as my husband would say...

Bill has such a good way with words. I was thinking about that this morning, for some reason. Example: if an actor/actress is in a movie that they don't seem to be trying too hard at or is a typical role for them, he says, "Well, _________ called that one in." (i.e. Nicolas Cage playing a dodgy yet affable reformed/ready to be reformed everyman in a big budget action/thriller or Drew Barrymore portraying a likeable, slightly brainy yet able to let down her hair gal who needs to be won over by her love interest in a romantic comedy)

It does not necessarily mean that the movie is bad, but usually, it's only so-so or "ehh" (or, again, as my husband would say, "I wouldn't kick that movie out of bed" or "Not exactly one to write home to mom about.") He's quick on his feet and does great presentations.

I, on the other hand, am horrible with words (verbally--I prefer to type out everything if at all possible). I have a horrible habit in conversations of simply stopping my sentence in the middle if I become bored with the thought or frustrated with my inability to get the thought out there. And sometimes, it's because I accidentally end the word with "but" or "and" when I mean to just stop talking. I try to cover for myself by waving my hand in a nonchalant manner as if the end of the sentence is too obvious to actually say, but in reality, I'm thinking four-letter words as I kick myself internally waiting for the inevitable response of "Oh, go ahead, finish your thought." I then have to either (a) admit "No, that was it. I accidentally ended the sentence with 'but'" or (b) come up with something out of my heiny. I usually opt for (b) and regret it.

Why can't my mouth have a backspace button?

Karen and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (but getting better)

Sunny woke me up at 3:45 followed by my hubby's alarm at 4:15. I had to get up at 5:15 myself, so I wasn't able to get back to sleep at any point.

I woke up with a stomachache. Not an "oh, my tummy hurts", it was an "I'm keeled over and my body has decided to (as my friend Rachel would say) release its contents". (Rachel feels this is a nice way to leave the subject of how the contents left ones body alone.)

When I finally stuffed my body with enough tummy medicine to make it through the day, I started driving (hit traffic, of course), and burst into tears when a song that I liked from the 90's came on the CD player. Still crying...still crying. Why so emotional? Why, why, why? Then I remembered...I've been dreading this day since the month began...the 10 year anniversary of the day one of my dear friends died. Then the date was seemingly plastered all over everything I encountered, e-mails, newspapers, etc. OCTOBER 12TH.

Just when I thought about hopping right back into my car and going back home to burrow in my bed, I got a welcome surprise. Bill came to visit me at my office. He just held me for a few minutes and let me cry and say that it sucks that no one in my life now knew my friend and cry a little more.

Then my day got better. I ate graham crackers all day and sipped coke. Bill sent me an article about LOST theories. I marveled at how much my life has changed in 10 years as I picked up the dry cleaning and flipped through files that need to be worked on.

And on the drive home, I listened to the same song and laughed because (a) my friend would, in fact, have hated the song and made fun of it in a most sarcastic manner and (b) that's what he would have wanted me to do today...not cry.

Assignment

Well, courtesy of Ellen's blog, I have been tagged, Here goes:

10 Years ago:
Yucky painful. One of my closest friends (and huge crush) was about to die in a car crash. The crash happened 10 years ago tomorrow. The death 10 years ago Wednesday, and yes, I still think about him. And it.

5 years ago:
I had just started grad school and was stewing in one of the two worst jobs I've ever had...at the Stein.

1 year ago:
It was the week before I got married. I was fretting because my deadbeat sister put off her dress fitting until the last minutes. :)

Yesterday:
skipped church because the whole "searching for a home church" is exhausting, went to the mall with my hubby, sisters, bro-in-law, and niece, spilled coke on niece, bought her a spanky new outfit (secret ploy to get her in the trends), ran into friends jaime & jason, came home, did yardwork, fed the ducks in our lake, sat out on patio and watched the sunset. and then, erm, went to bed.

5 snacks I enjoy:
-calamata olive and cheese on crackers
-reeses peanut butter cups
-graham crackers
-cheese popcorn
-ice cream milk

5 songs I know every word to:
-"Phantom of the Opera"
-"Sometimes by Step"
-"Message in a Bottle"-by the Police--we used to sing it in music class
-theme song from Greatest American Hero
-"Dust in the Wind"

5 things I'd do with 1 million dollars:
-Invest
-Give a matching gift to the organization I work for because people like to give when it's match...like you're giving twice as much
-Save a bunch
-Start a Disney fund to go to D-world every year
-Pay off the morgage

5 places I'd run to:
-the top of Pike's Peak
-around and around the backyard with Sunny
-Bill's side of the bed to snuggle...then return to my side to sleep
-under my fuzzy green blanket
-a little birdhouse in my soul

5 things I'd never wear:
-a jean jacket with jeans
-spandex
-high top sneakers
-a thong
-socks with sticky-outy seams

5 favorite TV shows:
-Lost
-Friends
-Sex and the City (TBS version)
-Celebrity Poker
-SNL

5 Biggest Joys:
-the 3 minutes before I fall asleep when I twitch involuntarily and Bill knows it's time to push me over to my side of the bed so I can fall asleep
-singing loudly in the car when I'm alone
-coffee with friends
-my box'o'fun
-the "whoosh" in my soul that God puts there for seemingly inexplicable reasons sometimes.

5 favorite toys:
-front-loading washer & dryer
-pogo ball
-DDR dance mats
-new laptop
-olive-pitter

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.


my sentence..."i have reached new levels of anxiety at work."

My, my. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Hrmmm, I tag Jaime, Sarah, Shelli (if she hasn't already done so), Rockstar, & dear hubby if he still remembers the password to access his blog.

Renegade Toad

Well, this tale is not nearly as exciting or terrifying as Ellen's snake ordeal. But it's rather humorous.

There's this toad that has been stalking us. Everytime I open my front door at night, there he is, staring at me. He's been inching his way closer and closer to the door. And my dog is petrified of him. The other night, he refused to go outside when he saw him, and when he has gone outside with psycho-toad out there, he walks as far away from him as possible.

Well, tonight, Bill opened the door to let Sunny out and in hops the toad. Brazen little amphibian! Sunny, in true hero fashion, came bolting down the stairs to the office, trembling at my feet. I heard some stomping and yelling upstairs, then Bill came down laughing to let Sunny know that he was safe and the toad was once again outside.

If I could attach a song to this here blog, I'd attach "Crazy Frog".

the man in black

Can I just say how much I like Johnny Cash? His voice is real. It's gritty, like he gargles a bit of gravel every morning. No digital mixer could make that voice up. And he sings about real stuff. Like love--it's not always all hunky-dory and daisies all the time. Sometimes, it's a ring of fire that you don't want to particularly be in, but you are, so you hunker down and work at it.

Of course, then Bill told me that Preparation-H used that for an ad jingle for hemorrhoids, and that just about ruined it for me, but nope. I still love it. Those trumpets. Love 'em!

Yep, if I were a songwriter and Johnny were still alive, I would want him to sing my songs.

The Power of Words

My friend Emily and I used to have a joke that you can say anything about anyone if you follow it up with "God love him (or her)." It's a Southern thing, I think.

"That hair looks atrocious! God love her."

"He's dumber than a fencepost--God love him."

It works for any manner of catty comments.

I've also discovered in marriage that "I love you" covers up a world of sin. For instance, my husband just walked in the room, insinuated that there were too many chores for him to do for us to go see the movie I've been wanting to catch. After my whiny little, "Eighh!", I followed it up with "I love you". And all is well. Usually, it makes him laugh more than anything.

My final word observation: nothing good can come after the phrase, "excuse me, but..." Bill and I were walking in the mall and passed a couple in front of us who was having a rather heated conversation. The wife (girlfriend? mistress?) interrupted the man and said, "ex-CUSE me, but..." I didn't catch the end of it, but we were in agreement that it couldn't be anything good.

"ex-CUSE me, but...your hair looks really nice today."

"ex-CUSE me, but...I've really enjoyed our evening."

Nope, that guy had done something heinous, and he was suffering the wrath of the double-x chromosome.

I'm Back.

Back from where? Florida for the week with my in-laws. My hubby had to leave after 2 days, so it was very interesting learning to interact with my "innies" just me & them.

A good time was had by all, if I might say so myself. Our nephew is almost 2 years old, and he really is a hoot. We went around in a circle and had him say all of our names: MaMa, DaDa, Bee (what he calls Bill's dad), Bibby (what he calls my husband). Then, when he got to Gammy, blank stare and "TiTi". He's started calling my mom-in-law "TiTi", which she hates. She wants to be "Gammy" but I told her from before he was born (when she and my father-in-law picked out their chosen names) that she would be whatever first came out of her grandson's mouth. So for now, "TiTi" it is. She keeps correcting him, but everyone was secretly reinforcing TiTi behind her back: "Where's TiTi?? Go get TiTi!" Then, on Wednesday, he even stopped calling her TiTi and started calling me TiTi. When we got around the circle on Wednesday, she just got a blank stare. Ahh, well. It's probably best to just enjoy it while you can. It won't be long before he'll be mouthing off and repeating words that we all pray he'll never hear.

The Plug has been Pulled

Well, Bill officially yanked my Katrina coverage watching. I was on CNN.com and getting worked up, and I've pretty much just been obsessed & depressed about it since Sunday night. So Bill pulled the visual plug. Too many images. He knows what that does to me.

I will take a carload of teddy bears to the shelter where some refugees are staying, though. At least I could do something, even if it's little bitty.

On a complete side note, but one that I've been thinking about since the hurricane hit, I had a good friend from college named Katrina, and she was always very proud of her name (she loved going to N'Awlins for Mardis Gras, too, but that's even further beside the point). Knowing her personality, she's probably very sad right now to have it associated with such devestation. And as this dear friend used to say, "It's true--it's not a farce." She got me saying it, too. You should start saying it, also. It would make her happy from afar. She's one of those people that I have on my "oh, crap, I wish I hadn't fallen out of contact with her" list.

Floods of Tears

Well, the damage from Katrina is just horrific. On Good Morning, America this morning, Robin (forgot her last name) was reporting from Gulfport, MS where she's from, and she started crying on air. Her family's all right, but I think that they lost everything (as most people did along the coast). I just started bawling. For her. For New Orleans, 80% under water. For friends I have in MS who I assume are all right but I'm not sure. For the millions of people whose lives are forever altered.

Ding!

Yesterday, on Good Morning, America, I saw that apparently at press conferences in Thailand, the prime minister holds a little buzzer that makes a pleasant bell-like sound, and anytime a person asks a question that he doesn't want to answer, he dings it and says, "not productive." Then all the reporters have to move on to the next question.

I would like a bell like that.

27, almost

I turn 27 in less than a month. I don’t feel almost 27. Growing up, 27 always seemed so old. The official birthday that moves me from mid-twenties to late twenties. Now, it feel surprisingly young and normal. Just another year. I still even get carded at restaurants.

This just isn’t how I planned on 27 going down. At 27, I was going to have been married at least 4 years, have one small child, know how to cook (and do so on a semi-regular basis), and have traveled to Europe.

The real 27 is being married for almost one year, no child (although a bit of a pregnancy scare over Christmas), a highly spoiled and untrustworthy dog who likes to pee in my closet, a “fend for yourself” dinner mentality which I constantly feel guilty about, and no trip to Europe in the old scrapbooks (my little sister’s been twice now, so if she schedules another trip over there, I’ve decided I’m going to book a weekend trip just to avoid a “three times a bridesmaid…” mentality)

It’s not that I would change any of my life experiences so far. It just seems a little surreal how quickly my 20’s have passed. Blip. There they go

Would you like an insult with that pedicure?

Whenever I leave my hairstylist’s salon, I always feel so inadequate. Basically like I just fell off the back of the ugly truck. I realize that it really shouldn’t be this way. Quite the opposite, I should feel my most pretty. And my feelings of repulsiveness have absolutely nothing to do with the haircut. To be honest, the only reason that I still go there is strictly because of the haircuts.

The salon is the newest, trendiest salon in my town. Complete with industrial, stained-concrete floors, flambouyantly gay men, and half the stylists wearing hats at a jaunty angle. I went to go get my first cut there because they were down the trendy street that my husband and I used to live on and one of his friends had done some design work for them. The second that I walked in I just knew that they were not my style (i.e. none). Apart from the industrial edge, they had all of 2 (uncomfortable) seats in the waiting area (not the smooshy old couches I’m used to from my old salon). The only magazine subscriptions they carry are Vogue and some bizarre architectural mag (although thank heavens someone’s been leaving their old Real Simples). So I’m already feeling like a fish out of water just stepping foot in the place.

But here’s why I leave feeling like Princess Toadstool: The place is swarming with jellyfishers. Perhaps you are not familiar with this phrase from Bridget Jones Diary, let me explain. Jellyfishers are those people (usually women, but I have discovered that gay male hairdressers are also fairly skilled at this) who will say something that at first seems like an innocuous comment (the really good ones can even make it seem like an initial compliment), but then…sting. You realize that it was a snarky jab the whole time. At the salon, it typically comes in the form of an offer for further services or misguessing what services I’m there for. (“And you’re here for highlights?” “No. A haircut.” “Ohhhh.”)

Why do I keep going back? Why? Why? Because that dang Kelli cuts my hair better than any other person I’ve ever gone to. I swear her scissors are made of magical metal. So I’ll return again and again, like a moth to an insulting flame.

What's a Celebrity to Do?

Bill always chides me when I say things like, “Oh, poor thing!” when I hear disturbing celebrity news like Katie Holmes being brainwashed, Sienna Miller getting cheated on by Jude Law, and whatever latest horrible white trash thing Britney Spears has done. I think that he views it as his mission in life to bring me back to reality and follow my sympathetic outburst up with an incredulous “Really?”

And of course, when I stop to think about it, no, they are not deserving of my sympathy. If someone was holding a gun up to each of their heads and forcing them to live a posh, pampered lifestyle and make poor relationship choices, then perhaps, they might earn a “Well, that’s disturbing.” But none of them should ever get a full-fledged “Poor thing!”

I do find one exception to this, though. I do feel bad for actors typecast as creepy, snarky people. Christopher Walken and Alan Rickman come immediately to mind. Oh, and that disturbing Steve Buscemi. Granted, they’re well-paid for it, but I would not like people to immediately think “evil” when my name came into casual conversation. And how would YOU like to know that when producers see you walk in the door, they see “evil”? But again, not a full-fledged “Poor thing!” More like… “What an unfortunate career turn.”

I Hate Cancer

One of my good friends has cancer, the bad, yucky pancreatic kind (she's a lovely person with lovely things to say, you should go visit her page and pray for her).

It was a shock for her and her family and everyone who knows them. She's very healthy and vibrant, and that still shines through the yucky cancer. Her first round of chemo went well, and the cancer is responding well to it (isn't that an odd way of saying it? It makes me picture the little cancer cells poking their heads out of their little hiding holes like evil prairie dogs listening for cars going by.) I know that her body is hurting and exhaustion is constantly lurking, but I'm constantly amazed by the hope and faith that has poured out of her since the beginning of this yucky ordeal.

And that's just the only word for it, yucky.

Envy

There are too many kids in this tub.
There are too many elbows to scrub.
I just washed a behind
That I’m sure wasn’t mine.
There are too many kids in this tub.
-Shel Silverstein

That’s kind of how I feel right now. A little out of control. Getting things done because I know that they need to be done. Scrubbing on auto-pilot, but who knows whose tushy I’m scrubbing? And the only certainty is that I’m never going to catch up.

Every morning, I pass by this park on my way to work. Right after I graduated from college, there were a couple months when my older sister got really sick with pneumonia. As I had found out earlier that term that I had enough credits to graduate early, I had finished right before spring break, packed up all my stuff, and come home to a sister who was living by herself, and (I thought) was just a little under the weather. Turns out she was very ill with this awful pneumonia, and long story short—almost died, and I ended up spending the next few months living with her, working at a sucky job, pooling our money to eat (she had to quit working with children after she got out of the hospital).

Point of the story: It was a yucky time in my life, for obvious reasons, but I lived right by this park and went on almost daily walks. Every time I drive by that park now, I find myself getting extremely jealous of the college students and stay-at-home moms out walking and jogging. It’s not that I have any desire to go back to that time of my life in college when I could go walking in the middle of the day (well, maybe a little, but only if I could keep my husband and home ownership). Nor am I clamoring to get pregnant as soon as possible (although I am a little baby crazy after spending the weekend with my exceptionally cute niece). I certainly have no desire to go back to those post-college months working for the smarmiest doctor in this neck of the woods. I guess that the grass is always just greener on the other side. But I still think that a 40+ hour work week in a one-person office sucks.

I'm going to the nut shop! Where it's FUN!

I have been accused of being an infrequent blogger. It’s true…it’s true. I won’t try to hide from it. I guess that when I sit down to write a post, this “little sister” mentality in me comes out, and I think, “Well, Ellen has the better blog. She’s the writer in the family! Why bother?” And the truth is, that’s not the point. She and I have different strengths. Always have. Always will. She sucks at math. I’m a math whiz. I couldn’t doodle my way out of a box. She’s a cartoonist. And our little sister got all the musical talent, bar none.

And the really horrible thing about it is that I prefer her blog to my own! It’s like Steve Zahn’s character in “You’ve Got Mail” when he gets sick of all the moping around at the slow bookshop where he works (i.e. my blog) and storms out saying, “I’m going to the nut shop! Where it’s FUN!”

So, oh, so sadly enough, that is how I feel about my blog. It’s not a bad little place. It’s just funner at Ellen’s. Maybe I need to establish a niche for myself. The blog for tall girls or the blog for new wives who think of their dogs as their children or the blog for people who consistently get 2 hours less sleep than they need and it’s their own dang fault.

and a good time was had by all

so washington d.c. was fun. rode the metro. had a flashback to band trip in high school during which the chaperones had to make sure our entire band (i believe it was 130+ sr. high students, many of them surly or idiots) onto the metro and make sure they got off at the right stop. good grief, were they insane? i remember the pep talk for it: "the doors will open! you will get on and sit down in the available seats! if there are no seats, you will stand and grasp the handle immediately in front of you! do not grab the next person's handle! you will get off at arlington! not before! not after! arlington!"

contrast this with my little adventure with shelli and sarah: "were we at east paces ferry or west paces ferry? east. no. west. no. definitely east (it was east). if we go too far, we'll just go one stop up, not find our car and ride back."

and the thing i most associate with our nation's glorious capitol, shining beacon of freedom and democracy? tired feet.

and a really cute pair of pants that i bought that fit me really well.

but seriously, it was super-fun.

Free those associations!

I can’t believe that August is almost half over. This year has flown by. Part of me wants everything to slow down so I can savor every moment. The other (bigger) part is thinking, “whatever!” It’s hot as hades, and I want the fall and winter to come so I can get all those warm-fuzzy (big difference from hot-sweltering) feelings about the start of school (even though I haven’t been in school for a number of years) and next thing you know it’s Christmas…yippee! I’m not usually one of the “Pollyanna” types to see sunshine and rainbows wherever I go, but I do love the autumn weather.

In the spirit of free association, one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen is a rainbow from the top in an airplane. It really was like flying “somewhere over the rainbow”. Although, I was flying into Atlanta, so the only thing over that particular rainbow was soggy luggage and a traffic jam at spaghetti junction. Again with the not-exactly-Pollyanna.

Final thought: I am leaving this evening for Washington D.C. for some whirlwind girl-time fun in our nation’s capitol. I am looking forward to it immensely and have been humming “D.C., D.C., it’s a wonderful town, where the mall is up and the capitol’s down, the people ride in the metro in town…D.C., D.C., it’s a wonderful town” with visions of Sarah, Shelli, and I dancing around wearing smart little sailorette outfits singing. Of course, they're the singers, so they'd be Sinatra and Kelly, and I'd end up being that third guy who know one remembers the name of. I think the thing I’m most looking forward to (other than re-creating old golden era musicals) is purging out some old band trip memories, not that they were all bad, just time to wash away the images of lugging my snare until my arm was about to fall off my band director yelling at the top of his lungs at us at every national monument.

The Things We Do for Love, part 2

As I swiftly approach the end of my first year of marriage to my wonderful husband, I find myself yet again looking around me and chuckling at the things we both do for love. For any of you that have met me husband, you know that he is a bit more organized and detail-oriented than I am (no comments from the peanut gallery, Ellen and Shelli!). And for those of you that can claim an acquaintanceship with me, you know that I perhaps tend to procrastinate a bit and am a wee bit messy at times.

But, ahh, love! That is why when Bill walked in the bedroom this morning and saw the bed looking like a pack of wild badgers had made it, he just smiled and fought the urge to tuck like mad. And when I came home on Sunday to find my husband had proudly come up with a basket system from Lowe’s for me to “file” my panties in vertically to utilize the under sink storage space, I just smiled and commented on how much I like the baskets.

And of course, by next week, he will again be tucking in stray corners and I will be heaping my panties in the old Rubbermaid drawers that I’ve had since college. But I will continue to clean the bathrooms because I know that he hates it, and he will mow the lawn because he knows that I don’t know how, but leave the weeds for me to pluck because he knows that I like to pull up weeds. And I’ll take Sunny out in the morning because Bill’s always in a rush to get out the door. And he’ll take Sunny out at bedtime because he knows that I’m afraid of raccoons. Ah, compromise!

that darn dog

just when i want to be angry at my dog (this being the same dog who has twice peed all over the floor of the entryway after having a special "doggy garage corral" built for him, complete with partial carpetting and a king-sized litter box...don't get me started on the box), he does something extremely adorable like go and stand with half his body out the dog door and half of it in just to see if something cool is going on in the garage that he should know about.

and he's certainly the only dog i know who will chew on the same old dingey pipe that the house's prior owner's dog did one minute, then turn up his nose if a hair gets in his water dish the next.