yay for:
lunch from Nacho Mama’s
a very straight hair day
checking things off my work to-do list
this song by zac brown band (it’s an instant mood lifter)
old school cheerleading pictures and weekend pictures being on facebook
kellogg’s special k protein plus cereal
finding an old necklace while moving and wearing it today
warm weather that isn’t oppressive
someone telling me i’m funny
living near my family, and seeing my cousins sing a duet at their school last night
having no weekend plans
pretty polish on my toes that cost $1.50
smart water
not dodging a guy i knew while running errands
lime green sticky notes
still laughing about the previous weekend
seeing someone donating books and movies to a children’s charity
buying nude colored hair bands so i don’t always have a brown “bracelet” on
plans to change into my pjs as soon as i get home

My friends Nancy Margaret and Bob got hitched last Saturday, and boy oh boy – we celebrated. Is it just me, or does anyone else think it should be mandatory that wedding weekends be followed by Monday off?

Yesterday I was tired. Tired of looking cute, tired of being polite, tired of drinking (yes, I said it) and tired of traveling. But…it was totally worth it. Nancy Margaret was the most beautiful bride, the ceremony was sweet (and short, hey-hey) and the reception was great fun.

Now, as the title states, I am typically a really good bridesmaid. No, really. I’m sure you don’t think it is hard to be a bridesmaid, but I’ve seen some sucky ones in my day. It takes a little effort. I hold my flowers in just the right spot, I walk slowly, I stand properly, and I smile, laugh and cry where appropriate. It is one of the few things I’m actually good at. At the reception, I do what any good bridesmaid should – I have fun, and I show it (so other guests will want to have fun, too) – I dance, keep my energy up, ask the bride if she needs anything, etc. I also try not to become over served, as a sloppy bridesmaid is not fitting.

Well. While I wouldn’t describe my performance the other night as “sloppy” – I would say that I was a bit hyper. Think Jack Russell Terrier on crack. And, I’m not so sure NM will be speaking to me upon her return from Mexico. I may or may not have gotten on stage to “help” her husband sing (I wasn’t the only one, thankyouverymuch) and talked to her bosses loudly, annoyingly and ad nauseam. I also might’ve asked if I could get in the car with them before they left. Inappropriate.

So, I had a busy weekend (see next post), but I wanted to quickly write a little something about my mom…in honor of Mother’s Day.

My mom – she’s the best friend I’ve got, and I can remember telling her all the things I shouldn’t have from a young age. She’s done the same with me, don’t worry. We’ve leaned on each other for support in life’s challenges, both good and bad. No one can make me happier or more crazy than my mama.

She does things that are totally ridiculous, for example – backing out of the garage with the door down, or buying in to anything a sales person tells her, but that is what makes her, her. She’s always been pretty, and she’s always been on a diet. Kind of. She always cheats on them. Her face turns red if she breaks a sweat (and I mean really red), and she can never find her keys. I used to be able to locate her in the school building because of how loud her laugh is. She loves animals, always has, and treats them like humans. She is my biggest cheerleader. Sometimes she adds an “er” to the end of a word when it shouldn’t be there. She denies this. She loves to take a bath, and has every kind of bath oil or bath accessory invented. She loves planting and tending to flowers, but has given it up because she hates snakes. She absolutely cannot text message, and she has no will power. Like, less than none. She’s the best cook in the world (sorry Paula Deen, you ain’t got nothin’ on my mom) and when she cooks, she cooks. We’re talking three meats and 8 vegetables. She has the best hair. I didn’t get her hair. She doodles and draws when she’s on the phone for a long period of time. She’s a first grade teacher, and despite what she tells you, she loves it. She is excellent at her job (she teaches them to read, how cool is that?), but would never ever accept any public credit or award for it. She’s the most helpful person I know. She is a shopaholic, and not just for herself. She buys a little for everyone, so we don’t mind it so much. She speaks her mind, so if you don’t want to hear it – don’t ask. You do not want to be on her bad side because it’s hard to get off. She is not fond of aging, and refuses to grow old gracefully. She loves her children (including the doggie ones) and will defend us no matter what.

My mom has always told me to do this or not do that, “so you won’t turn out like me” – but has never realized that turning out like her would be just fine. In fact, it’s what I’m going for.

If you were a bridesmaid in a wedding this weekend, the following would be a nightmare.
p.s. She is.

G-chatter:

Meigs: It’s so weird. My light blonde highlights turned blue….
Me: It’s very Gwen Stefani, if that makes you feel better.
Meigs: I am not punk.
Me: No, who are we kiddin’? You are not punk.
Meigs: I am about as punk as Celine Dion.

Anyone who calls me knows that I am notorious for letting my voicemail inbox become cluttered. I don’t love the voicemails. Why? Well, mainly because I feel like they aren’t necessary. I saw that you called (thanks to that nifty caller ID) so I’ll call you back. I don’t need you to tell me to call you back, I will just do it. Promise.

At any rate, I have noticed recently that I’ve become a “voicemail rambler” and I don’t know why or when this happened. You know what I’m talkin’ bout. One of those people who just talks forever to your voicemail as if they are actually speaking to you. I’ve come across some voicemail ramblers that will actually ask you a question in the message, as if they totally forgot you can’t reply. My good friend Staci, bless her heart, is the ultimate voicemail rambler. It’s awesome. She will leave you a voicemail that is a minimum of three minutes long, in which she tells you who is driving like a maniac in front of her, what she just saw on a commercial, etc. It is one of those endearing qualities that I love about her, and no matter how much I want to press “7” to delete, I just have to listen to the entire voicemail because it’s so entertaining.

Lately, and certainly not on purpose, I find myself talking incessantly on voicemails. I noticed it last night when I left a message for a friend. I said the same thing three times, just in three different ways. Then, I did it again on a message for my realtor. I have to put a stop to this. Perhaps I should adopt the method that my friend Lauren and I used to use. It went a little something like this: “Lauren. Mandi. Call. Bye.” It addresses the person you called, tells them who you are, what you want, and gives a closing statement – all in about 2 seconds. Try it, folks.* Together we can end voicemail rambling.

*unless your name is Staci

One time, right after college, when I was living on the Isle of Palms with my girlfriends, we had one of those conversations where we discussed all the things we could’ve done, would’ve done, and should’ve done while we were in college. It reminded us of an episode of Sex and The City that we had watched (repeatedly, I might add – we had every season on DVD – including one season we “borrowed” from our guy friends because we figured guys didn’t have any business owning a season of SATC anyway) called, “Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.” The list of things we talked about (and wrote down, like idiots) will never go public, as most of the things on said list were quite controversial. And although our coulda woulda’s were mostly about silly boys (and not about real life goals or plans), it was a fun night…and it still makes us laugh to this day.

While I was in Washington, DC, this week for work, I thought about the “coulda, woulda, shoulda” concept in a more serious way than before. Being there at 29, I realized that there was something that I wish I would have done, could have done, and should have done – but I did not do. And suddenly, it seems, the chance has passed me by. Even though the thought had crossed my mind before, this was the first time that I realized that I would never actually be able to accomplish something I had wanted to. This, my friends, was tough to take.

The first time I visited DC was on a trip with my mom, brother and my Aunt Betty. I was in the 8th grade, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The walking around endlessly to see every tourist spot imaginable was excruciating, and I can recall a pretty ugly argument between my brother and I outside the Hard Rock Cafe…but I left Washington with one thought: I will live here one day because I will work in one of these government buildings where all the “action” happens.

I’ve accomplished many things that I’m proud of, even surprised about, but I’ve never lived in DC and I doubt I ever will. (I mean, I guess could run for office one day, but then there’s that pesky list out there…and that kind of puts and end to that.) And even though I’m ok with that, it’s still a sad realization that I’m past the point in my life where I could go anywhere, do anything, and just let things fall into place once I got there.

Sigh, I’m all grown up now. Old and responsible. It’s not so bad, really, but I suddenly have the urge to be 21 again. Not for long, mind you, just a weekend. Charleston, anyone?

Holy moly, I did it again. I neglected to give a birthday shout out to one of the nicest, smartest, best dressed (and just great in general) guys I know (seriously ladies, your mama would heart him at hello), Ben T. My apologies – and Happy Belated Birthday!

Where? At the tanning bed. I know, I know, I shouldn’t go to the tanning bed. It’s dangerous, will give me wrinkles and make me look old before my time, etc. I don’t go all the time, just once a week, so get off my back already. Thanks.

Anyhow, if you sit around and wait your turn in a tanning salon long enough, you’ll see some interesting and unlikely patrons. I mean, lots o’ peeps get their tan on. Not only am I amazed at how there doesn’t seem to be an age limit on tanning, but especially by the men who go. This week, I saw a man in work boots come in and use the Ultra Bed. Is it just me, or do work boots and tanning beds not exactly mix? I respect that Manual Labor Man wants a tan, but I suddenly had a desperate need to know why. Does he have a tropical vacation coming up and need a base tan? Does he just like for his legs to be bronzed? Is he preparing for some sort of construction worker’s calendar photo shoot?

I really wanted to ask, but I sat silently and pretended to be focused on my BlackBerry.

Dear Miss California USA,
Let me begin by telling you that I am a lover of pageants. I am. I’ve loved them since I could say the word tiara, and maybe even before. I don’t particularly care for those creepy kid pageants where they give children wigs and false eyelashes, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact remains that I don’t hate the pageants.

When I saw you the other night, you were in my top three. I thought to myself, “That Miss California, she’ll be tough to beat.” Taller than a pine tree, flawless skin and makeup, the perfect shade of blonde and eyebrows…you, Miss Cali, had it all going for you. And then you spoke.

If only you had answered the actual question, I think you would have been fine. But instead, you began rambling about “your country” and “no offense” and whatnot, and you just didn’t really make a whole lot of sense. Here’s what my pageant coach used to tell me (and by pageant coach, I mean my mom, but it is still good advice): “Think about what they asked. Answer the question by using part of what they asked as a guide. Keep it brief.” I’m going to throw in some more advice for you. It’s called, know your audience. Most of the judges were not what we would call conservative. Especially Perez Hilton, who asked you the question. I mean, look at Perez. He’s not straight, sweetie.

Now don’t get all huffy, I’m not suggesting that you should have gone against your belief system while answering the question. I am suggesting that you should have and could have answered the question in an intelligent, articulate way and still have gotten your point across. If so, you might be rockin’ that huge tiara and living in Trump Tower right now. But, I’m sure Californians will welcome you back with open arms. Because California, of all places, has no homosexual population whatsoever. Best of luck.
Love,
M

This seems like a good time to tell those of you who may have “just tuned in” to my blog that there are a few things I do on the reg around here. They are:

• A Letter
• Today’s Yays
• I Love/Hate What You’re Wearing
• Song Lyrics That Fit My Life
• Does Anyone Else?

Up next, a letter.