Don't pressure us, Anxiety.

         I have to tell you something.  I know there hasn't been a post for two weeks, and this is kind of over due.  I was no fun last Monday, so I didn't really think posting would be a good idea.  I thought it would be better to wait for inspiration.  So, yeah... I flew to work again today.  I'm pretty sure I almost died.

This was my most "dead" picture

        First of all, I had to get up at 0530 this morning, so I was almost technically dead when I walked out to my town car.  (That's right- town car, jokers.)  Second of all, when you fly in a tiny plane, there is almost always turbulence, and that makes me feel like I am about to be dead.  (See above picture.)  

        So, yeah... remember that time I thought I was cool because I flew to work?  I'm over it.  I have it on good authority that there is a legit prescription for flying that keeps one from becoming a born again Christian every time the plane hits a weird air pocket.  I even have a friend who has the perfect calculation for her "happy pill : glass of wine" ratio.  Still, we all know it's not cool to pop a Xanax before work, and when we hit turbulence this morning,  I was stone cold sober.  My stomach did that roller coaster drop thing, and I knew it was the end.  At that moment, my iPod blasted an Angels and Airwaves song, "Don't pressure us, Anxiety-  I'm a passenger.  So dangerous, Anxiety- just a passenger."  I felt like I was about to be a made for TV movie on Lifetime with a way skinnier person playing me.

Belly up

        I don't think I saw my life flash before my eyes, but I had two strong thoughts racing through the old noodle.  Dear God, I'm sorry for everything!  and I didn't kiss Eric before I left this morning.  (Truth  be told, I spent the 0400 -0500 hour kicking and punching poor Eric in his sleep because he was snoring me awake! Oops.) With the wind tossing our toy plane around like a rag doll, it took all of my will power not to give the grandpa next to me a death clutch around the ulna and radius region. (Don't be gross! They're arm bones, you pervs.) 

Right?

        I wasn't worried about God so much, as I was that I hadn't kissed Eric.  You can call me sacrilegious.  Call me a heathen.  But guess what, if God is out there, I am certain he or she would hear me.  And if he or she is a God worth believing in, then I know I would have found love and forgiveness should this have been my last morning on Earth.  Call me lame.  Call me a drama queen, but I would never be able to kiss Eric again if that freakin' plane crashed.  Can't live with that one.

       Hey fools, don't forget to kiss your favorite person(s) before you go to sleep tonight and before you leave the house tomorrow morning.   Obvi.

My two faves

     

        

Oh Baby

        About seven and a half years ago, I went to a friend's wedding.  As you might have already guessed, I was quite a bit younger back then- obvi.

Crimped my hair...sorry 'bout it.

        The day after the wedding, we went to have brunch and watch the happy couple open their presents.  I remember one of the gifts they received was a casserole dish, and the bride, Malora, seemed weirdly thrilled by this.  I sat there thinking, "Kill me if I ever get excited about a casserole dish.  When I get married, I'm asking for a new snowboard."  Actually, I think I might have said it out loud to our friend, Carly, and offended people.  I do that a lot by accident when I think I'm just saying things in my mind.  To my credit, I was only 23 years old.  Why wouldn't I want a snowboard?

       Last Saturday, I went to a baby shower for a friend.  It was a really nice event, considering I hate babies.  Just kidding, I really don't hate babies at all.  I work with them.  Sometimes I hold them.  Overall,  I would say I like them as a people group.  I just don't want one of my own.  Considering the shower goers were comprised of a minimum of three preggos, women who have already had at least one kid, and those who are planning on having kids, I felt like a giant alien face (which is funny, because, let's be honest all babies look like alien faces.)  If not an alien, I am pretty sure this makes me a horrible person.   

I do hold babies.  (I love this baby, PS.)

        I felt like a robot who hadn't been programmed to adore cute miniature baby booties or Onesies with silly expressions on them.  (Although, I did give Shandra a pretty hilarious Onesie with a blue ribbon on it that said, "Best in Show.") I leaned over to my friend Carly - yes, the same Carly from two paragraphs ago- and muttered, "Kill me if I ever get excited about a diaper bag."

         It makes me feel like there is something seriously wrong with me.  I wish I wanted a baby so that I could feel like a normal human.  Then again, I've been completely abnormal for thirty years, why start now?

Nachos on my face?  Maybe.

        I really don't believe I'm a horrible person, (no comments please) but I am a selfish person.  I'm totally set in my ways.  I go to Pilates twice a week.  I run at least three times a week.  I go to yoga on Sundays.  I get my nails done, my hair done, and my eyebrows waxed. Not to mention, Eric and I like living downtown, and we go to about 40 baseball games per season- none of this is conducive to having a miniature, helpless person tagging along.  But never mind these luxuries! Do you know what every new mother I know has told me at one point or another?  "I don't have time to shower any more."  You don't have time to- what the...?  Um, I kind of like showering, people.  Is that so wrong?!

        

        I know I sound like I'm whining, but it's good for me to feel like an alien robot sometimes.  It's a gift to be able to empathize.  Never felt like a heartless alien robot invading a baby shower?  Oh, no?  Well, ever felt like a freak for some reason or another?  We've all been there.  There's hope for all of us freaks, though, you know.  Seven years after I scoffed at my friends' cookware, I got married, myself.  Also, I got this really amazing  oval 6.75 quart cast iron french oven that  I just love.

Weirdly thrilling, no?

     

Pretentious work out gear, obviously.

        It should come as no surprise that I love to shorten words.  Perf, obvi, and totes (ie: totally- obvi) are a part of my daily repertoire.   However, it might be slightly confusing to see the perfectly long word "obvious" in the title of this blog entry.  Since when do I ever say the full word, "obviously"?  Well, you're about to find out, but first I have to digress for a second.

Sensei wisdom- go!

        The new year started out rad because I secretly ordered an obscene amount of unnecessary athletic clothing from the store a friend likens to "crack for women," Lululemon.  

If you don't know what this means, we aren't going to dignify your foolery by spelling it out on our store front for you

        I am fully aware that this store is full of pretentious, ridiculously over priced work out gear.  Eric calls it the "hundred dollar store" (as opposed to the dollar store.)  It sucks me in every time.  I compulsively check the "we made to much"  section of the store's website to see if the pair of running pants I am most recently obsessed with has been marked down below, well... one hundred dollars. (And, yes, they are that ostentatious.  Lululemon does not go on sale.  Sometimes they just make too much.  You're welcome, Universe.)  Confession: I bought sweatpants at this store.  And a hooded sweatshirt.  And running pants.  And a paper thin yoga cover up that has sleeves with thumb holes.  Don't judge me.  The hoodie has sparkles in it- what was I supposed to do?

Looks better on me- duh

       Bad news: I got busted by Eric.  Now, in his defense, he would never come out and tell me not to buy something.  He's far to clever for that.  He did, however, give me the look.  You know, the we're trying to save a down-payment for a house, and you're seriously going to spend - HOW MUCH- on *ahem* another pair of sweatpants.  So, as you can imagine, what came out of my mouth on the way to the cash register was a last ditch attempt to leave the store with merchandise in tow, and a minimal guilt trip.  "I won't buy any more clothes for the next three months!"  The words weren't all the way out of my mouth before I felt the blood drain from my face.  I felt dizzy- faint, even.  I tried to think fast.  How could I cover it up?  "I meant three weeks?  No wait!  I said three days." It was too late.  He heard exactly what I said, and before I could regain my composure...we pinky swore on it.  JUSTIN BEIBER.

         Ever since that horrific moment, random crap has been going wrong.  I forgot I was carrying a water bottle that was open and poured it all over my purse.   I lost my parking ticket and nearly had to pay for a whole day of parking down town.  I burned myself on the oven.  I got a paper cut from the cardboard holding the sanitary toilet seat covers.  I snagged my Lulu yoga cover up on the Velcro on my reusable shopping bag.  Well, that's what I get for trying to save the earth.  

        This brings me to my next point.  You should all be fairly well versed in the proper use of terms such as  "Ratsicles,"  and "Obvi,"  but when to go full on "obviously?"  Well, seeing as how I have stupid misfortunes that I bring upon myself on a daily basis, I can't very well swear every time they happen.  Well, I could, but people would think I have Tourette's.  So, instead of cussing when I poured water into my purse, I just sighed and said, "Obviously."  It's sort of like saying, "why wouldn't I have just done that?"  I would.  I'm me.  Obviously.

        Coffee poured on my shirt before I get to work? Obviously.

        Cat peed on the futon?  Obviously.

        Accidentally pinky swore off retail therapy for three months?  Obviously.

         Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do some laundry so I have clean fancy pants for the week, as I clearly can't buy any new ones before April.  Obviously.

There is no wind in my sales. (pun intended)

Happy Wedding!

        We had the great pleasure of ringing in the new year at our dear friends', Carly and Joe's, wedding.  I have to get sentimental for a minute, and tell you that it was beautiful.  

I know, right?

        The best part- aside from them pledging unending love to each other in front of all their family and friends- was that they had a raw oyster bar (YUM) and not just champagne (which is obviously for commoners and French people,) but my favorite- Prosecco!

So much fancier than plain Jane champagne

        The bad news was that my other good friend who attended the wedding with us was totally pregnant and could not enjoy either of these amazing New Years wedding treats.

She wasn't this happy totally sober on New Year's

        It was perfect for those of us choosing to imbibe at the wedding, though- built in DD! Obvi.  Thanks for being pregnant, Ems.

        The next morning, in keeping with our New Year's Day tradition, we had brunch with Jesse and Emily (said pregnant friend and her husband) at this super little restaurant, The Fork.  My only mistake was that I didn't wear sweatpants, which is surprising because, as many of you know, I wear them as often as possible. In fact, I have certain friends with whom I will only have dinner at their homes if I can wear sweatpants.  Ironically, I didn't wear sweatpants because I figured Emily would wear something classier. (She is one of my classier friends.)  She wore hers because she figured I would wear mine.  It was kind of like the time she dressed like a ho when we were in Vegas because she thought I was going to ho it up.  Turns out I wore mom jeans.

Classic mom jeans mix up (trust me, they're there)

      I didn't make any resolutions (except maybe a subconscious vow to wear sweatpants more and mom jeans less,) but I had a great New Year's Eve with Eric and good friends.  We danced, ate, and drank the night away in celebration of true love (yes I am a sap sometimes.)  I can't think of a better way to start 2012.