Left work event in a hurry to get to a meeting, jumped in car, put car in reverse, backed out of parking lot…heard noise, felt impact.

I did not hit a car, I did not hit a person (thank goodness), I did not hit a building.

I hit a light post. I not only hit it, I took that sucker out. Like, out of the cement it was in, out. I was mortified. It was just lying in the street…glass everywhere. With my face red as a beet, I called 911 to confess what I’d done. I’m sure they’ll play that one back at happy hour and laugh hysterically. Or, better yet, they’ll use it for training purposes. “Ok, group, here’s a tough test for you. You will have to respond to this caller and not laugh in her face. Good luck.” I also thought the police might have a few jokes once they arrived. Thankfully, I was wrong. What did the policeman say? “Don’t worry, ma’am, it happens all the time.” (I asked if he could write that down so I could show my family, but he thought I was kidding. I wasn’t kidding.)

Apparently these pretty light posts (it wasn’t one of those huge poles you see lighting an entire street, more of a “downtown decorative” one) are designed to fall apart easily, you know, for people like me who ram their cars into them. And, according to the business owner who came out to see if I was ok (I heart the South!), this light post has only been back up for about a week.

My car has minimal damage (a small dent in the bumper), which is a blessing. The poor light post was hauled away, however, and I can’t help but wonder how much one of those things cost. Based on my research (at homedepot.com), I’m guessin’ they ain’t cheap.

My favorite scene from the movie The Break Up:

Johnny O: You know what? It’s her fault she got hurt. You shouldn’t even feel bad about it. She should have expected it from you. You’re a fun guy, okay? Everybody likes you. You’re the quickest guy I know. Anytime we go out, I have a blast. Alright? But, everybody who knows you knows you’re gonna do what you want to do. And if it’s not what the other person wants to do, well, that’s their problem.

Gary: That’s bullshit.

Johnny O: It’s not bullshit.

Gary: There’s plenty of times I do shit that I don’t want to do. That’s ridiculous. No.

Johnny O: Like when?

Gary: That’s bullshit to say about me.

Johnny O: When have we ever done something you didn’t want to do?

Gary: You know, I don’t know, off the top of my head. I don’t keep score…

Johnny O: When’s the last time we went to a Sox game? The Sox. Not when they’re playing the Cubs, either. We always do what you want to do and she always did what you wanted to do. It’s who you are. Everybody thinks that you’re their friend, okay? But the fact of the matter is that there’s not one person that I know that you trust enough to let close enough that they could hurt you. And her big problem is that you really liked her. I mean, she is the one girl you really liked. And no matter what she did and how hard she tried, you were never gonna let your guard down. That poor girl never stood a chance.

I’m going to NYC with my dad this year in December. I usually take this trip with my mom, but I thought year 29 would be a good one for some father-daughter bonding…Manhattan style.

Here’s a gchat snippet about the method of payment used to book the trip:

me: He just gave me his credit card to pay for it
I said “CREDIT CARD???”
He said, “Yeah, I got one so I can buy things online.”
WHAT THE?
He doesn’t even know how to type!

Nancy: haha! what does he buy online?

me: That is a mystery. I am laughing out loud. What could he possibly get online? And who helps him? My brother, I guess? Dad’s computer is from 1993…there was no internet then. Only DOS.

Here’s the thing, people: My dad is anti-credit card. He thinks credit cards are stupid because “if you can’t pay for it outright, you don’t need to have it.” (I’m more like my mom, but I digress…) We’ve been to hotels and they’ve asked for a credit card for “incidentals” and my dad has to use mine. Because he didn’t have one. Also, I had a big ole whoppin’ wedding and he never used a card to pay for anything. Because he didn’t have one. Now, all of a sudden, he’s buying stuff online? I will get to the bottom of this.

I decided to be a good mom and take Wallace to the dog park over the weekend. I’ve been telling him about the dog park for a while now, and he’s been a good boy, so I thought we’d try it out. Now, I’m a little hesitant to take my dog to a place where he can roam free with other dogs, for fear that he would be ganged up on or teased by the other dogs. He’s small, though, and at this park, little dogs (under 30 pounds) have their own fenced in play area. So, we (my mom and I) loaded up the car and took him to the dog park.

I felt sorry for Wallace at first because there were no other dogs in his play area. He was the only small dog whose mother wouldn’t allow him to play with the boxer, great dane, and other large dogs in the “big pen.” But then, a little dog arrived. Hooray! A friend!

The other small dog was (by my guess) a schnauzer/shih tzu mix, and much older than my Wallace. He was not interested in playing. He simply wanted to walk around and sniff, but Wallace wouldn’t have it. He became a stage 5 clinger. The little dog practically begged his owner to pick him up. They left after five minutes. Embarrassment #1.

Before the small dog owner left, though, he went down to the end of the fence and filled up a water bowl for his dog to sip from. Wallace followed, of course, and took a few gulps himself. “Oh, the park has water for them,” I told my mom. “I see,” she said. “They must come here often since they know that,” she added.

The big dogs in the pen next door all ran around and played, and Wallace yearned to be with them. He kept running over to me to “tell me” that he wanted to play. I informed him that he was too small – he’d just have to entertain himself on his side.

So he did.

Wallace ran back down towards the water bowl, which I thought was pretty smart. I mean, this was our first time here, and he’d already learned where to get a drink. And then, he did it. He started rolling. Rolling and wallowing. I jumped up from the bench and yelled, “William Wallace! Stop it! Stop it right now!” But it was too late. When he looked at me, this is what I saw:

Status updates. Love ’em or hate ’em, at least they give us something to ridicule. My friends and I do this often by copying and pasting them to each other while on gchat. The other day, we had a collective thought (dangerous): We should compile them for the world to see.

Enter my blog. (And by “world,” we meant our other friends.)

So, without further ado, I bring you the first edition of Inappropriate Status Update Gems:
(Names have been left off on purpose, to protect the innocent…and to keep me out of lawsuits.)

• Blank is divorcing (BUT THANK GOD I’M DIVORCING!!!!) the BIGGEST ASSHOLE EVER!!! one day i’ll be on top again……and i’ll laugh in your face when you come to me. prick.
• Blank wants to know if anyone could recommend a good gynecologist.
• Blank’s little one just did a big stinky. Shoo-wee it smells!
• Blank is Damn i hurt today..on the way to the doc after i figure out how to wrap my arm by myself so i can try to shower…taking more dead skin off today..not looking forward to it at all..ever seen a grown man cry?
• Blank is constipated. Any home remedy suggestions?
• Blank is ready to give birth already!!!
• Blank had a crazy dream last night about a midget in a red thong. I guess me watching Jerry Springer before bed has got to stop.

It is worth noting that this was a collaborative effort. I don’t have the friend list from hell or anything.

Perhaps not having the Bravo Channel was for the best. Because I am o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d with The Rachel Zoe Project. I wish it came on 12 hours a day, followed by 12 hours of the Real Housewives of New York. (Side note: Hey, RH of Atlanta, stop making Georgia look ridiculous.)

If you need a little background information on my love of The Rachel Zoe Project, read this post.

My Rachel Zoe impersonation has gotten pretty darn good, people. God didn’t give me many talents, but I can imitate Rachel Zoe (and a co-worker of mine, but I digress) like nobody’s business. I don’t really like Ms. Zoe, and in fact, I think if I had to be around her I would end up with some of that teased blonde hair in my hands…but I love, love, love Brad and Taylor. Brad is comedy in a gay preppy outfit, y’all. I want him to be my BFF. Taylor has the worst attitude, but I like her because I sometimes want to be her. She isn’t perky, she makes no apologies and if she feels like telling her boss to “f*ck off” – she does. That’s a kind of bad ass I’ll never be, so I will just live vicariously through Tay-Tay.

I really hope I’m not the only one watching because I will “die” (said in my best Rachel Zoe voice) if this show is cancelled.

yay for:
seeing a fall fashion preview at a work event
this article
a curly hair day (after a straight hair week)
free lunch
hitting snooze until 7:30
vixen nail polish by revlon
payday
a refrigerator that works again
my friend ashley always being near her blackberry
south beach diet energy snack packs
making plans for a december trip to new york
an organized desk at work
a free dinner, thanks to junior league
being excited for a weekend that doesn’t involve packing

Last year, I wrote about what I was doing on September 11, 2001. We should all take a moment to reflect today – forget about healthcare debates and Congressmen and football games. Remember what happened 8 years ago. Remember the heros, remember the families whose lives forever changed, remember for those who weren’t given the option to.

Here is a photo gallery of the timeline and events of that day.

Dear Congressman Joe Wilson,
I think I speak for all (native) South Carolinians when I say that you are ridiculous. You can disagree with our President all you would like, as it is the American way, but you are a Congressman for goodness sakes. And he is the President. You were not at a Republican rally, you were not at a town hall meeting. You, Rep. Wilson, were sitting in the United States Capitol Building. Have some respect, man.

Also, if you would, why don’t you and Mark Sanford take a trip up the Appalachian Trail and never return to South Carolina again? You’re making it look bad.
Love,
M

Dear South Carolina,
I don’t normally like to shout, but: PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.
Love,
M

When I was negotiating with the former owners of my house, I drew a line, and that line was the refrigerator. You see, said former owners were lovely people – but they played hardball. Like nothing I’ve ever seen on HGTV, y’all. Negotiation…not so much. And, I would like to point out (as my father did many, many times), that at the time it was the ultimate buyer’s market. This couple, though, they didn’t care.

In order to feel like I had achieved something (after the rejection to pay closing costs, or to come off the price of the house another few thousand, etc.), I demanded the refrigerator. My realtor/friend Clay and I became pretty serious about this. We were getting that fridge. Come hell or high water, it would stay in that house. We needed a victory, and we got one! The refrigerator (side-by-side with water dispenser and ice maker – crushed and cubed, thank you very much) was part of the deal. Former owners = 99, Mandi = 1.

Things were going fine until I reached into my refrigerator for a Diet Coke and it was cool, not cold. What the heck, right? No worries, I just turned up that little dial in the fridge. It was only on 5, so I jacked that sucker up to 7. When that didn’t work (I waited a day, like the manual suggested), I read on to see what the other possible problems could be. The manual suggested I clean the coils, which would be super easy if they were not located UNDER the refrigerator that I can’t move. However, with the help of this cute guy I know, he lifted and I cleaned. We even unplugged the machine (also suggested in the manual), and plugged it back in. And then, I waited another 24 hours to let the clean coils do their thing. They did nothing.

So today, I’m calling a repairman. I feel defeated, especially as I notice other refrigerators, older refrigerators (like the one in our office building that has to be from 1980, whose coils are probably not only caked with 30 years of dirt, but also rust) and how they seem to work just fine.

I know this sounds paranoid, but I’m beginning to think the refrigerator somehow realized that I was a new owner (perhaps the previous owners didn’t eat as much greek olive hummus as I do?) didn’t like it, and just decided to quit.