More Blurbs

Twitter.  I am about infinity years behind the boat on this, but I finally am warming up to stupid Twitter.  Are you my friend? Go be my friend.  I have not a lot of Twitter friends.  It’s not really helping me in my continued efforts to heal from my middle school years.  I cover a lot of FASCINATING material  like calling my husband out for going to Hooters four times in the same week but then finding out I had actually accosted a stranger who has a very similar handle, publically shaming a Facebook friend for quoting God awful Usher lyrics, finding self worth in pathetic ways like bragging about my Word Mole prowess, dropping random movie quotes and sometimes just making vacuum noises.

Here’s the thing about Twitter.  As I was just explaining to a blog buddy, I do not appreciate being bossed around by their BS character limit.  You are typing your little message, and it starts counting down into the negative, and I’m like WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, I’LL DO WHAT I WANT.  It will just never sit comfortably with me that I can’t take one hundred forty five characters if that’s what I need to convey a message.  And if anyone ever catches me writing “u” instead of “you” then please walk up behind me and hit me with a snow shovel a la Old Man Marley.  Sometimes I will be desperate to conserve characters so I’ll use one space after a period instead of two, and that makes me cringe.  You’d be surprised how many Tweets I write that are exactly 140 characters.  I spend about 80% of my Twitter energy just editing stuff down to fit the limit.  It’s really annoying.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thrown my  hands up and said NEVERMIND it’s not worth this much freaking effort to say something stupid about oatmeal or Justin Bieber or a Toyota commercial.

No, seriously, Brown Rice Triscuits.  Everyone stop what you are doing and go buy 4 boxes NOW.

In searching my mind for more crap to blab about, because I had about a hundred things in my head and remembered about three when I sat down to write, I opened my drafts folder in my Gmail, where I sometimes will save random ideas that I want to quickly get down and flesh out later.  I found this:

things ive googled: talk me out of eating a little debbie, can you die from eating a whole box of tagalongs, can you get in legal trouble for wikipedia pranks, can you use windex on a blender.

Although the note was over a year old and I can’t remember the exact conditions precipitating each of these, I know that all of those happened.  Not a joke.

Baby Blurb.  One year ago tomorrow I found out we were expecting.  Baby was the size of a poppy seed.  Today, he is 14 pounds and tore a page out of my library book.  Life– even the most basic, primitive process of a child growing– is unbelievable, isn’t it?

Starving Blogger Shout Outs.  So, exciting news, I have been bestowed two “Liebster Awards”– which apparently are honorary titles (“internet high fives” as they’ve been described) that fledgling bloggers give to other fledgling bloggers.  There is a pay it forward component, so a few notes on this.  First off, THANK YOU to Surprise Mama and 80/20 Mom, I am flattered and high fiving you right back!

Secondly I want to give a shout out to a few real life friends of mine.  I used to work with Anne at Mrs. B Takes On who is just getting her domesticity blog off the ground.  You know how there are bloggers out there purporting to be domestic goddesses but you find yourself thinking that their meals look like something hauled out of the ape house in a wheelbarrow? Anne is the opposite of that.  She is the real deal.  I read her blog and my eyes get big and I want to lick my monitor.  And she can do stuff like stencil a wall, which just the thought of attempting makes me want to cry and drive to Dairy Queen.

This is Rhian at For Always who I technically don’t know, but she went to high school with Jeff so that’s close enough to real life for me.  Jeff finally just put us in touch with one another because we were using him as a middleman to discuss cloth diapers.  She is awesome and if you are a sucker for a good birth story like me, go refill your coffee and hit her up because like I said, awesome.

This is my former gymnastics teammate Megan at Positively (Im)perfect.  She too is 900 kinds of cool.  She is a SAGE of a mother (to human and canine alike), West Point alum, and birth and Hypnobabies aficionado (ditto on her birth stories although I think you have to click the link to go to her personal blog).  Like I said, lots of cool.

Blurbs

Hooters.  Ok, you guys know I don’t talk politics here, except in jest.  Which I need to do more of, because the government does HILARIOUS stuff on a regular basis and nobody ever finds out about it.  Which is both a shame and a blessing, I guess.  Occasionally, though, I have to give credit where it’s due and acknowledge something cool that tax dollars paid for.  Usually all I can come up with is the library.  But yesterday– oh, sweet yesterday– the Pennsylvania legislators won my heart by declaring April 30 Hooters Appreciation Day.

No, not that Hooters or those Hooters, although appreciation days for both would be awesome as well, but rather The Hooters, an immensely talented group of rockers from Philadelphia, who you probably know for All You Zombies and And We Danced.  Pennsylvania does a lot of things well, but producing quality musicians is not one of them.  Behind the Hooters our next claims to fame I guess would be Fuel, Train, and Taylor Swift.  BLECH.

Now the exciting thing was that the Hooters themselves played a FREE CONCERT in honor of this.  Did I take my 3.5 month old infant to this?

(I was very disappointed to find this image had not yet been created, so I would like the record to state that I created this myself for the good of the internet, and it’s scary how much pride I have in this fact.)

Guys, it was so awesome.  Frogson rode along in his little wrap (I needed my hands to make rock fingers, duh) and he loved it.  We sang and bounced to the beat and I wasn’t kidding, rock fingers were involved. I loved it.  I love live music so so much.  I mean I know that’s a dumb remark, because duh, we all do, but yea.  I’m afraid to say I am in fact That Girl from your section who is dancing and high pitch wooing and screaming lyrics and generally UNABLE to contain herself.  I cannot help it, I get so freaking excited.  So that was that.

Speaking of Pennsylvania.  I cannot believe we are almost a year into our move up here! Things move a little slower up here, and it’s kind of refreshing.  Today I’d like to tell you about the Dunkin Donuts drive thru. God, I’m sorry, this is absolutely the crappiest boringest most rambling post ever, I’m sorry.  Just save yourself and go do something else and let me just sit here and work through this.

I’ve never really been conditioned to utilize drive thrus.  In DC, they just didn’t really exist.  In DC you get really, really excited if a place just has parking spots.  Then you get REALLY excited if there’s actually enough spots that you can find one without getting into a freaking MMA throw down with another motorist.  Here in PA, you can get what you want and you don’t even have to get out of your car.  SEDENTARY LIFESTYLE YOU’RE DOING IT RIGHT!

I now go to the Dunkin drive thru for most of my mocha needs.  Sorry Starbucks, you require walking (THE HORROR) and a whole extra dollar for the same product.  The one thing I hate about Dunkin is they ask you “Will that be all?” after you order.  I guess this is exactly why business experts require customers to be asked this, because the question DOES leave this big open door for you to ask for what you really want.  Because they did ask.   Yes three dozen munchkins you can meet me at the second window and shove them straight down my gullet  yes that will be all.

Not Speaking of Acronyms But Let’s Go Ahead and Do That.  I’ve had acronyms on the brain lately.  Actually I’ve been investing a lot of mental anguish over acronyms.  Why, as a human species, can we not GET THE HANG OF acronyms already?! I get that you want to come up with a cool acronym for your business or organization or whatever, but sometimes you just have to admit a difficult truth to yourself.  I can’t make this acronym work.  I need to walk away.  WALK AWAY, PEOPLE.

If you’re just mashing nouns and adjectives together in a grammatical hot mess that actually makes no sense at all, YOU NEED TO STOP RIGHT NOW.  Do you know how many DUMB acronyms were shoved down my throat in middle school because some idiot PhD somewhere said they were a helpful tool to help middle schoolers think critically? They aren’t.  There is nothing easy or helpful about all the times I was told to “Kids, it’s easy, just think SOLVE! Strategize Organize Leverage Venn diagram Estimate!” Here, I am going to make my own acronym for this phenomenon.  It’s called your acronym is a STRETCH.  Stop Tacking Random Expressions Together Cause it’s Heinous.

Related: I drove by a place called Inspire Female Athletic Training.  Do the acronym math on that one.

Please Hug Your Pets in Honor of my Stray Cat Friend.  OK, I am like 400 kinds of worked up over this.  Guys, my stray cat got hit by a car.  In our neighborhood, which is ridiculous because there’s no reason to go over 20 in our neighborhood, and in 9 out of 10 cases that is plenty slow enough to hit the brakes for a cat.  I don’t know why I am depressing all of you with this, I think I just need to type through it or whatever.  I was oddly attached to this cat, and Jeff is lucky it didn’t love me back because that thing would have been in our house right now.
And when his little pile of food remained uneaten on our stoop (shattering my heart every time I saw it), I realized that the second stray cat must be gone too.  My heart breaks thinking that these cats lived their lives without ever snuggling on a warm bed or receiving a purr-worthy throat scratch.  I can only hope they have gone to somewhere happy, to the Great Cardboard Box in the Sky, where they will know warmth and love and endless supplies of tuna.  Please give your pets a snuggle in their honor, and forgive me one holier than thou PSA as I encourage everyone to please rescue your next furry friend.

I hate to end on a sad note so here is our own resident rescue beagle, surveying Turnpike vistas like the stately little fur-gentleman he is…

Blurbs

I suck at Christmas.  I love me some holiday cards, as mentioned, but I am missing that female decorating drive that everyone seems to have.  I debated (again) getting a tree but with there being a very real chance Frogson could make his appearance shortly, my preference was to have one less living organism on my client roster this month.  I am thinking of just Google Imaging a tree and putting it up on Facebook to keep up with everyone else.  It would be funny to see how many people believed me.

Becker household is ready for Christmas!

I did put a pretty wreath on the front door (again, only to save face with the neighbors).  I could have probably have hot glued one myself for half of what I paid, but this year there is just no DIY.  Only BIYFTCTIJNW.  (Buy It Yourself From Target Cause There Is Just No Way).

SUB TANGENT: Target.  Kind of annoys me.  It’s like the prisoner’s dilemma.  They have everything, none of it’s crazy expensive, so it’s a sure thing and you always know you can walk in and find what you need without paying too much.  But they never seem to mark anything down and they never give out coupons.  But I love it anyway.  I HATE MYSELF FOR LOVING YOU, TARGET.  Also, it has Starbucks.  Well, like Fake Target Starbucks but whatever.  I am always popping in there in the mornings.  I get a little glimpse of my future because Target between 9am–10am is MOMMY CITY.  For some reason I look at these women towing 3 kids and think, “It’s 9:14am, but you seem to have some kind of look that suggests you’ve already been awake for 3½ hours.  Is that accurate?”  Sub-sub tangent: I booked myself in late January for my regular annual physical post baby (they are a family doctor and will also see Frogson! Item checked off list!) and the effers stuck me with a 7:50am appointment.  Of course at first I was like EWWW BARF 7:50 before realizing OMG I will have an approximately two week old baby at that point.  7:50 is going to be the equivalent of like… NOON.  SOMEONE GET ME A PAPER BAG TO BREATHE IN.

I believe that was the worst paragraph I wrote in calendar year 2012.  You are all now dumber for having read it.

Maternity clothes.  How is it that my fetus weighs 5+ pounds and this week was my first adventure into a maternity store? I will tell you exactly how:  1. Ebay 2. my mom shops for me like I’m still 8 (thanks mom) 3. yoga pants 4. no more white collar job.  This has worked out because we have no budget for tomfoolery like clothes I can only wear when pregnant.  Starbucks, yes.  Attire, no.  But I had to bite the bullet because this weekend we are out of town for a work event for Jeff, meaning I have to go to receptions and make appropriate adult conversation (as in, not about kegels or my placenta or the TACO acronym story from birth class… AM I UP FOR THIS?).  And accordingly I will need to spend a few hours away from my maternity leggings.  (NEED THE PAPER BAG AGAIN.)  I also needed this attire for a  meeting I have later this week, a professional kind of meeting.  (Pro… fesh…. shon… uhl? Again with the no talking about my placenta? Definitely not up for this.)

I had an awful time at the maternity stores.  The attendant ladies latched on to me like… searching for appropriate simile… like a placenta latches on to a uterine wall? (DANGIT).  I swear they stood outside the dressing rooms breathing heavily and asking me every 18 seconds how I was doing.  I didn’t even find anything that didn’t make me look huge and ridiculous.  I drowned my sorrows in a mocha and went home and ordered this in black, which has to be the most innocent, harmless black dress in the world.  It has to look OK.  Please look OK.

Oh, and back to having no budget… I got the dress for $0 because I used Baby Gap cards I got from my showers.  I feel like kind of an awful person, but seriously we are broke, Frogson’s wardrobe is in way better shape than mine, and technically it is kind of like he’s wearing it too.  Technically.  I still feel like people would be mad if they found out I slightly rerouted the use of the funds.  It’s like those goofball honeymoon registries.  Like… are you really going on a canyon alpaca ride and goat cheese tasting? Or are you just pocketing that cash? No longer will I judge.

Blurbs

Hi.  Misc for you today.

1.  I need some perspective here.  I never thought of myself as a grouchy old lady who hates kids– I love kids! I’m loaning my body to one!– but our neighborhood’s roving band of kiddies is working on my last nerve.  So, we live in a townhouse community, meaning we knew we were taking a hit on privacy… and I would forgive a reasonable amount of trespassing because it’s hard for all of us not to be all up in each other’s bidness… but I was not prepared to have groups of kids playing in our driveway (running between the cars!) and corralling right in front of our big living room window.  (Our window is big and low, so when they do this and we’re on the couch, we’re eye level and separated by like 9 feet.  It’s really uncomfortable). I do not even know who to whine to because I have no freaking idea what adults these effers belong to.

Yesterday it reached new levels of crazitude.  Some kiddie was again playing right up at the window, and Chooch is understandably flipping the eff out, and the window was open… this kid turns right to the screen and starts, like, interacting with Chooch! THEN he starts calling over to ME, sitting innocently at my desk in my living room! I mean the kid was a sweetheart, just asking a bunch of questions about Chooch, but WTF… going up to strangers’ windows and starting conversations with them between the screen?! What if I was Jerry Sandusky??

I don’t know… do you agree that’s inappropriate kid behavior or am I being grouchy? I remember being a kid and being tempted every day to cut through yards to shorten my walk from the bus stop… except I was TERRIFIED at the thought of it and assumed I’d be shot immediately.  I think once I did cut through a yard because, I don’t know, there was a tornado or something… and I was consumed with guilt and thought I was on the fast track to a life of crime and jail time.  And here these guys are having parties in my flowerbed! KIDS TODAY.

2.  Holy poo, I am a walking pregnancy stereotype right now.  You know I’ve never really felt strong cravings in that I’ve needed something specific NOW (except maybe for french toast day that I mentioned)… but there have been a handful of foods that I’ve been oddly attracted to and eaten irregularly large amounts of (chocolate milk, grilled cheese and tomato soup, bread dipped in olive oil, garlic bread).  NOM.  Also sort of on that list is burgers… I’ve had a few burgers in these last few months that have been life-changingly delicious, and a few that have nauseated me horribly.  So strange.  Anyway… boring… I just want to put on the official record that last night I ate two turkey burgers and two bowls of ice cream for desert.  The two bowls of ice cream may have also been topped with oreos.  5.5 oreos.  Possibly 6.5 oreos, the math is hazy. If I get to January without turning into Honey Boo Boo’s mom, I will be really proud of myself.

3.  UGH Pennsylvania Yoga blows.  It’s so exhausting to start from scratch finding classes and teachers you like, especially since I’m already picky and now extra critical having been teacher trained.  (Ugh I am also doubling down on finding actual classes to teach.  It’s no longer cute that I haven’t made money doing so yet!).  In the event any of these unnamed institutions want to hire my fine self, the below complaining will self destruct.

So, first I excitedly tried out a prenatal class.  We have one prenatal place in the area so I was pretty determined to love it.  MEH.  The flow made zero sense to me.  Newsflash, instructor chick… poses that require your tummy to fold flat against  your thighs are rendered impossible when a fetus has gone and occupied that space! Forward fold to a runner’s lunge? Huh? IT NO WORK.  Umm, we also all hung out in eagle pose forever.  I mean the poor 3rd trimester chicks couldn’t even get their leg over their belly; I could still manage to wrench my leg over but I’m standing there wondering why I’m CLAMPING my legs together in a prenatal class.  Dude if I have any chance of birthing without getting sliced open like a salmon, then I have 3 months to stretch my Justin Bieber hips into BURTHIN’ hips.  Hit me with some squats or something.  Sheesh.  Oh, we also finished class in a deep supine twist which, as I was taught at least, is flat out bad for pregs.  I left pretty bummed. 

I went to another place and it was otay but nothing to write home about.  I am excited that earlier this week I think I found a studio that might be “the one.”  One hypothesis I have about the Yoga “scene” around here– sorry to use that word, I sound like a douche– is that while there are not a lot of people who do it, the people who go are GUNG.  HO.  Like, everyone knows each other and it has been truly awkward walking into these classes because everyone gawks at me, and I get the impression they don’t see a lot of new faces.  Like, the class earlier this week, there were I think 7 people in the class… me plus a handful of other women, all most definitely in their mid to late 40′s, maybe older.  And while I have to stick to the company line that Yoga is not a competition, I must say these broads making menopause jokes totally kicked my butt!  I mean they are popping up into headstands in the middle of the room, shooting from crow to chatarunga, plopping down into full splits (or whatever the sanskrit name is)… mostly while I’m gazing in amazement from the comfort of my child’s pose (wide legged of course.)  I remarked to the teacher afterwards what a strong class it was, and she’s all “Yea, we’ve all been doing this class together for like 10, 15 years.”  Dayum, Pennsylvanians!

Sadly, I’ve had the best experience doing my own practice on my back deck while praying nobody happens to walk by and get an eyeful of me in a sports bra doing goddess pose.  With a big old bump. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of.  And probably would get me a HOA citation or something.

Blurbs of the Pointless Variety

1.  In case you haven’t seen yet (I hear it’s “getting around” on the interwebs) please check out 13 Steps to Get You Through a Rough Day.  A referral to me from BFF Kristine which did not disappoint.  I did exactly as it suggested and printed out the Britney picture for my desk, and inexplicably my mega-annoying work week seemed more surmountable.

2.  Can we make fun of my awful outfit today?

Let me preface this.  I freaking lurve dresses.  They are my #1 work wardrobe investment and, if I may humbly suggest to you all, the best work wardrobe investment.  Why? Dresses are usually priced comparably to skirts if you search correctly, but really they’re like getting an extra half off because they’re complete outfits in and of themselves.  If you’re interested in conforming to societal rules, skirts require tops unfortunately.  So then, not only do you have to find a top, you have to match shoes, tights, and whatever else to both those things.  SO MUCH THINKING.

A dress? One thing.  Done.  Shut it down.  Boom goes the dynamite.  This also saves you a good 30-45 seconds in the morning putting on one thing instead of two.  Does anyone else have their mornings timed down to 15 second increments to allow for super-maximum taking advantage of every last second to sleep? I do.  It’s pathetic.  And disordered.  And my relationship with sleep must be dangerously close to an actual clinical case of narco…….. narca…….. whatever that person from Deuce Bigalow had.  ZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Any.  HOO.  I’m obsessed with this dress above that my mama got me for Christmas (thanks, mama).  It’s jersey knit with a wrap detail meaning there are no zippers, no buttons, so it is like your understanding, comforting friend even on the worst muffin top-y day.  It’s amazing how much better your day is when it feels like you’re sitting around in PJs.  Unlike every other day where I eat, like, 3 bites of lettuce and somehow my waistband suddenly becomes some crazed Jumanji python eating me ALIVE and I’m asking myself “Nobody would notice that I had this belt on earlier and I don’t have it on now, right? Right?” [un-clip] “aaaaAAAAAaaaaaHHHHhhhhhhhhh sweet merciful macaroons that is BETTER.”  [resume nomming]

Back over the winter I always wore this dress with my BFF boots, a scarf of some sort, and big gold earrings.  I always really liked it.  Then today it was too warm for boots and scarves, so with 0 seconds left in my rush to catch the bus I needed a solution prontissimo and threw on black tights, black flats, and pearls.  (With no hooks or clasps or other motor skill consuming BS, the pearls carry a time committment of <1 second and are therefore a popular last minute choice).  But unfortunately it took my beloved outfit from cute-in-a-thirty-something-art-teacher-kind-of-way straight to John Goodman guest-starring in The Church Lady.  BLECH.

3.  Earlier I emailed Jeff that I’d be late due to a meeting at the zoo (tonight we learned about a new radiography exhibit in the small mammal house… HOLLER) and he responded, and I quote:

Wednesday afternoon, April 4, monkey screams ring out in the zooooooo skyyyyyyy!

That’s all.  It cracked me up and needed put on the internet for all eternity.  I’d love to yack about more pointless crap but I need to get the eff to sleep due to this week blowing.

Since I don’t want to hog the fun here is a squirrel x-ray parting gift…. Too cool!

Chubby Tuesday Blurbs

Let’s seeee, what happened this weekend…

I got to do a rare cheetah shift at the zoo (because the cheetah volunteers are weak-willed and take the winters off).  I even caught them during their weekly bunny treat! (Sorry, cheetahs gotta eat too.)

Every weekend there is a clipboard waiting for the volunteers with updates that the keepers post throughout the week with animal happenings.  It is a treasure trove of awesomeness and the interesting/funny anecdotes are half the reason I donate my time to the zoo…

THEN.  Then.  Jeff got his question answered on our local sports show.

Oh sorry, was it not clear what a big deal this was? Let me just make sure everyone understands…

MMM HMM Respect.

We are also dog-sitting this sweet little she-beagle for the next week… meet Molly!

Umm… What else do I have for you….. tonight I did boring stuff then capped my evening with a glass of wine and Shake it Up on the Disney Channel. 

Perfection.

Sorry this update blew.

May all your Tuesdays be Fat Tuesdays,
Becker Out

P.S. Opening super glue pens with your teeth=not adviseable.

Conversations

Jeff: Did I ever tell you about the one time I was a ball boy for the 76ers when I was a kid?
Me: No, you never have, I can’t believe I don’t know that! That’s really cool.
Jeff: Yea, then I saw Charles Barkley naked.
Me: WHAT!? Like, in the locker room?
Jeff: Yea, we got to go in the locker room.
Me: How have we been together for 6 years and I do not know that?! That you are A PERSON WHO HAS SEEN CHARLES BARKLEY NAKED?!  I mean that is, like, a MAJOR biographical fact! I don’t even know you. 

Blurbs

Today I had a question that Google led me to Yahoo Answers to resolve.  First off, to begin with another tangent, my Google was “natural alternatives to benzoyl peroxide,”  which is the active ingredient in that purple Clean and Clear tube that I’ve been using since I was like 15.  Lately I’m starting to be all paranoid about chemicals and food additives and the bazillion toxins that make their way into our bodies every day, and that’s one I’d be happy to cut out.  Tangent within tangent time! I need to do a whole post on the basket case anxiety phases I’ve gone through every few years since my birth.  Healthy, I know!  I was on a solid hypochondria kick from years 18-25, but now I’m on to worrying I’m going to birth a child with 6 arms due to using Clean and Clear.  SO VERY, VERY healthy!

ANYWAY, back to Yahoo Answers… Good grief y’all.  It’s like Google for the weird and imbalanced.  Check this action out:

I love this.  Guess what dummybritches, I do eat “nutricious” and that still doesn’t stop me from breaking out like a 7th grader whenever I try to ween off the C&C.  “But if you MUST know some alternative drug”  (emphasis mine), this person is going to draw upon her extensive expertise as a watcher of television and television commercials (excuse me, “commercial’s”) and recommend Proactive! OK, third line up, people:  “Judging by their commercials it works.”

Judging…… by their commercials….. it works. 

WELL I SHOULD SURELY HOPE SO!

By this strategy, I should be able to just look to the Shark Steam Vac or Orange Glo to fix my face.  Great to know.  No really, that second person’s suggestion, the tea tree oil, came up a few times.  So I’m looking into that.  If anyone else out there has any suggestions (I’m on Team Oily!), I’m all ears.  (Oily ears). 

I also have to tell you another great story from my Mom.  She had an injured homing pigeon land in our yard at home!  Did you know homing pigeons are still, like, a thing? Apparently there’s a whole market for buying them and using them for a hobby or to gamble.  AWFUL.  So this poor bird was tagged and registered! My Mom researched and contacted the national authority on homing pigeons, tracked down the owner’s contact info, and reached out to them to try and return this poor bird.  Those jerks never responded to her! AWFUL.  Again.  So my Mom convinced a bird rehabilitation facility (that “doesn’t normally accept pigeons”… PSSH) to take this bird! She dropped him off there so he’s on the mend.  My Mom has been warned it’s possible he’ll return to our house when he’s released since that was the last place he will remember feeling safe.  AWW! Mom, I love you.  You are my hero.  For real. 

Check out the tie on this stranger on the metro…

That is an American Gothic tie if you can tell! Ha!

Two things I’m loving from the internet…

Stolen from FB. Couldn't find source. Sorry. Don't Sue.

 

katzwinkel.com

 

If…

A sweet chickfriend of mine had this posted the other day (Hi Lucy!) and I had to steal it!

If I could do any job in the world: Dolphin trainer, Jane Goodall, geologist a la the chick from Dante’s Peak, nursery school teacher, zookeeper, professional yogi, fiction editor, cuteoverload.com editor, writer of any kind, Executive Director at a sloth and/or elephant orphanage, etc.  There are probably more.

If I had a day to myself: Easy, I’d veg on the couch and watch Frasier all day, and it would be AWESOME! Then I’d feel guilty for not cleaning or running errands.  Then I’d throw a fit about I-have-s0-many-things-to-do-but-all-I-can-manage-to-do-in-my-short-amount-of-free-time-is-watch-Frasier.  Pretty much story of my life right now.   

If I could live anywhere in the US or world: Not to be lame but I don’t mind the Virginia/Pennsylvania thing we have going on.  Plus I’m a homebody and would never want to move far from our families.  If this is a parallel universe where our families were somehow from the Maldives or Bora Bora or Santorini, I wouldn’t necessarily have a problem with that.

If money were no object: I’d adopt a fleet of international babies like Angelina Jolie. 

If I could meet one person: Probably Bruce Springsteen or Bono. 

If I had to shop at one store the rest of my life: Not to be lame again but… JCrew.  Definitely.  

If I could get another animal: Aww… I wish we could get Chooch a buddy for during the day.  Darn you 1 dog lease!  I assume they mean a domestic animal? Otherwise, refer to question #1 (elephant, sloth, some sort of aquatic mammal, a panda bear would do too). 

If I could pick between a housekeeper and a personal chef: Oh this is sort of a hard one.  I want to say housekeeper since cooking is fun and cleaning is less fun, would be inclined to have someone take the un-fun chore of my hands.  BUT a chef would presumably have exponentially more advanced cooking skills than me, whereas I can vacuum a floor as good as any pro out there.  I guess the question is: does the chef clean up after himself? If so you’ve got a deal. 

If I could get married again: Seriously survey thing, you have to ask me that? I’m not even going to answer.  It’s SO depressing that your one wedding is over after your wedding day! I mean, just because I’m now “legally” tied to Jeff doesn’t mean the bridal hormones cease to flow and I can just turn off my lusty urges for beautiful florals and cute stationery and chantilly lace and fondant cakes and SEE this is why I didn’t want to answer this question! I don’t know that I’d trust myself to plan others’ weddings but let’s just go ahead and add “professional bride” to question #1.  

If you met me in real life you’d be disappointed with: Uhh, my general bumbling existence? Ha! Geez I don’t know, probably not a healthy exercise to ponder my disappointing qualities?!

Happy Friday, people!

Blurbs

Terrible habit #509234 of mine: writing down extremely abbreviated abbreviations and then having no clue what the heck I am supposed to remember.  (Also see: putting important things in super secret awesome hiding places, never to be found again).  I taped this note to my monitor at work the other day…

Plunk? Pluck? PMK? It was 3 days before I figured out what it was again.  I REALLY need to quit doing this.  The other month I made a note that said “C 22,” and again, couldn’t figure it out for a while, then realized it meant I was supposed to tell someone (whose name started with a C) that we had 22 people for a meeting.  I was like “SERIOUSLY, past Sarah?!!?” Ugh!

Pinterest.  There really, really, REALLY needs to be some sort of “block wedding” feature.  The sheer volume of wedding gorgeousness……. it’s… I mean…. there are….. WORDS ESCAPE ME.  Pure torture that I no longer have one to plan.  How short of time is socially acceptable before we can renew our vows?!

Unfortunate Name for a Person in Broadcasting.  We caught this guy on the local news the other day…

Yea, as in “I can molest Tina”.  I thought producers changed stuff like that?!

Here’s Your Sign.  The other day I called a place and asked for a person that worked there.  A front desk person picked up and I said “Hi, is ______ there?” And she said, “Yes, would you like me to transfer you?”…”Uhh… yes?” WTF? No, I’m planning their surprise party, just curious if they were at their desks! Or: no, I since decided I want to talk to you instead! Hello! NOW, I gave this person the benefit of the doubt, because Lord KNOWS I’ve done my share of fumbling while fielding calls, but I called back again and the same exchange happened! As in, they must be trained to offer this response!?

Her name was Lola… So, my office building has a lobby with cavernous ceilings, such that there is some serious echo/amplification acoustics going on.  Like, conversations and sounds travel really well and loudly.  The other day as I was leaving, it was quiet but for a person whistling “Copa Cabana.”  It was loud.  And funny.  That is all.