My own brand of crazy

        Have you ever left the house and thought, "Nooooooot my best outfit."?  That happened to me today.  I knew it wasn't great, but couldn't be bothered to change.  

At least I didn't wear this to work today

        Let's talk about family.  I spent time with my in-laws as well as my immediate family over Thanksgiving.  One thing I notice when hanging out with different family units is that each one has their own particular brand of crazy.  Some people are good at hiding it.  My family- clearly- is not.  (See above picture.)  

        You know what I mean, though, right?  Some families think fart jokes are funny, and some would never dream of laughing at such a thing.  Some families yell when they fight, and some smile bigger the more pissed off they get.  Some families watch football on Thanksgiving (GO PACK GO) and some don't even know which teams were playing.  I hate to say it, but [in order to appear slightly PC] none of these differences are right or wrong.   If you believe that skip the following sentence in parenthesis and continue on to the next paragraph.  (This is obviously total bullshit.  If you didn't know the Packers beat the Lions on Thursday, you're dead to me.)

I always make total sense

        Some families are more functional than others, but let's just be honest, we're all at least a little dysfunctional.  I like to say my family puts the "fun" in dysfunctional because, well, we do.  

Don't let the smiles and waves fool you

        My parents drove with my brother over the pass to have second Thanksgiving with Eric and me.  The minute they walked in to our apartment, I started busting my nugget.  I hadn't finished cleaning the shower.  My dad needed to use the [one] bathroom in our apartment.  "You're just going to have to hold it!" I hollered, scrubbing like a would be escapee from an insane asylum attempting to scrape a hole out of the bottom of the bathtub.  My dad just stood there and blinked.  Let me give you a tip: do not tell a person with Chron's Disease (or Ulcerative Colitis for that matter) to "hold it."  It is rude, and unrealistic.  Get your ass out of the bathroom ASAP should you ever find yourself in a similar situation.  Don't worry, even though I was acting tough, I followed my own advice and got my ass out of there.

        Keep in mind, my family was here for less than 24 hours. I don't think a single one of them used the shower.   It obviously didn't do any harm to wait and clean the shower in segments.  I just had to spaz out.  That's what we do in my family; we spaz out.  The good news is, once you have a serious spaz, you're set.  This works for me.  If you don't come from spazzy stock, though, you might have been taken aback had I shouted in your face in response to a relatively reasonable bathroom request.  I guarantee you that my dad didn't think twice, except perhaps a fleeting, "That's just Nikki being Nikki,"  

Not to be confused with Manny being Manny

        The point of this story is that I am a freak.  I come from a family full of freaks.  We like to fly our freak flags at every family gathering.  Yes, they are weird spazzy freaks, but they are mine, and I love them.  Enjoy your family, immediate or otherwise, and fly those freak flags high this holiday season.

Normal, right? You have no idea how many takes this took.

        

        *FYI people:  I got stuck in the elevator with the killer the other day.  He didn't recognize me because I had no make up on.  Unfortunately, my cover was blown when he saw me going into my apartment, and he called creepily down the hall, "Oh, I know who you are."  Holy crap!  I nervously laughed before he could try to poison dart me in the neck, and barely made it in alive.

Prime Suspect

        What I am obsessed with now...

Garmin Forerunner 610

        It tells you how fast you are running, how far you have run, and it has a virtual racer that you can, you know, race against.  Do I hate myself a little bit for wanting such a geeky training accessory?  Yes.  It's just that I need it to stop being slow.  Oh, also!  Let me just quote you something from the advertisement for this little gem of a watch, "It's time for a sport watch that can help you train smarter, not harder, and the 610 can do just that."  How am I just finding out about this now?!  So obvi the watch for me.

        Okay, now that's out of the way,  I have to tell you guys something.  I think there is a killer living three doors down from me.  Granted, he doesn't exactly look like a killer, but that's precisely what my neighbors will say once the news crew shows up to film the chalk outline of a dead body on our hallway floor.

Killer?! But he was such a nice guy....

         How do I know he's a killer if he doesn't look like a killer, you ask?  Duh.   Well first of all, he started talking to me in front of the elevator.   I know, right?  What. a. pyscho.  Second of all, I was carrying Kittles in her little cat carrier to the groomer, and he asked me her name.  Cree-py.  Am I the only one who saw Dexter: Season 4?  This is almost exactly how the Trinity Killer interacts with a suburban house wife right before he forces her to jump out the upper deck of an abandoned warehouse so it looks like a suicide!  He was just trying to make friendly small talk so I wouldn't see the murder coming. Well, I see the murder coming all right.  

Granted, he kind of looks like a killer

        Also, he lives in a studio apartment, alone.  (Reference any Dexter episode to know that a middle aged man living alone is a sure fire way to spot a killer.)  Fine, maybe my neighbor looks more like a 23 year old college kid studying engineering, than a forty seven year old living in a plastic lined apartment to keep blood from seeping into the hallway. However, that doesn't necessarily prove anything, except that this fool has an excellent disguise.

        Finally, a few days after our initial meeting at the elevator, I was unlocking my apartment door, when out of nowhere, I heard, "How's Lola?" It was the scary killer who appeared down the hall (feigning a simple entrance into his own studio of terror, no doubt.)  "Hehehe" I nervously laughed, "she's good... welp,  see ya!" SLAM. LOCK. Phew, I barely made it into my apartment before I was sleeping with the fishes.  Forget a Persian cat, I need some kind of an attack dog.

No one would mess with this  guy

I am so dead

        There is only one clue that suggests he is simply, in fact, a friendly person rather than a psychopath.

This is his door mat

        I'm still sleeping with one eye open, just in case.

       

     

The Holiday Edition

        Have you ever bought a German electronica dance CD on iTunes, and then instantly regretted it to the point where you wanted to stab yourself in the ear with a letter opener?  Yeah, me neither.  That would be so 1999- not to mention an embarrassing waste of money.

Does this look like an embarrassing waste of money to you?

        What I did do recently was go to Trader Joe's in an attempt to beat the Thanksgiving rush.  Being the middle of the day, and the middle of the week I thought I was golden.  Clearly, I thought wrong.  Trader Joe's is always a disaster, but yesterday it was a special brand of annoying.  People were carting me in the arm, stopping in the middle of the aisle to stare at cranberries, and asking dumb questions to the poor TJ team members in their Hawaiian print shirts (bless their hearts.)  Be warned people: the grocery store is a dangerous place.  Shop if you dare.

        I feel now is the appropriate time to share one of my major life goals that happens to come in quite handy this time of year.  This life goal is as follows: never cook a turkey. There are a couple of reasons why I continue to achieve this lofty goal.   The obvious reason being that turkey is super gross and full of disgusting salmonella just waiting to explode all over my kitchen and give me diseases.

And it will sneak up on you, too

        Do you see that sick, raw turkey in the picture?  Don't let the cute cartoon salmonella dupe you, this is no joke.  If you are going to act a fool and cook a turkey on Thanksgiving, you should absolutely visit www.foodsafety.gov and read the plethora of information on safe turkey prep and cooking tips.  

        The next reason why I will never cook a turkey is much less dangerous, but equally as important.  Cooking a turkey is not working smarter.  I keep hearing, "It's so easy!" People have tried to bait me with this lie, but I am not biting- at least not until after it's cooked to a safe internal temperature (165 °F.)  You have to thaw the darn thing, brine, stuff, baste, bake, BLECH!  Who has the wherewithal to plan that far ahead?  Forget it! It was all I could do to make it through Trader Joe's with hummus and rice crackers in my cart, let alone an 8-12 pound naked monster bird.

Too disgusting for words

        The smart way to have Thanksgiving dinner is certainly not to cook poor old Tom Turkey yourself.  I recommend bringing an appetizer and a lovely Malbec to throw potential poultry pushers off your scent.  Or, if you are having Thanksgiving at your house this year, trick your husband or significant other into cooking the beast, and follow him or her around with a Clorox wipe after that thing is safe in the oven.  Better yet, become a "vegetarian," and tell all your friends and family you are serving Tofurkey for dinner.  Not only will someone else end up cooking the turkey for you, but it is likely the event will not have to be held at your abode, thereby saving you many hours of cleaning and slaving away in the kitchen.

Do you see what I mean?  This will make horrible left-overs

        And my final piece of advice on working smarter not harder for the holidays:  if there is a task that you have been working on avoiding for quite some time, there is one sure fire way for continued- nay, life long- avoidance of said task.  Do not learn this skill.  If you don't know how to do something, you have the perfect excuse not do do it.  "Gee, mom, I would love to host Thanksgiving dinner, and make a giant turkey, but I just don't know how."  Problem solved.

9-0 + TB Free since '93

        I kicked off Monday night football at Lambeau with a Sofia mini and chinese food.  Boom. There's not a whole lot to say about the Vikings, except maybe- suck it, nerds!  Just like I told everyone who tried to wish us good luck for this game, "Thanks, but we won't need it."  We have A-Rodge.

I love you. *

*For those of you who might worry that Eric will take offense to this- don't.  I used to have a picture of Brett Favre taped above my bunk bed when we first met (yes, I had a bunk bed...at the age of 24) and he still married me.  I think he secretly loves Aaron Rodgers too.  As a matter of fact, who doesn't?  Maybe cry baby Cutler, and every other quarter back in the NFC hate him a little, but you get the idea.  Don't judge me.

        The good news is, I don't have Tuberculosis.  Random, you say?  Oh, yeah, I thought so too, when I got news of a positive TB test in an email.  I told the poor occupational health nurse, "It seems like it's something you don't want to tell people via email."  He concurred.   It turned into a whole ordeal, which included a minor freak out, screening questions to determine exposure, two TB skin tests (first one placed incorrectly), and a shuttle ride to a separate building to make sure I was not infected, blah blah blah.  Ridiculous.  I mean, a male nurse? Serious?  

       Of note, I have been TB free since '93, but also before '93.  It's just that "TB free since forever" didn't really have the ring I was looking for.  All of you "How I met Your Mother" fans know what I mean here.

   Okay you guys, the Packers are freaking awesome, and I don't have to stop drinking for a year while I take isoniazid (google it.)  Win win.

Open Mouth; Insert Entire Leg

        Eleven years ago I went to Bible College (or Bible Camp, as I liked to call it) in Carnforth, England. I happened to be there during the dreaded Foot and Mouth Disease outbreak. The bad news- aside from the fact that I was, indeed, at Bible Camp- was that we lived in a castle on a sheep farm.

This is the only digital picture I could find 

         I firmly believe it was from that very sheep farm/ Bible camp, that I had the severe misfortune to contract Foot in Mouth Disease. I pretty much always, albeit accidentally, say the exact wrong thing.

        It has crossed my mind that it also could be genetic. My Grandma Natalie had a similar habit of saying the exact wrong thing in many circumstances. For example, once, while getting a hair cut, her Native American stylist asked her how she wanted it to look, to which my grandmother replied, "Oh I don't care, as long as I don't end up looking like a wild Indian."

        I pulled a real Natalie at work today. One of the residents came up to me and asked, "Hey Nicole, do you know of any place around here where you can get eyeliner tattooed on?" I retorted, "What am I ninety? Who would ever get eyeliner tattooed on the face!?" Let's pause for a moment and realize that a normal human would think to herself, "Why is this fool asking me this? Maybe he wants eyeliner tattooed on his face. If that is the case, perhaps I should avoid saying anything potentially insulting."  Too bad I have no idea how to act like a normal human.  

Um.  Yeah.

        No, a normal human would have thought- at least a little bit- before speaking.  The resident then went on to say, "Oh, well, my fiance was thinking of getting it done-"  "Right!" I backpedaled (too late) "I'm not judging, it's just that I don't... even wear eyeliner! Right? So I wouldn't tattoo it on- It doesn't mean it's not... cool.  I don't judge!"  As if that wasn't bad enough, he went on to say, "Yeah, my mom and my sister get it done all the time."  Kill me.  Are you serious right now?

O'Doyle, I've got a feeling your whole family's going down

        I insulted this man's mom, sister, and fiance in a single sentence.  I tried to lament to one of my co-workers, and explained my faux pas.  The answer I got was not necessarily sympathetic, "Yep, sounds about right."  I tried another friend in the office, hoping for a little more compassion.  "I was doing so well [not insulting people] today," I whined.  "Yeah, and then you started talking," he said.  Rude.

        Forget Foot in Mouth Disease. I just put my whole leg in my mouth. Ratsicles.

Perrier and Ratsicles

        Not that it really matters, but I made an addendum to my previous blog entry, "Baller" yesterday.  It might not even be worth going back to peruse, but you might wonder about it if you don't.

        If you like to work smarter not harder, you should be well acquainted with how to be fancy.  Fancy people work minimally, if at all.  Nothing screams "I am fancy" like a nice bottle of Perrier.  Also, it is French, which automatically makes it a pretentious - I - only- work- here- to- get- out- of- the- house- sort of beverage.  You are practically required to extend a pinky while drinking this mineral water.  I just ordered three cases from Amazon, so yeah...I'm kind of a big deal.

Le fanciest

        With the help of Pink Grapefruit Perrier, I worked smart again today.  True, I did wake up at 0730 to go to Pilates, but then I went to Starbucks for an Americano and a mini doughnut-obvi.  Next, of course, my driver- I mean Eric- dropped me off downtown at my hair appointment.   The rest of the day has consisted of eating Thai food and booking international travel in my pajamas.  Perrier bottles consumed: 2.

        Now, the term "ratsicles" (like a popsicle with plague inciting capabilities) is one I have invented to try and reduce cursing in public.   It is along the lines of saying "Justin Bieber!" instead of taking the Lord's name in vain.  For instance, if you stub your toe, you can just shout out "Justin Bieber!"  I think it's less offensive to shout the name of a teeny bopper pop icon than Deity, but I can't be sure since people look at me with disgust either way.  

        If something goes quite wrong, and uttering "rats!" will simply just not do, adding "sicles" as a suffix will give it a bit more oomph.  Does anyone love rats?  Okay, not lab rats or pet rats, but sewer type rats that swim up toilets on Queen Anne.  Disgusting, right?  Horrible, right?  

ewwww

        What could be worse than a rat?  A frozen rat on a stick.  Hence, ratsicle- double ewwww.  Feel free to use the term whenever there is something that is not awful enough to require true profanity, but it is a gross enough misdemeanor as to require more than the Mickey Mouse Club response of, "Rats!"  Please see examples below.

Situation                                                                                         Appropriate Response

Out of Pink Grapefruit Perrier                                                         Rats!

 Rat infestation in Perrier supply                                                      Ratsicles!

                                                   

        This has been your lesson in decorum and fanciness.  You're welcome.

Baller

        Today I flew to work.  That's right- I flew...in a plane.  It would have been a lot cooler if I hadn't flown to Pasco, WA.  Not that I don't love Pasco, but it would have been a lot more baller if our hospital had an outreach clinic in, say, Vegas.  Oh well.  I still felt PRE-tty important.  How did your day go, Nicole?  Oh it went awesome, thank you.  I flew to the Tri-Cities and back, and we had Pizza Hut for lunch.  Disgusting, you say?  Don't hate me cause you ain't me.

This isn't from today, but it's a cool airplane picture

        What we need to talk about is the free booze they pass out on Horizon flights.  I got carded by the flight attendant, which would have been flattering if it was a longer flight.  In this case, however, it was just annoying because it is only a 45 minute flight. What I needed was to get drinking, not waste time digging around my purse for my driver's license.  Also, I am not that old. Annoying.  Irritating as it was, I didn't want the secret federal air marshal on the plane to taze my ass, so I didn't get crazy.  What I really hated was the part when the flight attendant took my wine before I was finished because the plane was landing.  (P.S.- not a good enough reason- you never take a drink out of a lady's hand. Right, Sarah Phillips?)

Do not disturb

Once again, not wanting to get tazed, I begrudgingly handed my plastic cup- still 1/4 full with a decent Merlot, might I add- back to that fool.  There probably wasn't even a secret air marshal on that flight.   Please tell me wasted wine doesn't let the terrorists win.

         As I was skimming through some of my previous blog entries the other night, I noticed I talk fair amount about getting old, drinking, and the possibility of getting tazed.  Maybe this blog should be called blazed not tazed?  Perhaps when I grow up, I will revise my subject matter.  Probably not, though.  I mean, if I was going to grow up, wouldn't I have done it by now?

        I have to tell you this, people.  Today was smarter not harder.  Flew to work.  Pizza party lunch.  Sky high wine bar.  Oh, and the best part- the two best parts, really- I did not work out today, and we had Chinese food delivered for dinner.  Love this day.

*Addendum* It was brought to my attention by a concerned friend, that I should have mentioned the Chinese food was ordered on my iPad at the Pasco airport.  It was delivered mere minutes after the town car dropped me off at home.  How smart is that?!