Planes.
May 14, 2008
Airline travel is full of surprises.
The attendant on my recent flight to New York was a cross between Jay Leno and Ralphie Parker (”A Christmas Story”). It was a 6:30am flight, so the last thing I was expecting was a comedy act. He must have worked on this script for a while. It was your normal airline safety schpeel, interspersed with humorous anecdotes. Things like, “Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for take-off. If you can’t breathe, it probably means your seatbelt is too tight. Pull up on the buckle to loosen the belt, then start over again with the fastening.”
The comedy continued during the snack cart run, “What would you like to drink sir? Water? How ’bout some whiskey with your water? I hear whiskey makes the world go round.”
Actually, a good portion of his act revolved around pushing liquor drinks on people. I’m not sure he had any takers. 6:30am…mid-air…time to tie one on…I don’t think so.
Who knew the ticket price included entertainment? Pretzels, the in-flight magazine, and a blue blanket. That’s all I wanted. The comedy show was a nice touch. Next flight, I’m hoping for hula dancers.
Spade-ism #9.
May 13, 2008
In honor of the bride: She sure is purty. She’s finer than frog hair.
Wedding.
May 12, 2008
I missed posting over the weekend because one of my best friends got married on Saturday. I flew up to see her on Thursday, so that we could spend the day together getting much needed massages and pedicures.
While I was there, I started thinking back to my own wedding two years ago. Those last few weeks before the big day were a roller coaster ride of emotions. Excitement, stress, happiness, exhaustion…sheer panic. The planning, the details, the dress, the guest list, the invitations, the money, the MADNESS.
Seeing my friend in a total frenzy got me wondering…whose f*#king idea was it to have the bride plan her own wedding? Obviously, that person was either smoking the crack or sipping the crazy juice.
Sure, sure, if you’ve got a million dollars in your pocket, you’re having a million dollar wedding planned by a million dollar wedding coordinator. And, of course, if you’ve got a mother who’s a detail person, she might take control of the situation (FYI, my mom brought six outfits with her when she visited for Easter Sunday because she couldn’t decide which one to wear to church…table linens, flower arrangements, and invitation fonts would have put her over the edge). I’d even venture a guess on certain husbands grabbing the wedding reins, but I think I’d put a bigger wager on husbands just barely making it to the church on time.
Bottom line, it all boils down to the bride. If I had a penny for every bride who said, “I can’t wait for the day to be over,” I’d be sitting on a beach sipping pina coladas, instead of sitting at my kitchen counter typing on the computer.
Luckily, 99% of the time that day does come, and all of the stress, and the panic, and the exhaustion suddenly disappears. Something magical takes over. Brides are transformed. They float on air that day. They fill a room with happiness. They speak with their eyes.
And that is how I spent my Saturday. In the glow of a beautiful bride.
OCD.
May 7, 2008
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is defined as an anxiety disorder—characterized by recurrent thoughts, feelings, ideas or sensations (obsessions) or behaviors—that makes a person feel driven to perform (compulsions). A person may have both obsessions and compulsions.
I am told by many that I have mild OCD tendencies. And sometimes, I, myself, am willing to admit that a good dose of medication could probably help me out. There are many small examples I could share with you, like not being able to leave the house without the bed made, or straightening and re-straightening towels on a towel rack after someone has used them, or putting the newspaper into the recycling bin before my husband has had a chance to even glance at it.
Last night, though, I had an episode that clearly illustrates my supposed disorder. After checking email for a while, and posting on the blog, I hobbled downstairs to fold laundry. Keep in mind, it was going on 11pm and I have to be up by 5:23am in order to make it to Booty Camp on time, so I was feeling a bit rushed because I needed to get to bed.
After several minutes of leaning into the dryer, grabbing clothes, folding them, and putting them in the basket, I reached in to grab the last few items. A gray T-shirt and one miniature white sock. The key word here folks is “one.” One lonely, no mate in sight, miniature white baby sock.
Now, if I had to guess, I would say most people would just toss the sock into the basket and hope for the best. The “best” being the sock’s mate would show up three days later under the bed or something. If not, I’d venture to say those same people would go on living. That lone white sock would get pushed to the bottom of the drawer, never to be heard from or seen again. And the mate would be forgotten forever. Not even a guess as to what happened to it. Like, maybe tiny ants came and carried it away…a mattress for their queen. Or maybe some wild dust bunnies came and devoured it for lunch. Nope, no need for a reason. Most people would just keep on keepin’ on.
OCD gal, on the other hand, went into a complete tailspin. Let me retrace the steps for you here:
- I madly searched through the inside of the dryer because I was certain the white sock was camouflaged in there.
- I madly searched through the inside of the dryer again because I was certain I missed the cute little sock on my first search attempt.
- I opened the lint filter. It’s a miniature sock after all, surely it was logged in the lint filter.
- I shimmied the dryer away from the washer because that son-of-bit#% sock had to have accidentally fallen into the black hole between the two.
- I unfolded every article of clothing I had just gotten done folding because that slippery little sucker was definitely hiding in between a pair of underwear somewhere.
And then, suddenly, lo and behold, there it was, sleeping peacefully at the bottom of the basket. Hal-le-lu-jah, hal-le-lu-jah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hal-le-eh-lu-jah!
You have no idea how joyous the occasion was. Who cared that it was past midnight and I was still awake? Who cared that I would be crying my eyes out in Boot Camp the next day from sleep deprivation and a total lack of energy? The miniature socks were reunited. Rejoice! My life would go on.
I gracefully folded those two beautiful little socks into a perfect little square and found my way to bed.
The end.
Bathroom.
May 6, 2008
How long do you think a person—a woman—can last without going to the bathroom? A few hours? Maybe half a day? Today I prayed that I would learn how to pee standing up. No, this is not me suffering from penis-envy or anything like that. I’m perfectly content with my pieces and parts. What it is, is me suffering from the most extraordinary muscle pain ever, courtesy of yesterday’s Boot Camp (aka Kick Your Bootie Camp) lunge and squat workout. Suddenly, peeing has become close to impossible, as I can get nowhere near the toilet without grabbing onto something next to me and slowly lowering myself down to the seat. Other challenges include walking up steps, walking down steps, sitting down at my computer to type (right now I am standing), getting into and out of bed, and a multitude of other tasks I normally take for granted. I am about to OD on Advil, and tonight I’m thinking about a BenGay body scrub. The most incredible part of this story is that I am supposed to be back up at 5:30am for another glorious Boot Camp workout. Is anyone else confused? What part of “I cannot move my lower extremities” = “Boy, I can’t wait to get back out there and run a mile”? Put a fork in me…I’m done.
Spade-ism #8.
May 6, 2008
He was as confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar.
Photo.
May 5, 2008
I normally would not do this, but got swept up in the moment. I entered my child in a photo contest. What was I thinking? Next thing you know, I’ll be bashing some woman’s knees in to make sure my kid makes the football team.
There’s no telling how much spam I will get, now that my entry has been submitted. Yes, I am a sucker.
So, if you’re feeling at all sucker-ish today, please click here and vote for my child. He’s the cute one with the dimples!
Julep.
May 3, 2008
It’s Kentucky Derby day, and time for a delicious mint julep.
So, what exactly is a julep? And, why do we drink them on this particular day? The origin of the word julep is the Persian word julâb, which means “rosewater.” In 15th-century England, the word “julep” was used to describe a sugar syrup mixed with brandy (and later bourbon), that was then mixed with medication. It was originally developed as a protective against malaria (Old White Springs, Virginia, 1809).
I’m guessing it became the official drink of the Derby because the main ingredient, bourbon, is a Kentucky specialty. Or, maybe it’s because horse poop attracts a lot of mosquitoes, and infected mosquitoes carry malaria! And, all this time I thought those big hats were for show…when in actuality, they’re really just elaborate mosquito nets! And, no wonder those jockeys are so short…they’re totally hanging out under the mosquito radar. Nicely done gentlemen, nicely done.
Gluteus.
May 1, 2008
Did you know that in addition to your Gluteus Maximus muscle, you also have a Gluteus Medius and Gluteus Minimus? Me neither. But, I found out today, after the 1,000th leg lift I did in Boot Camp this morning. For the most part, my buttocks just follow me around, minding their own business. Some days, I actually forget all about them…umm, let me rephrase that…I choose not to notice they are there. Today, though, the hind parts are garnering some more attention. They are on fire. Calgon, take me away.
