. She suffered through exploded hot dogs in the microwave, water fights, pop spilled on the keyboard (that was probably more suffering on my dad's part), and the great Christmas Cookie Scottie Dog Expedition of Infamy.

Growing up, I did everything- tee ball, soccer, gymnastics, tap, cheer-leading, ice skating, band, horseback riding, choir, piano, school plays, basketball, swimming... I don't recall ever being told I couldn't try something. She sweated through 10 years of swim meets, which has got to be the most boring sport in the world, and even went so far as to interest herself in the whole thing, supporting me and my entire team- not to mention feeding us. She quizzed me for spelling bees, ran lines with me, drove me to morning practice at 5am, and she's the reason I was able to go to college.

She's my shopping buddy, my confidant, my number one fan and who I hope to be as a wife and mother. Quite simply put, she is the best with all capital letters and spelled out backward and forwards at least three times.

So happy 37th birthday, Mom! Thanks for being the B-E-S-T-T-S-E-B-B..... oh, you know what I mean.

Hello, Good-Bye

2010-01-12T21:18:00.002-05:00

I figured now that we're a solid two weeks into 2010, it would be a good time to recap 2009.

At the beginning of last year, I sat down and made the most realistic list of goals I've ever done. And by the grace of God (and in certain cases, the federal government), I was able to accomplish a good portion of them.

Successes: I paid off my car (thank you, Obama), put a good amount of money in savings (thank you, Christmas bonus), became a more consistent blogger, read a good amount, learned to produce a live radio show, began teaching Religious Ed classes at church, worked out regularly, picked up a 'little' through the Big Brothers Big Sisters program, expanded my cooking horizons, and found a hairdresser I can tolerate reasonably well.

Fails: I didn't read a single book on my specific reading list, I still can't knit a scarf, I only watched a handful of the entire collection of Hugh Grant movies that I had committed to, and I never did run a 5K (though that one's up for debate).

Favorite book: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (say that three times fast... just say it three times, period. You'll be here until tomorrow)

Favorite movie: The Blind Side

Favorite new TV show: Glee

Favorite new food: black beans. Soup, hummus, chili, burritos... I'm obsessed

Best memory: Surprising my mom (and most of the rest of my family) on my birthday

Most embarrassing moment: While this category has so many contenders I feel like it deserves its own post, for the sake of my dignity, I'll highlight just one and choose the time I realized 15 minutes into Mass that my dress was unzipped halfway in the back. And that my boss and his entire family were sitting two rows behind me. Yay.

I rang in the year in Sterling Heights with Hannah and I rang it out (is that a thing?) in Orlando with Sarah and roughly 4,000 other Catholics. In between, I attended four beautiful weddings, moved into a new apartment with my lovely roommates, was visited by six wonderful friends, traveled to Minneapolis, Hillsdale, Monroe, Charleston, Savannah, Atlanta and Orlando. I was blessed with a whole passel of fabulous new friends, and welcomed my precious godson into the world. I got my first filling, but didn't break any bones.

So yay, 2009. 365 wonderful more days God blessed me with. Maybe in 2010 I'll finally legitimize that 5k.

It's Like Seven Steps to Kevin Bacon Except With Stress and Television Shows

2010-01-10T13:31:00.008-05:00

Everybody reacts to stress differently. Some people get ulcers, others canker sores- I once knew a girl who dealt with crippling anxiety by ripping all her eyelashes out. I'll give you a minute here to thank God that's not your coping mechanism.

For me, it's my eyelids- they twitch. You can't see it unless you're close enough to count my pores, but it's pretty creepy-looking and feels even weirder. Not my favorite.

Due to all my exhausting vacation-ing recently (and perhaps a few other, actually stressful, factors), the twitch has been non-stop lately and after a marathon cleaning session on Friday night, all I've wanted to do all weekend is lie in the fetal position watching television online. It's not... the only... thing I've done, but I would say it has taken a certain precedence the past few days. Hey, I'm still recovering from four blissful days at a world-class resort in sunny Florida, okay? Don't judge.

I did venture out on Saturday for a brief post-Christmas shopping trip with V, where we ravaged the Borders going-out-of-business sale, and I picked up a shirt for the Brad Paisley concert in March, to go with my kickin' new cowboy boots. (One day, the words 'cowboy boots' there will link to a yet-to-be-written post, most likely in haiku form, about my favorite new Western possession)

I also hosted the shortest Christmas party ever, whose brevity was due in large part to my sick roommate. She's got the laryngitis, m'am, and because she's a teacher, she's doing everything possible to preserve her voice for the classroom. Which has made things kind of hilarious, mostly because I keep forgetting that I still have the power of speech. She'll write down on a notecard "what are you making for dinner?" and I'm sitting there thinking "hmm, how can I pantomime 'chili'?" And she's sitting there thinking "I can't believe my roommate is such an idiot". She doesn't say it, of course, but only because she can't.

Anyway, did I have a point here somewhere? Oh yes- fetal position, online television. I won't go on about my deep and undying love for Jimmy Fallon, his twelve days of Christmas sweaters, or the fact that he plays beer pong on late-night with his guests. I'll save you from excessive talk about how adorable he looks in a suit, like an eight-year-old dressed up for a wedding, or how he cutely referred to Taylor Swift as 'Swifty' for an entire segment. You won't find me blathering on about how endearing he was in his first episode, where Robert DeNiro made some of the most awkward late-night television known to man or beast. No siree, not here.

Sidenote: Future husband, if you're out there? Take me to see a Jimmy Fallon show someday. There is nothing I would love more. On second thought, maybe don't. That could spell trouble for our marriage. Might be better to go to the Stars on Ice route. Look, we'll talk about it later.

So INSTEAD of talking on and on about Jimmy, an endeavor in which I have clearly already failed, let me introduce you to Better Off Ted. While Glee won the spot for my new favorite show of 2009, it's a new year and with it comes a fresh comedic slate. Especially since Glee is on hold for American Idol until April. Damn you, Ryan Seacrest.

Better Off Ted has taken the lead for best sitcom by a long shot, and not just because we're only less than two weeks into 2010. It's a cross between The Office and Arrested Development, with a touch of Scrubs bromance via the partnership of the show's two scientists, Phil and Lem. I'm terrible at describing things, so I promise you your time is better spent checking out a few minutes on hulu. Consider it a belated Christmas gift, from me to you.

Sweet, Sweet Togetherness

2010-01-08T16:06:00.003-05:00

Hello, Weekend.

How are you, old friend? I've missed you. How long has it been, anyway? Gosh, I don't think we've spent any quality time together since- my goodness, November? Mmmm how sweet this reunion will be.

Lest you feel sorry for me, the reason the past month or two have been void of 'weekends' for me is because I've been traveling and spending time with friends and family- rough life, I know. There was Thanksgiving with my family, an extended weekend in Savannah with my brothers and Meg, then home to Monroe for a pre-Christmas celebration, followed Christmas with the Jagos, and finally New Year's in sunny-but-stupid-cold Orlando.

Coming back to reality calls to mind the mornings when my dad would get me out of bed at 6 in the morning by pouring cold water on my face. That's right, feel free to call Child Protection Services. It's an outrage.

But seriously, working five days a week? What is this?

Despite this crazy 40-hour workweek thing, 2010 already holds some fantastically bright spots. For instance: They've made Little House on the Prairie into a musical. The crazy thing is, I had just been joking about the possibility with a friend a couple nights ago, in the context of "super awesome things that could happen to me". Not only does it exist, but it's playing in Raleigh the very weekend I'm going to be there for work. I'm taking that as a sign.

And I think in preparation, the weekend and I should pass the time by re-reading the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series.

What It's Like Having Older Brothers

2009-12-23T08:55:00.016-05:00

They're charming, really.

Adventues in Anxiety: Part 2

2009-12-21T18:16:00.007-05:00

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.

Obviously I made it alive or you wouldn't be reading this post

2009-12-18T21:33:00.003-05:00

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.

Therapy

2009-12-11T00:39:00.004-05:00

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.

Heartbreak

2009-12-09T08:09:00.008-05:00

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.

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

2009-12-02T17:29:00.004-05:00

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!

Guess what? I'm FULL

2009-11-24T11:09:00.007-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Playing Anthropologist

2009-11-19T12:05:00.002-05:00

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

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

Some thoughts, post concert:

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

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

Blitzkrieged at Sabroso: An International Affair

2009-11-14T09:39:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Wined and dined. Mostly wined

2009-11-05T17:19:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Halloween Recap 2009

2009-11-02T18:50:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will be well

2009-10-30T17:05:00.005-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE

2009-10-23T12:53:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Misadventures of an Overheated Drug Addict

2009-10-20T17:29:00.005-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Consequences

2009-10-14T22:37:00.006-04:00

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

*blink*

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

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

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

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

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

A for Effort

2009-09-30T22:59:00.005-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

2009-09-16T17:41:00.007-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Does God have a Tim Tebow complex?

2009-08-27T17:51:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

John Paul

2009-08-20T16:47:00.005-04:00

True Love

Swoon

2009-07-29T17:10:00.005-04:00

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

...and so much more

In which June rocks every last one of my socks off.

2009-07-24T12:24:00.007-04:00

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 :)

Bleh

2009-06-18T17:02:00.002-04:00

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.'

So much goodness

2009-06-15T21:29:00.002-04:00

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...

My favorite email

2009-05-21T22:43:00.008-04:00

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.

Baby brain

2009-05-11T08:14:00.000-04:00

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!

Jillian Michaels, This is War

2009-05-07T08:13:00.010-04:00

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.

Random Thoughts on my Friday "lunch break"

2009-04-24T13:12:00.002-04:00

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?

Stephen Colbert meets Liturgical Dance

2009-04-23T08:51:00.002-04:00

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.

Taxes, Tea Parties, and Family Life

2009-04-16T23:14:00.009-04:00

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.

Ain't she cute?

A Love Letter in Springtime

2009-04-03T17:59:00.001-04:00

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 would actually use this...

2009-04-01T08:20:00.000-04:00

Google's idea of an April Fool's Joke. Such a kidder, that Google.

So I'm a bit on the frugal side...

2009-03-24T17:53:00.000-04:00

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."

Bullseye

2009-03-16T17:17:00.000-04:00

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.

I heart Jimmy Fallon

2009-03-04T11:25:00.003-05:00

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.

two hours later...

2009-03-01T19:52:00.001-05:00

Just got the call... I'll be sleeping in tomorrow.

March in South Carolina

2009-03-01T17:39:00.000-05:00

Hoping for a snow day tomorrow.

Tired

2009-02-25T00:20:00.004-05:00

After five straight days of partying (weekend in Hillsdale followed by a two-day Fat Tuesday celebration back home) I can say that I am definitely and officially ready for Lent.

So. Excited.

Reason Number 1,000,278 I love my mom

2009-02-16T17:22:00.003-05:00

Check out these crazy-sweet shoes she bought me at some ridiculously low price.

Seriously, every cute thing you've ever seen me wear was probably purchased by my mom for less than $2.

She's the best :)

The dryer doesn't work

2009-02-13T09:30:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I wish I could see myself as God sees me, blow-drying my underwear at 7 'o clock this morning wearing nothing but a towel on my head. He must have gotten a laugh out of that one.

Silly

2009-02-11T15:52:00.001-05:00

Sign outside the Wal-Greens today:

"Weather alert! 9am-4pm"

Warning, y'all; there's going to be some WEATHER up in here today.

Yum

2009-02-07T22:01:00.001-05:00

I've been cooking a lot lately. Yay.

Superbowl Recap

2009-02-02T08:13:00.005-05:00

Worth watching just to see defensive lineman James Harrison's interception and 100-yard return for a touchdown. For a man roughly the size and mass of my Ford Taurus, he was booking it down that field.
Did not want to see Bruce Springsteen slide crotch-first into the camera during the half-time show.
$5 for a dinner of beer and wings. Can't beat that.
Turns out beer and wings as the most nutritional substance of my day makes for a hurting tummy and a crabby demeanor. Like, super irrational "I-broke-a-nail-and-now-someone-must-die" kind of crabby.
Further study shows that beer and wings + late night viewing of the Office results in bizarre dreams featuring me and the entire cast of the Office on the run from Columbian terrorists. I remember asking Jim, while hiding out "So do you think my mom has heard about this on the news? Because if she HAS, I should probably call her and tell her I'm alive... but if she doesn't know it's going on, then I don't want to worry her". Doubt we'll see that showing up in the plot line anytime soon.

Moral of the story: the Superbowl needs to be moved to Saturday, because obviously I need the extra day to recover.

Belonging

2009-01-28T20:19:00.004-05:00

"Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life's undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room." - Harriet Beecher Stowe

I've never considered myself a homebody. When I was younger, I'd always planned on going to college far away (or at least Chicago), studying abroad, teaching English in Taiwan... none of those things panned out, but only because God forcibly (and against my stubborn will) led me elsewhere, and not due to a lack of interest.

I had a great childhood in Michigan (though my teenage years may have bordered on angsty) but I never felt any particular loyalty to my hometown and I wasn't at all surprised at my post-graduation decision to move six states away to a foreign city where I knew exactly one person (or two, depending on if you count TJ as a separate entity from his wife). Unlike my counterparts, Kristen and Hannah, who are so needy for human interaction that there were times when they literally couldn't let me nap for 20 minutes, I've never minded being alone (earning myself the nickname 'Hermit' in college, thanks to my penchant for locking myself in my room and generally refusing visitors). So I'm continually surprised at how much I miss my friends, family and my home.

Monroe is not a place I would recommend living. Situated halfway between Toledo and Detroit, cities with two of the crappiest reputations I've encountered, it doesn't have much to boast except a failing economy and a river that floods its banks every few years. Everything about it is, at best, mediocre. Honestly, unless you are writing your doctoral thesis on General George Custer (while not his birthplace, we do claim to be his boyhood home), I can't think of a single reason you would ever pack up and move your life to Monroe, MI.

In contrast, the residents of Greenville, where I currently live, love to say that they live "in the best place in the world". On the radio, in the supermarket line, during casual conversation- I really do hear this line once a week or so. And I can't really argue with them; Greenville does seem to have a Renaissance man kind of thing going. With mild winters, and gorgeous springs and falls, it's close to the coast, the mountains, and only a short drive from both Atlanta and Charlotte. In a few hours drive you can be surfing, snowboarding, hiking the Appalachian Trail, or taking in a show at the Fox. And beyond its convenient proximity, Greenville itself is both a big town and a small city, where you find yourself driving beyond someone you know on the highway, but you can get still buy Eagles tickets for the Bi-Lo Center downtown. The city seems to truly care about the happiness of its residents, and spends its time and money on things that improve the space, offering beautiful parks, extensive trails, and countless free entertainment opportunities.

All that being said, my heart is not really here. I do love Greenville, and I'll miss it when I eventually move away, but a big part of me really does just want to be back in Michigan. Monroe may be flatter than one of my dad's apple pancakes, its greatest draw the creepy castle off of Telegraph Road, and the most exciting thing happening on any given evening is probably the teenage outcasts swordfighting at Munson Park, but it's where I spent 22 years of my life and I really can't imagine ever calling another place "home".

Green and White for me

2009-01-27T18:55:00.005-05:00

When I moved south, I knew a lot of things would be different. I expected lots of confederate flags, fried chicken and unbearably hot summers, and I haven't been disappointed. However, there are a number of southern practices that caught me by surprise.

Every South Carolina native I know aligns themselves with either Clemson or USC (what the hell is a gamecock anyway?), and they are passionate about both their love for their school and their hatred for the opponent. I can't tell you how many get-to-know-you conversations I've heard that start with "Oh, you went to USC? I'm so sorry..."

Though Clemson is an hour away, when I'm on the highway on Saturday mornings during football season, as far as the eye can see are cars that look as though the Clemson Tigers threw up all over them. Multiple flags, tiger paw decals on the windows, and my personal favorite- the tiger tail attached to the hitch. Classy.

Anyway these people bleed orange and maroon down here and I just haven't quite wrapped my head around it yet. I had, at least, heard of Clemson before I moved here (only because my second cousin is an alumna) but I certainly don't stay glued to FoxSports.com on game day and I still find it laughable that other people do. Every time the Clemson/USC clash surfaces in conversation (which is often), all I can think is "nobody cares about your stupid so-called "rivalry!" Now let's talk about something that really matters, University of Toledo destroying Michigan last fall."

And don't even get me started on the USC Upstate Spartans. Sorry guys, real Spartans come from Lansing.

Vocations, schmocations

2009-01-25T20:07:00.005-05:00

"Many people mistake our work for our vocation. Our vocation is the love of Jesus." -Mother Theresa

Vocations seem to be the theme of my life lately, which I guess shouldn't come as a surprise, considering I'm a fresh-out-of-college 22-year-old and facing all the cliche questions that the rest of my peers are, all questions which fall under the heading of "what am I doing with my life?"

When I despair because I'm not Paul evangelizing people by the thousands, or Mother Theresa caring for the unwanted, or even Alycia, married and expecting a child... all calls that seems so clear and so great, I remember that I already am living my vocation. Whether I'm a nun or a mother or a school secretary, it is only a means by which I carry out the vocation we are all called to. Our state in life is not an end, but rather the way God uses us to act as an instrument of love.

Alycia recently relayed to me the advice once given to her by a nun, that often times the call we may feel toward a particular vocation is really just the desire to do something great. We hold up examples of saints and priests and religious who changed their world and when we feel that burning desire to bring people to Christ and set the world on fire, it seems the only (or at least, best) way to do this, is as a priest or religious, or even a single person, without the demands of a family. But of course, you can not have one without the other. A world without priests dedicated to the work of God and monks who give up their life in prayer could not function, yet that same world without families and children and the regeneration of people makes no sense either.

God created us each with a unique purpose and while God's plan for me often seems so unclear, I sometimes think we make it more difficult than it needs to be:

"Whatever it is, the signs are universal: it's what makes you burn, brings you joy, makes life good, gets you up in the morning (sometimes keeps you awake in the night, too) and, even with the knowledge that it'll never be fully perfect nor without its sufferings, burdens and trials, you really can't see yourself doing any other thing with your days and giving it everything you've got. Your call is that one thing above the rest which makes you happy and brings life to you and others. " - from Whispers in the Loggia

My Valentine's Day present to myself

2009-01-23T14:01:00.001-05:00

Just bought a plane ticket to Hillsdale for February! (To Indianapolis, technically).

Woohoo, chicken chili, here I come!

Winter Wonderland

2009-01-19T19:02:00.001-05:00

Greenville is supposed to get "up to 4 inches of snow" tonight. My boss emailed me with instructions to stay home if the roads are too bad for travel in the morning.

I'm not even sure how to process that.

I think the last time I heard about 4 inches of snow, I was a senior in high school, and my mom was squashing my hopes of a snow day by telling me not to get excited because "we're only supposed to get 4 inches of snow".

Passing the Time

2009-01-06T20:05:00.006-05:00

2008 was a big-ish year, I suppose. Graduated college, new job, new car, new state... I've now lived in Greenville long enough that if a cop pulls me over, I can't make the excuse "but I just moved here and I'm not used to driving in the hilllllls..." So that's kind of a bummer. But on the bright side, I'm able to give fairly accurate directions (as in, you'll get there eventually) and I no longer need to consult google maps every time I run to the grocery store. I'd say that all comes out of the wash on the positive side of things.

It was a bittersweet year characterized by big decisions and difficult good-byes- but that only made for joyful reunions later. Looking back, these are the moments that stick out to me:

Walking around Hillsdale on a balmy day in early January with Mike, Maggie and Zach during a 72-hour vacation from reality. Wearing only Maggie's fleece, full of stromboli and utterly happy.
Giving my Little her disk while we waited at the steps of Central Hall in the freezing cold. She screamed into my eyes as I tried to put it around her neck and she jumped up and down so that it nearly choked her.
Going to Wal-Mart on Sunday night after leadership with Kristen and Hannah after receiving some shocking news. Tears and a stomachache and their laughter.
Our last Club at the Cavity. Pictures, balloons, driving the bus, telling my life story.
The Hamiltons' apartment the night of graduation. Being made to lie down on the bed by Maggie, sitting on the tiny couch with all my favorite people present. Kristen was sober.
Cooking at the house on Lake Bawbeese. Fish tacos and wine with Margaret after biking home from work, pasta and pineapple all day with Natalie and Zach, chili dogs before listening to Mike tell stories from the corner of the living room.
Sitting on the floor of Zach's empty apartment my last night in Hillsdale, listening to music and talking about lesbians, eating ice cream from the tub and crying my eyes out.
Driving home from Flat Rock in my new car, absolutely giddy.
Waking up with Margaret the morning of her wedding and talking between our beds. Surreal.
Buying herbs at the Farmer's Market with Alycia on a perfect Greenville Saturday morning. Affirming her decision to buy a $5, passed-on-through-the-generations high chair for their then-unconceived, now-conceived-but-unborn child.
Speed-walking through the airport terminal in Boston to see Mike, Maggie, and Zach at Thanksgiving. Literally trembling with excitement as I hugged them all and each, Mike talking loudly, Maggie's crazy face, Zach's genuine smile.
Skyping with Hannah in France at 5am her time, sitting at my kitchen counter, sharing a brain. She, to me, is a channel of Christ's peace.
Sitting down to play the piano when I arrived home on Christmas Eve. Mom in the kitchen, Mark and Ryan playing Wii in the family room, Dad at the computer.

I started 2008 the same way I ended it- watching TV at the Agauas house in Sterling Heights, and as lame as it might sound, I'd be okay keeping up that tradition for years to come.

2008-12-15T21:36:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure why I do this, but every time someone compliments me on something I'm wearing, I have the uncontrollable urge to tell them where I got it and how much I paid for it. I think this is partly because, really, that's what I'm asking whenever I remark on someone's styling, as in "where do I have to go to look like you and how much will it cost me?"

But I think it's also because I want others to share in the joy of my bargain marvels. "Can you believe the cuteness-to-amount-of-money-spent ratio on this skirt?! $7 at the Gap!" (Ah, how I love the Gap) Regardless of how little the other person wants to know, I just can't seem to stop myself. Classic case of word vomit.

I even do it with haircuts. Someone will be all "Ohmigosh I love your hair!" and I'm like "Beth Zapata. $29 with tip."

What is wrong with me?"

A few of my favorite things:

2008-11-13T19:15:00.005-05:00

other than raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, of course.

Muffins. This summer I got really into smoothies for breakfast- every day I would wake up and fix myself a tall glass of strawberry-banana goodness and mmm, did it hit the spot. Now that the leaves are falling (yes they're still in the process of falling here), I've traded my blender for a muffin tin and have been enjoying piping hot coffee and muffins for breakfast. Let me know if you have a good (semi-nutritious) recipe.
My new brown fleece. Make no mistake, it doesn't actually get cold in South Carolina, but it does get "uncomfortable". I bought a brown fleece jacket at JC Penney's during a recent mega-sale and it is the best *undisclosed amount of money* I have ever spent- I wear that thing ALL the time. On that note, anyone know how to wash fleece?
This blog. I am not real great at moderation (I watched seasons 1-4 of the office in one fell 8-day swoop this summer) so when I found this site, I couldn't stop reading and read through all the archives in a matter of days. Seriously, if you have ever laughed out loud at anything in your life, you should at least get a chuckle out of this.
And lastly...

This is the radio studio we broadcast from every Thursday. Normally I sit on the other side of the glass window and screen calls but occasionally I sit in the studio. Both jobs are a lot of fun, though I will say it's actually less stressful to be on-air than it is to call-screen (we get all kinds of crazy calling in). Call me sometime and maybe I'll put you on-air.

Family Time

2008-10-30T09:41:00.013-04:00

Fall, in all its splendor, has finally fell in Greenville. The trees turn slowly here, creating a fireworks effect with green centers and orangey-red tips. In the spirit of fall, my parents and I decided to go apple-picking on Saturday. I know what you’re thinking- they came from Michigan to South Carolina and you’re going apple-picking?! That’s like me driving twelve hours up to Pittsburgh to buy some peaches. But actually, North Carolina is the 4^th-largest producer of apples in the United States (or so the Visitor’s Center tells me). At any rate, the weather was perfect, the scenery divine, and I came home with more apples than I’ll ever know what to do with.

Apples are far and away my favorite fruit. I love everything about them, from their shiny red peels to their down-home American scent to their juice-rolling-down-your-chin goodness. Apple pie, apple crisp, applesauce, apple cider, dried apple chips, apple leather (like fruit rolls ups) caramel apples, caramel apple suckers… you name it, I love it.

Speaking of things I love, one of the best things about a visit from my parents is the virtual cornucopia of goodies they bring me. The following is an incomplete, but accurate list of what fell out of the back of the station wagon this time:

a turkey baster
2 (more) bikes
a space heater
the movie Dan in Real Life*
a coat rack
2 windshield ice scrapers (question mark? this is South Carolina...)
my yearbook
1 (large) bag of dirt
10 pounds of deli meat
a crockpot

And finally, my favorite quote of the weekend…

mom: "didn't MargaretAnn commit suicide?"
dad: "whaaa?"
mom: "Oh, no, wait. She had leukemia. That's right."

*neither of my parents have any idea where this came from. When asked about it, they both replied “I don’t know, I’ve never seen that before- isn’t it yours?” I explained to them that I hadn’t even seen the movie until I got it from my netflix this summer, and I certainly never owned a copy. We asked my brother if it had possibly accidentally ended up in my parents’ stuff when they visited a few weeks ago, but nope. My mom thinks she may have accidentally stolen it from one of her students.

Welcome to the neighborhood

2008-10-24T23:16:00.004-04:00

I finally met my new-ish neighbors last night. After nearly taking Mr. Handsome out with a giant-sized coat rack as I not-so-gracefully rounded the corner on our outdoor stairway, we'll-call-him-Alex politely ignored my complete lack of coordination and introduced himself. The exchange went something like this:

Alex: "Hi! Are you moving in?"
me: "No."
Alex: "Oh."
me: "But I can see how you would think that as I've been lugging piles of stuff up these stairs for the last 40 minutes. I moved in in June."
Alex: "Oh!"
*awkward silence*
Alex: "June did you say?"
me: "yup."
*nervous throat-clearing and shuffling of feet*
Alex: "we'll-call-him-Jack and I just moved in like a month ago"
me: what I thought: I know. I watch you creepily through the peephole every time I hear a noise outside my door.
what I said: "cool"
*more awkward silence*
me: "Welp, see you around!"

Needless to say, I don't think I'll be invited over for movie night anytime soon. I imagine my relationship with Alex and Jack will go much the way of my relationship with the guys who lived there before them- namely, they carried my two-thousand pound sleeper sofa up three flights of stairs during the second-hottest South Carolinia June on record and then never spoke to me again. Maybe I should have baked them brownies.

Anyway, it's only thanks to my parents that I ever meet any of my neighbors, and lucky for me, mom and dad are visiting for a long weekend. Yes that means there are three of us co-existing in my apartment the size of a chest freezer, but I don't mind. Mostly because my morning went something like this:

-I woke up and thanks to my mother's prompting, actually got out of bed when my alarm sounded instead of my usual routine of accidentally hitting 'dismiss' when I meant to hit snooze and promptly falling back asleep until exactly 9 minutes before I need to leave for work
-My mom ironed my clothes while I made coffee
-My mom packed my lunch while I showered
-My dad drove me to work while I put my make-up on (note- I would have done this even if I had been driving, it just meant my fellow commuters were saved from imminent disaster via my total and utter lack of road skillz)

Yes I earned my first paycheck when I was 8 years old. Yes I own every cleaning product known to man and can clip your couponing socks off any day of the week. Yes I can change my bike chain, check my oil, and I do grown-upy things like eat off of place mats and buy housewarming gifts, but you better believe I love, love, love being totally spoiled by my parents and regressing to my 8th-grade self. And darn it all if my mom doesn't iron a mean crease on J Crew chinos.

Bleh

2008-10-07T21:45:00.002-04:00

Watching Obama (a lawyer) and McCain (a naval pilot) debate economic policy is like drilling my own teeth out. I heard better economic discussion from people who were failing first year econ classes.

Obama/McCain vs. Pongracic? Now that I'd like to see.

The Sunny Side of the Street

2008-10-04T19:41:00.007-04:00

"Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one." -Anne Shirley

I confess that I've picked up Anne of Green Gables for a repeat reading, despite the fact that I've yet to finish Death Comes to the Archbishop and I'm knee-deep in My Life in France, not to mention the pile of books on my nightstand, borrowed from the library and friends.

But Anne Shirley possesses unparalleled wisdom and so I come back to her time and again. She so perfectly describes my Saturday; there will never be another quite like it. It is lovely here in Greenville, 70 degrees and breezy, and I spent it accordingly.

I woke up early and hit the Sav-Mor sidewalk sale, an event that deserves its own post, with Alycia. A local grocery store gets all the near expiration and dented cans from the high-class, snooty organic shops around town and every other Saturday, they're gathered into rows and rows of boxes in the parking lot. Hundreds of people show up, empty boxes in hand, and line the perimeter of the lot. At 9am on the dot, a whistle is blown and the crowd rushes in, like vultures on a dead carcas. The whole ordeal lasts about 10 minutes, and at the end, you walk out with a banana box full of food for $6. Here's our haul today:

Afterward, we headed out to the local Farmer's market, where we picked up some great produce, and both bought a fresh herb plant- Cilantro for Alycia, Oregano for me. Now my basil plant, Gianni, will finally have some company out on the deck. The man who sold them to us said that they can stay outside year-round down here, which is wonderful. I can't wait to make tomato sauce!

I also picked up a pomegranate and a handful of muscadines, which according to the world wide web, are the 'Passion Fruit of the South'. They are one of the strangest fruits I've ever come across, and if you ever visit me in Greenville, be sure to give them a try.

Last night I held my first 'gathering' in Greenville. Several friends came over, and we spent the night playing Outburst, Taboo, and 'Free Writing', which is only fun if you're several beers into the night. To that end, we went through a 24 pack of Yuengling and my version of man-nachos. Billy Joel may or may not have gotten involved at some point, as evidenced below. God has been so good to bless me with the companionship I've found here.

40 Days for Life

2008-09-25T17:25:00.005-04:00

40 Days for Life started yesterday and I am excited. For 40 Days, ending on All Souls Day in November, there will be a 24/7 prayer vigil outside of local abortion clinics. The campaign started only 5 years ago, and in that short time it has grown from one city to nearly 200. The abortion clinic in the first city, College Station, has since shut down. Already there are several stories of saves on the 40 Days for Life blog,which will be updated daily. There are even daily devotionals that span the event.

On our radio show tonight, we're interviewing David Bereit, the founder of 40 Days for Life. You can listen here at 9pm Eastern time (click on radio: listen live).

Sadly, we have an abortion clinic here in Greenville. Since I moved here, I started going to pray there on Saturday mornings, and I have to say that it is the best and worst thing you can do with your day (I usually go shopping afterward to cheer myself up). It is truly sobering to see girls being driven in by their parents, boyfriends, husbands, etc. It's sadder to see them drive out. Once I locked eyes with a teenage girl in the backseat of a car driven by what I assume was her mother, and I'll never forget that moment.

The success stories of 40 Days for Life are pretty incredible. If you are able to get involved locally, please do. You will not regret it. And keep in mind that this is your community. God will ask you what you did to battle against the evils of this world. If you are fortunate enough to live far away from any abortion clinic, you can still pray, fast, and offer up the millions of souls (almost 50 million since Roe v. Wade) that have been lost to this horrific practice.

Still in the 90s

2008-09-15T12:35:00.003-04:00

Living in the South will make you rethink your wardrobe choices.

Allow me to explain. At the beginning of the summer, I bought a pair of white demin shorts (white denim?? I know, what was I thinking? In my defense, they were $6 on clearance at the Gap) that I promptly returned within a week of taking up residence in South Carolina. It doesn’t matter how scandalously short or matronly loose-fitting they are, the feeling of denim against your skin when it’s 95 degrees and just as humid out can be described as ‘uncomfortable’ at best.

I’ve learned that fabric matters. When it came to work clothes at my office in Michigan, there was no real differentiation between summer and winter wear- typically it was colder with the AC on June than with the heater in January (see: cold, colder, and coldest), so it was tweed pants and sweaters all year round. But no more.

Gone are the lined pants and snug-fitting tops, packed away for colder days (presuming they ever actually visit this part of the country). It’s light, flowy blouses and linen capris for this girl; flip-flops and lots of pony-tails.

Unfortunately, it's taking me a while to adjust my wardrobe. As a result, I'm pretty sure the people of Greenville think I only own one pair of pants. Luckily, I don't get out much (but more on that later).

4th of July Nostalgia

2008-09-14T20:38:00.003-04:00

As I threw my garbage into the trash compactor this afternoon, the coffee grounds inside exploded like a caffeinated cherry bomb.

It was awesome.

I Can See Russia From My House

2008-09-14T16:03:00.002-04:00

Tina Fey makes a scary good Sarah Palin.

Curses, Ike!

2008-09-12T17:20:00.003-04:00

Gas in Greenville jumped from $3.50 this morning, up to $4.19 most recently. Luckily, I was warned about Ike's impending effects and filled up for $3.85 this afternoon.

Looks like I'll be staying home this weekend.

My Second Pot of Coffee

2008-09-11T13:05:00.002-04:00

"You know Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help."

Pay up

2008-09-11T10:54:00.000-04:00

Tacky, tacky, tacky

Always Summer

2008-09-10T13:29:00.003-04:00

Sigh... South Carolina doesn't understand fall.

92 degrees this weekend, in the ides of September? A travesty, I tell you...

On the bright side, my closet full of sundresses is certainly getting used.

h-o-t

2008-09-08T16:53:00.003-04:00

I just remembered that I once had a dream that I was Jude Law's nanny.

Also, a description of the Play-Doh Fun Factory: "Squeeze, shape, mold and extrude all kinds of crazy shapes with this classic set!"

Yes, it seems one can actually extrude play-doh. Just what every American 5-year-old is looking for in a toy.

Fall is Here, Ring the Bell

2008-09-03T21:25:00.001-04:00

Thanks to Margaret’s wedding and Labor Day, my last weekend was 4+ days long. As you all know, when you’re away, time freezes and nothing happens until you return home. Since the month rolled over during my brief vacation from reality, I completely missed it. That fact, combined with the week starting on a Tuesday completely mixed up my carefully-regulated internal schedules and resulted in some pretty shocking realizations today, namely, the following:

1) It’s Wednesday. This occurred to me while I was scouring the web, looking for previews of the new Publix ad, which come out each Wednesday, when it hit me that it WAS Wednesday, right now! This changes everything! I thought. (In reality, it doesn’t change much except that I’m one day ahead on gas, and I can sleep in tomorrow since my Thursday work days are short)

2) It’s September. While this fact registered with me in some vague way, like starting the date with a ‘9’ instead of an ‘8’ on forms at work, it didn’t show itself in any practical way until tonight, when I realized “Oh, it’s SEPTEMBER! That means rent is due! Again...” (that’s the thing about recurring bills- they just. Keep. Recurring. Seriously Verizon, you want more money from me? I just paid you like… oh yeah, a month ago. Ahem. )

So I dutifully signed away a huge chunk of my last paycheck and put the check in an envelope to drop in my apartment complex’s night box. Now, here’s where the story really gets exciting (I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats). When I licked the envelope flap, I managed to (brace yourselves here!) paper cut both sides of my mouth in one fell swoop. Ick, I shudder just to write those words. I’m not sure if enduring bodily harm as part of paying rent is technically ironic, but it’s something pretty crappy.

At any rate, I'm glad it's September- South Carolina took better note of the date change than I did, and adjusted its temperatures accordingly. The past few days have been picture-perfect, and Lucio's windows are fogged up in the morning, reminding me of Michigan and going back to school. I miss both.

Someone Like You

2008-09-01T19:47:00.008-04:00

I can't help but remember getting my room assignment in the mail just four years ago, and seeing her name: "Margaret Jago- Canton, GA. Olds 107." I didn't know what I was signing on for when I opened that envelope: Four years of delirious laughter, the Quad, phone calls, hand-written notes, yelling matches, tears, awful movies, pickles, first kisses, shared clothes, vodka, squirrels, Keane, Greek unity, nicknames, and an understanding of each other that surpasses even our own comprehension.

At this moment, she's in Ireland on her honeymoon, and I'm still fighting back tears, thinking about her wedding. Everything about it was beautiful, classy, and free of stress, much like Margaret herself.

Here are a few of my favorite shots from the weekend.

The Wheels on the Bus go... Back and Forth

2008-08-27T20:24:00.004-04:00

Precursor to this post: I love my car. Lucio is, literally, a dream come true- a dream born of 5+ years spent driving my parents' car, which I disaffectionately call 'The Boat' because it is *almost* (6 bregrudging inches short) as long as Tony's Roadmaster.

The backseat of the Grand Marquis was perpetually cluttered with my dad's 'emergency' items, like toilet paper, Catholic booklets (also known as 'truth tracts') and raisins (Abe one time, after eating half a jar of stale peanuts, asked me to "Tell your dad to get some better snacks". Let it be known that Lucio comes fully stocked with two different kinds of granola bars and whatever groceries get lost underneath the seats). The Boat also featured a makeshift back support on the driver's seat, crafted from a leftover cushion of unknown origin and some shoestring, and its soul-crushing beige exterior spoke of my handiwork - scratches, dents, and one long scrape along the driver's side from when I ran it alongside the fence at my high school one afternoon (my parents still don't know about that one... shh). All that being said...

Owning a car sucks. Today, Lucio and I took a field trip to the mechanic's after two unsuccessful visits to the tire shop to get my sleek new wheels checked out. For the past few weeks, I've increasingly noticed my car shaking when I drive it at high speeds. I assumed there was something wrong with my tire alignment, a problem I figured might not be unrelated to my habit of taking Lucio over speed bumps a little faster than the road commissioners probably intended. At least, I *hoped* this was the case, since Lucio's tires come with a lifetime warranty, courtesy of his former owner, Carl Polish-last-name-with-four-no-really-four-z's.

But alas, the motor gods were unhappy today. The friendly folks at Discount Tire let me know that my driver side wheel is slowly working itself loose, a fact confirmed by new mechanic, Sonny (have I mentioned I love the South?) It's never a good sign when their reactions is "wow I've never seen wheel bearings completely worn away like this!" Glad I could enlighten you, Sonny.

Unfortunately, both my budget and sanity are balanced rather precariously on the assumption that no disaster, natural or otherwise, will befall them. What's worse is that the two are rather intimately connected- major hits to the budget typically result in a nervous breakdown, usually followed by large purchases of ice cream and liquor, not accounted for in the aforementioned budget... and around and around we go.

On the bright side, I'm 6 short work hours away from a four-day weekend and a three-day wedding celebration. Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, here I come!

The best thing about being hungry...

2008-08-19T22:49:00.002-04:00

... is how good stuff tastes. Have you ever had a Sun Chip when on the brink of starvation? Incredible. A box of Cheeze-its after 8 hours of involuntary fast? Positively gourmet.

If you ever find yourself taking generic brand wheat thins and low-fat yogurt for granted, try eating them as the first course of your dinner- never will you be so grateful for all nine grains of goodness.

Grown-Up Snow Day

2008-08-18T16:22:00.003-04:00

Our power at the office went off a little after lunch today, after the lawn care company accidentally chain-sawed through a power line while cutting branches (ironically, the trees were being trimmed to avoid causing power outages during ice storms). Our back-up batteries depleted quickly, and our generator slowly lost its juice until it gave up alltogether less than 2 hours after the hit. So with the AC dead and the South Carolina sun beating in through the windows, turning our building into a greenhouse, we were sent home at 2:30.

Better than a canceled class (because I have no homework to feel guilty about not catching up on!). I think I'll hit the pool.

2008-08-15T09:20:00.003-04:00

Happy Feast of the Assumption!!

Major perk of working at a Catholic ministry: paid vacation for Holy Days of Obligation! Another thing I love about my South.

Hot-lanta, here I come.

Grow Garden Grow

2008-08-14T18:28:00.000-04:00

There is a Presbyterian (wow it took me 3 tries to spell that) Church down the street from my parish called something like 'The Living Vine Church'. Earlier this week, I noticed a sign out front that said "Living Vine Church: Growing faithful Christians" (also of note is the fact that their advertised 'Contemporary Service' is held at 11:11 am, which should tell you something).

I instantly envisioned the inside of this Church: in the place of pews, rows of soil, with little Christians of all shapes and sizes poking their heads up. The pastor, wearing a robe and rubber gardening gloves, walking slowly among his parish. Watering their eager little heads, he gently speaks agricultural words of Scripture: "I am the Vine and you are the branches", "the harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few" "The kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed..." (I could go on and on here).

I poke fun, but obviously The Living Vine is aiming for something, and they're probably hitting the mark. Most Evangelical Protestant Churches work really hard to draw in people enmeshed in modern culture by playing to their emotions, welcoming them, "loving on them" (as we say in YoungLife), and I respect them for that. The Catholic Church, in contrast, is typically viewed by non-Christians and Protestants alike, as being inhospitable, unapproachable, and self-contained. To which I say: they're right.

However, that statement must be qualified with the following points, each of which deserves (and will likely get, at a later date) its own post:

1. The Catholic Church is explicit in its mission: evangelize (ie save souls).

2. Though Catholics may "fail" in this area, it is NOT a reflection on the Church's doctrine. It is a reflection on human nature.

3. Though Catholics may not be known for their potluck Sundays and hugs after Church, exceptions exist. There are some kick-ass Catholics out there evangelizing like Baptists wouldn't believe.

To come on this: What the Bible (and Catechism) has to say about evangelizing, why Catholics suck at it, and the people trying to give them a good name (hint: there is a rapping Priest involved).

WORST Feeling in the World

2008-08-14T13:58:00.004-04:00

...when you accidentally inhale a carrot particle into your lungs while chewing.

COUGH.

Why I Love the South: Reason #1

2008-08-12T21:40:00.001-04:00

Smile-of-the-day moment: I saw a man wearing a T-shirt that said (and I apologize for any incorrect spellings I spell correctly here) "Yo' mama wuz pro-life, dawlin' ".

Amen, brotha.

Love, Actually

2008-08-10T14:59:00.002-04:00

While I may not agree with or endorse his opinions, I did promise to advertise in my little corner of the world, so check it out. However, note that comparing Love Actually (one of my all-time favorite movies) to a Ballpark frank is a little harsh, in my opinion, and fails to fully account for the stellar soundtrack (including the Beach Boys' God Only Knows, and the instrumental piece Glasgow Love theme, which you should find and listen to even if you don't see the movie), even if he does make passing mention of the superior music.

The movie might not change your philosophies on life or inspire you to change the world, Freedom-Writers style, but if it's cold outside and your day has left you in a state of despair, Love Actually is a perfect compliment to decaf coffee and a tub of low-cal whipped topping (in my world, this translates to hot coccoa and cookie dough).

Somebody get me a sweater!

2008-08-08T19:53:00.002-04:00

Last night's 7'o'clock news informed me that a cold front is expected to come in this weekend.

A cold front? I think excitedly. Ooh! Maybe that dust-collecting pile of lightweight long-sleeve tees under my bed will finally get some use.

So I check weather.com this morning- the predicted temperatures for this bone-chilling Saturday/Sunday?

88 and 92, respectively.

Welcome to the South.

Brought to you by the letter E

2008-08-07T19:11:00.000-04:00

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what to name this little emporium of thought here on the interweb (and doing little else). In the past, I’ve employed usernames like ‘poofoo_66' (a tribute to former N’Syncer and now-gay love-of-my-life Lance Bass) and ‘chlorineketchup’ (I think this one is obvious).

But now that I’m an adult, as my hot-off-the-laminator South Carolina Driver’s License tells me I am, it’s time to move past these childish pseudonyms and onto something smarter, catchier, or at the very least, more pretentious. As the most obvious way to lend something an air of snobbishness is to say it in another language, I pondered my limited foreign vocabulary.

This didn’t take long.

Well, said I, what else have I got? My name was an easy option, but fear that ‘karenmiller.blogspot.com’ would lead to a stalker experience landing me a story on Dateline and a lifetime of therapy kept me from going that route.

Then I had the brilliant idea of disguising my name in a foreign language, which leads us to today’s topic: Etymology.

I have never been fond of my given name, even if it was once referred to as “a linguistic powerhouse” and described further as “a beacon in a sentence that yells, ‘first off, i'm a noun’ and ‘second, there's no way you can confuse my meaning, which isn't much, except a placemarker that refers to a human being’”. I’ve always known that Karen means ‘pure’ but I began to wonder where it came from, and the same for my middle name. A few minutes on the world wide web and I had my answers:

Karen derives from Katherine. The original Greek form is Aikaterine, which evolved into Katerina. The name then became Catharina in Latin because the Latin-speaking people thought the name derived from the Greek “katharos” or ‘pure’.

Renee is the feminine form of the French Rene, which comes from the Latin ‘renatus’, literally ‘reborn’. Huh.

Anyway, for blog-naming purposes, this newfound knowledge went out the window as soon as I realized that roughly half a percent of the population (the majority of which are Hillsdale grads) can even recognize latin and even fewer Greek. So I went with something even my hillbilly southern brethren could grasp, and here we are at Mow That Dirty Lawn. Yeehaw.

Mow it Good

Revisiting Italy

Hi-Ho indeed

One More Class to Go This Semester and I am Wearing Thin...

If You Give My Dad a Can of Rustoleum...

This Post is Off the Heezy

A Smattering of Adventures

Zombied

Signs that I Might have been Lying about my College Degree

Next Time we try Ghiradelli Squares

Mi Madre

Hello, Good-Bye

It's Like Seven Steps to Kevin Bacon Except With Stress and Television Shows

Sweet, Sweet Togetherness

What It's Like Having Older Brothers

Adventues in Anxiety: Part 2

Obviously I made it alive or you wouldn't be reading this post

Therapy

Heartbreak

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

Guess what? I'm FULL

Playing Anthropologist

Blitzkrieged at Sabroso: An International Affair

Wined and dined. Mostly wined

Halloween Recap 2009

I will be well

I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE

Misadventures of an Overheated Drug Addict

Consequences

A for Effort

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

Does God have a Tim Tebow complex?

John Paul

*Swoon*

In which June rocks every last one of my socks off.

Bleh

So much goodness

My favorite email

Baby brain

Jillian Michaels, This is War

Random Thoughts on my Friday "lunch break"

Stephen Colbert meets Liturgical Dance

Taxes, Tea Parties, and Family Life

A Love Letter in Springtime

I would actually use this...

So I'm a bit on the frugal side...

Bullseye

I heart Jimmy Fallon

two hours later...

March in South Carolina

Tired

Reason Number 1,000,278 I love my mom

The dryer doesn't work

Silly

Yum

Superbowl Recap

Belonging

Green and White for me

Vocations, schmocations

My Valentine's Day present to myself

Winter Wonderland

Passing the Time

A few of my favorite things:

Family Time

Welcome to the neighborhood

Bleh

The Sunny Side of the Street

40 Days for Life

Still in the 90s

4th of July Nostalgia

I Can See Russia From My House

Curses, Ike!

My Second Pot of Coffee

Pay up

Always Summer

h-o-t

Fall is Here, Ring the Bell

Someone Like You

The Wheels on the Bus go... Back and Forth

The best thing about being hungry...

Swoon