I Have Christmas Spirit. Period.

Christmas ornaments typically have special meaning to their owners. Each year when you hang the chili pepper on the branch you reminisce about your trip to New Mexico. Or the photo ornament  your thoughtful friend made for you and your friends. Or the people you miss every day.

Looking down the aisles of Christmas ornaments it's sometimes fun to fantasize about the meaning people find behind different ornaments. Like this one.

What this ornament says to me is "I Love HUNTING with my DAD. Period. There's no exclamation point. This is simply a statement. I'm not excited or showing any emotion over my love of HUNTING with my DAD. And am I old enough to shoot shotguns? And even though this bird thing is dead I'm pointing my gun at it to show you that I've killed it. Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men."

No One is Safe

Did I ever tell you about the time I was almost hit by a deer?

I was walking out of my building at work, lost in my thoughts. I remember registering some strange clicking noise from behind me getting closer and closer but whatever I was thinking about was too engrossing. Suddenly the air around me was vacuumed up (that's a thing, right?) as a deer sped past me on the right, grazing my right arm. A millisecond later, the 2nd deer chasing the 1st deer grazed by me.

I stopped short and my breath caught in my chest. It was a snowy day and everything was still. Campus was beautiful. And I'd almost been hit by deer. Who does that happen to?

Last week I was hit by a bicyclist. I was walking out of my building on campus, engrossed in a conversation about one of my classes. The person I was talking to said "Watch out" about 1 second before I was hit from behind by a guy making a wide turn on his bike. I reacted the only way I knew how--like an old lady. I clutched my purse, went rigid as a board, and screamed "OH MY GOD!"

The guy was wearing roughly 19 layers of clothes around his face so it took him a while to pull everything down to apologize. I was still frozen in place and not breathing. I finally exhaled and could feel the adrenaline tingling through my limbs as my mind and body convinced each other that there was no danger.

The lesson? Don't underestimate your friendly "bike to work" coworker and Bambi. They're out to get you.

I'm Getting Meow-ied

I would love to go to the wedding where the bride wears this.

I love that you can basically type just about anything into the search box of Etsy and viola--someone makes it. If you'd like to look like a lacy cat on your wedding day, Etsy's got you covered. This beauty can be found when you search for "cat wedding veil." (Don't judge)

And when you alter your search just a little bit, to "Wedding Veil for Your Cat", you get this

Someone will photoshop a picture of your cat into this "portrait" for your very own customized cat wedding photo. Perfect as a gift for the hard-to-buy-for groom or for any cat wedding you attend.

Yes...I'm avoiding studying...

Three Little Words

There are three words that changed my life about 8 years ago.

Buffalo. Chicken. Dip.

When you put these words together the heavens open, angels sing, time stands still, Pavlov's dog starts drooling, dogs and cats start living together...it's a wonderful, hysteria-filled miracle. And I'm not one to exaggerate.

I discovered Buffalo Chicken Dip at a Notre Dame tailgate. It was love at first bite and I'm not a little ashamed to say that I camped out by the card table and only pretended to pay attention to my friends and passers-by. My love had captured my heart and my tastebuds. I was powerless.

Like any great and lasting relationship our love has lost a little bit of the excitement, but it's deepened into a greater appreciation. I know Buffalo Chicken Dip like the back of my hand and I know we'll always be there for each other, making every experience more fun and exciting. We're a package deal, me and Buffalo Chicken Dip.

I even created a Facebook Group back in the old days, in devotion to my love. I (Heart) Buffalo Chicken Dip was my first social media display of affection. I named myself Queen Buffalocup.

I will see you again soon, my love.

Hot or Not?

Earlier this week I ran into my friendly local supermarket. I needed to grab coffee filters and a salad. (Please note: I was craving a salad. This is the first known craving for a salad this woman has ever experienced)

Of course I picked up a few extras and then got in line to check out. I was the 3rd person in my particular line, directly behind a man, who was directly behind a woman. The check out boy, the bag boy, and Woman #1 were having a very lively conversation which I didn't find unusual, since the customer service at my local friendly supermarket is always exceptional.

I kind of got distracted looking at the celebrity magazines and mindlessly inched forward as Man #1 finished up his check out. I noticed that Woman #1--even though she had checked out--was only just leaving. It looked like she was talking to some other people working at the store. I set my basket down and this is what happened next:

Check Out Boy to Bag Boy: She used to be so hot
Bag Boy: Really?
Check Out Boy: Yeah, she used to work here. I mean, she's still hot but she was even hotter when she worked here.
Jessica: [Wordless stare at Check Out Boy]
Bag Boy: Was that her kid? Didyoufindeverythingokmiss. Too bad she's got a kid now.
Jessica: [Stare]
Check Out Boy: $21.32. Yeah, that was her kid but the thing....
Jessica: [Swipe] [Stare]
Check Out Boy: [Finally noticing Jessica staring] ...hang on, I'll tell you in a minute.
Bag Boy: Haveagoodnightmiss. What's her name?
Jessica: [exits Stage Right]

I wasn't ticked about the actual discussion (people have discussions about other people's beauty and attractiveness all the time). What grated my cheese is that this "conversation" about a customer happened in front of me, another customer. Listening to this "conversation" was my customer-service experience.

At least my salad was good.

Catch Up

Thank you to last week's renters for leaving me something to have for dinner last night: microwave pepperoni pizza bagels.

Back in school and it's kicking my hieney. (I before E, except after C, right?? Hieney didn't pop up in my spell check) The class schedule for the spring came out yesterday--do I want to have a spring that makes me irrational or one that makes me weep?

Wedding plans are slowly moving along. For a brief moment (BRIEF!!!) I was really sick of tasting cake. Thank heavens that affliction passed. A decision I need to make fairly soon: do I have the energy and patience to bake 600 sugar cookies? Do I?

I got an iphone. I hated it. Then I loved it. Now I think I like it.

 I watched 5 year olds play soccer last weekend. Hilarious.

I found Roni sitting on top of the ironing board the other night. "Get out your thumbs and iron, Roni!!!"

Iron? What you mean?

As if Running Isn't Hard Enough Already

Sunday found me going back to the computer lab for more fun and studying. My hopes were high for new material...and I was not disappointed. In fact, this might be one of my finest observational moments to date.

I was walking up the incline to the library and noticed that there was someone jogging on the path parallel to the sidewalk I was on, but up the incline and above me. Being self-conscious of my own running, I didn't stare at the guy or try to make eye contact. But then my eye registered the neon pink and I darted my eyes to see what it was all about.

Ok. I admit that I'm often behind the times and don't understand current trends. i.e. planking. So maybe this is a new "thing" and I just don't know about it. So if YOU know about it, please enlighten me.

This guy was jogging with a stick between his legs.

The stick was white and a third of it--the front third--was neon pink. Other than this stick he was holding between his legs he looked perfectly normal. After I saw the stick it's not like I could look away, right? So now I'm freely and openly staring at the guy and he's jogging forward but looking at me now, the entire time. I stared back, willing myself not to react (was this an experiment? Was I being watched?) and let him run on ahead of me.

I got out my phone to text George about the sighting when ANOTHER dude ran by with a stick between his legs. This guy seemed to be lost, though, looking for his other stick-running buddy. I was half-tempted to help him out and point him in the direction that Stick Man #1 ran, but sometimes the best lessons about losing your stick-running buddies are the hardest to learn. I hope Stick Man #2 found his friend.

Yay HOOO!!!!!

Maybe it's because I get most of my news from http://www.theonion.com/ but whenever I hear Joe Biden speak, I always half-expect his speeches to end with a Howard Dean Yell of Awesomesauce.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDwODbl3muE

The Computer Lab is Where It's At

I will no longer wonder where I'll get "material" for the blog. If I ever don't know what to write about I will just visit the computer lab at the college I attend, not the college who gives me a paycheck every two weeks.

I walked into the computer lab to hear two girls having a very lively conversation about who had the most pimped out apartment. It must have been a "private" conversation because it stopped abruptly when I walked in. About 30 minutes later 1 guy in the front row of the lab decided to have a lengthy conversation with another guy 7 rows back, about fantasy football. Not only was I learning accounting software, I was learning about men's soap operas.

About an hour after that 1 guy behind me educated another guy about the beauty and joy of lithography.

At the same time Doogie Howser was sitting in front of me, playing some kind of warrior-like online game. He was doing well. I know this because he hissed "YESSSSSSSSSS!!!!" and did a fist pump every few minutes. 

Finally, a group of people--probably in an entrepreneurship class--discussed in depth the benefits of hot yoga.

I have a tough choice: continue to collect this great blog material but put my class grade in jeopardy, or bring my headphones.

What Have I Learned Today?

1. Taxation of Corporations, Partnerships, Estates, and Trusts is not quite as compelling as one would imagine.
2. Cutting down grapevines is not fun. The neighbors planted (that's up for debate, are there such things as rogue grapevines???) grapes in their back yard and wonderfully, the vines grew over my their fence. George wanted to make wine. Wine made from alley grapes. He's a real Earnest and Gallo.
3. I can't believe I'm saying this...but I think I've overdosed on wedding cake tasting. I hope this is like a 24 hour cold or something.
4. I'm easily distracted by the hoarding show.
5. I would like to eat bison everyday

Mixed Meat Hotdogs

Here's a list of things it's okay to break up over:

You like all-beef hotdogs. He likes mixed meat hotdogs.




*That's about it. With every other issue there's room to compromise.

It Has Come to My Attention...

I did not report the events of my recent car meltdown fairly. George Clooney did more than just yell at me to keep driving down a busy street. It was George who talked to the mechanic and knew exactly what to do with the battery. George also cleared away the corrosion from the old battery with a liter of Coke and installed the new battery as the sun went down and the crickets began to chirp. My sincere thanks to George. Smooch.

I finished up a summer class at the end of June and had a glorious and productive 8 week vacation planned. I was going to paint my basement and organize the hundreds of recipes I've printed in recent years. I was going to organize all my papers and my filing system. I was going to clean out closets and read and keep my house spotless everyday.

It was going pretty well. Then a night at a Neil Diamond concert changed everything. I still have a peach basement, baskets/boxes/bags of recipes, a stack of IRA statements, mortgage statements, and bank statements I need to file, full closets, and dust bunnies.

And now I have only 1 week to cram in all these good intentions. Classes start again on Monday and I'm being a big baby about it. Expect me to be highly dramatic.

In other news, this is what Roni's been up to

Napping on the newel post. 

And now for a take-a-step-back moment:

Earlier this summer I posted a comment on Facebook, that I couldn't get over all the screaming fans--mostly women--who stood outside of Rockefeller Center on a Friday morning and swooned over the rapper Chris Brown. The same guy that beat up his girlfriend just a few years ago, putting her in the hospital, was now being celebrated by Matt Lauer, Anne Curry, Al Roker, and thousands of concert goers. I don't believe a person is the product of the worst thing they've ever done, but c'mon....the guy put his girlfriend in the hospital. Does ANYONE have respect for a man who thinks it's ok to beat up a woman?

Now, after Rhianna gave a tearful interview with Oprah, the Today Show is dragging out the guy's skeletons and reminding us all of his sins. The slant of "how-could-she-forgive-this-guy, how-could-she-still-want-to-be-with-him" really grates my cheese. How quickly you forget, NBC/The Today Show.

Thanks Universe!

You know how sometimes you're at work and it gets to be about 4:30 and you realize "I don't have anywhere to be tonight" and you're emotionally overcome with the endless opportunities that await you at 5pm? (When in reality, you know darn well you're going to park yourself on the couch and watch the Olympics?) That was me yesterday, walking to my car at 5pm, and thinking about all the housework TV watching I could get done tonight.

Life has a funny way of biting you in the butt.

I thought it would be a great night to go talk to the folks at AT&T about switching my service and getting on a family plan with George. My contract with my long-standing service provider is almost up and I'm ready to ditch this BlackBerry. I went into the Verizon store in May and told them I knew I wasn't qualified for an upgrade yet, but could I please get a DOWNGRADE??? The BlackBerry was really grating my cheese. Anyway, in most cases, talking about cell phone plans would be the worst part of a person's day. Not for us!

We walked back out to my car after a great and informative meeting with the AT&T person to find that my car wouldn't start. Click click click is the most it would give me. George checked under the hood and found a badly corroded battery but I insisted it couldn't be the battery because the radio was playing and my little "Battery's working" light was still flashing.

I called AAA and asked for roadside assistance, then we walked over to Del Taco for a couple of bland tacos. The service guy showed up and jumped the car and told me I might have one more start on this battery. So, George and I drove straight to Meijer to buy a new battery. I sat in the car and kept it running while he went in the store with my debit card. (Is that a sign of love and trust, or WHAT?!?!) The engine was making some funny funny sounds and as George walked back to the car empty handed, the dials in the car all went flat and the airbag and gas lights came on (even though we had just filled the tank). Oh, and there was some dangerous lurching going on as I pulled out of the parking spot. The battery was going to die.

I start screaming that we're going to be stranded, George screams at me to "don't stop! Just keep driving!" and so instead of driving around the Meijer parking lot repeatedly to keep the battery charged, I decide to pull onto Grape Road to "just keep driving." Now I'm in traffic, screaming, running redish lights, careening through store parking lots in an effort to not stop the car. Of course by not stopping I have now driven us in the opposite direction of George's house and now need to make a series of left turns to get to his house and "safety." Luckily, the brief Dukes of Hazard South Bend drive down Grape was enough to charge the battery and get us home, all so that we could take George's car and drive BACK out to Grape, go to Wal Mart, buy the battery, drive back to George's, and install it.

I walked in the door at 10:20pm. Oh well. I can always watch TV tonight.

I'm a Believer

I never told you about Neil. Here's the full scoop:

We packed up the babies and grabbed the old ladies the car and headed off to Chicago around 2pm. We were a little nervous about parking at the United Center but we were pleasantly surprised to find out that arriving 4 hours early means you are the first one in the parking lot!

We did NOT park at the back of the lot and run to the United Center, ala the Griswolds, but parked in the very first parking spot at the front of the lot. WE'RE #1!!

The security guard told us as we entered that this "wouldn't be a big concert." I practically leaped from the passenger side to yell at the man that this was the biggest concert of my life and "We've got COSTUMES!!" (That was an exaggeration. George Clooney did not have a costume.)

Our honor of being the first in the parking lot lasted about 3 minutes, before our new friends/clingers parked right next to us. She outdid my customized Neil t-shirt with one of her own and rolled her eyes at me when I said it was my 1st Neil concert. When you've been to five I guess you get the privilege of carrying a chip on your shoulder.

We sweated our way down the block to the Billy Goat Tavern for a Cheezbugga Cheezbugga. The crew there knew their crowd and plugged the jukebox with song after song of Neil goodness. I serenaded George and did my best chair dancing since high school.

We walked back to the parking lot and got into the car so I could change into my "costume." As we people watched, my hopes of not being the youngest people there began to fade. I realized there was a good reason there was no opening act and the concert was slated to end at 10:30pm. I also realized I wouldn't have to worry about standing throughout the whole concert.

After we were inside it was a mad dash to the souvenir stands. I hemmed and hawed over t-shirts and sweatshirts and programs and stuffed frogs, ultimately deciding that the best souvenir would be my pictures. Boy, was I wrong.

We made our way to the seats on the floor in row 22 and had people take our picture.

Then we read the Tweets about the concert that were being shown on the jumbo screens. Lots of "Shout out to my mom at the Neil Diamond concert!" and "Neil, play Forever in Blue Jeans for my grandma!" Thank God we finally found some hipsters to make us feel better.

The concert started with Neil coming on stage to Soolaimon/Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show and I thought I was going to explode with happiness. I danced and danced and sang and sang. I was not the most exuberant person there--that honor went to a woman seated about 10 rows ahead of us. For the entire length of the concert she held the open LP cover of The Jazz Singer over her head with one hand, while waving manically to Neil with the other. After he FINALLY waved back to her (not gonna lie...I was jealous) she then used that arm to very theatrically mimic all of Neil's movements while he sang.

Overall Neil was a total class act. People made fun of me for wanting to go so bad but honestly, the guy is like 71 years old and he sang for the ENTIRE TWO HOURS. Hardly any chit chat, no costume changes, no pyrotechnics...just awesome music.

And of course, even more magical than the pictures, the parking spot, the fans, the t-shirt, and my memories of the concert, was the life-changing moment after the concert when George Clooney got down on his knee.

Best concert ever.

Mrs. George Clooney

I'll skip the fanfare, the build up, the guessing, the sentimentality--

I'm engaged!

George Clooney proposed Friday night outside of the United Center, immediately following the Neil Diamond concert. It was--to say the least and do the night NO justice--a remarkable, unforgettable, lovely, perfect, and FUN evening.

We drove to Nebraska on Saturday and told my family who are really excited and ready to pack their bags for a "destination" wedding. Both of our families are thrilled for us and when the news went "Facebook official" yesterday, it was very humbling and overwhelming to read the kind, thoughtful, and joyous messages our friends left us.

Now the fun part starts. The former wedding planner has become the wedding plannee. If we navigate the challenges of planning an interfaith wedding and marriage, florists, dance lessons, song lists, dress fittings, guest lists, etiquette, (the list goes on and on and on!) with as much fun and openness as we've spent the last two years, I think it'll be smooth sailing.

Can you Mazel Tov yourself? If so--MAZEL TOV!

Screamy, Blank Stare, and Tom Turkey

My crazy neighbors (aka, Screamy and Blank Stare) own birds. I have nothing against birds, I've never owned a bird, I'm indifferent to the owning of birds. I know they own birds because their cage (roost???) must be by the front window and consequently, I can hear the birds cooing whenever I'm outside weeding or watering. This morning was no different.

When I left for work, though, the neighbor's front door was cracked open. Peering at me behind the safety of the storm door, was a turkey. Or maybe it was a chicken. I don't know. The point is that there was a LARGE, orangeish/brownish bird that looked like it was supposed to walking and strutting across a barnyard staring at me this morning. It disappeared before I could photographic proof but I swear it looked like this

And now all I can think about is this

Pebbles

Twice in the last three days someone has commented on my hairstyle. Specifically, my workout hairstyle. When I decided to cut my hair one of the hardest things about losing the inches was losing the ponytail option. For healthier hair, I gave up the freedom to "pull it back and go." And when I say "it was hard"...it really wasn't that hard. I have a generous supply of headbands and bandannas that have kept my hair out of my face before and were just waiting in the wings for their time to shine once again. So, a) it wasn't as if I went from Lady Godiva to GI Jane, and b) been there, done that. 

Tuesday afternoon, after I worked out, showered, and came back to work, someone walked by my office and loudly asked

"What happened to your hair?"

I looked up puzzled, mentally assessing my post workout hair. One great thing about curly hair is that post-workout, it pretty much looks like it did pre-workout.

"It was so cute earlier."

I could only imagine that she was saying my hair looked like crap after I'd worked out so I just let my mouth fall open in disbelief.

"When you had it up in the ponytail on top of your head. It was cute."

Ahhhhhh. She thought my Pebbles Flintstones look was cute. Okay. No harm, no foul (although the presentation of the questions could have been a little more explicit from the onset.)

Today as I swiped my card at the gym the desk worker said

"What do you do here?"

(Hmmm....run, sweat, zone out, fantasize, make grocery lists...)

"I mean, are you a teacher here?"

"Oh no, I don't teach. I'm an administrator."

"Oh, because the other day I saw you with your ponytail on top of your head and I thought 'Oh, she's a student' but then you came out of the locker room dressed up, so I couldn't figure out who you were."

Have a Yabba Dabba Doo-lightful Weekend!

Observations from an Auction

I went to an auction this weekend. A local antique store was closing up shop and I thought I could scoop up some deals.

• Observation #1: Always go to an auction rested, well fed, and prepared with supplies. Do not do what I did--go straight from a kick-butt workout to the auction, stand around for hours with little water and zero food. Your decision-making skills are seriously impaired when you're dehydrated.
• Observation #2: So penguin t-shirts are (back????) in style, huh?

• Observation #3: People are generally nice, except when they're bidding against you.
• Observation #4: George Clooney and I must give off a "first-time-in-a-restaurant" vibe. At least the guy next to us in the Mexican diner thought so, by the way he helpfully recommended that we try salsa with our chips. "It's good!"
• Observation #5: Apparently there is a conspiracy amongst Mexican diners and the helpful guy from Observation #4 to cheat him out of chips. "I know you got chips back there, I ain't playing that game! I need some chips, I know you're supposed to give me chips, I'll take some chips, don't play that game with me!" "I'm just going to keep telling these people next to me that I know I'm supposed to get chips and you should stop playing games with me!"

Landscaping Fashion

Indiana is on its 15th consecutive day without rain. I am the girl who decided in May that June was the perfect time to pay the landscaper to redo the back yard and put in multiple perennial beds. So...new plants and no rain means that my days are spent praying for rain and my nights are spent dragging sprinklers around my yard, hauling hoses over the fence, and mentally calculating the loan I'll need to take out to cover my water bill.

This morning, as I rolled out of bed at 6:15am to start the feeding, I--honest to Pete--just put on my slip-on tennis shoes and went right on outside. Still in my pajamas. Still with my bedhead. Standing in the front yard with the hose over the hydrangea, yawning...stretching...and not really caring. It was a tad bit chilly and I thought "I wish I had something I could throw on over my pajamas when I come out in the morning to do this." And I realized...that's what a housecoat is.

I don't think at 35 I'm ready for a housecoat. So if you're driving by at 6:30am or 8:30pm you'll still see me in shorts, t-shirt, and tennies, with "interesting" looking hair.

But I secretly do kinda want a housecoat.

Get Your Motor Running...

Yesterday I admitted that I hate heat. I've always hated being hot but I think it's intensified in the last year or two, after my thyroid decided to revolt against my body. I won't take all of the blame, since we've had two horrible, humid, record-setting summers in a row. But I go from being comfortable to looking like I've just run past mile marker 24 in no time flat.

My coffee habit was getting to be quite the double-edged sword--the last thing I wanted to do was hold a steaming cup of coffee but I needed the sweet nectar of caffeine to start my day and protect those around me from an un-caffeinated Jessica. I discovered iced coffee at Starbucks but that was now costing me time and money. They came out with the instant iced coffee packets that I looooooved and highly promoted to friends and coworkers. But that again seemed like a big rip off and waste.After all, there were 5 to a pack and I could throw back 2 per day, easily.

A few weeks ago I got an email from Cooking.com, with a subject line that caught my eye. "Rethink your iced coffee." It was genius--an iced coffee French press. I did my research and in a few days I had a package waiting for me with my brand new, cherry red french press.

I highly recommend this to anyone who loves iced coffee. I buy a bag of whole beans at the grocery and either grind them myself or do it at the store. You put your grounds in the bottom, fill with cold water, put the top on, put in the fridge, and in less than an hour you have a 51oz of iced coffee! No brewing a pot of hot coffee then letting it sit. No brewing a half pot at double strength then dumping in ice. It's all ready to go!

Summer!

Oh my gosh, I didn't know if I'd ever make it back! Sorry for the hiatus.

So. What's new with you?

What's new with me is that

• It's summer and I've renewed my passionate hate for heat.
• It's summer and I'm studying advanced finance at warp-speed. I'll signal to you when I'm having fun.

• It's summer and I'm going to see NEIL DIAMOND!!!! I'm ready to "pack up the babies and grab the old ladies" and head to Chicago for a night of spangly shirts and groovin. (And that's just what I'LL be doing, I'll let you know what Neil is like)

 It's summer and I'll be heading back to Nebraska for the greatest fireworks show in all the land.

• It's summer and my mint plants are thriving. Every night should end with a mojito.

 

• It's summer and my trip to Austin was fabulous but just more clearly highlights the serious lack of quality barbeque in Indiana.

• It's summer...and the living is easy.

Hope you've been well. I'm back in action. Watch out. 

The Urge to Purge

Sometimes as I lay in bed and wait to fall asleep, I start to think about my bedroom. I think about the 2 dressers that are full of clothes. And the 2 closets that are also full of clothes. And the spare room dresser, full of clothes. And the entryway closet, full of coats and jackets. And I think to myself  "If I were to get married today and my husband moved into my house tomorrow, where in the world would his stuff go???"

And it really really bothers me.

It bothers me that I have amassed so much stuff, specifically, so many clothes. It bothers me that on more than one occasion I've purchased something, only to come home and realize that I had something virtually identical hanging in my closet. It bothers me that it would take a good deal of work to prepare to share my space.

It's not that I believe I should have left my closets half empty, in hopes of a partner to share them with one day. Or that you should delay your own happiness and fulfillment for a person who may or may not want to share your happiness and fulfillment with you.

I guess, at night, when it's me and my weary thoughts, I think about my closets as a metaphor for my life. I've managed to fill them up with "stuff." And only some of it is really important. Only some of that stuff is useful, meaningful, and beautiful. Only some of it makes me smile. Some of it is just plain crap. If I've filled my life with stuff that means very little to me, how could I have room for something or someone who means the world to me?

It's not easy to admit that you were wrong about something. That your judgement was totally clouded. That something is just not good for you. That something would be better off with someone else. That you mistreated something and now it's ruined. But I'm slowly purging and making room in my closets. And I'm making a promise to be more discerning about the things I bring into my closets, so that I can truly appreciate everything in them.

Marty McFly Style

In honor of Daylight Savings Time and our amazing one hour time-travelling journey into the future, I'd like to list the things I'm looking forward to in the future:

• Tootbrushing pills. Or robots that brush your teeth for you while you're asleep. Whichever comes first.
• Roni's appearance as cover-kitty for Cat Fancy Magazine.
• A Jean-Ralphio spin-off show.
• Girl Scout cookie ATMs.
• Winning the house raffle.--Make it happen Michelle!!
• "Duchess Stuifbergen...your table is ready."
• Coconut being named the official flavor of the United States.
• My neighbor's reality show, "The Real Cranky Ladies of South Bend."

Oh Lordy

I sure hope no one out there has been holding their breath since my last post. If you look forward to reading this stuff--my apologies. If you don't--look away. If you're indifferent--well, I'm still here and hopefully you're still there.

There are actually 3 half-written posts behind the scenes of this bloggy blog. I'm kind of like the Notre Dame football team--I march all the way down the field and then just can't convert on all that good effort and strategy. So this post is my equivalent of a Notre Dame punt.

I've been told that using the word "overwhelming" is a subconscious admission of self-defeat...so life has been... "plentiful" lately. Very "full."

Which each new semester of grad school comes something new and challenging. The 1st semester, the challenge was simply being back in a classroom, reading textbooks, and writing papers after (a small) number of years out of the classroom. The challenge 2nd semester was my very first online class. The next class was my very first summer course. Last fall was the first semester attempting to take two classes while working at the same time. And this semester, the challenge is trying to take two ACCOUNTING classes at the same time.

And these classes are making life "plentiful." I'm not under the impression I'm the first to discover that juggling work, school, a house, and a George Clooney is tough. I'm singing the song of working mothers and non-traditional students everywhere, I know. But now that's my song, too, I'm going to sing it loud and proud!

Redefine Vanity

I have a friend who, at the beginning of every year, defines the theme for the year ahead. One year she deemed it "The Year of Adventure," where she promised herself to try new and unexpected things. One year it was "The Year of Joy," where she promised to do things that brought herself joy.

As 2011 came to a close I took a page from her book and decided that 2012 would be (for me) "The Year of Vanity." I didn't care what vanity meant, officially. I just thought that, after assessment, I needed to make some changes.

I wasn't taking very good of myself. I was noticing that more and more mornings included a mental conversation/smack down with myself that went something like this:

"Well, you obviously didn't get enough sleep last night, you still look tired. And once again, you didn't wash your make up off before you went to bed...and you wonder why your skin looks dull and you're starting to see little wrinkles pop up. Hmmmm, still a little puffy from yesterday...that's because you didn't eat dinner before going to class and came home ravenous and ate orange sherbet for dinner. Good work! Why don't you deep condition your hair this morning and try to tame the fuzziness? Oh, right...you're running late AGAIN."

And so, in December I committed to myself that 2012 would be my Year of Vanity. I would do what I needed to do to regain control and care of myself. I would get more sleep. I'd wash my face at night and use all the serums, creams, and potions I'd invested in. I would start wearing mascara again. I'd plan out my meals so I wouldn't end up eating cheese slices and toast for dinner. I'd use some of the dozen of so bottles of hand lotion, foot lotion, and body lotion. (Just to name a few)

So it's February and while I can't say that I'm batting 1000, I can say that the effects of my efforts are reaching farther than just myself and my appearance, mood, and puffiness. Taking care of myself is investing in myself. It's acknowleding to myself that I am worth the time and effort it takes to look and feel good. And when I've invested in myself I feel more present at work, in the classroom, and with George. I can tell that I'm more on top of my game. I'm more confident. I'm prepared.

Vanity officially means "excessively proud of one's appearance and accomplishments." Not to me. I'm redefining vanity to mean "positive changes, beginning--most importantly--with yourself."

My Mom Has Great Taste

Over Christmas I was reminded that--indeed--I am completely my mother's daughter.

I've expressed my love for Neil Diamond before on the bloggy blog, on Facebook, and in multiple variations of interpretative dance. And I've also seen the Neil Diamond Greatest Hits double CD at my mom's house. But sometimes, I just have a problem of putting two and two together.

At Christmas we were cooking and chatting and enjoying each other's company when my mom told me to go into the living room and put on some Christmas music. The next thing my mom heard was "Coming to America." Merry Christmas to all and to all a Hot August Night!

I relived my dance recital when I got to gallop around the stage to "Coming to America" waving a mini American flag...one of my fondest memories. I was galloping around the kitchen, filled with American/Christmas pride when my mom tells me (and I KNOW she's told me this before but I just never made the profound connection) "I saw Neil Diamond in concert."

Me: When?!?!?!?!

Mom: In the 70s.

Me: What did he wear? Did he wear a sequin shirt???
Mom: No, but he was very sexy. He wore a jacket with fringe.
Me: No way!!!!!
Mom: Yes way.

We then talked about some of Neil's lyrics, my mom enlightening me that there are some R-rated themes in Neil's songs. I never knew. I figured he just really liked blue jeans and red wine and Shiloh.

All Over the Map

Did people JUST discover Nutella or something? Why am I seeing Nutella recipes all over the place?

Yesterday on the news there was a local story about a bridal shop that was mysteriously shut down, with a sign on the window saying they'd reopen in a month or something. They interviewed a bride who was unsure of the status of her wedding dress she ordered. She said "I'm devastated! You search and you search and you search and you search...it's your wedding dress! It was the first dress I tried on." 
--Quite the exhausting search, huh?

My life right now consists of work, gym, income tax rules, bonds, equity issues, convertible securities, hair-pulling, and sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

I've entered to win the HGTV dream home in Park City, UT. I've got a good feeling.

I came home the other day to find that Roni had opened up the cupboard underneath the sink and dragged the bottle of 409 into the middle of the kitchen. Point taken, Roni.

Behold! Tonic Water!

Last Friday night George Clooney and I ventured out in the snow (storm?) to do a little grocery shopping. Exciting, right? I picked up some of those cute little bottles of tonic water, the ones that are like 8 oz or something. I was walking down the chip/soda aisle, looking for some little cans of Coke (everything I bought that night had to be cute and little) when a woman stopped me. This is only the 2nd time I've ever been stopped in the grocery, by a man or a woman.

She pointed at the tonic water and asked me what it was.

"Tonic water," I replied, pleasantly.

"Can I see it?," she asked.

[Okaaaaaaay] "Sure!," I said, and held up the little 6 pack.

"What is tonic water?," she asked, as if I had said "Time travel potion" instead of "tonic water."

Stumped, I had to admit that I did not know what tonic water was, technically. "Well, I'm not sure exactly but it's used as a mixer for drinks."

"Drinks?," she asked.

[Ummmmmmmmmm] "Yeah, like vodka tonics? Gin and tonics? You mix the tonic water with liquor to make a mixed drink."

"So you can drink this, huh?" she asked.

Now, I really thought I had stumbled into some one's brilliant con game. I kept checking my cart next to me, sure that while this woman was distracting me with her other-worldly fascination and incomprehension of tonic water, that someone was coming behind me to steal my purse. It would be a brilliant con.

"And this is diet tonic water. What makes it diet?," she asked, turning the bottles over in her hand.

"You know, I'm not really sure. I don't even like tonic, I'm buying this for someone else who drinks gin and tonics," I replied.

"Well thanks. Tonic water. I'm going to have to remember that," she said as she gave me back the bottles and scooted on her merry way.

Who Says Accountants Aren't Funny?

Grad school 2012 is underway! My first class in Taxation (not Taxidermy, that's down the hall) was last night and I'm really counting on the sage advice of my friend Neve Campbell, who assured me that she found Tax to be really interesting. I'm counting on it getting a little better than last night. It absolutely HAS to be more interesting than Chapter 1: The History of Tax.

Class No. 2 starts on Monday, which I'm renaming "So You Think You Have What it Takes to be an Accountant." This is not the first semester that I've taken two classes, but it's the first that I've taken two accounting classes. I say this every semester, but I feel like this is a defining moment for me: Do I have the chops for this??? Do I have the TIME for this??? Do I have the courage for this???

One thing's for sure: I'll have to have the back and arm muscles for this. The two books combined weigh 19lbs. When I bought the Tax book I was floored, I'd never had a textbook so thick. That was until yesterday, when I bought the SYTYHWITTBAA textbook, which was 1/4in thicker.

Enough about goals and life and muscles, blah blah blah. Here's the funny story. Last night the professor took attendance and when he reached the end of his list he asked if there was anyone whose name he didn't call. After adding a few people to his roster, he looked pointedly at 3 girls sitting in the front row. He asked them if he had called their name...and they did not reply. No head shake/nod, and definitely no reply.

He asked again, "Did I call your names?" One girl finally said--simply--"No." The teacher went back around and grabbed his pen, ready to write their names down, and the 2nd girl said "We're not in this class. We're auditing." The professor looked confused, because even students auditing classes should be on the official roster. He tried to clarify "You're auditing this class for the semester?" The 1st girl said "No, we're just here to observe this class. Today. Today only."

Blank stare from the professor.

The 3rd girl said "We just wanted to see what this class was like, to see what it's all about. Can we stay?" The teacher was really put on the spot, but was very polite and said they could stay for this class only. We then had to go around the room and introduce ourselves, talk about which program we're in and which classes we'd already taken. When it got to these girls, they admitted that they weren't even students at this university! They were visiting from out of town and just wanted to see what a Tax class was like.

Kids. Interested in the strangest things.

Now I Know Who Took My Shoes

The local paper is reporting today that our police squad raided two businesses on suspicion of buying and selling stolen items. One was a gas station and one was a "food mart," close to campus, that I drive by sometimes. I've never been in the "food mart" but my drive-by-guesstimate is that it's about the size of small motor home. An Airstream.

The paper says that they confiscated high end electronics at both places and--get this--over 1,000 pairs of counterfeit shoes at the "food mart." 1,000 pairs of shoes. This is what I think it looked like

"Pssssst....you wanna buy some shoes???"

Irony or Destiny?





On Facebook today there's a game circulating where you find out the song that was #1 the week you were born and post the video.

The #1 song on the week of my birth? Leo Sayer--You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.

What is my #1 all time favorite song and name of my blog? Scissor Sisters--I Don't Feel Like Dancin'.

I just blew your mind, didn't I?

Work Work Work Senora.....

It's back to normal today. Back to eating normal-sized meals at normal meal hours. Back to alarm clocks. Back to professional-casual dress. Back to reality. I've been on vacation for the last 2 weeks + 1 day and while I love drinking coffee all  morning looking out my window, and while I love reading all afternoon while drinking another pot of coffee, I needed to come back to work. Not just to keep the ole bank account afloat, but for my well-being.

I need structure. I need someplace to go. I need my time compartmentalized: work. gym. George Clooney. Roni.

When I was little, for various reasons, my brother and I would sometimes end up at my dad's office during the daytime. The office administrative assistant ("secretary" in the 80's) was an awesome lady named Eva. We loved Eva. She was an older woman, smoked like crazy, incredibly nice and patient, and didn't mind two little kids talking to her, messing around in the office, and asking her for pop and candy. Eva, from what I remember, was the only woman working there at the time. And to me, Eva was the hen, ruling the roost. From my perspective, Eva was keeping all those guys in line and on schedule. She could take what ever those characters dished out and give it RIGHT back to them.

I loved Eva's desk. I was fascinated by it. My dad would sometimes bring my brother and I back to work in the evenings or on the weekend and it was my time to play around at Eva's desk. She had an olive green phone with the buttons at the bottom, showing multiple phone lines. The handset had one of those shoulder rest things coming out of it and I used to pretend I was Eva, the high-powered secretary in the office, handling multiple calls and shuffling papers with the phone resting on my shoulder. She had an adding machine that I would turn on and pretend I was getting to the bottom of a major budget blunder. She had these rubber things that you put over your fingers. (I was not quite as impressed with these).

My desk today doesn't seem NEARLY as awesome as Eva's was.