My sassy, awesome and self-proclaimed “reserved” friend Erica has a birthday today.
Celebrating their second wedding anniversary are my adorable brother, Chad, and his sweet wife, Ashley.
Update: Holly the Boston Terror
16 SepIn my blog about Marley & Me, I introduced you to my parents’ lively Boston Terrier named Holly – the sweet, yet destructive pet they’ve had for about a year now.
Her latest adventures:
-Grabbed green bell pepper off of kitchen table, ate entire pepper before my mom knew it was missing. She found seed remnants in three rooms.
-After the screen had been replaced entirely on the back porch, she ate her way through two pieces on a boring weekday (while everyone else was at work).
-Nabbed a loaf of bread off the kitchen table, tore hole in bag and slobbered on a few pieces while my mom chased her through the house.
-Attempted suicide by taking a bottle of Ambien off the nightstand and helping herself to a few. Guess what? It didn’t phase her.
I’ve decided that she is hyperactive and depressed all at the same time. Maybe if they leave small doses of Adderall and Zoloft lying around, the problem will take care of itself.
A Memo
15 SepTo: Williams Brice Stadium
From: South Carolina vs. Georgia game day spectators
Subject: Water Shortage
During a 3:30 game, with temperatures above 95 degrees, perhaps, PERHAPS, you should purchase more water than usual. You know, because it would be terrible for a stadium to oh, say, run out of water (and Powerade, and Diet Coke, and regular Coke – which you also ran out of, but I’m giving you a pass for since I’m feeling generous today). Call me crazy, but I think water is fairly essential when 90,000 people are crammed into a stadium with the sun beating down on them for over three hours. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be fancy water…if you see that you’re getting low on bottled water, just grab a hose pipe and start filling up cups with that. We would have paid $10.00 a cup for it, I can assure you.
I don’t know who Mr. Williams and Mr. Brice are/were, but somewhere those guys are frowning. I’m sure of it.
Where Were You?
11 Sep
I was walking back from my early morning yoga class at the College of Charleston. I was thirsty, so I went into the Stern Center to get a Diet Coke. As I walked in the building I saw a large crowd of students standing around and looking up at the one television in the room. No one was talking, which was strange, so I asked the closest person to me what was going on. “A plane hit the World Trade Center,” he said. “On accident?” I replied. “I don’t know,” he said. Being the news junkie I am, I decided to forgo the drink and instead walked as fast as I could around the corner to the ADPi house. I turned on the television and planted myself on the floor in the living room, just in time to see the second plane hit. My friend Staci came in around this time, and we watched the coverage together until both of the towers fell. I even remember everyone who came in and out of the house that morning to ask if we’d heard, and going up to Corrie’s room to discuss our shock and confusion.
Inevitably every year around this time, I find myself describing where I was (and listening to where others were, too) on September 11, 2001. It’s frozen in our minds the way tragic events usually are. We remember them vividly, and will still be able to describe them in years to come with just as much detail as we would have the day after they happened. When children who have no recollection of what the New York City skyline looked like with the Twin Towers are grown, we will still be able to tell them exactly where we were and who we were with that day.
I remember walking down King Street the day after 9/11 and being spoken to by total strangers. We had a certain bond as Americans after those attacks. A “we’re in this together” kind of attitude. We were united and proud, and we vowed to never forget.
To never forget what happened that day is the easy part. What’s harder for me, is not to forget how lucky I am to live in a country where I’m free to do whatever I please. Where my rights are protected every day by courageous men and women who put their county above themselves. I take it for granted, as most of us do, until something like September 11th comes along and reminds me just how grateful I am to live in a place “with liberty and justice for all” – and how proud I am to be an American.
Mood Enhancers
10 SepThe following items have put me in a good mood today – maybe they’ll enhance yours, too:
(click, please)
All Dressed In White
9 Sep
Dressed in white, in the South, after Labor Day? No, no, no. Even though I loathe this Southern “rule” of fashion, I can’t bring myself to break it. It just feels wrong. Unless, of course, the white item you’re wearing is a wedding dress.
This past weekend, I had the distinct pleasure of wedding gown shopping with my dear friend, Nancy Margaret. I felt honored to be there with her as she tried on dress after dress, and listened to comment after comment about them from the other bridesmaids (and her mom). She looked good in almost all of them – and the ones she didn’t look good in had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the dress designer. One particular dress made her look as if she was on her way to a toga party at the Kappa Sigma house. She was such a good sport about our opinions, puzzled faces and head nods.
We (and by “we” I mean she) found THE dress at the end of the day on Saturday. She went in the bridal dressing room alone this time, and called us in after she had it on. Everyone cried, including Nancy Margaret…which never happens. I’ve never seen her cry, except when we watched Man On Fire, and everyone cries at the end of that movie. Even Hitler would shed a tear over that one.
I lived with NM for three years, and I couldn’t help but flashback to the many days and nights we would try on an outfit for work, or for going out, and give our thoughts on what we should add/take away to make it “just right.” I can honestly say that seeing her stand there, dress and veil on, she needed nothing else. She looked perfect.
And, it’s official, I will be a sobbing mess when she walks down the aisle.
I Love What You’re Wearing
8 SepYa’ll. Shut up! The train wreck we all know and pity, the former Mrs. Federline, actually looked pretty at the VMAs. Here she is, just in case you’re like me – too old to watch the VMAs (so you see it on Today):
Love the dress, love the shoes, love the color on her. Love that she didn’t go to Sunset Tan for 600 hours and that she finally has some great hair extensions. Love that she started working out, and that she got her makeup and nails professionally done.
Watch out world, Britney might have a comeback up her sleeve. I just love a good comeback.
Beep, Beep, Beep
3 SepLike the constant, annoying sound of a beeping alarm, the media just woke the feminist side of me up. The unfair and judgmental coverage of Governor Sarah Palin is something that every woman in America should be insulted by. Shame on the countless editorial writers, bloggers, political commentators and reporters for questioning Palin’s ability to balance both her career and child-rearing home life. Last time I checked, this was 2008 – not 1950. (Just checked again, and sure enough…I don’t see any poodle skirts around.) This should be a non-issue, because it is a non-issue.
No one ever asks a male candidate if he will be able to “do it all” – have a successful political career, and raise his children without shortchanging one, or both. Think about that for a second. Have you ever tuned in to see four people on a news network discussing if a male candidate is putting his own ambitions above his family? I have not. Has anyone indicated that Barak Obama and his wife Michelle (who both work, by the way) are not equipped to handle the pressures of being President and First Lady and raising their two daughters, Malia and Sasha? What about John and Cindy McCain? Has anyone questioned their ability to balance their careers and their family life with four children? Not that I can find. As a woman, I resent this double standard. Palin should not be held to a different standard than any other nominee.
The allegations that she faked her pregnancy with son Trig, and that he really belongs to her daughter, are insulting and tasteless. (Someone has watched one too many episodes of Desperate Housewives.) The idea that she can’t be Vice President of the United States and still be a good mother is laughable. (My own mother was divorced, taught elementary school, worked as a waitress at night, got her master’s degree while doing both and raised two children without a staff or cabinet members, so call me crazy, but I’m not all that worried about Palin’s kids here.) To question her ability to lead because her seventeen-year-old daughter is pregnant is absurd. (When you were seventeen, I’m sure you heeded all of your parents advice, right?)
Discount her experience in politics, or her decisions made while in office – that is par for the course. You can even talk until you are blue in the face about whether or not she was properly vetted. Do not, however, discount her ability to be a good mom and the Vice President. Most women have superpowers that men can’t even fathom, so take a different (and less desperate), angle.
Yearbook Yourself
2 SepWhile I can’t take credit for finding this jewel of a web site, I will pass it along to my blog readers with gusto. I recently logged on to Facebook, and saw some familar faces sporting some very unfamilar hairdos/glasses/outfits. Turns out, they’d been on yearbookyourself.com, where you upload a current picture of yourself, size it a bit, and just like that – you are transformed into a 1966 version of yourself. Or 1978. Or 1990. There are lots of different years for you to “see yourself” in – so give it a try when you have some down time.
After I started inserting my friend’s photos, I giggled myself silly over this. I don’t have permission to publish theirs, so I’ll show you a couple of mine:
That’s me in 1966 and 1992. ’92 was a rough year, don’t you think?
Yellow Packets of Goodness
28 Aug
Woke up, let the doggie go outside, gave him his morning water and treat, ground some fresh coffee, waited for it to brew, poured cup, added cream, reached for Splenda, looked in box to find…an EMPTY box. Oh. My. Lord.
Unacceptable. I wanted to punch someone in the face, but seeing as how I’m the only person in our house who consumes coffee or Splenda, I didn’t really have any options there. And, no, we don’t have sugar in our house. If we had, I would’ve used it for sure.
I had to wait until I got to work to drink my first cup of joe. The horror. Grocery store stop on the way home? Check.
“It is inhumane, in my opinion, to force people who have a genuine medical need for coffee to wait in line behind people who apparently view it as some kind of recreational activity. I bet this kind of thing does not happen to heroin addicts. I bet that when serious heroin addicts go to purchase their heroin, they do not tolerate waiting in line while some dilettante in front of them orders a hazelnut smack-a-cino with cinnamon sprinkles.” ~Dave Barry
“All the coffee in Colombia won’t make me a morning person.” ~Author Unknown
“Decaffeinated coffee is kind of like kissing your sister.” ~Bob Irwin
“Way too much coffee. But if it weren’t for the coffee, I’d have no identifiable personality whatsoever.” ~David Letterman
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