It's time for a big holiday, and I seem to be getting sick. It started as I embarked out on my day, with a long list of things to do. Like this, "wait, why is my throat hurting?" fast forward several hours, and I went to bed at 4:30, finally rousing myself this evening after many, many snoozes of the alarm. But I feel pretty strongly that I could have slept the night through. My throat is now on fire on one side, and my neck aches, and blah, blah, blah. It's probably just a cold coming on, but I used to get strep every winter, and so help me, if it happens one more time, I might just rip my tonsils out with my bare hands.
ahem. Also, there's been this tendency over the last few years to come down with major illnesses (like a big helping of the old stomach virus) only on holidays. Christmas, New Year's, Memorial Day (what? It counts!)... if I'm going to be sick, I'd like to miss some work out of it, ya know?
Now instead of being out drinking margaritas on my Saturday night, I will probably be bundled up on my couch, crying in front of "Steel Magnolias" or something. I am a delight. (Oh, but will I let this keep me from the party tomorrow of many chefs and treats that are promised to be delicious beyond imagination?? No, if I have to drag my feverous, infectious body there against it's will, I will do so! If I can't taste those treats, I will eat them anyway! I will not miss out on everything!!"
ahem again.
Anyway, instead of writing (whining) to all of you I'm going to share something from someone else.
I think I heard about this somewhere... and now Jamelah has discovered it and captured it quite nicely. Read here.
I guess Burger King is going for a sexy image. Or something. Or just hope they get talked about (in which I am falling into their plot perfectly.) Seriously, the thought of a Burger King scent makes me naseous. And that man in front of the fire could give me nightmares.
Is it real though? I attempted to buy it (what? It could make a great gift for someone you hate!) And I never got redirected to the site it said it was sending me to... hmm...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Dream on, Dreamer.
What? Three posts in one week??? This is CRAZY! Yes, a wild and crazy life I lead... or perhaps I am not so particularly social this week. Nor am I particularly working. What I should be particularly doing is unpacking my new apartment. But why not share a dream instead? That sounds like a good use of our time, right?
My friend Dena emailed me this dream today, and I admit, I kind of enjoyed it. (I kind of enjoy any email I get these days, since I haven't been able to write them from work anymore, the entertainment I receive has dropped off dramatically.) Dena and I used to see each other once a week, but haven't been for a while, and yet this is the second dream she's had about me. (At least that I know of. Maybe she has a crush on me and dreams about me every night. Could we blame her?) I can't find her account of the first dream (although it wasn't for lack of looking - now I want to read it again), but it was something about some star in another country who escaped to America to get away from her fame and adoring fans and pretend to be a normal American girl - and it turned out to be me.
Here's the dream from today:
I have to tell you about the dream I had last night. It was all about you. You were getting married- suddenly and elaborately. I was a bridesmaid along with a huge group of others. We were standing at the front of a cathedral on stairs and the wedding planner was organizing the rows of attendants. Our dresses were different according to our "rank" as friends. The b-lister bridesmaids (the ones that barely made it) had on frumpy, poufy dresses with big sleeves. The closer the friend to Jennifer, the sexier the dress, so your "inner circle" were wearing these net, see-through numbers. Strange.
No one in the bridal party had ever met the groom, but he was apparently artsy and eccentric. While the bridesmaids were being sorted by friend hierarchy, several wedding coordinators were trying to gather up the dancers, acrobats and dressed-up animals that would be in the procession.
So, whatever your mystery fiance did, he did well. We toured your new, overly modern house (mansion) and got to see the special elevator you use to get to the top shelves in the closets. Some of the upstairs rooms had glass floors and you could see into the rooms above and below. (Not practical, Jennifer. People wear dresses and sometimes have boogers, so we don't need to see each other from directly underneath.) At some point in the dream, I realized I had used the bathroom with a clear ceiling. Great.
So, there was my dream. Hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it was prophetic. Be sure to let me know if you get engaged to a crazy bazillionaire. You don't have to make me a bridesmaid, but if you do, I want to be a middle-of-the-road friend, not poufy, not see-through.
Ironically, I have two good friends (we will call them Splann and Lob) who have concerns about their "bridesmaid ranking" in my hypothetical non-existent wedding. First of all people, I'm not getting married. (And how unlike Splann to get ahead of herself when it comes to talking about my life! ahem.) Secondly, where did you get this idea that there was some sort of ranking order to bridesmaids? And thirdly, at some point in your old age doesn't having a bunch of bridesmaids just seem ridiculous? Now a bathroom with a glass floor/ceiling on the other hand... that's just brilliant. Invite guests over and watch them try to figure that one out.
Actually... come to think of it... making some people I know wear horrible dresses doesn't sound like such a bad idea either...
My friend Dena emailed me this dream today, and I admit, I kind of enjoyed it. (I kind of enjoy any email I get these days, since I haven't been able to write them from work anymore, the entertainment I receive has dropped off dramatically.) Dena and I used to see each other once a week, but haven't been for a while, and yet this is the second dream she's had about me. (At least that I know of. Maybe she has a crush on me and dreams about me every night. Could we blame her?) I can't find her account of the first dream (although it wasn't for lack of looking - now I want to read it again), but it was something about some star in another country who escaped to America to get away from her fame and adoring fans and pretend to be a normal American girl - and it turned out to be me.
Here's the dream from today:
I have to tell you about the dream I had last night. It was all about you. You were getting married- suddenly and elaborately. I was a bridesmaid along with a huge group of others. We were standing at the front of a cathedral on stairs and the wedding planner was organizing the rows of attendants. Our dresses were different according to our "rank" as friends. The b-lister bridesmaids (the ones that barely made it) had on frumpy, poufy dresses with big sleeves. The closer the friend to Jennifer, the sexier the dress, so your "inner circle" were wearing these net, see-through numbers. Strange.
No one in the bridal party had ever met the groom, but he was apparently artsy and eccentric. While the bridesmaids were being sorted by friend hierarchy, several wedding coordinators were trying to gather up the dancers, acrobats and dressed-up animals that would be in the procession.
So, whatever your mystery fiance did, he did well. We toured your new, overly modern house (mansion) and got to see the special elevator you use to get to the top shelves in the closets. Some of the upstairs rooms had glass floors and you could see into the rooms above and below. (Not practical, Jennifer. People wear dresses and sometimes have boogers, so we don't need to see each other from directly underneath.) At some point in the dream, I realized I had used the bathroom with a clear ceiling. Great.
So, there was my dream. Hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it was prophetic. Be sure to let me know if you get engaged to a crazy bazillionaire. You don't have to make me a bridesmaid, but if you do, I want to be a middle-of-the-road friend, not poufy, not see-through.
Ironically, I have two good friends (we will call them Splann and Lob) who have concerns about their "bridesmaid ranking" in my hypothetical non-existent wedding. First of all people, I'm not getting married. (And how unlike Splann to get ahead of herself when it comes to talking about my life! ahem.) Secondly, where did you get this idea that there was some sort of ranking order to bridesmaids? And thirdly, at some point in your old age doesn't having a bunch of bridesmaids just seem ridiculous? Now a bathroom with a glass floor/ceiling on the other hand... that's just brilliant. Invite guests over and watch them try to figure that one out.
Actually... come to think of it... making some people I know wear horrible dresses doesn't sound like such a bad idea either...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Food and Harry (but not hairy food, that would be gross)
So... what does it say about you when you are a woman of, oh, let's just say 5'4, and you are out to dinner with a man who is 6'8, and you eat just as much as he does? Say he wants to order all this food and share it, and you think, "whatever dude. I guess you need to eat a lot. If you need all this, then so be it." And then 30 minutes later you look around and realize that you've put away half the stuff?
How much would you say you are on your way to weighing?
Blay, this is your area of expertise.
When we were in high school, Blay was one of those girls that was as skinny as those girls who didn't eat (and there were a lot of them) but Blay ate and ate and ate and never exercised, and tiny she remained. And she used to see dates as opportunities to get all the free food she wanted. For instance:
waitress: "Would you like dessert?"
guy: "No thanks."
Blay: "Yes, I will have this!" (points to menu)
waitress: "uh... that's meant to be shared by a whole table..."
Blay: "I'll take it."
And then she would eat the entire platter of dessert. I admire her much.
Although it was me, not her, who was honored at a diner in Chicago while we were there eating together - along with another friend with a big stomach, Lob. I once saw Lob eat half a pizza and a cheeseburger all in one sitting. But again, this was in high school.) So, here we are, full grown women, having breakfast at a Chicago diner. A popular diner - the kind that has a line every morning. The kind where the servers see A LOT of traffic. And our waitress, she was a seasoned one. She had that experienced, no-nonsense, I've been doing this for 30 years look. And yet when she came to take our plates away, we got a surprised double take from her and then this, "I've never seen ANYONE eat ALL of the chocolate chip pancakes before!!!!"
Yes, thank you. I am in Chicago for one weekend, and I take the chocolate chip pancake title.
So my question to you Blay is, how much does admitting to this change as we get older? I mean, as kids, we kind of took pride in the fact that we ate more than carrot scrapings. But now... hmm... I don't think you or Lob find yourselves in these situations anymore. How ashamed should I be?
And one more thing about my dinner last night... well, not the dinner, but the other part. We went to the Harry Connick, Jr. holiday concert. This is my first time hanging out with this guy on my own, and here are a few things I did not expect:
1) Admission to being in a Harry Connick, Jr. fan club (although he was pretty cute/funny last night)
2) Listening to Harry Connick, Jr. Christmas cd's the entire drive to the concert. And then the entire drive back. I mean, aren't we about to/didn't we just see all this live? Do we really need to hear it again?
3) Seeing him weave and bob through the crowd at a brisk jog once we got there and learned it was starting. Moments earlier we had been parking the car and had an exchange like this:
him: I'll drop you off while I park.
me: nah, that's ok. actually... I would like to go to the restroom... if you don't need to, maybe I should go in while you park?
him: ok
2 minutes later: I'll just park! It won't take long! (much much fast turning through parking garage, bringing me close to almost puking the large amount of food I had just eaten. I had also downed 2 beers. It was a bad afternoon at work. I needed it.)
And then there he is running through the doors with our tickets. I took a moment to look towards the bathroom, and then at my bobbing, weaving ticket. I considered never finding my seat... maybe if I had had a car there I would have. But after some hesitation I followed him in.
That man really loves himself some Harry Connick, Jr. Be afraid, Harry. Be very afraid.
How much would you say you are on your way to weighing?
Blay, this is your area of expertise.
When we were in high school, Blay was one of those girls that was as skinny as those girls who didn't eat (and there were a lot of them) but Blay ate and ate and ate and never exercised, and tiny she remained. And she used to see dates as opportunities to get all the free food she wanted. For instance:
waitress: "Would you like dessert?"
guy: "No thanks."
Blay: "Yes, I will have this!" (points to menu)
waitress: "uh... that's meant to be shared by a whole table..."
Blay: "I'll take it."
And then she would eat the entire platter of dessert. I admire her much.
Although it was me, not her, who was honored at a diner in Chicago while we were there eating together - along with another friend with a big stomach, Lob. I once saw Lob eat half a pizza and a cheeseburger all in one sitting. But again, this was in high school.) So, here we are, full grown women, having breakfast at a Chicago diner. A popular diner - the kind that has a line every morning. The kind where the servers see A LOT of traffic. And our waitress, she was a seasoned one. She had that experienced, no-nonsense, I've been doing this for 30 years look. And yet when she came to take our plates away, we got a surprised double take from her and then this, "I've never seen ANYONE eat ALL of the chocolate chip pancakes before!!!!"
Yes, thank you. I am in Chicago for one weekend, and I take the chocolate chip pancake title.
So my question to you Blay is, how much does admitting to this change as we get older? I mean, as kids, we kind of took pride in the fact that we ate more than carrot scrapings. But now... hmm... I don't think you or Lob find yourselves in these situations anymore. How ashamed should I be?
And one more thing about my dinner last night... well, not the dinner, but the other part. We went to the Harry Connick, Jr. holiday concert. This is my first time hanging out with this guy on my own, and here are a few things I did not expect:
1) Admission to being in a Harry Connick, Jr. fan club (although he was pretty cute/funny last night)
2) Listening to Harry Connick, Jr. Christmas cd's the entire drive to the concert. And then the entire drive back. I mean, aren't we about to/didn't we just see all this live? Do we really need to hear it again?
3) Seeing him weave and bob through the crowd at a brisk jog once we got there and learned it was starting. Moments earlier we had been parking the car and had an exchange like this:
him: I'll drop you off while I park.
me: nah, that's ok. actually... I would like to go to the restroom... if you don't need to, maybe I should go in while you park?
him: ok
2 minutes later: I'll just park! It won't take long! (much much fast turning through parking garage, bringing me close to almost puking the large amount of food I had just eaten. I had also downed 2 beers. It was a bad afternoon at work. I needed it.)
And then there he is running through the doors with our tickets. I took a moment to look towards the bathroom, and then at my bobbing, weaving ticket. I considered never finding my seat... maybe if I had had a car there I would have. But after some hesitation I followed him in.
That man really loves himself some Harry Connick, Jr. Be afraid, Harry. Be very afraid.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Mystery of Physics
hello the internets,
There are a couple of things from the last couple of weeks that we need to catch up on, but I'm tired so let's keep it simple and start with something small and more recent:
I was recently talked into coming out of soccer retirement to play in an indoor league on Sunday nights. (Ok, they didn't really have to try to hard to talk me into it, but they should have had to, because I REALLY didn't want to do it. The last time I played I was so bad it was just depressing, and I didn't figure months of sitting on my butt and eating cookies had done much to help that. Plus, Sunday nights?? Really? The best time ever to be lazy?) But I decided to make myself do it, simply because I was so against it, I thought maybe I could use it.
Anyway, it's been a lot of fun, and I'm really glad I signed up and blah blah blah, oh! And I'm not even as bad as the last couple of times I played! And the even larger miracle? I showed up the first night and heard, "Get on the field, we're starting, and you have to play the whole game" and I neither puked nor dry-heaved during the course of the game! This made me happy.
So, last night I go out and what do I find? No subs is what I find. And people, I like myself some subs. This is coed soccer, and my friends that asked me to lay are some Englishmen I played with years ago and got to know quite well. It seems that two of them were having a soccer video game party, while the other simply said, "Last night was one for the record books, mate. It was legendary. I'm in no condition for athletics." and didn't show. (This is not so unusual - I used to keep up with them on occasion, but then I got old.)
And then our one girl sub didn't show. But even if I hadn't had a sub, even if we just had some guys to sub at least, I feel that I wouldn't have been quite so tired. Because when your whole team is tired, your tiredness shows more. If you can have some fresh man legs run in there, you can hope to be lazy for a bit and let them do some running for you.
So, this is my mystery of physics:
F=ma, right? Force = mass times acceleration? So how is the following possible:
Picture me, running down the field, like a soccer-skilled gazelle, when some dude hammers a ball in my direction, hitting me on my forearm, which I believe was up by my face, because apparently I run like I'm trying to become a windmill. For a moment, I am aware that both my feet are off the ground (maybe I was in mid-stride? Not sure.) All I do know what there was absolutely no doubt that my feet would be under me on the ground again in the next tiny fraction of a second. So imagine my surprise when instead of that, I feel myself falling through the air, and landing flat on my back, tail-bone first. That jank hurt.
I was still on the ground a few moments later when my team scored a goal (one of 5 we would get before losing 13-5), and still sitting there near the other teams goal when they all lined back up again for the kick-off. I wasn't sure I could get up. My butt, my butt hurt SO MUCH!!!
So the question is, how hard would a small ball have to be kicked to hit me with enough force to propel my entire mass into a horizontal position?? I think the answer is that I way about 100 pounds less than what I thought I weighed. This is the silver lining in my sore butt.
I had to sit on some ice last night. While my mom guilted me about not putting my ornaments on the family Christmas tree. So I tried. But she had very cruelly placed that box on the floor, and every time I tried to pick one up it was a whole process that looked like this:
Damnit! I can't find the video I want! If anyone saw SNL a week ago, I'm thinking of the skit where Kristen Wiig is the new sexy girl at work, until she's not. For instance, she bends down to pick things up with many sounds of pain, and she doesn't so much bend over as she does awkwardly squat, while holding onto her back and legs. That was me. And then I almost started crying. So I went back to sitting on my ice.
And that's my simple story - it's good catching up with you!
Hopefully more to come (insert inward grumbling against work here - work that I did not do tonight like I said I would... tomorrow should be great.)
There are a couple of things from the last couple of weeks that we need to catch up on, but I'm tired so let's keep it simple and start with something small and more recent:
I was recently talked into coming out of soccer retirement to play in an indoor league on Sunday nights. (Ok, they didn't really have to try to hard to talk me into it, but they should have had to, because I REALLY didn't want to do it. The last time I played I was so bad it was just depressing, and I didn't figure months of sitting on my butt and eating cookies had done much to help that. Plus, Sunday nights?? Really? The best time ever to be lazy?) But I decided to make myself do it, simply because I was so against it, I thought maybe I could use it.
Anyway, it's been a lot of fun, and I'm really glad I signed up and blah blah blah, oh! And I'm not even as bad as the last couple of times I played! And the even larger miracle? I showed up the first night and heard, "Get on the field, we're starting, and you have to play the whole game" and I neither puked nor dry-heaved during the course of the game! This made me happy.
So, last night I go out and what do I find? No subs is what I find. And people, I like myself some subs. This is coed soccer, and my friends that asked me to lay are some Englishmen I played with years ago and got to know quite well. It seems that two of them were having a soccer video game party, while the other simply said, "Last night was one for the record books, mate. It was legendary. I'm in no condition for athletics." and didn't show. (This is not so unusual - I used to keep up with them on occasion, but then I got old.)
And then our one girl sub didn't show. But even if I hadn't had a sub, even if we just had some guys to sub at least, I feel that I wouldn't have been quite so tired. Because when your whole team is tired, your tiredness shows more. If you can have some fresh man legs run in there, you can hope to be lazy for a bit and let them do some running for you.
So, this is my mystery of physics:
F=ma, right? Force = mass times acceleration? So how is the following possible:
Picture me, running down the field, like a soccer-skilled gazelle, when some dude hammers a ball in my direction, hitting me on my forearm, which I believe was up by my face, because apparently I run like I'm trying to become a windmill. For a moment, I am aware that both my feet are off the ground (maybe I was in mid-stride? Not sure.) All I do know what there was absolutely no doubt that my feet would be under me on the ground again in the next tiny fraction of a second. So imagine my surprise when instead of that, I feel myself falling through the air, and landing flat on my back, tail-bone first. That jank hurt.
I was still on the ground a few moments later when my team scored a goal (one of 5 we would get before losing 13-5), and still sitting there near the other teams goal when they all lined back up again for the kick-off. I wasn't sure I could get up. My butt, my butt hurt SO MUCH!!!
So the question is, how hard would a small ball have to be kicked to hit me with enough force to propel my entire mass into a horizontal position?? I think the answer is that I way about 100 pounds less than what I thought I weighed. This is the silver lining in my sore butt.
I had to sit on some ice last night. While my mom guilted me about not putting my ornaments on the family Christmas tree. So I tried. But she had very cruelly placed that box on the floor, and every time I tried to pick one up it was a whole process that looked like this:
Damnit! I can't find the video I want! If anyone saw SNL a week ago, I'm thinking of the skit where Kristen Wiig is the new sexy girl at work, until she's not. For instance, she bends down to pick things up with many sounds of pain, and she doesn't so much bend over as she does awkwardly squat, while holding onto her back and legs. That was me. And then I almost started crying. So I went back to sitting on my ice.
And that's my simple story - it's good catching up with you!
Hopefully more to come (insert inward grumbling against work here - work that I did not do tonight like I said I would... tomorrow should be great.)
Monday, December 8, 2008
It's all about the giving
I bought my first Christmas present of this season last night. In fact, besides this purchase, I have given absolutely no thought to my Christmas shopping. #1, I am a procrastinator. #2, my brain is unable to think further than the next upcoming event. And I'm moving this weekend, and I've made absolutely no preparations (see #1), so there you go.
But over Thanksgiving I had the opportunity to spend some time with my two and a half year old niece, and get a peak into her television taste. Sure, she'll stop to watch some Barney if it's on, but I discovered that given the opportunity, she's equally glad to stare slack-jawed at some good ole' fashioned Tom & Jerry or Scooby Doo.
And then I remembered what my friend Darby told me she bought when she heard she was having a niece, and I put that together with the knowledge that she likes tv, and added onto it the fact that I like to try to make her as much like me as possible (if for no other reason than to annoy my sister, who for some reason thinks I'm "weird"), and wa-la! I convinced myself to buy all 3 seasons of The Muppet Show!!
Aren't they beautiful??!!
But here's my problem now... How do I make the time to watch all 3 of these dvds in the little bit of time that my sister's here? I mean, I can't open them up and watch them before Christmas... ok, I could, but since when have I ever been tacky at Christmas? Really, I think I'm going to stress out about this while they're here. I'll be debating between a Christmas party or the Muppets, sleep... or the Muppets? It's going to be a tough call.
Now I just have to figure out what else I want for a little while that I can buy for other people. And I have a new family member this year - and new coworkers who are already talking gift-giving - I predict another year of last minute shopping. Unless anyone has any ideas? Blay, this sounds right up your ally...
But over Thanksgiving I had the opportunity to spend some time with my two and a half year old niece, and get a peak into her television taste. Sure, she'll stop to watch some Barney if it's on, but I discovered that given the opportunity, she's equally glad to stare slack-jawed at some good ole' fashioned Tom & Jerry or Scooby Doo.
And then I remembered what my friend Darby told me she bought when she heard she was having a niece, and I put that together with the knowledge that she likes tv, and added onto it the fact that I like to try to make her as much like me as possible (if for no other reason than to annoy my sister, who for some reason thinks I'm "weird"), and wa-la! I convinced myself to buy all 3 seasons of The Muppet Show!!
Aren't they beautiful??!!
But here's my problem now... How do I make the time to watch all 3 of these dvds in the little bit of time that my sister's here? I mean, I can't open them up and watch them before Christmas... ok, I could, but since when have I ever been tacky at Christmas? Really, I think I'm going to stress out about this while they're here. I'll be debating between a Christmas party or the Muppets, sleep... or the Muppets? It's going to be a tough call.
Now I just have to figure out what else I want for a little while that I can buy for other people. And I have a new family member this year - and new coworkers who are already talking gift-giving - I predict another year of last minute shopping. Unless anyone has any ideas? Blay, this sounds right up your ally...
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