Showing posts from November, 2012

Work allergy.

My parents and sister will not be surprised to hear me say: I think I'm allergic to work.

After a full and glorious, albeit too short, week off of work for Thanksgiving, I came back to the office on a Monday. Cold. Dreary. Monday. 

The hours dragged by slowly. I felt as if I never could fully wake up. I had a headache nearly all day. My stomach grumbled to be fed whenever it wanted--not on some predetermined (not by me) schedule.

I did not feel like that during my time off. I never feel like that on weekends. The obvious conclusion is that I am allergic to work and should be a stay-at-home wife.

I'll clarify that I do, actually, like my job. I'm quite good at it and get along with everyone I work with reasonably well. Importantly, I get paid to be good at something and work well with people. But I also really like being in my pajamas (as you are now aware), and I'm not allowed to do that at the office. Apparently the Governor frowns on it. 

(Side note: guess what charming …

I seen you write that wrong.

Grammar is defined, in part, as "the study of the classes of words, their inflections, and their functions and relations in the sentence," and "a system of rules that defines the grammatical structure of a language."

It's something we're all supposed to have learned in school as youngsters. It's integral to my job today. (This law contains compound sentences that aren't separated by commas! Ack!) And yet, it seems that I know some (otherwise lovely) people who apparently skipped any class related to language usage from, oh, grades 3-11.

Being from the South, I agree that there can be something charming about dropping your g's. Matter of fact, allow me to restate that sentence: Bein' from the South, I agree that there can be somethin' charmin' about droppin' your g's. (I hear that in my head as being spoken by Blanche Devereaux.) I have used, and will continue to use, the word "ain't". I sometimes "reckon&quo…

Things for which I'm thankful.

'Tis nearly Thanksgiving, so I shall now give thanks for all the things I'm thankful for.

1. Obviously, I have to start with God, who is unchanging in His love for me, even when my faith in Him is far less than it should be. And He still loves me even when I make thinly veiled references to how much I enjoy a good bottle o' wine.

2. Well, since I mentioned it: I'm thankful for wine. It's my favorite food group.

3. My parents, my beautiful sister, my awesome in-laws (even Lindsey), and my most beautiful niece and charmingly adorable nephew.

4. Patrick. He totally crushes being a husband. Schmidt would agree.
5. High thread count sheets.

6. Dishwashers. Spend some time without one and you'll know what I mean.

7. My friends, whom I don't call/email with/talk to nearly enough, and they seem to still like me anyway. (Maybe that's WHY they still like me? Hmmm.) (Oh, and they go above high thread count sheets and dishwashers. But below wine. Kidding. Or am I?)

8. The…

Go plank yourself, Jackie Warner.

How I feel about exercise.

I try to work out regularly. I have been "trying to work out regularly" for about 5 years now. Actually working out regularly is something I've not yet been able to achieve.

Part of the reason is this: working out SUCKS. It's hard, y'all. I know there are those of you who enjoy the actual exercise, not just "the feeling of accomplishment when you're done." I do not understand you.

The other part of the reason is that I really ought to get up at 5:30 in the morning to have time to workout, eat breakfast, shower, fix my lunch for the day, and get out of the door and to work on time. ("On time" is "5-7 minutes after I should have been here.) I'm not sure if you know this, but 5:30a.m. sucks as much as working out sucks. Sooo, that's kind of working against me.

You are probably saying to your monitor, "Why don't you just work out after work, dummy?" I used to, but I don't now for two main …

The Great Family Plague of Thanksgiving '11.

When a large group experiences something profound and moving together, it brings them together. It bonds them. It ties them together, forever connected by that event. Thanksgiving a year ago, Patrick, myself, and bunch of his family bonded over such an event. This is that tale.

This time last year, on bright and cheery Saturday, the weekend before Thanksgiving, Patrick and I hightailed it to Jacksonville to celebrate the 60th birthday of Patrick's Aunt Donna.

Donna's oldest daughter Dana and her husband Henry have an adorable son who, at the time, was about 18 months old. The party was to be at their house, and that's also where we were to bunk down for the night. Upon arrival, we hugged Dana and Henry hello and got as much sugar as Baby J would allow us. He was just getting over being sick, so we didn't want to bother him too much.

Throughout the afternoon, we did our best to help the hosts prepare (although they had it pretty well under control). Mostly, we just enjoye…

Pajammer time.

I almost never go out in the evenings during the week, and I rarely have people over, either.

My sister-in-law would smile (devilishly) and say that it's because I have no friends.

My sister might suggest as tactfully as possible that it's because I'm kind of lame.

My mom would say, with kindness, that it's because I'm an introvert.

My dad would think it's perfectly normal and not comment at all.

My preacher might guess it's because I'm making efforts to avoid sin. (We all know some good sinnin' goes on once the sun goes down.)

It's not for any of those reasons. The reason I don't go out in the evenings during the week is because I can't wear my pajamas out of the house.

My routine is set pretty well in stone. I come home from work, throw my bags down somewhere, and, much to Patrick's joy and delight, immediately go to the bedroom to change into my pajamas. Seriously. If I've been home for 5 minutes and I'm not already changed in…

Okay, maybe I don't want the bump.

Happy Monday Tuesday, World. I've had quite a weekend. I saw all kinds of little munchkins. No, not Wizard of Oz munchkins. Children. Patrick and I got to spend time with five kids under the age of five this week. And how appropriate it is that we are surrounded by all these adorable little germ factories (no, really, we love these kids) when I've been recently ruminating on so many wonderful reasons I should really have a baby bump. 

But, as I mentioned, I've also gotten the impression that pregnancy may not be quite as magical as I have imagined? Why? Let's dive in.

The number one reason I can think of for not wanting a baby bump is the floating sign that I'm told appears over your head that says, "It's okay to touch me. No, you don't have to ask." I can't imagine what to say to people who assume that, simply because you appear to have a basketball shoved underneath your shirt, it's perfectly fine to manhandle you.

What must be be harder is…

I just want the bump.

Looking at a picture of one of my friends and her newly emerging baby bump, I said, "Man, I want one of those!" Patrick looked up quickly. A sudden sheen appeared over his top lip, and a wild, panicked look besieged his face*. I assured him I was not talking about a baby (not necessarily, anyway). I want the baby bump

Once he unclenched, relaxed, and leaned back in his chair, still shaking a little*, he asked why. I happily answered, "Because it's so cute! I've never seen a pregnant woman with a bitty baby bump that didn't look adorable. I want to be adorable!" 

I thought to myself, no one has ever looked at my stomach after I've eaten a pretty righteous burrito and told me I look cute. But baby bumps? So precious. Who wouldn't want to be precious? (I do NOT want to be Precious--like the movie.)

Our little exchange got me thinking about the other reasons having a baby bump would be awesome. First of all, there would be no more sucking in. I mean…

Stop with the negativity.

This is an appropriate follow-up to Monday's post. It's only fair that since I blasted all the starry-eyed dreamers that I should also poke a stick at the Negative Nancys and Debbie Downers of the world (or those on the periphery of my social acquaintance). Please note that this isn't about people with serious problems. I'm talking about the whiners.

"UGH, not again!"

"Wish I had someone to talk to..."

"OMG my boss is the most annoying jerk ever!"

"Well, guess I'm alone again."

"Wish things could go right just once."

Good gracious. What is it? What's happened? Is it really that bad? 

If it really is that bad, my condolences. Get thee to a best friend, a counselor, or religious adviser, and best of luck jumping this hurdle. 

But what's that you say? Goodness me, you got a speeding ticket. Third time this year? Hmm. I'm so sorry to hear about your troubles. Were you speeding? Yes? And you still don't think yo…

Stop with the positivity.

Call me a pessimist or a grouch, but I sure do hate encouraging phrases. You know the ones--they are supposed to cheer you up when you're down about stuff that happens to absolutely everyone. I know, I know... what works for one person doesn't have to work for everyone. I honestly acknowledge that. But that attitude makes for some boring blogging. Some people love these phrases, but I don't, and since this is my boring blog, I can say what I want. (I'm very petulant, aren't I?)

"Sometimes bad things fall apart so good things can come together."

This is big after breakups. I don't like it because it's not logical. Bad things fall apart because they're BAD. I think it goes against God's design for bad things to stay together. Oh, people try to make it work, make no mistake. (Denim on denim trend, I see you.) But there's no chance of a "good thing" coming together until you let go of the bad stuff. It's not why good things com…

The skinny mirror is your frenemy.

I have a skinny mirror. Any fellas reading may not be familiar with what this is. Most girls will be. It is a mirror that somehow makes the reflected you taller and slimmer than real-life you. I didn't always know I had a skinny mirror, but I know it now. And guess what?

A skinny mirror is not your friend.

I'm not sure, but I think I've had this mirror since I moved out of my parents' house back in my second year of college. That means that for about a decade, I've been dressing, checking myself out (all angles--the back side counts, too), and walking out into the world, confident that I know what I look like.   

And yet, when I'd catch my reflection elsewhere, or see a picture of myself, I'd always think, "That's NOT what I looked like... was it? I don't remember looking like that. Why do my legs look so short? Why is that outfit not nearly as flattering as I thought?" I just assumed that over the course of the day, my clothes must have stre…

Holiday tidings.

Today, as you are likely aware, is November 1st. (Rabbit, rabbit!) You know what that means. The holiday season is nigh and the weight gain is about to begin. 


I started Christmas shopping in July. I had a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream for  breakfast this morning. (Pumpkin pie with my coffee in the a.m.? Could this day start out any better?!) I'm already trying to figure out what dishes I can prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I love the holidays.

Only in recent years have I really come to anticipate Thanksgiving. I suppose age and maturity (and being forced to participate in meal prep because my mom thinks I'm a grown-up now) has helped me see how wonderful Thanksgiving is. You get all the family, food, and love, without the stress of the shopping. We all know what the holiday is about: giving thanks, pilgrims and Native Americans breaking bread together, mini-pumpkins, and cornucopias. But let's get real. This is a holiday that, for most of us, is st…