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Reunited

18 Aug

Class reunions are for old people, right?  Not anymore.  Didn’t you hear?  Class reunions are the new college years.  Right?  Right?  At any rate, I had my ten year reunion this past weekend.  And, instead of being boring and stuffy – it was actually…well, fun.  There, I said it.  


On movies, class reunions always suck.  They are in some school gym, with mean spirited “clique girls,” balding jocks who still talk about that football game they almost won, and a disco ball.  Ours was nothing like this, thank goodness.  We had a great turnout – and people seemed to really enjoy seeing one another again.  I guess that’s what 10 years away from each other does for you!  

The school I graduated from is different than most.  It’s the only school in the county, so everyone goes there.  There is no private school in the district, either.  Just one school – where everyone goes from kindergarten until that much anticipated senior year.  On occasion, we would get a new student – but for the most part, it was the same ole’ crowd year after year.  This, of course, had its advantages and disadvantages.  On the plus side, it was nice to not only be able to name every person in your class, but to be able to name their siblings as well.  Most times, you even knew where their house was.  On the negative side, all of us girls dated the same guys over and over again.  Not to mention that everyone always remembered every stupid thing you ever said or did in class.  And secrets?  Forget about it.  No one ever kept one.  

By the end of our senior year, we were both excited and scared to leave our classmates.  I can remember sobbing all the way through our graduation ceremony, but also insisting that I go to a college where nobody from my high school would be.  And so I did.  Some days that seems like yesterday, and some days it seems like it was a hundred years ago.  

Seeing my classmates again and reminiscing with them was surprisingly delightful.  As cheesy as it is, I’m so proud of them.  We’ve come a long way since 1998 – (and I’m not just talking about our looks, because sweet Lord we made some bad choices back then) some of us are moms and dads, some of us are teachers, some of us are doctors, some of us are professors, some of us work in Corporate America, and some of us defend our country.  We’re older, wiser and more responsible, for sure.  More mature?  Well, for the most part.  All in all (and as my mama would say), we turned out pretty darn good!

I Hate What You’re Wearing

14 Aug

The offenders:  USA Gymnastics Team


The item(s) in question:  Snap barrettes

My thoughts:  You already look as though you never reached puberty, so why wear something that no one under the age of eight does?  You get points for not spraying glitter in your hair (a la the Chinese team, who we won’t discuss in light of them winning the gold, and you letting America down with your silly falls and steps out of bounds).  But, points are deducted (and not just a tenth of a point, like 100 points) for the snap barrettes you insist on wearing.  Why not just say the hell with it and wear a scrunchie, too?  I get that you don’t need strands of hair falling in your face as you do flip after flip during your tumbling passes, but can’t you find another means?

The solution:  Bobby pins (two maximum, don’t get carried away) and better hairspray

Modern Day Soapboxes

12 Aug

I give my friend Benton a hard time about updating her Facebook status, and in discussing with her why, we decided I needed to blog about my dislike of the status box.  Hat tip on the title, B.

If you aren’t familiar with Facebook, you are either:  a) from another planet or b) pretty darn old – like 80 or something, because even my parents know what Facebook is.  Moving along, Facebook has this “status” section where people can type what they’re doing, why they’re doing it, where they are, where they’re going, etc.  It should be mentioned that it hasn’t always been there – us old school Facebookers remember the days sans status updates (and applications, for that matter, but I digress).  

The status usually starts with a person’s name, for example, “Mandi is” –  and then you fill in the blank.  You see all sorts of fill in the blank responses.  Everything from Blank is cleaning her house to Blank is in love with her new car.  Often, you see simple things, such as, Blank is at work or Blank is ready for the weekend.  Some people rarely update their status, and some people update it several times a day.  So, what’s my beef with the Facebook status feature?
  • Well, first of all, if you are at work, you probably shouldn’t put that tidbit on Facebook.  Unless you are the boss, are sleeping with him, have a very relaxed one, or work for Mark Zuckerberg.
  • Secondly, what kind of TMI (too much information) society have we become when we tell everyone what we’re doing every hour?  Seriously, I would not be surprised to see Blank is going to the restroom and will be back in ten minutes.  As my friend Erica would say, “that’s just too much, really.”  
  • Thirdly, there’s something I call the “mysterious status update,” and it’s just creepy.  Blank is thinking of someone special is used in an attempt to intrigue others, I presume, only it doesn’t intrigue me – it creeps me out and makes me wonder if you are stalking someone.
  • Lastly, and perhaps most annoying, the status update is quickly becoming a modern day soapbox for people to vent their frustrations.  Some use this in conjunction with the mysterious status update to get their point across, without actually calling someone out.  I call this the “passive aggressive status update.”  Blank is extremely pissed or Blank thinks people who are going to vote for John McCain are idiots.  We all need a place to vent our frustrations, true, but get a therapist (or get a blog).  And while you’re at it, call the person you’re pissed off at and tell them why.  Maybe they won’t do it again.

I’ve come up with some legitimate reasons for updating your status.  I know you’re on the edge of your seat, so here goes:

  • If you get engaged, married or have a baby.
  • If you are going on a fabulous trip somewhere (you paid for your Hawaiian vacay, so go ahead and brag, but please refrain from giving us a countdown until you leave).
  • If you need to thank people for wishing you Happy Birthday, Happy Graduation, Happy Engagement, etc.
  • If you do something newsworthy.  Winning the lottery, having a book published, finding the cure for cancer, beating cancer, etc. 
That’s about it.  Ready for the weekend?  Guess what?  Everyone is.  I doubt there is one person on Earth who looks at the calendar on Thursday and says, “You know, I’d like 5 more days of working with no break.”  Sad that summer break is over?  Some of us don’t get a summer break anymore (and are bitter about it), so get over it.  And stop telling everyone how tired you are, how glad you are that it’s raining, where you ate last night and what you are watching on television.  We.  Don’t.  Care.



Note:  Some of my very best friends (and favorite people) are status update addicts, so don’t go hating me and calling me a *beep* – and, never ever take me too seriously.  Lord knows I don’t.  

Today’s Yays

11 Aug

yay for:

snoozing until 6:30
getting my stitches removed
searching expedia for a holiday trip to nyc
meigs‘ birthday
loose black pants that weren’t so loose a month ago
new mascara that rocks
bar-b-que for lunch
a new blog to read, compliments of amy
temperatures below 100
team usa kicking france’s booty last night
diet mountain dew in the fridge at work
the heidi newfield cd i purchased this weekend
polka dot high heels
a clean car and house (for a few days, anyway)
different colored ultra fine point sharpies
tickets for wicked in atlanta this fall
google chat
the white puppy waiting on me to play ball with him

Preggers Alert

8 Aug

Not me, silly!  That’s not even remotely comical.  Kids stress me out.


According to foxnews.com (article link here), Jenna Jameson is expecting her first child.  Yeah, Jenna Jameson the (former) porn star.  I just want to go on record and say that that kid has no chance of being normal.  None.  Zilch.  Zero.

We’ll see your mugshot in about 18 years, baby Jameson-Ortiz.

Reflecting and Remembering

7 Aug

“Many years have passed since those summer days

Among the fields of barely
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold

You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold”

I heard “Fields of Gold” (written by Sting) on the radio during my drive to work this morning.  I know this sounds kooky (and maybe it is), but I think I was supposed to hear it – to reflect back on a time in my life that I don’t think of very often because it was so long ago.  Things were simpler back then…we were all young and foolish, and had our whole lives ahead of us.  Time passes at an amazing speed.  As we reflect, ordinary moments in our lives somehow become not so ordinary after all.  They go from regular old fields of barley – to fields of gold.

I’ll remember him as a sweet soul, who was quiet upon first glance, possessed a great laugh and was unintentionally funny.

Injured. To be continued…

3 Aug

tip: never cut rose stems with a knife. never cut them period.

sliced finger to the bone. have four stitches. typing with one hand is neither efficient or fun. more on this later.

thanks to keith (the miracle worker and best friend ever) for sewing me up on a sunday, and not calling me a wimp for crying.

A Plea

31 Jul

Dear Girls Gone Wild Participant(s),

You’re probably not going to like what I have to say.  You’ll think I sound like your mother, that I’m not “cool,” or that I’m jealous.  Get over yourself.  

Moving along, we need to chat – so put down your wine cooler and put on some clothes.  I realize that you are “barely legal” as the advertisements clearly state, so you aren’t as wise as you’ll one day be (God willing).  Let’s think, for a moment, about your future.  One day you’ll be all grown up and you’ll have to enter what we like to call “the real world.”  No, sweetheart, not that show on MTV.  The workplace.  What if you decide that you want to be a school teacher?  Do you think a principal would hire you if they knew of your 30 seconds of fame in Cancun?  No, there is no multiple choice.  The answer is no.  Or, what if you meet a handsome young man who has ambitions of running for office?  What if you grow a brain and decide to run yourself?  Your video escapades during your Freshman year will not allow for either.  Do you see where I’m going with this?  No?  Ok, we’ll try a different route.

Let’s say your mom and dad were flipping through the channels late one night and saw a GGW commercial.  Your mom says, “I can’t believe they show this smut on television” and your dad replies with, “Didn’t that guy go to jail for filming underage girls?”  Then, as they are about to turn the channel, they see their only daughter smile into the camera lens, drop her 82 ounce beverage, remove her bikini top and yell, “Girls Gone Wild!”  By the time the announcer says, “Get all three videos for the price of one” your mom has fainted and your dad has vomited.  Afterwards, they stop paying for your tuition and you are forced to move home, go to the local tech school and work part-time at Subway.  Would you be happy then?  No, they do not have sororities at technical colleges.  Now stop sending text messages about getting wasted tonight and look at me.

I’m only trying to help you.  Right now, getting drunk at Mardi Gras and taking off your shirt might sound like an excellent idea.  But one day, you’ll have some self respect and regret it.  Even if you don’t have any self respect, you’ll regret it.  Just look at Governor Elliot Spitzer’s call girl, Ashley Whatsherface.  She was offered tons of cash to take her clothes off until they realized that she already had for Girls Gone Wild.  No one wants to pay for an older version of her nakedness.  So, homegirl lost out – and is probably still working corners (or committee rooms in Washington).  I’m not condoning taking off your clothes for money, but if you insist on doing so, at least get something out of the deal.

The bottom line is this:  Joe Francis is the devil, and you should stay far, far away from him.  He’ll put you on his party bus, booze you up and hand you a contract to sign.  Don’t sell your soul (or body) to Mr. Francis.  He’s rich enough.  If he approaches you, instead of smiling seductively and agreeing to flash your boobs, smile seductively and kick him in the balls.  For all of us.

Thanks,
Me

To Know Them is to Love Them

29 Jul

On my voicemail, in regards to making contestant numbers for the town pageant I’m directing:
My Mom:  “I’m so tired right now that I think we should just take a yellow sticky, slap it on their dresses, and be done with it.”


Conversation with my MIL:

Mother-in-Law:  “I think I’d like a Diet Coke.  You know, nothing quenches my thirst quite like a cold Diet Coke.”
Me:  “What about Diet Ginger Ale?  Didn’t you used to only drink Diet Ginger Ale?”
Mother-in-Law:  “Yeah, I did.  But I recently had a falling out with Diet Ginger Ale.”

I’m dying to know what this “falling out” was about, but some things are just better left to the imagination.

Go What Yourself?

28 Jul

During a couples dinner party last weekend, conversation between the ladies turned to:  celebrity gossip, regular gossip, instant messaging and Facebook.  Our husbands ridiculed us for talking about these things, even bonded together about how ridiculous we were.  We, of course, ignored them.


Ashley confessed that she has all of the celebrity gossip magazines (and graciously offered the ones she has already read to us), Benton admitted that she’d checked Perez Hilton every day this summer, and I told them of my love of the website, Go Fug Yourself.  Even from the men in the room, the collective response was, “Go What Yourself?”  Fug, people, f-u-g.

Go Fug Yourself is my favorite (yes, even above Perez) website because it’s all about celebrities and bad fashion.  Think the “When Bad Clothes Happen to Good People” section of Us Weekly times 1000.  The word “fug” derives from “fugly” – a combination of the words “frightfully ugly” (or “another ‘f” word + ugly”).  The writers (aka, the “Fug Girls”), Heather and Jessica, are a mixture of witty and catty that just don’t come along that often.  GFY began as a hobby blog, but became such a sensation that now these girls make a living “fugging” celebrites in various media outlets (they have a weekly column in New York Magazine).  Talk about a dream job.

So, if you have a few minutes to kill – Go Fug Yourself.  You won’t be sorry that you did.

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