I've had about 5 hours of sleep, and am currently debating about whether to go to the gym. And here's the backstory.
Lori emailed me last night because our friend Meghan was throwing our friend Addie a party for her nuptials this weekend. Originally it was at a restaurant, but Meegs shifted gears and decided to host at her casa. I was up, doing my "last night off" thing, which includes loud music in my headphones and about 20 different tasks on my computer, and Lori wanted to make sure I had the 411 and was coming. So I asked her to give me a wake-up call at 10 a.m. to get my butt moving.
Now some of you may think, "Gee, that's kinda late to get up," but consider that I didn't even hit the pillow until about 4:30 a.m. at the earliest. Plus the usual tossing and turning at 8 a.m. when the kiddo upstairs awakes and starts sprinting around the house. So 10 a.m. came pretty early, but I cruised to the party. It was lovely, if you were wondering.
After the party, and here's the crux of the story, I went back to Lori's to hang until she had to leave for work. She just got a Wii Fit, and has been hearing about Raeanne's crack-like fixation with hers. One of the things you do when you set up a profile is do a bunch of testing to determine your "fitness age," rather than chronological. Ladies and gentlemen, my fitness age is 31, three years younger than I am. Hell yeah!
So that's why I'm seriously considering going to the gym, despite the fact that I may actually fall asleep on one of the cardio machines. Consequently I should pick the ones you sit down on, rather than the treadmill, which I would stumble and face-plant on, or the elliptical, which would thwap me in the head with the hand thingys when I snoozed off and let go. Let hilarity ensue....
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Historical, rather than hysterical, fashion
So I was watching a History International channel show on Henry VIII's building projects (don't judge me), and they flashed a picture of Anne Boleyn. And something hit me.
After Googling, I am apparently the last person on earth to realize this, but there's something very familiar about Anne's necklace in the portrait that was made just before they chopped her head off. It's Betty Suarez's necklace from Ugly Betty!
After Googling, I am apparently the last person on earth to realize this, but there's something very familiar about Anne's necklace in the portrait that was made just before they chopped her head off. It's Betty Suarez's necklace from Ugly Betty!
Two girls who've gotten a raw deal from the pretty people....
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The song remains the same
So Saturday I was able to attend my friend Trey's birthday party. Trey and I were in the marching band, a.k.a. Boot Camp, together and haven't seen each other since 1996, and it was really great to see him again.
Trey was part of a quartet of trombone players we simply referred to as "The Trombones." This is funny to me now, because there were at least 10-12 other trombone players in the section, all good people whose names we knew and spent just as much time with. But Trey, James, Brandon and David were singular boys who stood out from their section and most of the band. They were raucous, funny, bawdy, daring, and mischievous, but could also be kind, loyal, dedicated, talented, and thoughtful. They were both comic relief and musical anchors of our ensemble. Those of us fortunate enough to be in the "Pride of Lion Country" drumline spent about 3-4 hours a day a few yards from these guys, and just grew to love 'em. there are really a thousand stories from literally a hundred people about them. Here's one that's all mine.
My senior year, the fellas all had girlfriends at Homecoming, and as were most band kids, they were strapped for cash. Mums for girlfriends were mandatory at our school, and they were each facing a hefty $35 minimum for a bare-bones, plain mum. They knew that my crafty friend Anja had taught me how to make really good mums, so they asked me if I could do them a big favor and make mums for their girlfriends if they footed the materials bill, which would be next to nothing compared to having one made. I was really honored that they trusted me that much for something that important, because, let's face it, if you give your girlfriend a crummy mum she's got to wear all day in front of her friends, you'll be having an early night after the game.
I spent most of my free time for about two weeks trying to make the best mums I could for them, knowing that they could be in serious hot water if these things sucked. My mom was really amazed and swore they looked like $75 mums, and helped me pack them carefully into boxes for the boys. (Little did I know a few years later, she'd be calling her from her flower shop wanting step-by-step on my technique.) Showtime came Friday morning in the band hall, when I was to make the delivery on the down-low, so that they could spring them on their girls a few minutes later, and no one would be the wiser that they hadn't broken the bank. The surprise was on me, however, as they'd thrown in and gotten me a really pretty mum as a thank-you. And of all the ones I got over the years, and the one I got that day from the guy I dated, I treasured that one the most. Because it was from dear, sweet boys who were my brothers, and have now grown up to be dear, sweet men.
Watching Trey with his lovely wife Cyndi, in their beautiful home being happy, surrounded by friends who enjoy life as much as they do, is really all I could have wished for him. And I'm really, really glad I took a vacation day to see it.
Trey was part of a quartet of trombone players we simply referred to as "The Trombones." This is funny to me now, because there were at least 10-12 other trombone players in the section, all good people whose names we knew and spent just as much time with. But Trey, James, Brandon and David were singular boys who stood out from their section and most of the band. They were raucous, funny, bawdy, daring, and mischievous, but could also be kind, loyal, dedicated, talented, and thoughtful. They were both comic relief and musical anchors of our ensemble. Those of us fortunate enough to be in the "Pride of Lion Country" drumline spent about 3-4 hours a day a few yards from these guys, and just grew to love 'em. there are really a thousand stories from literally a hundred people about them. Here's one that's all mine.
My senior year, the fellas all had girlfriends at Homecoming, and as were most band kids, they were strapped for cash. Mums for girlfriends were mandatory at our school, and they were each facing a hefty $35 minimum for a bare-bones, plain mum. They knew that my crafty friend Anja had taught me how to make really good mums, so they asked me if I could do them a big favor and make mums for their girlfriends if they footed the materials bill, which would be next to nothing compared to having one made. I was really honored that they trusted me that much for something that important, because, let's face it, if you give your girlfriend a crummy mum she's got to wear all day in front of her friends, you'll be having an early night after the game.
I spent most of my free time for about two weeks trying to make the best mums I could for them, knowing that they could be in serious hot water if these things sucked. My mom was really amazed and swore they looked like $75 mums, and helped me pack them carefully into boxes for the boys. (Little did I know a few years later, she'd be calling her from her flower shop wanting step-by-step on my technique.) Showtime came Friday morning in the band hall, when I was to make the delivery on the down-low, so that they could spring them on their girls a few minutes later, and no one would be the wiser that they hadn't broken the bank. The surprise was on me, however, as they'd thrown in and gotten me a really pretty mum as a thank-you. And of all the ones I got over the years, and the one I got that day from the guy I dated, I treasured that one the most. Because it was from dear, sweet boys who were my brothers, and have now grown up to be dear, sweet men.
Watching Trey with his lovely wife Cyndi, in their beautiful home being happy, surrounded by friends who enjoy life as much as they do, is really all I could have wished for him. And I'm really, really glad I took a vacation day to see it.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Workin' it on out
Wednesday Angela and I hit the gym. I tried out the 24Hour Fitness on William Cannon, which, miraculously, is open 24 hours. (Take that, Great Hills/Arboretum 24Hour Fitness.) I really, really liked how the weight machines are set up, and the layout in general, so I went back last night. This is huge, as I absolutely hated every moment of being in the gym I had been going to.
My annoyance for the entire staff of the 24Hour at Great Hills was heightened yesterday when I swung by to get some meal replacement bars. As usual, the stupid male trainers were acting like teenage boys with too much testosterone, bouncing a volleyball back and forth with some pretty desk girls while I was trying to get someone to ring me up. And as PrettyDeskGirl was scanning said items, he made a huge show of throwing the ball up in the air and making a dramatic move as if he was going to spike the ball.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how these tools behave. That's why I hate that damn gym. Every time I go in, male trainers are horsing around in the lobby like 5th period Health class, when they have a trainers lounge just right off the lobby they could take this to. They're playing with their phones, or pulling the pigtails of the girls that are "working" at the desk, and it's all just so asinine and unprofessional. And these jackasses are supposed to be instructing ME? I mean, turn six already.
So I think that's why I'm loving this William Cannon 24 so much. At 12:30 a.m., there's no one there other than people who want to work out. No teenage-boy trainers flexing and jumping around in front of the female staff, trying to act and look cool like some John Hughes 80s-movie mating ritual. And I might actually get the pool to myself, a large girl's dream.
KICKASS CLICK OF THE WEEK:
It's called Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry, and it's not just an e-Bay-esque site for girls to get rid of the material remainders of the colossal wastes of oxygen they used to call their man. These girls also dish on their exes. Fab-u-lous! Where the hell was this site in 1996 when I was trying to get rid of my engagement ring...
My annoyance for the entire staff of the 24Hour at Great Hills was heightened yesterday when I swung by to get some meal replacement bars. As usual, the stupid male trainers were acting like teenage boys with too much testosterone, bouncing a volleyball back and forth with some pretty desk girls while I was trying to get someone to ring me up. And as PrettyDeskGirl was scanning said items, he made a huge show of throwing the ball up in the air and making a dramatic move as if he was going to spike the ball.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how these tools behave. That's why I hate that damn gym. Every time I go in, male trainers are horsing around in the lobby like 5th period Health class, when they have a trainers lounge just right off the lobby they could take this to. They're playing with their phones, or pulling the pigtails of the girls that are "working" at the desk, and it's all just so asinine and unprofessional. And these jackasses are supposed to be instructing ME? I mean, turn six already.
So I think that's why I'm loving this William Cannon 24 so much. At 12:30 a.m., there's no one there other than people who want to work out. No teenage-boy trainers flexing and jumping around in front of the female staff, trying to act and look cool like some John Hughes 80s-movie mating ritual. And I might actually get the pool to myself, a large girl's dream.
KICKASS CLICK OF THE WEEK:
It's called Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry, and it's not just an e-Bay-esque site for girls to get rid of the material remainders of the colossal wastes of oxygen they used to call their man. These girls also dish on their exes. Fab-u-lous! Where the hell was this site in 1996 when I was trying to get rid of my engagement ring...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
A Mac you say?
I'm not entirely sure how I stumbled upon this, but it really, sadly, made so much sense.
Steve Jobs freaks the TSA
For those of you who won't follow the link, basically this regular guy just purchased the new MacBook Air and was flying with it for the first time. The TSA totally freaked because it had no ports, hard drive, etc. and detained this guy like he had a "device," which is apparently TSA parlance for "pack for Guantanamo." A younger member of the crew tried to convince his colleagues it's a MacBook Air and all is well, but as that usually goes, the older folks didn't listen to him and they made the guy launch it and run a program. Consequently he missed his flight.
I will say I have played with an Air at the Apple store, and it's freakin' sweet. Way pricey, but freakin' sweet. If I traveled and needed a laptop, it would definitely be a necessary purchase.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
South By Sara Bareilles
I have a new girl-crush. Her name is Sara Bareilles, and I stood 15 feet away from her today in Waterloo while she and her two-guy "band" played and sang the most amazing music.
Admittedly, I had only heard "Love Song" on the radio when I rolled into the store today, benefiting from early arrival and rock-star parking. As I managed to find a good spot in front of the raised dais they were setting up as a stage, I realized if I'd been smart like the people around me, I'd have cruised to the Ice House next door and acquired a lovely foamy adult beverage. Que Sara Sara.
By the time she came to sit down in front of the electric piano, the place was packed to capacity and they were turning people away at the door. Everyone around me was keeping a respectful distance from each other, though, so it wasn't the crush you might expect. Although, I gotta say, hey, you, 6ft3 girl in front of me, what the hell. Back against a wall, sister, no one could see around you.
She seemed pretty genuinely surprised that so many people would come see her in a record store, and even more surprised when she asked who was here in town for SXSW, and no one said a word. We were all local, as was apparent by the way we cheered her compliments about Austin and the extreme absence of hipster ID badges and neon wristbands.
Honestly, her voice was amazing. Not, like, Mariah Carey arpeggios or anything, but full of feeling and nuance. You could tell there was a soul there, and she interacted a lot with the audience as she was singing. There was a mother and about 6-year-old daughter in front of me, and that little girl knew all the words, let me tell ya. She was a cool enough kid that she just mouthed them, but a couple of times the kid caught Sara's eye and she'd smile at her while singing, and you could tell she and her two guys (an acoustic guitarist and drummer with a stripped-down kit) were really enjoying the enthusiasm and appreciative of the reception. the best part was the performance was being recorded for a compilation that will be released for Record Store Day on April 19. So you might actually get to hear me "Wooooo!" somewhere in there.
The line to sign stuff was forming after the performance, and I started to buy a disc and have her sign it, but two things stopped me: 1) I like my music digital, and that's technically green, and 2) the line snaked around the building and stopped directly in front of Amy's Ice Cream. I'm trying to be good, and I would roll an old lady for some Mexican Vanilla with strawberries. So in the end, I got in my car and cruised over to Baby Greens to get a kick-ass salad and got to work a scosch early.
There's also a chance some of us will get to see Bowling For Soup at the Cedar Door at 1 a.m. tonight/tomorrow morning. Details to follow in this unplanned SXSW adventure....
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