Humpty Hump

I'm dogsitting for a week for my friend RG again. (For a refresher on the last time I did this, read here.)  This time, I have all 4 dogs- Bob, Parker, Maddie, and Toot. The 3 little ones were wild when I got there last night. I'd been babysitting so I got in pretty late and just wanted to go straight to bed. Parker was wearing a fresh diaper (yes, he wears diapers...read here) and Maddie and Toot had just been outside so we were set to go to bed. I crawled in and expected the 3 little ones to follow. They didn't. I started to hear strange dog noises so I walked back into the living room and flipped on the light. I gasped in horror. Toot was humping Maddie (both girls) and Parker (boy) was watching and chewing on a squeaky toy. Ahhhhhhh! Humping and squeaking!!! I couldn't handle it. RG had warned me that they'd been in heat but assured me it was over. Clearly not. I yelled at them to stop having the lesbian puppy sex but they were not deterred. They continued humping noisily for an hour. I can't make this stuff up. I have a cat and she was fixed when she was 2 weeks old so I have no idea how to deal with animals humping. Tips? Therapy ideas? I need to go wash my brain with bleach now.

Maddie has a serious underbite.

That is just wrong.

No humping allowed, 

A

P is for...

It's Tuesday again, so you know what that means...Talk To Us Tuesday with Impulsive and Shawn!




I had a really awkward moment last night and it's my duty to share it with you. It's not pleasant, but it's incredibly awkward. You've been warned.

I had some errands to run after work and I really had to pee, but I didn't want to use a public restroom. I was convinced I could wait until I got to Mommy Dearest's house to meet her for dinner. I got to her house and rushed immediately to the bathroom. I hurriedly sat down on the toilet and commenced peeing like Austin Powers in his International Man of Mystery movie. You know the one? All of a sudden, I hear the sound of liquid splattering on the hardwood floor. I looked down in horror. Somehow, in my haste to urinate, I had done so with great force and unparalleled and accidental accuracy. I had managed to pee precisely through the tiny gap between the toilet bowl and the seat. Not only had I peed I the floor, but I'd peed all over my pants leg. I couldn't have managed that if I would have tried! How does that even happen?! Needless to say, I had some serious laundry to do.

What's the most awkward thing that's happened to you lately?

Sparkle hearts,
A

Stuck a feather in my cap and called it macaroni.

It's Tuesday, so you know what that means...Talk To Us Tuesday with Impulsive and Shawn!





I don't have anything too exciting to share today, but I do have a bit of awkwardness.  I got dressed for work this morning in black pants and a grey sweater--cheery, right?  As I was walking out the door, I threw on this cute new headband to add a pop of color:

My boss walked by my desk this morning and stopped and stared at my head.  Oh, great. 

Boss: So does that have some kind of tribal significance?

Moi: [stares, puzzled]

Boss: You know...for your heritage?

Moi: [stares, dumbfounded]

Boss: Or are those special turkey feathers for Thanksgiving?

Really?  Do I look remotely tribal to you?  I'm about as pale/Caucasian as they come, y'all.  And does it look like I'm wearing turkey feathers in my hair?  That's it...I give up.  No more being trendy in the office.

Is my boss right?  Do I look like a tribal turkey?  Or is this cute?

Snuggles,

A

They fell in love. I just fell.

I'm behind on updates (as usual).  Gimme a break.

On October 1, I got to be a part of the most perfect wedding ever.  Little and Muffin got married and it was magical.  Don't believe me?  Booyah.

We all are all-too-aware of my...clumsy...nature.  I fall.  A lot.  And I always have unexplained bruises and scratches.  Mommy Dearest jokingly calls me Grace because it is something I lack most days.  Whatevs, at least I'm honest.

Let's get to the good part.  The part where I get hurt at Little's wedding.  The wedding party was gathered in the church taking pictures.  It was time for the big group shot and the photographer was arranging everyone just so.  Of course she asks me to move to the opposite side of the group.  Sounds easy.  Not so much.  I begin to turn to my left and immediately know I've done something very wrong.  I had dislocated my kneecap.  No kneecap = no standing.  I immediately fell flat on my face.  Literally.  I fell hard and fast.  My dress flew up (thank baby Jesus for Spanx).  I managed to cut a huge gash in my leg with my bouquet stems.  I can't make this stuff up.  Everyone panics when they see me wipe out.  I try to play it cool but I'm doing the ugly cry due to a brutal combination of embarrassment and pain.  Long story short, I sat down for a few minutes, took several Tylenol, borrowed an ice pack, and regrouped.  Pictures resumed and life was good.  But my knee was huge.

After the wedding, Little and I were laughing about the whole fiasco.  She said I looked like a fainting goat.  The best part?  I'm sure I did.

In need of a distraction on your wedding day?  Call me.

Later gators,
A

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

There seems to be a common theme running through my life lately.  That theme is miscommunication.  Come to think of it, it's not just lately.

Gather 'round children, while I tell you an awkward story from my past.

When I was a sophomore in college, I took a class for Interim (the school's January term) with my core group of friends.  We went to Italy for 19 days to study art history.  Totally my jam.  We started our trip in Rome, made our way through Tuscany to Florence, and ended our trip in Venice.  I didn't speak a lick of Italian.  I also tend to have a thick southern accent (especially when I've consumed alcohol or when I'm sleepy).  One night, we were at a bar in Venice.  It was super late and we hadn't slept much that trip.  Who wants to sleep when you are in Italy?!  I moseyed on up to the bar and--in my best broken Italian--asked the bartender where the toilets were located.  (They don't use polite phrases like "restroom" or "bathroom" so you have to be direct.)  The bartender winked at me and handed me a shot.  Well that's odd.  I didn't order a shot...  I decided that maybe he just didn't understand me and was trying to flirt with the American girl.  But I had to pee.  I went back up to the bar a few minutes later and the scenario repeated itself.  I asked for the toilet and he winked and gave me a shot.  I was extremely confused but I took my shot and walked away.  Then I really had to pee.  Remember that scene at the beginning of Austin Powers where he pees for like 8 minutes straight?  It was like that.  I walked back up to the bar in a final attempt to ask for directions/key to the toilet.  I saw the all-too-familiar scenario happening again but I was powerless to stop it.  I had pretty much decided I'd end up peeing myself.  Out of the blue, emerged an intoxicate angel.
Drunk angel: What do you want?
Moi:  I have to pee!  I keep asking him where the toilet is and he keeps giving me more to drink and OMGIMGONNAWETMYPANTSNOW!
DA:  That's not what you're asking him.
Moi:  Of course it is!  Wait...what do you mean?
DA:  You should be saying "Dove toletta?"
Moi:  Yea, that's what I said...
DA:  No, you said "Dove tu letto?"  That's definitely not the same.
Moi:  Big whoop.  What's the difference?
DA:  You meant to ask "Where is the toilet?" but you really asked "Where is your bed?"


No wonder he was so friendly.  Sheesh.

You're welcome.

Awkward hugs,
A

This is why I am not allowed to date.

Gather 'round, children.  I want to tell you a story.  It is a cautionary tale of bad blind dates and it is why I haven't had cheese dip in weeks.

Mommy Dearest and I went on a dinner date a few weeks ago to our favorite Mexican restaurant.  The same restaurant we eat at several times a month, and have been frequenting for over 10 years.  Needless to say, we know the wait staff very well.  We usually end up with Juan.  He's very pleasant and likes to talk about life.  He typically asks me if I have a boyfriend, and my answer is generally "no".  He never asked in a creepy way, just in a curious way.  The same way in which he asks about our friends that moved to France--just looking for updates.  Back to this dinner date with Mommy Dearest...Juan was our waiter and he asked me the usual dating question and my answer was, as usual, "no".  He then told me that he was single as well, and he was just looking for someone nice to go to dinner with and see a movie.  Here's where things get awkward.  Mommy Dearest suggests that we hang out.  Oh, dear God.  He gets excited and proceeds to ask me out.  In front of my mother.  And he still hasn't brought us our food.  He says he'd like to take me to dinner, if my mother approves.  Of course she says "yes," so I'm going to look like an ass-hat if I decline.  I reluctantly accept, because I really want my quesadilla to remain spit-free.  And because I get flustered in awkward situations like this.
He asks me to meet him at Red Lobster on Monday night.  Dinner was...nice?  I guess you can call Red Lobster nice.  Although I did find a sticker in my shrimp.  Not so bueno.  Conversation was awkward.  This man has been bringing me cheese dip for 14 years.  I don't even know his last name.  We exchanged life stories over fried shrimp.  He speaks English fairly well, but he has a really thick accent so I kept having to ask him to repeat himself.  Awkward.  And let me interject an important fact: I am NOT racist in any way.  After dinner, we went to the movies and saw "Our Idiot Brother."  It was so-so.  He kept leaning towards me and I leaned away.  I wasn't trying to be rude, but this was quickly moving from the friendly dinner boat to the oh-God-someone-throw-me-overboard-so-I-can-escape-the-awkwardness boat.  Abandon ship.
Throughout the evening, I mentioned repeatedly that work keeps me super busy and I don't ever go out anymore.  Not totally true, but not really a lie either.  He keeps texting me and calling me to go out again.  But I can't ever understand his messages because he speaks so quickly.  And he doesn't seem to understand me when I say I'm sorry but I'm not interested.  Help?

To make a long and awkward story short, I will cut a bitch for some cheese dip right about now.  Anyone know any good Mexican restaurants in my area?

Sweet and Crafty

I got the urge to do some crafting yesterday Monday, so I made my way to Michael's with a vague vision of what I wanted to make and not the faintest idea of supplies I would need.  Good thing crafting is like second nature to me.  I wanted to make something where I could hang my ever-growing collection of earrings, but I didn't like anything I'd seen online.

I did like the idea of this piece:

{here}

I bought a piece of art board and a white picture frame and figured that was a good place to start.  When I got home, I marked off the spacing on the board and drilled some holes.  I spent maybe 15 minutes outside in the garage using the drill press.  As I was drilling, I noticed that my feet itched.  In that short span of time, I got 7 mosquito bites on my ankles/feet.  Miserable!  I'm obviously too sweet for my own good.  Shut up.  Anyway, the project is still in the works but I will try to post a picture when it's finished.  

Love and Rockets,

A

Did the doctor just hit on me?

It's Friday, Friday...  Sorry, I was having a Rebecca Black moment.

That being said, I don't really have any stories of my own to tell today, so I'm going to share one that happened to Daddy yesterday.

Daddy had a routine dermatologist appointment yesterday.  My whole family goes to see Dr. W.  She is very petite and very feisty.  She never holds back when it comes to telling what she thinks.  Dr. W also always carries around a little tape recorder and dictates her charts. [Insert back story: A few years ago, Daddy ruptured his Achilles tendon and had to have surgery to repair it.  That left a pretty large and crooked scar on the back of his leg.  So now you know.]  As part of the routine exam, Dr. W had Daddy strip down to his skivvies and lay face down on the table so that she could check for moles and whatever else dermatologists look for.  She's talking into her recorder and dictating what she sees.  She pauses and mutters, "Nice S."

(You need to read that last line out loud, and remember that Daddy is face down on the table in his skivvies.)

Get it?  She was saying he had a nice S-shaped scar but it certainly sounded like she said he had a nice ass.  I guess that story isn't quite as funny when I type it out like that.  Whatever.  I think it's funny and that's what matters.

Have a great weekend!
A

They'll stick a boot up your...Google.

Yesterday I shared with y'all that Googling the term "mexican boots" had lead people to my blog.  I thought I would try that out and I did not find my blog.

But I did find this.

Dear sirs,

Your boots are very pointy.  You look like one of Santa's skiing elves...if such a thing exists.  What are the advantages of these Ronald McDonald-esque zapatos?  PWB.  [That's Please Write Back in pen pal lingo, obvi.]

Spurs and snuggles,

A

I know about popular. And with an assist from me, to be who you'll be, instead of dreary who you were.

Five bucks if you know where that title came from.

I'm always interested to see how people stumble upon my little blog.  Most of my readers are my dear, sweet friends who read because they feel sorry for me.  Confession:  I'm a teeny bit obsessed with the stats tab in Blogger.  Through stats, I've learned a lot about my readers.

Search Keywords that brought readers to my blog:

• i used to be a little girl  [As did I.  Unless your are now a grown man...that just makes this a little--shall we say--awkward.]
• the situation to the customer  [Every time I hear "The Situation," I can't help but think of the Jersey Shore.  That is some quality television.]
• "my rent" late  [Hate it when that happens.]
• and a late night session for  [For what???? I'm dying to know!  I hate cliffhangers.]
• blonde never sneeze  [Huh?  I don't understand.]
• for me is generally  [Again...I don't understand.]
• homemade streamers  [Courtesy of Princess Fiona.  She is the best decorator I know.]
• i'm getting divorced laurie  [Right...]
• mexican boots  [I like multi-cultural shoes.]
• stop diagnosing yourself  [Preach it sista.]

I also want to say hi to all of my readers in Denmark, Jamaica, Germany, UK, Russia, Australia, Hungary, Ireland, and Portugal.  Y'all obviously recognize greatness when you see it.  Consider yourselves lucky.

Okay, I think I'm done tooting my own horn.  For now.

Adios,
A

There is a big difference between U and I.

A long-time friend of mine, SK, called me the other day to tell me a funny story.  This is why we are friends.  She works for a college in the Admissions Office and received an email from a parent checking in on their student.  Sounds pretty simple, right?

Here is what the parent meant to type: "I'm trying to get all of my ducks in a row."

Here is what the parent actually typed: "I'm trying to get all of my dicks in a row."

I died.

My question: Do you organize by length or girth?  I'm trying to firm things up, so I really need to know.

Typo love,
A


*I wrote this post yesterday but Blogger erased it.  How rude.*

There is a big difference between U and I.

A long-time friend of mine, SK, called me the other day to tell me a funny story.  This is why we are friends.  She works for a college in the Admissions Office and received an email from a parent checking in on their student.  Sounds pretty simple, right?

Here is what the parent meant to type: "I'm trying to get all of my ducks in a row."

Here is what the parent actually typed: "I'm trying to get all of my dicks in a row."

I died.

My question: Do you organize by length or girth?  I'm trying to firm things up, so I really need to know.

Typo love,
A

Doggy Daycare

I'm just gonna come out and say it.  I'm a cat person.

But not this kind of cat person.  Because that's weird. {here}

It's not that I don't like dogs.  I just have never been fond of jumpy-licky dogs.  Cats are chill and do their own thing.  A friend of mine went out of town this week and asked me to look after 3 of her 4 dogs.  They are all small dogs and they live inside her townhouse.  That sounds totally doable.  Y'all, one of the dogs wears diapers.  Like for real Pampers.  That would have been a handy detail to know.  And one of the dogs hates me.  She wants to eat my face off.  Here are the culprits.

My name is Toot.  I love to snuggle.

My name is Parker and I wear diapers because I can't control my pee.  I like to sleep under the covers because I get cold.

My name is Maddie and I will murder you.  And pee all over the carpet, right next to the potty pad., just to piss you off.

These tiny dogs are neurotic.  They make me appreciate this little nugget of mine.

Oh, hi.

After work today, the parents and I are headed to Alabama to see my Grandmother (and obvi the rest of the family) for Mother's Day.  This will be the first time we've been down there since Granddaddy died.  Thinking about it makes my heart hurt.  

That's all I have for now.  But really, how do you top dogs in diapers?  That's pretty much as exciting as it gets around here.

Go hug your mom/grandmother/aunt/etc.

Kthanksbye,
A

PS- Does anyone know a good Blogger app for the iPhone?  Does such a thing exist?

All of my clothes are made of girlfriend material. *bah-dum-ching*

Staying true to myself, I had an awkward Friday night.  Here's where you're supposed to act shocked.


Friday was my friend Mojo's birthday.  A big group of girls went out downtown to celebrate, but in true Mojo fashion, the birthday girl finally showed up around 11:30pm.  That's about the time that this carriage turns into a pumpkin.  While the BFFAE and I were waiting on Mojo and the rest of the group to get there, I decided to make my way up to the bar and order some drinks for us.  I'm standing at the bar, squeezed between a very large man and a very drunk woman, patiently waiting on my drinks and my change.  Y'all, that drunk lady started leaning all of her weight on me, and smushes me up against the large man.  Then, she starts petting my hair.  No ma'am.  Nice awkward way to start the evening.

Everyone finally arrives and we are all standing at the bar talking and watching the NCAA games highlights.  A sketchy looking dude with chrome-plated sunglasses comes up and stands near me.  I can feel him staring and I just know that he's going to try to strike up some awkward conversation.  I try to ignore him.  He's persistent.  "Excuse me, do they serve beer here?"  Really?  You just asked me if they serve beer in a bar. You can't do any better than that??  I can come up with at least five cheesy pick-up lines that are better than that.

1. Did it hurt? [Did what hurt?] When you fell from Heaven...
2. Do you work for UPS? [No, why?] Because I could have sworn you were just checking out my package...
3. If you were a booger, I'd pick you first.
4. I'm no Fred Flintstone, but I can make your Bedrock.
5. If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me? {Thank you, B. Spears.}

Mojo decides that she wants to head to another bar.  Unfortunately, it's one of the shadier bars.  You know, the kind that isn't afraid to server minors with fake IDs.  That kind.  We run into her ex and his friends.  Oh, joy.  At last call, the BFFAE and I make our way to the bathroom.  We see this guy that looks really familiar and we realize that we went to high school with him.  He has always been on the goth side and a little socially awkward.  (This is where I up my level of awkward.)  We made small talk and he politely said goodbye and reached for the door to the Men's Restroom.  You know when you hear words coming out of your mouth and you know they shouldn't, but you just can't stop them?  That happened to me.  The BFFAE told him to have a good night, and I should have said something along those lines.  But I didn't.  What did I say? Have a good pee.

Yup.

Glad I got that off my chest,
A

They call me Mello Yello.

The past two weeks have been rough.  Work has been insane, and I feel like I've barely had a chance to breathe.  The migraines haven't really subsided.  Remember back on February 17 when I said I was migraine free?  Lie.  Shortly after I wrote the post, I got one.  For those of you keeping count, this is day 36.  Mother F.  They don't always last all day everyday, but that doesn't make them any better.

Yesterday was the day that I reached my boiling point.  I had a vent session with a co-worker and felt a little better.  I came back from to the office after being out with a client and I found this on my desk:

"A little something [Mello Yello] to help you deal with the [Airheads] in the world."  I love her.

My church recently started a Bible Study class on Thursday nights.  I attend a small church, so this is pretty exciting for me.  It's a class for adults (and I am clearly the youngest by almost a decade).  We are doing and in-depth study of Francis Chan's book Crazy Love.  I highly recommend this book.  I don't agree with everything Chan says, but he makes some really strong points.

I am awkward.  We know this about me.  I actually said the word "golly" the other day, as in "Oh, golly!"  I guess that's better than when I say "shit."  Or not.  

Head on over to my jewelry blog, Copper Alley, and see the necklace I'm rocking today.  I'm bragging.  You'll have to get over it.

Happy Friday!

A

PSA for all the parental units out there. Take note.

Consider this post a Public Service Announcement. You've been warned.

I've been babysitting since I was 13 years old. If you're counting, that's 11 years. It's an extremely effective method of birth control. Don't get me wrong; I love kids. They are loving and insightful and just plain adorable. Most of the time. However, I realize that at this point in my life, I am too selfish to be a mother. Plus, I'm extremely single. Over the course of the past 11 years, I've had many wonderful, not-so-wonderful, and interesting experiences.

In high school, before I was legally able to drive after dark, I had to have the parents drive me home after babysitting. Generally, that duty fell to the husbands. One particular experience stands out in my mind. It was late and one husband was driving me home. It was a short drive because they live just a few streets away. Sounds like an uneventful thing, right? Wrong. As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, the husband started bragging to me about the affair he was having behind his wife's back. Awkward! Luckily, we arrived at my house before I had to say anything. I politely said goodnight and try to block out the awkward moment.

Around the same time, I was babysitting two kids that lived across the street from me. Keep in mind, this is back in the day, before everyone had cell phones. (I had a pager, but that's not really the same thing. It was way lame.) The parents had recently gotten divorced after the husband had an affair with another woman from their Sunday School class. (I swear, I don't only babysit for adulterers.) The kids and I decided to play outside because it was a nice summer day. The little boy, WW, accidentally locked us out of the house. He was only 6, so I couldn't be too angry with him. I knew their mom would be home in less than an hour, so I knew we would be alright. Wrong. WW was very upset about his parents' recent divorce. He snapped. He took off running down the street. Do you know how fast 6-year-old boy can run?! I finally caught him when he lost steam at the bottom of the hill. Talk about panic. I should have asked for hazard pay.

I've decided that there are some unspoken rules for babysitting. I foolishly thought that these things were common sense, but apparently they aren't. I've decided to share a few babysitting etiquette tips for all of those parents out there.

1. Try and give your sitter an accurate estimate of when you will be home. It upsets me when parents leave me saying it will be an early night and then they roll home after midnight. I really appreciate the parents that send a courtesy text when they are on their way home. That way, I can be sure I'm not in the bathroom or something when they get home. I realize I'm being paid to be there, but what if your boss told you that your workday ended at 5pm, but he kept you at work until 8pm? Not cool.
2. Please don't expect me to do laundry or clean your house. You are paying me to take care of your children. It's difficult to do that when I'm knee-deep in your dirty clothes.
3. Be realistic of your expectations of a sitter. One mom said to me: "You know, he's starting kindergarten in a week. I realized that all of his friends know how to read and he doesn't. Can you try and teach him this afternoon? Read to him and stuff, and I'm sure it'll work." The same mom also told me: "We are going to the beach tomorrow. Our rental house has a swimming pool, but he doesn't know how to swim. You need to call our pool and see if a lifeguard can give him private lessons. By the way...he's afraid of the water. Good luck!"
4. If you want me to drive your kids all around town, consider adding gas money into what you pay me. It's the polite thing to do.  Providing necessary carseats is also nice.  I do happen to own a booster seat for these purposes.
5. Don't come home hammered. You aren't in college anymore, so stop drinking like you're at a frat party. Knocking over furniture as you stumble in is not classy. When you are that wasted, you tend to lose your filter and say things that you shouldn't. I once had a mom tell me: "You know, some days I don't really like my daughter." Wow. Some things should never be said out loud. Also, you suck at math when you're drunk. Calculating how much you owe me when you can't see straight isn't easy. And most of the time, you under-pay.
6. If you have 4 kids, pay accordingly.
7. If you have a unique and complicated bedtime routine, please tell me. Even if you forget, your child will still expect me to read the 4 stories, sing your made-up lullaby, say your nightly prayer, tuck them (and their 75 stuffed animals) in juuuuust right, and do it all as if I were you. You are setting me up for failure and a breakdown from your child if you keep these things a secret. It's a lose-lose situation for everyone involved.
8. Keep your cell phone on and handy. I should be able to reach you if I need to.

I love babysitting, and I'm actually doing it right now. Don't worry, little A is fast asleep. I can see him on his video monitor, and I'm typing this on my iPad that I brought with me. I have the privilege of spending time with some very wonderful kids and I love watching them grow. I am grateful for all of the opportunities I've been given and I wouldn't change a thing. These are just a few tips that I have for all of my parent friends.

Love and baby kisses,
A

B is for Boring.

I swear, I didn't disappear in real life.  I just haven't felt like I've had anything blog-worthy lately.  Scratch that: I have, I just haven't had the energy to write it.

Last week, I had the single-most awkward experience EVER.  I can't go into the details, but it was way awk.  Think of the most awkward thing you can imagine. (Go ahead, take your time.) Now, multiply the awkwardness of that situation times 239,273,894,743,127,943,967...(you get the picture).  That's about half as awkward as this incident.  I won't say anymore since I can't tell the story, but I will leave you with these hints: mannequin, leash, Mexico.  Now let your imagination run wild with those!

Today is my first migraine-free day in 21 days [knock on wood].  All of the pain has left me exhausted everyday.  I'm at my wit's end with this whole thing.  I've been taking my medicines like I'm supposed to, but they just aren't working.  It's incredibly frustrating.  If you have any tips on how to deal with migraines, pass them my way.  I've been suffering my whole life and I've managed to keep them mostly under control.  Occasionally, I would have a string of them, but it has never been this severe for so long.  I'm desperate.  I will try anything.

On Friday, I was checking the Facebook newsfeed on my Blackberry and I saw a post that made my heart sink.  Will had died.  Will was a good friend of mine in college, and we had the very briefest of flings.  If you blinked, you would have missed it.  Not exaggerating.  Will played on my college's soccer team.  I was a soccer "groupie," and friends will all of the players.  My girls and I went to almost all of the games and spent a great deal of our free time hanging out with the guys.  (Trips to Fraternity Row, late-night runs to Jack in the Box, shenanigans all over campus, OC parties...never a dull moment.)  Will was a year behind me in school, but we were roughly the same age.  He was always the life of the party and never failed to bring a smile to my face.  I remember one particular night down at The Row when I ran into Will in the middle of the grass, dancing to the music, wearing a sombrero.  Classic Will.  We didn't remain close after college.  We led different lives that took us in very different directions, but I will always remember him fondly.  It's just another reminder about how fleeting our time on this earth really is, and how we should cherish every moment, even the crappy ones.  I know that it's a cliche thing to say, but it's so very true.  Here's to you, Will: Thank you for the laughs, the hugs, and the memories.  Thank you for always being true to yourself, however wacky it was.  I know you're rocking it out on the other side, sombrero and all.


Love and Rockets,
A

PS- If you haven't checked out Jenni's blog yet, you totally should.  She's got a great giveaway going on.  (I plan on winning, but you can totally come in second.)

This is why I blog.

I blog for myself.

I don't blog because I think that I have anything particularly interesting to say (which doesn't mean that I don't) or because I think people care to read about my life.

I don't blog to gain anyone's approval.

I blog because there are thoughts in my head that I need to get out.  Sometimes these thoughts are easier to share with strangers.  Strangers don't judge you (but if they do, you can delete their comments and leave them out to dry in interwebs limbo).  Strangers don't interpret your comments as spiteful (but if they do, delete them).

I blog because I have awkward/comedic moments in my life and I want to share.

That is why I blog.  For the record.

New blog address, new chapter.  Get ready.
A

Everybody poops.

My morning at the office started out on a painfully awkward note.
My coworker came into the office a little before 9am.  She stood in the lobby and wrinkled up her nose.  "It smells bad in here.  Does anyone else smell that??  It's terrible!"  I walked through the lobby on my way to the kitchen, and sure enough, it stunk.  About that time, my boss emerged from the restroom.  He looked at me, very embarrassed, and sighed.  OMG.  I was about as uncomfortable as I was after seeing Black Swan.  And I wasn't even the one that had said something.

Pooping in the office is awk.  Just throwing that out there.

On a more serious note, today marks the one month anniversary of Granddaddy's death.  I miss him everyday.  Every.  Single.  Day.

Love and Rockets,
A

Some people are cray cray.

I am on dumbass overload today.  I can't handle another stupid person.  Yes, I am cranky, but I am justified in feeling this way.  I started off my day by receiving a rude email.  Now I'm dealing with a potential client who changes her mind every two seconds.  Is it 5 o'clock yet?

Immediately after work, I'm heading to the gas station to fuel up, and then I'm heading to a dinner meeting.  I'm an advisor for my sorority and we are having a meeting at the Cracker Barrel tonight.  We are a classy group of ladies.  I hope there will be a lot of chewing and not a lot of talking.  I'm not really in the mood to talk.  But speaking of my sorority... Today is Kappa Alpha Theta's Founders Day!  I'm so happy to have my sisters as a part of my life!

Ok, you can stop gagging...the sappy moment is over now.

I almost forgot to tell you about yesterday!  Whew, that was a close one!  We have a older man that comes about every six weeks to wash our windows at the office.  He used to be homeless but he started his own window washing business and now makes a little living for himself.  He didn't strike it rich or anything, but he makes do.  He came in to my office to get the check I had for him and struck up a conversation with me.  I politely responded, while trying to focus on my work.  That didn't work.  He started telling me about his passion for astronomy and asked if he could show me some pictures.  Before I had a chance to respond, he whipped out his cell phone.  He started showing me pictures on his phone that he "took."  (By that, I mean he says he shot them but he really just took a picture of a picture in a book.)  He starts telling me that he took these pictures of the planets and constellations and that he'd seen God in the constellation Orion.  I'm not one to judge, and I believe that God presents Himself in different ways to different people, so I smiled and nodded.  He ran out to his car and brought me pictures that he claimed he taken and sent to NASA.  (Again, photos of photos in a book.)  He told me how he'd prayed to God to reveal Himself and pointed to the picture to show me where he saw God's face.  This whole discussion lasted for about half an hour.  I was alone in the office with Mr. Window Washer looking for faces in space.  Very interesting...

A close-up of the constellation Orion.  Apparently I'm supposed to see a dove and the face of God.

There's supposedly a rabbit and a little girl here.  He said something about the entrance to Heaven has something to do with children.  Clearly, I thought it was a little creepy.

Mr. Window Washer is a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, if you know what I mean.

*I wrote this post yesterday and forgot to hit publish.  Oops.