Slightly Early Christmas

Alex and I decided to exchange presents today. Even though I'm not flying out until Sunday, we had originally thought I'd be driving down on Saturday. So we were both already really focused on exchanging TODAY and no amount of logic would persuade us.

Fortunately, we both got off of work early, so as soon as I got to his house we threw ourselves at the presents like little kids. For the record, I got him:

Season 1 of "The Office"
Video Card (for his computer - I can provide no other details than that, because I have no idea what it means or anything.)
Motherboard (see note above)
Gaming Keyboard (which I'm typing on right now and is QUITE spiffy.)

He got me:
Starbucks Gift Card
Caribou Coffee Gift Card
Fleece blanket (w/ cute Reindeer holding said blanket)
DVD player
Picture Frame
iPod Case
and the pièce de résistance:
a Coach purse.

On paper, it looks like he beat me in the gift department, but that computer stuff is very amazing (from what I hear) and I thought he was going to burst from excitement when he opened those three. Plus, I surprised him with it, and we all know the element of surprise is necessary for any good gift giving.

But anyways, the point is that my purse is amazing and awesome and fantastic and wonderful and perfect. We had gone to the Coach Outlet a few weeks ago and I had spent a good 5 minutes talking about the wonders of this purse and then left it sadly behind. And Alex, being the good boyfriend that he is, snuck back and purchased it for me. Sneaky, sneaky boy. I'm pretty pumped considering this is the most snooty and hip item I have ever owned. Actually, it might be the ONLY snooty and hip item I have ever owned. And call me shallow, but I'm fantastically excited about it.

I'll update after we get pictures downloaded.

Update: Andrew took pictures for me while I was posting. Here's the best one. Note the "flair" he gave the purse by not straightening the strap.

Yippee!!!

Holiday Travelin'

I just booked my flight to see my parents for the holidays! Woo! And even better? It's a one way ticket. Why? Because Alex will be driving down to meet me and we'll drive back together. Hooray! I'm very excited because he'll get to meet my fantastically awesome grandmother and eat her fantastically awesome food. And also get to take a tour of what I consider my hometown. I'll show him where I went to high school and where I went to church and where I had my nervous breakdown circa 1993. Hooray!

Girls Rule

So I bought Gwen's new album. Notice that I called her "Gwen," like she's my friend. As if she and I went to high school together and hung out at lunch and giggled about boys in homeroom. Which we didn't. But I bet we would have if we had gone to high school together and I wasn't so deathly afraid of her and her coolness to speak.

Anyway, the album's kinda weird.

There. I said it.

I put up with a lot of strange stuff from Gwen because she's Gwen Freakin' Stefani, but girlfriend has got some seriously weird taste. There's this one song called "Yummy" and there is no other word to describe it besides "weird." Sometimes I think she just gets bored and so she throws together anything and everything and calls it music. I like to think that she and Pharrell sit in the studio and eat bon bons and sample tracks until something strikes their fancy and then they both yell, "That's it!"

And yet I enjoy it. I'm hooked. That's all on there is to it. So good on ya, Gwennie.

In other news, I'm in love with Angelina Jolie. I can't help it. I really, really, really am. I want her to adopt me. Soon.

The 5K, a race of epic proportions

First off, Blogger can bite me. I tried to post this earlier and nothing doing. It couldn't connect and blah de dah. Shut up Blogger and let me post!

Ahem, so, yeah, the 5K. It took place at 9 am, which is, oh, about 3 hours earlier than I usually wake up on Saturdays. Alex and I showed up around 8:30 and met with our friends who were also running. All of these friends were girls. Alex was not pleased to be the only guy running, but whatcha gonna do? He vowed to beat us all in a blaze of manly, testosterone filled glory. Well, as manly as one can be with jingle bells tied to your shoes.

Since it was 9 a.m. in December, it was really cold outside. And I do mean REALLY cold. I was wearing two pairs of pants to go with my gloves, headband, and stylish gray and black fleece. It wasn't enough, though, so I was actually ready to start running before 9 in order to warm up. As a result, when the race began, I took off pretty quickly and shocked myself by how fast I was running. And then I discovered that the very first part of the race was on a hill. Boo! I hate hills. I can't run them because I am fat and out of shape and from Louisiana. I managed to keep up with one of my friends and she and I went back and forth passing each other on the first mile.

And then we hit the second mile.

Which we walked. Somewhat leisurely. We probably shouldn't have, but she's dating Alex's brother and so we always have a lot to talk about. Solidarity and all that, you know? (Seriously, you get the two of us together and we're like, "Blah, blah, blah, Bauers, blah, blah, diarrhea of the mouth, blah, blah, blah.") So while we talked and walked, Alex caught up to us and then passed us. Which was, of course, unacceptable, so we both started running and I passed him again. Ha!

She and I didn't finish at the same time because she kept running the rest of the way, while I walked with Alex and talked about how out of shape we are. But once we hit the home stretch, I decided to run again and left Alex behind, making it my personal goal to beat this old lady who was running ahead of me. Which I did. Take that 60-year-old lady!

Once we had all crossed the finish line, we went inside and ate bananas and Panera bagels and tried to woo the announcer lady into giving us door prizes. Yay!

So by the time it was all said and done, I only beat Alex by a little over a minute. Maybe two? But I know I could have done better had I not decided to have a couple of heart to hearts along the way. Plus, I finished AND I didn't die or puke. What more could a girl ask for? And I actually really enjoyed myself. There's something about running with other people in a big pack, that I found really enjoyable. So I'm planning on doing it again. When? I'm not sure. But it'll happen again. I want to pin a number to my stomach and run like a fool. Yippee!

Tired

We did it! Alex and I both completed our very first 5Ks this weekend. And guess what?

I beat him!

Yes, you read that right. I am the better runner in this relationship. More details to come after our big day of eating at Cracker Barrell and then shopping till we drop at the Outlet Malls!

This n That

1. I just cried at the end of Ice Princess. That's embarrassing.

2. Anybody else watch the Billboard Music Awards tonight? Just me? Oh. Well. Anyway....do you ever think that Gwen Stefani gets away with stuff just because she's Gwen Stefani? Not that I hate her new song, but it's out there, just a touch. And this is coming from one of the biggest fans of The Sound of Music EVER. But I gave it a chance because it's Gwen. Would I tolerate the same nonsense from, say, Fergie? Doubtful.

3. I ran, sort of, yesterday in the 29 degree weather. I thought my lungs were going to explode multiple times. I hate hills, y'all. Hate them. I now realize why Louisiana is the best state in the union. There are no hills to kill you there. Anyway, the 5K is Saturday. I will not finish in under 30 minutes. I'm putting that out there right now. That sound you hear is Alex's dreams of having athletic children slowly dying.

4. I've got almost all of my Christmas cards out the door. That's a Cora record. Isn't it cute when I pretend to be an adult?

5. I don't have a "5," but I felt it'd make a good, round list.

Christmas Time Is Here

The tree! Isn't she beautiful? My very first attempt. You like?







This is the $4.88 tree skirt that saved Alex's and I relationship. Thank you Wal-Mart for something simple, cheap, and red.

My second favorite ornament. I got it at Cracker Barrel, the second happiest place on earth. He's so cute and wooden and button nose-y.

My absolute favorite ornament because he is a fat snowman. And the only thing better than a fat snowman is a fat cat. But since Cracker Barrel was fresh out of fat cats, the snowman had to do. But I love him. He's cuter in real life, but what you gonna do, internet? Come visit me, you say? Okay!

I'm happy to report that Dayton has magically escaped the horrors of the wacked out weather apocalypse of the last day or so. Apparently the temperature dropped 20 degrees around noon, but I was safe inside my office hell and had no idea. So now it's windy and cold and I'm ready to whine about living up north. But since it's freezing in Louisiana, I won't. I will, however, complain that Parsnip has the worst gas known to man right now and she is kinda ruining my Christmas moment tonight. I actually caught White Christmas at the very beginning on TCM. Which is amazing and perfect because I've been wanting to watch it for days now. But since I'm lounging on Alex's new (to him) couch and procrastinating on Christmas cards, I didn't have my DVD copy with me. But now I have Bing and Rosemary and Danny and Vera right here on Alex's too huge TV for me to enjoy while I blog and read about Lindsay Lohan's sad, sad life. Nothing says Christmas like a 20-year-old starlet in AA.

Runner's Misery

I just completed my very first run with others.

Somebody hold me.

I went with two girls, one of whom has run a half marathon before. Yes, a half-marathon. You read correctly. But it's okay because I've run a half-MILE before. :insert my eye roll here:

Y'all, it was AWFUL. At one point, I could barely make out their tiny, still-running shapes as a I huffed and puffed and panted and moaned and cursed and walked up the long, long, long hill. I am NOT in shape. NOT. IN. SHAPE. We did a little over 3 miles (which is good because I was planning on signing up for the Jingle Bell Run next weekend and it's a 5K. Of torture, apparently.) and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was going to die out there on the snobby Oakwood streets, surrounded by gorgeous houses aglow with Christmas lights.

And those high school P.E. flashbacks? They were in full force. Particularly when they had finished the second long, hard hill and had stopped running, stood around, and then decided to WALK BACK TO MEET ME. Oy. They might as well have run back and then circled me as I trudged forward. If I were them, I would have reached out, patted my head, and said, "Bless your heart." Seriously.

Let's move on, shall we?

How about a random picture of me in Ohio State gear? Ok? Ok!
The cap is Alex's brother's. But I thought I looked cute in it, so I totally stole it for part of the night. Yes, I still do that.

Also, the tree is completed. However, I want to dedicate a whole post to Christmas stuff and don't want to taint it with that icky "trying to get healthy" stuff, so here's a little preview. This is, shockingly, Alex's favorite ornament on "our" tree:
Dear Arkansas, please FedEx a Hogs ornament to Ohio, posthaste. I need some balance, y'all.

Tragedy

I went to college with this girl. It's so senseless and tragic. She and I weren't friends, just acquaintances. She was pretty and popular and I was neither of those things, so our social circles never really connected. But we had Advanced Grammar together and I sat behind her and envied her tan. She always smiled at me and was so kind to Lana when she'd get frustrated with Dr. Wink's "lottery." And now she's gone. Killed by the man who loved her. I can't hardly believe it.

All day today, I've been weirded out by this. She was basically a stranger to me. Her husband went to school with us too, but I never met him. So it's not like I actually know these people. And still...I find this so disturbing that I can't stop thinking about it. So if you're the praying kind, do say a prayer for Ashley Pittman Scott's family. They need it right now.

Holiday Hustle

Whew! Alex and I have survived Thanksgiving together. We are both in tact, in one piece, and pleased to be back in Dayton with the most pressing decision being what tree skirt should we buy? Although I have learned that tree skirts could totally ruin a relationship if you try hard enough.

Anyway, back to the Turkey holiday. Alex and I both took off of work early on Wednesday and drove down to Blytheville for some good old Cora family fun. This was the first meeting of the parents and the boyfriend, so I was a little nervous about the three most important people in my life colliding around a lot of food and Wal-Mart trips. Fortunately, my mom was TOTALLY freaking out and had the worried thing covered for the both of us, so my stress was limited to whether or not my dad would say something embarrassing (Which he would, come Saturday morning. Not sure why I bothered worrying about that one. Sometimes you just have to accept these things. Like taxes. And death. They're inevitable.) and if my mom had bought enough food that Alex liked. (Which she did, because my mom? Is awesome.)

So we got to my grandparents' old house that my family still hasn't sold (Anybody wanna buy a house in Arkansas? Anybody? Anybody?) and we did the initial meet and greet and everything was going swimmingly those first five minutes until my dad fell off the porch and hit his head on the brick wall. And laid there. For what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about 30 seconds or so. Alex and I dropped our bags and ran over to him and I kept yelling, "Daddy! Daddy? Are you okay???" And I was like, "What if my dad just died right here right after meeting Alex? Is that a sign or something?" Turns out my dad was okay, save a nasty scratch on his wrist, which spurred the first of four (4!) Wal-Mart trips of our visit. A visit that lasted less than 72 hours, mind you.

Thursday was typical Thanksgiving fun with my family. As you'll recall from last year, my cousins hate me. This has not changed. So Alex and I didn't even bother sitting in the little kid room this year. We went straight to the grumpy old man room and listened to enlightened conversation about the Navy vs. the Marines, politics, and football. At least I felt young.

One cousin who does NOT hate me is my 3-year-old second cousin who is about as well behaved as a wild monkey. That child has more energy than Alex and I put together and he loved, and I mean, LOVED Parsnip. Loved her so much that he wanted to choke the life out of her. Multiple times. So we spent a vast majority of the day herding Parsnip away from the small child who will walk up to your plate, pick up your roll, take a bite, and then put it back on your plate. NICE.

My mom and I closed out the day by dragging Alex to see Deja Vu at the Malco Trio in Blytheville. I was not a fan of the movie, but it was nice to not go to Wal-Mart for a change. After all, we had already gone twice that day.

Friday, my dad stayed home sick and watched Parsnip while my mom and I forced Alex to go shopping. We hit Kohl's again this year and I picked up some cute sweaters for Christmas. We also swung by Old Navy and I took advantage of their $10 fleece sell. We also ate at Barnhill's, also known as "the happiest place on earth." That was one of my Grandma and Grandpa's favorite restaurants and we are happily carrying on the Barnhill's tradition and spreading the love to the world, one Ohioan at a time.

Saturday night, we played Trouble and my dad schooled us all the first game. I also got into a rut of not being able to "pop" a six, which you have to do in order to move any of your pieces. So I spent the last half of the first game and the first half of the second game not doing anything other than popping the popomatic bubble and glaring at Alex for totally jinxing me. Jerk. Fortunatley, my mom was still on my side and took him out whenever she could. Blood is still thicker than water, perfect boyfriend! Take that!

Aaaaand that was it. We left early Saturday and came home to go to Alex's littlest brother's high school football game (He's in the band! They won the game! State finals here they come!) and then collapsed from exhaustion.

My parents, of course, loved Alex and he charmed them as only a red headed Catholic can. My dad commented, more than once, that he wished he was feeling better so he could properly joke around with him. I'm actually glad he wasn't feeling better, otherwise he might have said more things like, "My daughter is Hitler and she just wants to conquer a man." I KID YOU NOT. He said that. Out loud. To my boyfriend he had met less than 72 hours ago. And not only that, he chose to share this little nugget of "wisdom" while I was in the shower, so I couldn't even defend myself! Thank god my mom loves me and stepped up to the plate in my defense.

So it's over. Thanksgiving 2006 completed and in the books. I'm now gearing up for Christmas and will finish Alex's tree as soon as this here post is completed. Then I can take lots of pictures and inundate the internet with them. Yeehaw.

Jersey Love

Alex and I have (somewhat) matching jerseys to wear Saturday for the big game. (If you really care, I am this guy while Alex is this guy. I'm better because I'm the quarterback. I always know what the quarterback is doing, which is one reason why I suspect Alex got me that particular jersey.)

Anyways, I'm talking all this OSU stuff like we're going to the game, which we're not. Although we could have gone, had we been willing to drop 2 grand for four tickets in the student section. Since we're not made of money, we'll be hosting a party (and by "we," I mean "Alex") in which a lot of pig will be eaten and a lot of TV's will be showing the game. I'm looking forward to taking disgustingly cute pictures of ourselves in our matching red jerseys and then threatening to send them out as Christmas cards.

I'm actually more excited about tomorrow, Friday, becuase it's a big day for Alex and me. That's right folks, tomorrow marks 6 months of dating bliss. While this may not seem like a long time to all of you normal people out there, it's a hugely long time for your girl Cora. (Did I really just use "your girl Cora?" Am I stuck in the 70's or something?) I've never been the girl that the boys like, so I always had trouble getting dates. And then once I got them, I liked to run them off. It's a fun game to play, really. Try it sometime.

But Alex? Alex is a keeper and I'm planning on forcing him to stay with me as long as he'll have me. So in honor of our love for the ages, (hee) we're going out tomorrow night just the two of us. We're beginning the evening at the same restaurant we first dined at together, lo these 6 months ago. And instead of Starbucks, I'm planning on sneaking in a side trip to Caribou Coffee. Then we're going to see Casino Royale. Because I am very excited to see that movie for no good reason other than Daniel Craig is mighty fine and I want to see some hot spy action. Fortunately for me, I'll have the finest man in the house sitting right next to me, holding my hand, and probably dreaming of Buckeye football throughout the entire movie.


And I couldn't be happier.

Grrrr

I just wrote a short, albeit crappy, post and then my browser freaked out and I lost it. Don't you hate it when that happens? Why? Why???

Tidbits

That is Alex's house and a rather unflattering picture at that. Sorry Gina. Sorry Alex.

Today I went to the gym and eased my aching muscles with a leisurely run on the elliptical. Tomorrow is the big day in which I premiere my running prowess and I am (not) excited about it!

I thought this article about a man losing his Star Wars virginity was hilarious.

I have a lot I could say about work, but I can't write about it and it's really stunting my ability to post at this second. Because work is what is on my mind, but work is what I cannot write about. Stupid internet blogging rules!

This weekend is the big Ohio State vs. Michigan game and the good people of Ohio are already getting pumped up for this. I might actually watch the game this year. In my jersey, of course.

Mmmmm...Timbits.

My First Run

I feel like I should bronze these shoes and put them on a plaque. I purchased them for $19.14 yesterday at the Adidas outlet and today they took me on my first run.

Confession time: I secretly want to be a runner. I envy those who run marathons. And it irks me when I see somewhat normal people like Oprah and P. Diddy run them. Because then I feel like I should be able to run too. But the problem is that I'm a big, fat chicken.

I am very, very, very out of shape and very, very, very not athletically inclined. I can't run or throw or kick or catch. I am, however, very good at falling down. So in that sense, running a marathon is kind of out of the question. But that doesn't mean that I can't run some. Right? I'll never know unless I try. Right?

Enter Alex's best gal pal who is getting married this May. She wants to run because it'll help her stay trim for the wedding and she, too, wants to train for a race. Yesterday at the outlet mall, we bought matching gray Adidas shoes. And today, she sends me an e-mail and proclaiming that we will no longer talk about running, we will actually run. She told me to choose either Wednesday or Thursday and we were going to jog for at least 1 mile.

I then proceeded to have a mini breakdown at work. Because I was going to have to run? With a person? Who could see me? For real? I began to flash back to my P.E. days in which I would cry, yes CRY, because I got so stressed out from sucking so bad at sports. One time, the coach made me hit 30 tennis balls before he realized I couldn't actually serve the ball into the opposite side of the court. I'm not exaggerating either. I hit 30 tennis balls incorrectly before he gave up on me.

So I decided to go on a practice run today to see how bad it was going to be. I've never really tried to go running outside before and since I've been going to the gym since February, I thought I could handle it. I found out that Alex's brother's house is a half mile away from his house, so that seemed like a perfect practice run.

And I did great! Way better than I thought I'd do. At the gym, I can usually only run for maybe 3 minutes on the treadmill before I decide I'm done and wonder if an ellipical will hurry up and be free. But I managed to go longer than 3 minutes when I didn't have a clock in front of me and I was actually GOING somewhere. I also went way farther than Alex's brother's house (I know, I know, I'll find a name for him eventually.) And I didn't fall! Or pass out! Or hit any small children! And the new shoes help tremendously. I've never had actual running shoes before and the support was unreal. I'm even more excited now to try out the blue and white ones with shocks that I scored at the Nike outlet.

So there you have it, internet. My very first run as a big girl! I'll keep you posted on how Wednesday's very first tandem run goes.

I'm Not Dead

No, I'm not dead. But I'm busy. And lazy. Sometimes at the same time, which can be problematic.

I didn't officially dress up for Halloween because Alex and I went to the Ohio State game the same weekend everyone else was celebrating. I did, however, wear an Ohio State jersey. So I think that counts as dressing up. And look! It sorta makes me look 12!

The game was fun, though cold. Very, very cold. I spent most of it huddled next to Alex and muttering, "It doesn't get this cold in Arkansas." He did buy me hot chocolate to ease my pain and gave me his super special warm gloves to put over my face when I was afraid my nose was going to fall off. He is the best for a reason, my friends.

Tonight, we baked a giant cookie because we are lazy and didn't want to take out the cookie shapes. We are also greedy pigs and didn't want to lose any chocolate-y chip goodness. So we made a giant square cookie and have eaten most of it. Had I thought about it, I would have taken a picture of my glorious orange and white icing stripes that I lovingly placed on the cookie. But I didn't because I'm lazy. Have I mentioned that recently?

I'm officially looking into Christmas decorations for Alex's house. We went to Target tonight and I overwhelmed him with my girly decorating desires. He was thinking maybe a tree and the Hallmark ornaments his grandma has been giving him since he was 2? I was thinking a tree and lots of matching ornaments and a wreath and stockings and a tree skirt and a theme for inside the house and lights OUTSIDE the house.

Compromises, they will be forthcoming.

The Gambler

So, the casino.

I've never been to a casino before, for various reasons including, but not limited to
1) I was raised a hard core Southern Baptist
2) I am a goody goody two shoes and Brandon got addicted to gambling on 90210, so I knew that casinos were EVIL
And most importantly,
3) I'm a big fat tightwad.

So Saturday night I decided that it'd be fun to throw my conventional wisdom to the wind and go gambling with the girls. So I got some cash, bought a sugar free Red Bull and prepared to lose some cash. Which is cute, because I was totally playing the part of being a cool little laid back chick. But really, the entire way there, I kept convincing myself that I could afford to spend a little money and this was an experience! A new experience! With different people! Hooray! Despite all those exclamation points, I felt slightly nauseous the entire way and couldn't help thinking, TURN THE CAR AROUND AND INVEST THAT MONEY IN YOUR FUTURE CHILDREN'S COLLEGE FUND.

But it was too little too late and I got in there and put my first $20 in the slot machine and proceeded to lose. And lose. And lose. Fairly quickly. Ok, very, very quickly. Aren't the casino overlords aware that they're supposed to let you win your first time so you come with more money to feed into their hungry machines? Isn't that how it's supposed to work? Apparently not for me.

So after I lost my first $20, I ate a hot dog and followed the other girls around and cheered them on. Yes, my tightwad ways prevailed and I kept the rest of my cash safely in my pocket for the kids' college education. Or a new pea coat. I'd like to say that it was fun watching the other girls betting, but I'd be lying. I spent a lot of time watching people, avoiding smoke, and trying not to trip over wheelchairs. Because the amount of wheelchairs at the casino is amazing. I'm not sure if that commonplace or not, but it felt like a nursing home sometimes. Which is creepy because I'm used to nursings homes being sterile and smoke free and singing Amazing Grace there. And nobody seemed really happy. I did see a few people win and they seemed pleased to win, so I guess that's good? Maybe? Or empty. Whatever.

We left in record time because we all lost immediately and came home with smokey clothes, full bellies, and lighter pockets. I haven't decided if I'll go back, but if I do, I'll be sure to get another hot dog, because that thing was AMAZING.

Sweaters are better than sweating

I realize I am becoming that girl who only posts every once in a while and each post becomes more and more vapid. But...oh well.

So I went to the gym Friday (!) and I did an hour on the elliptical and sure enough, I was confronted again on my exercising abilities. I must look like a crazed woman on that machine, because this lady, who was wearing a shower cap out on the gym floor, did NOT believe me when I said I only went an hour on the machine. And I was like, "Um, no really. Just an hour." And she practically yelled, "That was more like two! GIRL! You bad!" I giggled and thought, "Bad? Am I bad? Is that good? Do I want to be bad? Why am I so white?" I then walked away and pondered joining a new gym where people don't talk to you. Ever.

In other news, I have discovered that I really, really love winter clothes. Which I think is odd considering I really hate the entire winter season. Christmas, while fantastic, doesn't make up for the snow and freezing temperatures. Why can't we have Christmas when it's a warm 75 degrees out? Jesus did.

Anyways, I went to Kohl's tonight and forced Alex to watch me try on coats (I'm currently hunting a brown wool pea coat) while constantly wandering away and oohing and aahing over sweaters. Brown, pink, striped, corded, fuzzy, cowl neck, turtle neck. You name it, I wanted it. All the while Alex smiled and nodded and said, "Yes, baby. I'm sure you'd look cute in that." Which is why I date him.

I eventually left the store empty handed, even after finding some fantastically cute blue running pants. But sadly, Kohls decided to hate me and not have any mediums in stock. And I didn't havce time to go to the OTHER Kohl's in town, because I needed to get Alex home so he could school old men in basketball. Besides, I needed to spy on people unobtrusively through the internet. Myspace, it is myfriend.

P.S. I went to a casino for the first time this weekend. I officially don't get it.

Gymtastic

I went back to the gym this week and I've been pushing myself extra hard to make up for lost time (boyfriends are more fun than running!) and prepare for the holiday (my parents always notice and then comment on my weight!). So I got on the elliptical and basically tortured myself for 45 minutes yesterday. I was actually pretty proud of myself for pushing so hard, but I noticed that I looked ridiculously intense the entire time. I looked very, very angry with the squinty eyes and red face.

After said torture, I was doing crunches when I accidentally made eye contact with a passing woman. To my horror, she approached me and actually spoke.

"How long did you go on the machine?"

"Um, 45 minutes?"

"Wow. You....me...blah."

Ok, so I had a little trouble understanding her since I was trying to count and I had my iPod going at full blast. But I think she said something like, "You put me to shame." No matter, it was a complimentary sounding mumble and I giggled a breathless "thank you."

Y'all, I have never in my entire life been complimented on anything slightly athletic. Ever. I couldn't even place at Field Day in elementary school. My life is a symbol of the purple participant ribbon. And I got props for my mad crazy elliptical skillz.

Life is good.

Horton Wins!

I went to Tim Horton's this morning in my pajamas. At first I thought about at least putting on a pair of jeans, but then I figured that if I get confused with a high schooler even when I'm dressed up, I could also be confused with a college student. And college students are allowed to go on a chocolate chip muffin/everything bagel run in their Care Bear pajamas with Grumpy Bear sweatshirt and Old Navy flip flops.

Sadly, I think there's something very wrong with the Tim Horton's by Alex's house. They don't understand the fine art of cream cheese distrubition. I usually ask for my bagel toasted and with plain cream cheese. I usually get a bagel that was lovingly toasted on one side with a disturbingly large amount of cream cheese stuck in the middle of the bagel. And by "middle," I mean "hole." The place where there is no bagel-y goodness to absorb the cream cheesey goodness. Today was no exception and I found that there was actually more cream cheese suspended in mid air than there was on the actual bagel. But, on the bright side, both sides were toasted.

But they also don't understand a litle something I like to call "supply and demand." They run out of our favorite muffins often. Alex lives and dies for their Fruit Explosion muffin. (I've tried said muffin and am not sure why he loves it so much, but he finds them amazing and irresitable and other Tom-Cruise-approved adjectives. And far be it for me to question he who looks hot in a suit with his boyish grin and red hair.) And yet, sometimes he has to go without his explosion of fruit in muffiny goodness because the good people at Tim Horton's always run out of them. And by "sometimes," I mean "often." I get angry e-mails and text messages about stupid Tim Horton's and their lack of exploding fruit. Often.

It doesn't happen just to him, though. My personal favorite is the chocolate chip muffin. And this morning, while in my pajamas, I thought, "Mmmm...a choclate chip muffin would go great with a toasted Everything bagel with cream cheese. Then I can go buy new pants because I am the fattest woman in the history of the world." So when I arrived at Tim Horton's (in my Care Bear pajamas), I ordered a chocolate chip muffin and then they waited until I had driven up to pay to tell me that they had "just run out of chocolate chip muffins."

Argh. And yet we keep going back. So Tim Horton's wins. And all I do is complain on my blog. Loser.

Counting to 100*

Alex is gone for the weekend...being a boy and watching his alma mater play his favorite college team ever. And it's one of those "no girls allowed" weekends, where the boys all get together and drink beer and talk about chicks and yell at men in tight pants and helmets. He'll have a lot of fun, but I didn't plan properly for his venture and am now finding myself at home. Alone. With the dogs. I'm feeling a little guilty because I just ate his last Reese's Snacksters, but dang if it wasn't good. Maybe I'll go buy more. Maybe I'll go for a little drive with my nano and sing till my throat hurts. And drink my second Icee of the day.

*This title has nothing to do with the subject of this post, but I've got it stuck in my head.

Class of '98

Alex's friends got married this weekend and I was excited to not only hang out with new people, but also dress up. I haven't had the opportunity to get all girly in a while and so it was with much anticipation (and money) that I purchased the perfect dress, shoes, and jewelry. And I do mean perfect. This dress even made my boobs look big. And that, my friends, is a sign of a good dress.

So I decided to buy all new jewelry to go with the boob-enhancing dress and found myself to JC Penney's Thursday night desperately trying to find something that fit my budget and what I had envisioned. Unfortunately, I was at the mall as a last resort after both Kohl's and Target had let me down. (I know! Kohl's! And Target! Abandoning me in my time of need!) So I was more than a little frustrated by the time I went to check out with what I hoped was the perfect jewelry. (Did I mention that I also had to return a dress? Because I did. And I had to stand in line behind not one, but two obnoxious women who, apparently, live at JC Penney's and spend all of their money there. Who does that? Seriously? Who does that??)

I walk up to the counter, after searching high and low for a JC Penney employee (it was almost closing time at this point, so everyone was hiding...which I don't blame them for at all. I remember when I worked at the movie theater in high school, I would send threatening looks to any passerby who looked like they might even be THINKING about buying some popcorn.) Where was I?

Oh yeah, so I plop down my jewelry in a sigh of relief and the lady looks at me and says, "Let me guess. Homecoming?"

Homecoming. A high school dance. Me. I'm 26 years old. I haven't been to Homecoming in 10 years. Literally.

I actually recovered really well and just said that I had a wedding this weekend. She looked a little old and I do look a little young for my age and I was just in a t-shirt and jeans. So I let it slide, though it did irk me a bit.

Fast forward to Saturday. The ceremony has already occured and Alex and I had to stop and put gas in my car before we went to the reception. I realized that I had forgotten chapstick, which is the same thing as forgetting oxygen for me. I ran inside (in my perfect dress with the exceptional cleavage) to purchase said lip balm. I walk up to the counter, place the chapstick before the lovely gas attendant and he says, "Oh? Is it homecoming tonight?"

Y'ALL. I AM TWENTY-SIX (26) YEARS OLD. THAT IS THE YEAR AFTER 25. I HAVEN'T BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR EIGHT (8) YEARS. SERIOUSLY. I MOVED OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE WHEN I TURNED 18 AND HAVEN'T BEEN BACK AND YET COMPLETE AND TOTAL STRANGERS THINK I SHOULD BE GOING TO FREAKING HOMECOMING.

Oy.

Seriously?

Today, I learned that running into an ex does not a good four month anniversary make.

Sigh.

Update to the Previous Post in which I Expouded on Meeting People on the Internet versus Real Life

So the dude who lives (I think?) near Alex? Well, he signed onto AIM last night! So I almost immediately pounced. Here's my interpretation of how our conversation went:

Me: Dude? Hey! How are you? What's up? I think I know where you live! I saw you! Oh my gosh.

Dude: Um, yeah, maybe. Whatever.

Me: So my boyfriend lives near you and we've both seen you walking your dog and I'm so excited to talk to you!

Dude: Yeah, ok. Maybe. So where do you go to church?

Me: ...

I think maybe I came on a little too strong? Not sure really. I just know that he wasn't overly excited at the thought of seeing me or really talking to me either. Oops.

I Need Summer To Last 'Till October

It's Septmeber 3rd and sweatshirt weather. I'm not ready for this.

We went to Alex's little brother's high school football game Friday night in order to yell at him as he marched in the band and cause general embarassment. Because who doesn't need help making friends when you're a 14-year-old freshman? Anyway, I thought for sure that I could survive the chilly, early autumn weather in a comfy sweatshirt and flip flops. No. The rain said otherwise. I froze the entire time and didn't warm up until we went to Caribou Coffee and I imbibed a tasty Campfire Mocha. (This was my first Caribou Coffee experience and I now see why Starbucks is having a slight financial crisis. That mocha was amazing! And there were faux moose hanging around! Starbucks doesn't have faux-moose! I have always been a hardcore Starbucks supporter, and have never found another coffee shop to rival it...until now. But don't worry you little yuppie producing hipster coffee bean makers! I still love you!)

Unrelated website find of the day: I found this site via EW's PopWatch Blog. (The best magazine in the world continues to prove its worthinesss!) If there was ever a website that I could relate to, it is one dedicated to songs ruined by memories. I've always been that shy, wannabe artistic freak who finds solace in music and manages to have every song lyric somehow relate to her current situation. Which is why I'm awesome. And is also why you should enjoy that site on my behalf. Read it, love it, submit to it.

Sugar Rush, Possibly. Or Just A Little Too Much Energy For My Own Good Right Now At This Very Second, AGGGHHHH!!!!!

I wish everyone had to blog so I could spy on them easily. How else am I supposed to know what is going on with people I sort of know? What? What was that you said? TALK to them? Please.

Like, right now, I have a conundrum. There's this dude that I know and I think he lives by Alex, but I'm not for sure. And I'm not a phone talker and I haven't talked to him since he got married and I have no idea if I even have his correct phone number. And have I mentioned that I'm not a phone talker? Cause I'm not. At all. Ever. Unless you're Lana Cantrell.

So I don't want to call this guy. And I don't know if I have his e-mail address. He's never on AIM. And I can't just hang around outside Alex's house in the hopes of catching him walking his dog again. Because...creepy. (Not that that stopped me from driving down the street I suspected he lived on, stopping the car, staring intently at what I thought was his truck, and willing someone to come out of the house.)

(Ok, I exaggerated a little bit.)

(I didn't stop, but I did try to will someone out of the house.)

(Alex was with me, ok? It wasn't really stalkerish. We didn't stop, I promise. But I did make Alex drive down the suspected street of residence, and then pointed at the truck and squealed, "I bet that's his house!")

So yeah, I've clued Alex in on this and now he is on the lookout for a guy he has never seen, much less met. However, I did an excellent job describing this fellow (putting my heretofore unused English graduate skills to use) and he has since reported that he thinks he has seen this guy walking his dog in the neighborhood too.

(Did I just set a record for using "he" in a sentence? Pronoun power!)

Which brings me back to my original thought. How do I FIND this sort of former friend? How do I make contact? Why can't he just blog, so I can leave a cheeky comment? Or better yet, if he blogged, I bet I would have already known that he was moving to Alex's neighborhood and had baked a cake and eaten it in his honor?

Or why can't he at least have a MySpace, for crying out loud? EVERBODY IS ON MYSPACE. I just got a friend request from some girl I barely knew in high school. She and I weren't even really friends. I barely recognized her and if she hadn't have had a girl I knew from high school as a friend, I would have rejected her. (Girlfriend has gained some weight since high school. Which isn't a bad thing at all, because she has birthed an incredibly adorable little boy, whereas I've gained weight since high school and all I've done is eaten a lot of chocolate and fried chicken.)

(Not that THAT is stopping me from eating the last piece of Alex's brother's birthday cake straight out of the box with the fork that Alex left IN the box this morning after he ate the second-to-last piece for breakfast.)

Where was I?

Cake?

No.

Oh yeah, so why can't this guy, who I know and whose company I enjoy, be as easily accessible as the girl whose last name I can't even remember from high school? As much fun as it is to sit around and hope I catch him unhappily walking his dog, I'd like to make that lovely, impersonal, electronic connection.

Jerk.

Country-fied

Behold, the reason I am not blogging.

Ok, that's not COMPLETELY the reason I haven't been blogging, but this game is an awesome time waster. In fact, I can barely type this post in between my twangy yelps into the microphone. And seriously, "Friends In Low Places" is a fantastically difficult song to sing just like Garth. Who do these people think I am? A karoke mastermind?

Poor Alex is now forced to hear my mediocre melodies waft throughout his entire house. He can't get away from it. And it's his PS2, so I can only play at his house. He came home the other day to hear me butchering "The Gambler." And just now? He endured the last 2 mintues of "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy." He tried to take my picture and failed. Ha!

But I've gotta stop because "What Was I Thinkin" is starting!

And the Odyssey Continues

Once all the problems of the Great Purse Meltdown 2006 were resolved, we were supposed to get on Highway A from Highway B. And it was going to be as easy as that. Right?

No.

We missed it. Completely. We wound up somewhere on the northside of Chicago with Alex's dying cell phone and a one way ticket to rush hour traffic. And why were we stuck? And lost?

Because Mapquest sucks, y'all. Highway A doesn't intersect with Highway B. No, it intersects with Highway C. Which eventually turns into Highway A, but how were we supposed to know that? Without a clearly marked map? We couldn't!

Now, part of this is our fault and one reason why I had previously mentioned that we are forgetful and navigationally impaired and also poor time managers. We didn't have a map with us. In my defense, the car was map-free because my atlas had died a wet and violent death when the old Sentra got totaled. And yes, I know. We should have bought a map BEFORE we got to the city. And I'm not sure why neither one of us had thought to purchase a map before our very first road trip together, but we didn't. But then again, I'm the girl who left her PURSE at home, so we're really lucky that I remembered to put on undewear that morning.

The sad part is that all we wanted to do was get here:


Yes, IKEA. Not the hotel. Not a place to eat. Not somewhere scenic. Not somewhere only found in Chicago. IKEA.

After stopping to get directions from two highly unhelpful people, buying a map, turning around at least 3 times, and a pow wow in a Target parking lot in which I loudly proclaimed, "We are going to get to that IKEA and we are going to LOVE it, dammit," we finally saw it. We still couldn't get to it's beautiful blue wondrous location, but we could SEE it. So we turned around one more time and finally, finally, finally pulled into the most beautiful parking lot of all time. At this point, I was highly exhausted and I wound up following Alex around while he picked up every single utensil EVER MADE. My boyfriend, he loves the kitchen stuff. I vaguley remember buying a TV stand (and by "I," I mean "Alex" since I was checkcard free at this point) before we wandered into the parking lot for the slightly confusing and slightly long drive to the hotel.







So after some "famous" stuffed Chicago pizza, it was time for this birthday girl to go to sleep.

The next morning? Jamba Juice!



I've wanted to go to Jamba Juice since I was a wee teenager and began reading US Weekly and People Magazine. All the celebrities drink Jamba Juice! There's a SNL skit about it! I had to go! (And I even said, "No boost," just like Amy Poehler in the skit. Only it wasn't nearly as awesome.)

And it tasted just like Smoothie King from back home and I realized that, once again, all that glitters is not gold. (Much like how my pretty, pretty ring is fake, fake, fake!) Amd with that...we began Day 2 of Chicago.



Ok, for reals this time, tomorrow: Trains! Angry busy drivers! Endless amounts of walking! And lots and lots of pictures of buildings!

Travelin' Thru

I woke up Friday morning with lots of presents from my parents to open. My mom, being the awesome woman that she is, had sent me home last month with bags of presents, so that I'd have stuff to rip open on my birthday. Even though I turned 26 on Friday, I am actually only 8 years old because I still find a great satisfaction in ripping wrapping paper. It's just so FUN.

So after much procrastination (which involved oohing and aahing over all the clothes I had forgotten my Mom bought me last month, playing with iTunes, and wondering how many pairs of shoes I could possibly pack), we left for Chicago. We decided to stop and get some fast food on the way out for lunch....only to get a phone call while line. And who was the phone call from? A florist! There were flowers at my house! My parents proved how awesome they are again and had surprised me with a beautiful bouquet!



Aren't they just so pretty?



So then. FINALLY. We left. It was road trip time! Alex drove and let me have full reign with the camera, God bless him.









And yes that IS my old school iPod working like a champion. One of Alex's co-worker's worked his magic (read: slammed it around) on it and got it to work again. I LOVE bored computer programmers!

At one point, I decided that I wanted to put my sunglasses on and so I reached back to grab my purse. It wasn't on the floor and so I thought maybe it was in the back seat. Nope. Maybe it was in my backpack. Not there either. At that point, I started FREAKING out. Where in the world was my purse??? I immediately began hyperventilating and babbling about purses and where's and why's and how's. Alex went into super sweet awesome boy mode and forced me to think rationally. We pulled over and tore the car apart. There was no purse. Nowhere. We were 2 hours from home and my purse was not in the car.

Now, look again at that very first picture. There I am holding my purse and grinning/smirking/wishing-Alex-wouldn't-put-me-in-the-shot-and-passive-agressively-letting -him-know-that like an idiot. Why put such an unflattering picture of myself on the internet for all the world to see? Because there was evidence that I was holding my purse! Right there! In plain sight! But apparently, the excitement of flowers and last minute pillow-and-backpack-grabbing made me forget my purse when we left my apartment for the second time that day.

Alex was fantastic about the entire thing. While I spiraled into a crying, cursing mess, he kept his cool and started making phone calls to friends and family members to see what we could do about getting my ID and check card FedEx'ed to the hotel. He also had me call my doctor's office to call in 2 of my prescription pills to a local pharmacy. One reason for my major meltdown is that I am on anti-depressants and can't stand to go a day without them. I tried one time in college and it was absolutely horrible. It was my only litte piece of hell on earth and while it was memorable, not something I wantd to experience again...particuarly during my spectacular Chicago/Birthday extravaganza. I knew that without them, I'd be in the fetal position and sucking my thumb while Alex patted my head and said, "It's gonna be okay," all the while thinking, "Somebody get me out of here and away from the crazy girl!" (Side note: The receptionist at my doctor's office was a total beeyotch, ya'll. She was so pissy about helping me out and then got huffy when I told her I only needed 2 pills. Seriously, maybe she should get ON the happy pills.)

Fortunately, it all worked out okay. The fantastically kind lady at the Wal-Mart pharmacy in Somewhere, Indiana was just lovely. She was excited because she was a Leo like me and even cut the obnoxious plastic tag off of the $5 sunglasses I (read: Alex) purchased to replace the ones I left in my purse. Alex's older brother overnighted my ID, checkcard, and insurance cards to the hotel. So things were going well and it looked to be smooth sailing for the rest of the day.

And then we reached the city. There, we learned that Mapquest is a bitch.

But it was okay, really. Because after surviving the great purse meltdown of 2006, I was happy.



Tomorrow: IKEA! Trains! Museums! Angry bus drivers! Endless amounts of walking!

Way Home Back

Wrigley Field, y'all. I've been wanting to see it for almost 20 years. Ridiculous, I know. But still...it's the home of the Cubbies!

We're finally home and exhausted. Work tomorrow will be full of me sighing, yawning, and thinking, "I wish I was back in Chicago." I will, of course, e-mail Alex every hour with an udpate on my misery and he'll patiently reply with "Yes, baby. I know. Me too."

I'd also like to point out that, in addition to being poor time managers, bad navigators, and suffering from memory loss, Alex and I are also a wee bit uncoordinated. Some might even say that we are clumsy. So today, when my handsome boyfriend fought with a ketchup bottle at lunch....the ketchup won.


But that's ok, because it gave him an opportunity to change into his brand spanking new Cubs shirt.


What a stud!

More trip details and more pictures (hundreds taken!) coming soon. Preferably at a time when I am not falling asleep on the keyboard. My eyelids are very, very, very heavy.

Chi-town

Chicago!

Alex and I might be the worst time managers in the entire history of time managing. Despite our lack of skills with the clock AND navigation AND forgetfulness, we are still having a fantastic time here in the Chicagoland.

If only we were able to somehow have more energy to see even more.


Good thing there's always tomorrow.

Procrastination is my best friend!

Alex is taking me to Chicago for my birthday and we leave in t-minus 12 hours. And where is he? At the lake. Trying to get some wakeboarding in before the weekend. And what am I doing? Pouting because I'm refusing to clean his downstairs bathroom by myself. How much packing have we done? Zero. Is all the laundry done? Nope. Are the dogs and house prepared for invasion of Alex's mom, little brother, and grandparents this weekend? Hell to the no! Do I care? Not a bit. I'm not moving from my slovenly place on the couch until he gets home. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll do more. But for now, it's almost my birthday! I'll be 26 tomorrow and I'll cry if I want to!

And in the random share of the day category:
My ex-boyfriend! My ex-boyfriend!

For some reason he is holding a gun and looking tough and adult-like for possible Chinese people. I really don't know why or anything, but he sent it to me today because he was on the "cover" of the Official! Navy website. Check it kids, my little Ryan is all growed up!

That sound you hear? Is Alex's eyes falling out of his head from rolling around so much.

Quake

Blogger is pissing me off and not letting me post a picture. This totally ruins the non-chalant and cool post I was planning. A little something short and mysterious....a sweet and sly number to make me feel better about not posting all weekend. Something to remind me that, hey, I AM capable of posting something that includes paragraphs with complex sentences. :sigh: But not tonight.

Instead, I enjoyed a Caramel Chip Cheesequake Blizzard and knew that everything was going to be alright.

Blobbity Blah

Guy, the dog, pondering the deep wonders of life during Alex's cornhole tournament a few weeks ago. Who knew that throwing bean bags into holes could cause such a stir? And people always say Arkansas is boring? This is the midwest people. Beer and beanbags. Judge ye not the South.

In other news, I still have a lot and nothing to say all at the same time. I want to gush about my boyfriend and run a marathon while sitting on the couch and schooling those losers on The World Series of Pop Culture. I want to cuddle Parsnip and write a novel all while making enough money to buy out Old Navy and Kohl's so I can stop waking up every morning and thinking, I have nothing to wear. I'd also like to stop sending e-mails to Alex that include the words "need" and "baby" and "now." I'm turning 26 next week and my ovaries are aging and why can't I just fold all my clothes and put them up and stop being such a whiner and get a new job already?

Chicago!

Underwears

My new apartment didn't come with a washer and dryer. Fortunately, my new boyfriend did. But the problem is that I'm not very smart and I keep leaving my clean laundry at his house. So the other day, I headed to Target to purchase more underwear and up my stash. My mom would be so proud of me if she read this blog because I had the presence of mind to actually comparison shop. I was looking at Hanes (my usual standby), but then, with visions of grapes and apples dancing in my head, I headed down to check out the Fruit of the Loom. And low and behold, they had 7 pairs of undewear for a mere 20 cents more! So with much joy, I grabbed those 7 pairs of panties and ran to the check out line. And by "ran," I mean, "shopped around for another hour."

After Target, I went to the gym and then headed home for a shower. I went to get out my fun, new, and affordable underwear and hastily opened it. I untaped that first little bundle of white, cottony joy and what do I see? They're HUGE. Absolutely freaking humongous. I stopped and looked at the package and yes, I did indeed buy my normal size. What I didn't realize was that Fruit of the Loom sizes their underwear way smaller than normal people pants. Which...great. So now I'm half undressed at my apartment with no clean underwear and a tremendous need to take a shower. I even tried on the huge granny panties in the hopes that maybe I grossly misunderstood the size of my behind, but no, thankfully, my butt is NOT THAT BIG.

So I grabbed the only thing I could think. A teensy tiny pair of gray biking short-thingies. There was a slight problem, though. I had purchased these back when I was a freshman in college and doing aerobics with that cute little girl who wanted you to praise the Lord (!) while burning calories. (I was a really modest kid and felt like my shorts were a little short and didn't want people seeing too much of me when working my quads and hammies.) I have gained approximately 467 pounds since I was in college, so my ass is considerably, and I do mean CONSIDERABLY larger now. And these shorts were a SMALL. But I wasn't yet prepared to go commando, so squeeze into the shorts I did. I'm sure I looked really awesome while I walked around my apartment squealing and breathing and crying while trying to fit into them. I eventually got them on and promised myself I wouldn't go to the bathroom for at least another 6 hours.

But don't be down, dear readers! Because not only did I buy too-big underwear while at Target, I also purchased a super cute purse.


Ok, so it's not REALLY super cute. But guess how much it cost? A mere $8.48!!! Now look at it again, isn't that a cute purse?

I tried to get a cool picture of the price tag for this post, but it didn't work out well. I was using Alex's camera, so he gave it a shot and didn't have a lot of luck either. He and I are not artistic photographers. He did, however, get this super cute shot of me and my baby...well, the furry baby.


Also, I returned the too-huge underwear to Target later that night and the little girl in front of me in line had on Crocs....a red one and a purple one. I wish I was 4 years old again.

Speechless

I've got so much to say and no words to say them. Don't you hate writer's block?

A Very Long Post in which I talk about Cars and Boyfriends

Friday, the Sentra died.

I was on my way to work Friday morning, desperately trying to reach work as early as possible because work has been quite the vortex of suck as of late. I was very proud of myself for getting up early and getting ready and out on the road so quickly. And then...the Sentra died. In the middle of the road. I wasn't sure what to do because I couldn't push her anywhere and I couldn't just leave her. I tried calling Alex (yes! a name!), my amazingly handsome and fantastic boyfriend, to come save me, but he wasn't answering his phone. (He and I need to talk about keeping the cell phone by you at all times.) Finally, a nice man saw the tears and frustration and stopped to help me. He pushed me into a parking lot and tried to give the Sentra a much-needed jump. Unfortunatley, the jump did not work. So he drove me to Alex(He has a name now!)'s house and I woke him up with more tears and frustration. He, of course, was calm and cool and rolled out of bed with a plan. He drove me back to my car and realized that my car was still sort of in the road. (The man who helped me? He was REALLY old.) So after pushing me up an incline, he jumped the car off AGAIN and got it to work. He sent me off to work with a promise to have his cell phone with him and a pat on the head.

Surprisingly, the Sentra started right up after work and I was on the phone with Alex, working out the detalis of our car shopping extravanganza that evening. And then, the Sentra died again. But this time, it was on a busy street on a Friday evening. And Alex wasn't close by to come save me in a timely manner. So I had to sit in my car. In the middle of the road. It was awesome. I've never gotten so many dirty looks in all my life. Which is ridiculous, because it's not like I was just taking a break from driving in the middle of the road. No. NO. I was stuck, people. STUCK. At one point, a truck passed me and the guy driving yelled out, "MOVE THE CAR, BITCH!" Have I mentioned that I love the midwest?

So after more tears and frustration and much waiting, a Mennonite family in their giant conversion van stopped behind. The dad and his two sons got out and offered to push me to the nearest parking lot. Which, at the point, we weren't sure where the nearest parking lot was. They started pushing, but the incline was a little much. They finally took a break and the dad ran up to the intersection to see where the closest parking lot was. After scouting the situation out, he asked me if his wife could just drive her van up to my bumper and push me down the road. (I'm so glad he was thinking, because I was crying and cursing pretty much the whole time.) Anyway, I let them do it because, of course, this is what the back of the car looks like.



So I put my car in neutral and steered her down the road while the incredibly kind Mennonite family helped me down the road. We somehow managed to cross the intersection, make a right turn, and then cross the road to get into a Quaker State Repair Shop Thingy place. They made sure I had someone coming to help me and were on their way. So then I stood and waited for Alex to come and save me. Again. He jumped her off again and we got into the cars to drive her to a safer parking lot. But before we could even get on the road, she died. So we had to stop. And jump her off. AGAIN. This time, we were better prepared and Alex jumped into the car and took off before she had time to die on him again. I followed in his truck and we safely made it to his work's parking lot. Where I considered leaving her forever.

Unfortuantely for us, car dealerships don't stay open late on Fridays. Why? I have no idea. I guess car salesmen are interested in having lives too. Who knew? So after I whined and complained and boo hooed about my stupid sucky car and stupid people who honk their horns and call me a bitch while I'm broken down, we made a plan of attack for Saturday, with a list of cars and dealerships to look at.

So to help ease the crappiness of the day (have I mentioned that work has been horrible lately?), we went to Outback, where I dined on a tasty steak and then hit the drive in theater for a little Pirates of the Carribean love. (I *heart* Johnny Depp.)

So Saturday came and we were running late. Shockingly. The first dealership we were going to had a 2000 Honda Civic that I was super interested in because it had low mileage and had all the features I was looking for. PLUS, a moon roof. And who doesn't love a good moon roof? We got to the dealership and asked for the dealer Alex had spoken to on the phone the day before. And where was she? Out on a test drive in that Civic. I immediately went into panic mode and started blaming Alex for everything that has ever gone wrong in my entire life, ever. He, of course, patted me on the head and told me everything was going to be okay, because I am 12 years old. The lady eventually came back and told us that the guy driving the car was looking to negotiate a deal. We went to check out the car, despite the fact that my heart had already fallen out of my chest and was beating on the floor. That's how attached to this car I had gotten. Fortunatley for us, the guy was not prepared to pay as much as they wanted for the car and we got to test drive her. Woo!

Things went pretty well to begin with and I liked her a lot, but I didn't LOVE her. I've heard a lot of good things about Civics and so I was pretty set on getting one. But after the window didn't roll up properly and Alex took a look and saw a little muffler issue, I wasn't completely sold on this car. I remembered seeing a Sentra on their website and asked if I could maybe look at that? I thought it was going to be an '02 or '03 Sentra. But it turns out it was an '05. I immediately assumed I couldn't afford her, but I decided to look anyway and test drive her. And, of course, I fell in love.

She had everything I wanted: cruise control, low miles, and was made this century. She and I bonded in our short test drive and when we go back to the dealership, Alex and I conferred. I liked the Sentra better, but the Civic was more my price. We decided to see what we could get if we negotiated and go from there.

I won't bore you with the details because even I got bored and I was there buying my own car. But it involved a lot of "I don't know" and "I'm not sure" and "What do you think?" and "Can you come down lower on the price?" and "I'm not paying that much!" and, of course, the classic "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Anyway, the result was that I go.......drumroll please!



Check it out! My brand, new, shiny, beautiful 2005 Nissan Sentra! Isn't she gorgeous? She's officially "pewter," but there's a raging debate in my head on whether or not she's gray.



But it doesn't matter. It really, really doesn't. Because she has a trunk! A trunk! A trunk that closes!!!!!



What do you think? You like, yes?

Requiem for a Sentra

I own an old car. A very, very old car. She was born in 1994, back before I could even drive, during a time when my biggest worries were surviving Freshman Day without actually participating and hoping that I got an A in Civics. At that point, the Sentra wasn’t even a twinkle in my eye...I hadn’t even begun to think about driving yet, because I am a girl and a nerd and was much more concerned with the important issue of why my mom wouldn’t buy me clothes from the Gap. So someone else purchased the Sentra and took pretty good care of her for the next 6 years.

When 2000 rolled around, I was beyond ready to own a car and the fact that she already had quite a few miles and a couple of interior problems didn’t even faze me. I am my father’s daughter and as long as I got a car that ran and had cruise control, I was fine. And run that car I did. The Sentra and I have had a healthy 100,000 mile relationship. She and I have been in it for the long haul and have traveled across much of the south and parts of the midwest together. We’ve driven through tornadoes and hurricanes and floods together. I’ve gone to her when I needed to de-stress and have made her listen to my tears and frustration and loud, loud singing. So I love her. But here’s the rub: I’ve abused her. She was a little dinged up when I got her and I haven’t helped any. I only know how to be hard on my possessions. From my iPods to my computers to my cars, I beat the crap out of them. So I couldn’t seem to be gentle with the Sentra and it shows. The windshield is cracked, the upholstery needs help, and the trunk leaked. In short, I needed someone to pimp my ride. But I didn’t care before, because she was paid for and reliable. My plan was to put as many miles as possible on her before I had to finally give up and let her go. So when the sweet Arkansas boy rear ended me, I totally cried. Not because I was hurt or scared, but because I knew that this was the end for me and the Sentra. She is now officially damaged goods. And this dear friend who has seen me through so much drama is now ready to retire and be gone from my life. I’m excited about getting a new car, but it’s still sad. I don’t want to think of the Sentra sitting in a junk yard and being stripped or crushed or whatever they do to old cars.

But this leads to a whole new problem about purchasing of a new vehicle. They’re all too nice! I test drove a ’02 Sentra yesterday and nearly bought it on sight. Why? Because it’s GORGEOUS. It’s new and pretty and stuff! It has a trunk that closes and DOESN’T leak. It has a windshield I don’t have to squint or duck to see through. It has a CD player! It has an air conditioner and heater that work on all 4 levels: 1, 2, 3, and 4! And the ceiling fabric isn’t coming down! And the front visor isn’t torn up and hanging in my eyes! And the vanity mirror on the passenger is still in tact! Holy crap! It’s like...a new car! The guy at the dealership was pretty sure that I would buy this car, so he let me take it on a long test drive, so I decided to bring this beautiful piece of machinery to my boyfriend who I’ve been hinting about for weeks but won’t actually MENTION on this blog because I can’t think of a good name for him, nor have I decided how I want to deal with having a boyfriend AND a blog since blogging is new to him and he doesn’t get the internet thing as much as I do, even though he’s a total computer nerd, but just not in the strangers reading about you and looking at pictures of you kind of way.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the car. So I got a man (MY man, no less) to look at the things that matter on the car (hint: not the cup holders that I was gushing over) and we drove around some more and he talked to me about test driving more than one car before purchasing and I was like, “Blah, blah, responsibility-cakes.” And then the check engine light came on.

Y’all, the check engine light came on while test driving and I was still like, “Maybe I’ll buy it!” I mean, I know, deep down, I won’t buy that car. Because it’s not reliable, per se. But it was a good deal and PRETTY and I want it NOW. And I don’t want to test drive other cars....forget Toyotas or Hondas or Mini’s (Hi Leah!). I just want to get a car that has a trunk that closes and makes me feel less white trashy. And Nissans have been good to me and my family, so why look around?

But, alas, I know I need to do more research and browsing. So, slightly against my will, I’m going back to AutoTrader.com and Cars.com and looking more. And my handsome boyfriend is looking for stuff too. (Because he’s a stud. ..... That was for you, honey.) But it’s hard for me not to be overly eager because ANYTHING is an upgrade. Seriously. I’m limiting my search to cars made this century, which automatically makes them 6 years newer than the Sentra....which automatically makes them feel like a luxury car.

:sigh: And let’s not forget that my brain automatically thinks, “Will a carseat fit in this backseat?” Cause that’s a whole OTHER issue.

Total Loss...sort of

Ok, so I didn't spend much time at my Aunt's house. So little time in fact, that I didn't even get to play on her laptop. I did, however, drool all over her flat screen monitor, so that was fun. Of course.

The big news of the trip? I was leaving the Wal-Mart parking lot Sunday night and while I was waiting to pull out onto the road, I got rear ended. I screamed like a little girl and started crying, so the poor kid who hit me FREAKED OUT. I was fine, but I didn't act like it. So I called my mom to come help me and we did the accident report/exchange insurance info thing. Turns out it really was a kid who hit me...I'm not even sure he was a senior in high school yet. He was really nice and apologetic and his parents were the nicest people ever. They tried to fix my car without getting their insurance company involved, so I went to get a free estimate at a local body shop. And it turns out that my car was totaled. Yes. TOTALED. Turns out my awesomely awesome car is only worth a whopping $2,350. And the price to fix my car? $2,500 at least. None of us were expecting it to cost that much, so the poor kids' parents had to get their insurance company involved. I was a little nervous because I really needed to keep my car so I could get back home. But I was afraid that would mean I'd get all of $300 as a settlement or something, you know? I was afraid that driving a 12 year old car that is practically worthless to everyone else would totally screw me over. Because even though the Sentra is worthless to everyone else, it is of infinite value to me.

But it turns out all this worrying was for naught. The insurance adjustor turned out to be awesome. So awesome in fact, that I pondered proposing marriage on site. I somehow managed to refrain myself, seeing as how that would freak him out so much that he wouldn't write me a lovely check. A lovely, lovely check for a mere $200 less than the blue book value for my car! So now I've got a good-sized downpayment in the bank and am car shopping. Got any suggestions?

Shortest Update EVER

I'm moved! There is no internet or a working computer in the new place, so I'm highjacking BGF's computer to let you know I'm not dead. I'm also leaving in a few hours to head down to Arkansas to visit the family. There, I hope to visit my aunt who is also kind enough to share her wireless internet with me. And then, then my friends, a real blog post will come.

Be good, kids!

Puppy Power!

So things are going swimmingly in the personal life and seriously there will be pleasant introductions in the near future, but there are more pressing matters to deal with right now. Mainly, can anyone tell me why Parsnip is the biggest wuss in the known universe? Because as Britney Spears would say, "She is, for reals, y'all."

I took her (Parsnip, not Britney. Although I think Brit could use a little time away from K Fed.) to a cookout Friday night and there were lots of puppies present (The list of suspects: Murphy, Beast, Fiona, Guy, and Hailey. I love puppy names!) and they were all very pleased to have a new pup in the mix. Except that that new pup was TERRIFIED of them and looked longingly at her momma the WHOLE night. I spent the entire time either holding her or passing her off to another nice young lady who understood my delimna. I'm pretty sure she would have taken Parsnip home with her, if it weren't for the fact that Fiona, Guy, and Hailey all already lived with her.

I have pictures of Parsnip looking terrified, but they're not on this computer, so just do me a favor and imagine my little baby miserable and that's how she looked all night. I'm starting to think that she doesn't realize she is a dog. She aboslutely refused to sniff the other dog's butts and barely tolerated their interested sniffing. She refused to run with them. And when I went inside to use the bathroom, she clung to my leg and asked, "Why momma? Why????"

Another part of the problem is that Beast had a little crush on her. Beast is a chihuaua/pug mix (lovingly referred to as a "chug") and he's not the prettiest fellow around. He's all gangly and weird with his smooshed in face. So I don't think he gets a lot of attention from the ladies. So when he saw the beauty that is Parsnip, he just had to get to know her better. He followed her around everywhere she went and was very, VERY interested in getting to know her better. (He was also interested in getting to know my wine and spilled a large portion of it on my shirt. Thanks Beast!) And I've been pretty careful to keep Parsnip sheltered and away from boy dogs. I didn't want her growing up too fast and being a woman of the world, so she's wholly unprepared to deal with members of the opposite sex. It got to the point, that everytime Beast came near Parsnip, she growled at him. I'm going to have to teach her how to flirt, apparently. If I can't have babies, maybe my dog will!

Yo Momma

Main Entry: ma·tron
Pronunciation: 'mA-tr&n
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English matrone, from Middle French, from Latin matrona, from matr-, mater
1 a : a married woman usually marked by dignified maturity or social distinction b : a woman who supervises women or children (as in a school or police station) c : the chief officer in a women's organization
2 : a female animal kept for breeding

BGF says that I'm not matronly, therefore I will not be a good mother. I'm not sure what being a matron has to do with being a mom, but in his mind, it does. Did he mean maternal? I don't know. But he said "matronly." And then I punched him in the face.

That is all.

Sweet Seventeen

I went to the doctor yesterday for my 6 month check up, because how else would he get my business if he didn’t make me come in every 6 months so he could read the notes from my previous visit to me? It’s really a lot of fun to go in there and sit while Dr. Hotstuff glances up at me as he very literally reads off our history together. It’s a beautiful moment, one in which I shed a little tear and we both smile in anticipation of our future together. Either that or I sit there bored while he reads the chart, bored, and then we do the usual “Let me look at your ears and throat and say doctorly things like, ‘Tonsils look a little swollen. You’ve got some red streaks in your throat.’” He says that EVERY time, y’all. EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. Apparently my tonsils are in a constantly swollen state and my throat is constantly irritated. Occasionally he’ll throw in a new little doozy like, “Your left sinus is completely swollen shut. How do you breathe?” It’s time like those I’m so glad I picked my doctor by the scientific method of choosing the first on the list. Nothing like a little research to really get the best physician around.

So yesterday was proving to be pretty normal except for the fact that this little old lady was sitting in the lobby with gauze stuck in her mouth, patiently bleeding onto her chin. I felt really guilty because she reached out in anticipation when the nurse came to call me and the nurse, being the kind woman that she is, shut her down completely. I mean, I’m not sure how you blow off a little old lady with bloody gauze in her mouth and then smile about it later, but she did it. It was AMAZING. I made a mental note to be extra nice to this one.

Anyway, normal doctor’s visit. I got weighed while refusing to look at the scale. I had my blood pressure checked and found it was normal. I sat on the (new!) uncomfortable bench thingy and crunched up paper. I laid down and dreamed about how I hate my doctor when I was left alone. Normal.

So then Dr. Hotstuff came in and we began our dance. He always asks if I’m in school or working. I always tell him I’m working. He always asks how life’s treating me. I always say, “Fine.” He always wants to know if I “feel” good. I always say I “feel” fine. But today something different happened. After “breathing for the stethoscope” time, he says, “You’ve lost a lot of weight!”

What? Who? Huh? This is new! He noticed something!?

He went on to ask me about what I’ve done to lose the weight and I was really nervous that he was going to tell me that I was doing it all wrong and putting my health at risk. Or that my heartbeat was somehow completely screwed up because I do too much cardio or something. I realize that sounds stupid at this point, but at the time it made a lot of sense to me.

Fortunately, he wasn’t asking to chastise, he was asking because he was proud of me. He proceeded to go on and on about how I lost the weight the right way and that he doesn’t see this very often and how amazing it was and that I should get a gold star and by the way, he loved my hair. I was all, “Thanks Dr. Hotstuff! I noticed my pants were smaller!” So he was like, “Do you know how much weight you’ve lost?” And I said, “No.” And he looked at that chart (that I now adore) and said the magical words that every girl wants to hear, “Seventeen pounds.”

!?

Seventeen pounds!? That’s the number after 16! That’s 3 from 20! 17! Seven-freaking-teen! I had NO idea. None. I’ve lost almost 20 pounds! I somehow managed to control myself and not do the patented Cora happy dance when he told me. How, am I not sure. Apparently I do have a modicum of self-restraint and dignity and every once in a while. I was all giggly after that and I barely managed to hear him compliment my hair and talk about how different I looked. I just kept going, “Seventeen! Seventeen!” over and over again in my head. Oh well. I don’t think he noticed, because Dr. Hotstuff? Not so much with the patient/doctor relationship. Which is fine, because seriously? Seventeen is the best number EVER.

I've got the fever!

Let’s talk about babies, shall we? I’ve never liked them. I’ve always been immune to their chubby cheeks and thighs, tiny toes, and big, wondering eyes. Usually, I see a kid and go, “Eh.” They’ve never been my cup of tea. Partially because I’m scared of breaking the small ones and partially because I’m annoyed by the older ones. And I’ve always felt like this....those tiny curls could not melt my cold, stone heart. I didn’t watch commercials and go, “What a cute kid!” Whenever I'm around children talking and screaming and running and whatever it is that children do, I get annoyed. I hate sitting by kids in restaurants because they're obnoxious. I want to tell them to stop moving around and get a life already. I’ve never been openly mean to them, don’t get me wrong. I’m not THAT evil. But I’ve never sought out children’s attention and pretty much ignored them when I saw them.

Until now.

I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it is the neverending string of pregnancies in the office. Perhaps it’s my biological clock finally starting to tick-tock. Perhaps my parents’ prayers have finally been answered. But I want BABIES. I want to smother little faces with kisses and tickle their bellies and goo goo and gah gah all over them. I want to buy tiny shoes and cute little onesies. I want to pack 20 pounds of extra baggage, just so a kid can go places with me. And it is FREAKING ME OUT.

What in the world? There is no good reason for this sudden infatuation I have with little ones. But now when I see kids....I’m sighing, y’all. SIGHING. I’m like, “Look at the cute kid! Isn’t she adorable?” And then I immediately begin dressing my imaginary kid with ruffles and bows and other things that she'll roll her eyes at when she gets older. I want curls! I want bangs! I want diapers for crying out loud. I think cheerios are cute and I think it’s fun to feed babies. I get excited when I see BGF’s nephew because he likes me and so then I do everything in my power to make that little boy smile ALL THE TIME. Gah!

And the worst part is, I can’t stop it. I can’t control it. It’s getting WORSE. Soon, I’m going to be wandering over to the baby section of Target, just to “browse.” I’m going to start tracking down strollers instead of running far, far away from them. I'm going to start enjoying the company of children! Nooooo! This can't be happenning!

But you know...wouldn't it be so cute if my kids had red hair?

Play Ball

I went to a Dragon's game tonight courtesy of my employer. I love it when my bosses decide to not use their tickets because then I get to feel like a pimp because they always get good seats every season. And then I get to go and bask in the glory of being front and center for all the action. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.
My personal favorite of the night was stalking a particular outfielder who, as I learned from my Dayton Dragon magazine thingy, was in the military, but just so darn good in sports that they let him out of active duty. Which...fair? Not so much. Good for my eyes? Definitely. I spent at least an hour trying to get a good shot of his butt. Boy needed to get more hits, obviously. Anyway, this shot (of Number 9) will have to do until I can meet him in person and can then obnoxiously take pictures from behind at a very close range. Because I'm prone to doing that kind of a thing. Seriously. That's how I roll.
We spent most of the night trying to NOT be on camera, and were pretty successful at our goal. It's hard work avoiding the spotlight when you're this gorgeous.
My poor co-worker next to me was not so lucky. She's approximately 18 months pregnant, so the look on her face when he shined the camera on her was priceless. I'm surprised he was willing to risk and life and limb for that kind of a shot. Apparently he has not spent a lot of time around hormonal women. Poor guy. He'll learn. Someday. I didn't get a shot of them on the big screen, but just pretend there is a pissed off pregnant lady on the jumbo screen.
But, of course, the best part of the evening were the Dippin' Dots in the Dragon's ball cap. Tasty chocoately morsels of frozen ice cream goodness. What more could a girl possibly want?
:sigh: What more could a girl need, you say? A hot date, possibly? Well good thing I had that too!