I’m hoping this week won’t be so ridiculously busy & I can find a brief moment to catch y’all up on what it is I’ve been up to [starting with long-since-past vacation … gawd!] Wish me luck.
Look what I’ve found! A moment to write you. September 28, 2008
Long weekend! August 29, 2008
Remember to let yourself relax this Labor Day before letting yourself go this winter!
Have fun & be safe!
I get by with a little help from my friends August 27, 2008
Yesterday, ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’ turned into job wherein I was told that I now have 17 direct reports [That’s 17 people that REPORT. DIRECTLY. TO ME.] So, heading home last night armed with that knowledge, coupled with various action items I was given to do but didn’t exactly know how to & wrapped in a sensation of being swept downstream in a swift moving current – also while wearing lead undies – I am not ashamed to tell y’all that I went home & my shit fell apart. And by fell apart I mean that I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner & instructed my family that if they wanted sustenance & nourishment that they should do the same. If they wanted to. It was ultimately their decision. Then I flopped down on the couch & proceeded to fall directly asleep. I’m talking the kind of sleep wherein you answer questions like a crazy person straight out of your everloving head. And you frighten the children.
H: “Honey, have you fed the dogs yet?”
L: “Clogs been shed yet?”
H: “Dogs been fed yet?”
L: “I want you to go to bed now.”
H: “I’ll take that as a NO.”
So, I was completely incoherent on the couch until 1:20 a.m. before finally dragging off to bed. And once there, I started thinking. About work. And ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’. And 17 direct reports. And I couldn’t fall back to sleep for what seemed like all the minutes that ever were. But then I did. And for another 4 hours I enjoyed sweet slumber. With no thoughts of work. Zzzzzzzz. Yeah, but then I woke up.
[Cut to ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’]
I had just gotten in & was sitting in my office dreading all that lay before me when my lovely friend Holly came in all, “You look very pretty today.” [Just … awwwwww!] And proceeded to toss a purple envelope at me. “What’s thi…?” “Hey, where are you goi… ?” “Um, ok.” And with that she was gone.
I opened the purple envelope. It was a card. JUST FOR ME! And it said,
“My Guide to a Happy Life
Pursue a passion.
Enjoy the simple things.
Have a wonderful friend like you.”
With a warm, personal sentiment about how glad she is that we’re friends!
Aw, you guys! Just … honestly. Wasn’t that so nice. Seriously?! WASN’T THAT NICE? I don’t deserve her! She is all rocking and kick ass and good looking and wise. And also TIMELY. It was just what I needed & I appreciated it so much.
So in conclusion, a little bit of friendship goes a long way. Go show some friend love today. To me if you want! And thanks, H for making my day.
Thing I love … at least today July 24, 2008
I pulled up to the window & asked, “Is the Vivanno …” “Delicious”, she interrupted. “Yes, yes it is.” “Oh, well thats good, actually, I was going to ask if it had a boatload of calories?” “OH, NO!”, she answered emphatically. “Just the opposite, it has 16 grams of protein, 5 grams of fiber and less than 270 calories!” That’s very informative, woman who clearly enjoys ALOT of the products that she sells, [namely the expresso!] “Ok, yes please.”
I ordered the Banana Chocolate Vivanno.
Here’s the scoop:
- One whole – real! – banana [didn’t think to ask if it was organic or not]
- Whey protein [16 grams] and fiber powder [5 grams]
- Choice of milk [default is 2%]
- Real bittersweet cocoa
- Portion controlled [default is Grande, and always has less than 270 calories]
My verdict. Yum! It’s thinner than a shake or a smoothie but it tastes GOOD. Not gritty at all [which I was worried about since they add powder] and it has a mild flavor of both the chocolate AND the banana … not overwhelmingly chocolate-y, which I was also kind of afraid of since it said, ‘bittersweet’.
Some might argue that it tastes sortof like a Slimfast shake. But I’ve always like those too.
Try one & let me know what y’all think.
The funniest thing about some people July 22, 2008
… is that they have no sense of humor.
Class of ’88. The remix. July 16, 2008
(I was actually going to name this entry “HHS 2; Electric Boogaloo,” but know what? That title was way funnier when I thought of it yesterday. Which was Tuesday. But now it is 4:55 on Wednesday, and it’s not nearly as funny anymore. And, I guess it’s possible that it wasn’t even funny to begin with except for to me, but … wait, is that Monk on HULU right now? GOTTA GO.) OH DEAR LORD, WRITE THE STORY ALREADY, WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? And this concludes my paragraph analyzing a five-word title, guess who hasn’t slept much the past few days, THANK YOU.)
But, anyway. Oh, hello! HI THERE!
So ANYWAY, Saturday was my 20 year high school class reunion [BIG UPS! Hamilton High Class of ’88!] And it was … you know. Interesting.
We went with my dear friend Kathryn, whose very own husband is right now in Kuwait serving our country [shout out to SCOTT!] The reunion was at a sort of out-of-the-way [READ: Boonies] VFW hall so Harold decided to utilize the handy-dandy GPS function on his phone. Which would prove very useful as none of us knew where the heck we were going. The phone would tell us in it’s sexy voice, “Prepare to turn left in .5 miles.” and “continue on this here country road for .4 miles.” I asked if it would tell me if I’d made a wrong turn & he assured me it would. And it did. It guided us there accurately all along the way … yeah, all the way PAST the place. We drove right by it & it said NOTHING. Likely because it saw the place & was all, “On second thought, y’all should just keep driving. You should definitely not go to that seedy place.” But it didn’t give us that warning, so we turned around & went back.
ANYWAY, after trying 3 or 4 doors that wouldn’t let us in [how the heck did everyone else get in there!] we asked some helpful smokers. OF COURSE. The door with the handwritten ‘HHS’ sign on it. At the back of the building. Right.
Inside, we stopped at the registration table to, um, register. This is also when Harold spontaneously combusted. Seriously. He burst into flames because it was like 90 degrees in there. He doesn’t tolerate heat well. Ha. And ALSO this is the exact time that a set of unidentified lips came directly at my face, landing precariously close to my mouth! [Hi, Tweeter] Fortunately subsequent meetings & greetings with friends were not so accost-y.
The good news is that I saw many fabulous friends that I haven’t seen in years and I was very happy to see them & catch up & hear how they were doing and about their families and reminiscing. That was so awesome. The bad news was: THEY DON’T SERVE WINE AT VFW HALLS. Did y’all know this? And also, martinis. No martinis. And we needed them, y’all, because YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW.
I truly thought that 20 years might maybe lend way to a little maturity. Perhaps some decorum. Some civility. And indeed, for some, it had. But now, have y’all heard about this? Because I will be happy to tell you ALL about it, namely, that it involves thong underwear, AND AN OPENED CONDOM, and also, right on the floor of the facility, and incidentally, there was a BOOB FLASHING, right in front of everyone, in front of my HUSBAND, and homemade pre-packaged Jell-o shots AND beer drinking to the tune of they ran-the-heck out[!] and people, those may be a signs of the apocalypse, right there.
So, anyway. We’re standing there, my HUSBAND, and MYSELF, gazing at the floor staring at a pair of thong underwear & a condom and thinking, “How did this happen, exactly?” and also, “Oh my heavenly GOD,” because WHAT? Holy WHY? Surely someone had to realize that suddenly … they’re commando! I never, ever want to be in the same room — nay, not even the same ZIP CODE — with a situation that leads me to ask these kind of questions. This is not RIGHT people! 20. YEARS. Because somebody was all, “You know what would be funny? Planting a pair of panties & a condom. HA! I’m a comedic GENIUS!”
You know, I could go on and on about the shenanigans that went on, but in all actuality, we had a really good time [and by “we” I probably mean “me” because let’s be honest, when you don’t know anyone — I’d say my chances of having fun were slighly higher than Harolds] Although, he really seemed to be enjoying himself when he was standing outside holding not just my BUT ALSO Kathryn’s purse and also snapping pictures of a group of clowns – [some of whom had depleted the beer!] – try to organize for a group photo before the heavens opened up, threatening to drown us all. That was probably fairly amusing to watch, so I’m thinking he enjoyed that part more than I did because I was standing in my cute new shoes which, it turns out, are more cute than comfy.
It was also pretty cool that quite a few folks told me that they read my blog. Awwww. Bless your little hearts! And then they said, ” … so if you could update more than once a month.” Ugh. I GET IT. I’ll work on that. I promise. But with things going on like, “Parent dessert night” [I’m not even kidding you guys. I’m going to that tonight!], time is scarce.
So, the class reunion was fun. I can now use the words:
in the same sentence.
And I definitely could not before I went. So look at all I got for $65!
Y’all have a good week, and I will try to find a minute and be back with some actual stories about something or other. Until then, if you’re a HHS class of ’88 alumni lurker … you need to HOLLA! Let me know if I missed anything. I really hope someone took pictures!
I’ve always been a Goonie! June 2, 2008
In his most recent blog entry, John! had the following words of wisdom [along with a fun flashback] for us all.
Go back into the annals of beloved ’80s films, and you’d be hard pressed to find a movie closer to the hearts of thirty-somethings than The Goonies. I’ll spare you the synopsis, as you most likely already know it, but if you don’t, no need to worry – you’ve seen 20 other movies like it in its time. The template: nerdy but affable underdog(s) suffer unrelenting ridicule by jocks in varsity letter jackets but ultimately have their comeuppance, usually stealing a smoking hot girlfriend or two in the process.
In the case of The Goonies, a band of awkward, socially outcast kids set off to find a buried treasure, narrowly averting almost certain death and outrunning, among others, a popular high school jock named Troy. Troy is one of the classic cinematic archetypes of the 1980s; the jock. He’s good looking, rocks a period-relative badass Mustang convertible, and he’s a total prick. All we can do from the moment Troy enters the frame is to wait with baited breath to see Troy lose and the Goonies win.
And in that end, back in 1985 when the underdogs had their day, (and their bag of jewels), and the final credits rolled and we called our parents for a ride home, we realized something fantastic: It’s true, we weren’t Troy. But for the first time, thanks to The Goonies, we no longer wanted to be Troy. It was okay to be us, thank you very much.
Cut to present day.
What happened to the better part of a generation that once walked out of their local theater rooting for the Mikeys and Chunks and Datas of the world? They’ve turned into Troys. Troys who can’t accept the differences in others and condemn the things they don’t understand. Finger-pointing, shit-talking Troys.
Ask yourself: with whom do you identify more these days, Troy or the Goonies? And if you’re reading this and you happen to be an Internet shit-talker, could it be because you think I’m Troy? Because honest to God, I’ve always fancied myself a Goonie; the underdog who toppled over the narrow-minded naysayers and walked away with a treasure.
So maybe this whole thing is one big misunderstanding and it turns out we don’t need to go down as a generation remembered as having spent the ’00s wearing our asses like hats after all. Maybe it will turn out that we needed a little time to figure out that in the end we’re all just a bunch of Goonies.
Yes! I AM A GOONIE [to exactly noone’s surprise] Look! Just one more thing John & I have in common. I’m a Goonie. He’s a Goonie. Coincidence? I say destiny.
Beware of booty traps. You mean boobie traps? That’s what I said, booty traps. God, these guys!