Boring Can Be Fun

I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you already know this, but nevertheless: Wow, y'all! It's 2016! New year. Fresh start. Endless possibilities and boundless optimism. That's how the first week of the new year feels, right? Like, this year, IT'S MY YEAR.  Although it makes no sense, that phrase. I do not own a year. A year is not mine. I share it with however many people are also alive on the planet during this year.  Fine, sure. I know that people mean IT'S THE YEAR I'M FINALLY GOING TO GET MY (stuff) TOGETHER. Okay, that I can get on board with. Let's all get our (stuff) together this year. And how will we do that? Uhhhh... I know: Let's just wing it, like always, and see if things magically work out for us a little better than every. other. year. Solid plan? Yes.  Recap: first week of the year--feeling invincible! Weeks 2-52: back to normal. Anyway. For whatever reason, once the holidays are over and it's just cold...

Serious topic today. The "I'm relaxing with my feet up" picture. On a beach? Cross your legs and capture the pristine sands and blue waters, with a sneaky little slip of your kicked-back feet at the bottom of the snap. Enjoying a little "me" time a home? Set the snacks and the wine on the ottoman, and kick those feet up there (carefully!), cross them, and snap that totes cazh picture. Chilling on the patio? You know what to do. Throw those feet up on the banister and get that snap of your pedicured piggies and that beautiful sunset! So here's my issue. I like to relax. I like to be at the beach. I like to drink wine and eat snacks alone (not that I get to do that anymore, but I like to). I like to look at sunsets and yards and be on porches with banisters. BUT I HAVE UGLY FEET.  It's extremely sad and unfair.  No one will care that I'm on a beach when they see my skinny finger toes, all long and pale and unpolished. ...

Valentines: they ain't for kids. Apparently they're for the kids' parents. This is according to my facebook feed, instagram, and various mommy blogs I've seen in the days leading up to the most over-hyped holiday of the year. Let me start with this: Valentine's Day has never been more than a tiny blip on my radar. It's one of those days where it's nice to say, "Let's not have leftovers for dinner," but that's about it. In college, I was dating a guy, and by "dating" I mean we met at Stetson's on the Moon (always a promising start) sometime within the month before Valentine's Day, and had talked on the phone and gone to dinner a few times. I was 19, he was 21. On Valentine's Day, I AIM'd him (do kids know what that is? It's a stone age technology that predates texting which was created by a company called AOL--you may have heard of them) just to say, "Hey, happy V-day." The response w...

Today I'm posting strictly to complain about something that bugs me. (Because complaining and being irritable are attractive qualities.) And it's this phrase, and all its variations: "I don't have time to be sick!" It's usually preceded by an outline of what specifically is wrong with the person uttering those eye-roll-inducing words. Sore throat? Headache? Gross bodily functions? Yes, that all stinks (some of it quite literally stinks ). But here's my gripe. When does anyone ever have time to be sick? NEVER. Have you ever been kicking it, enjoying a relatively stress-free period of zen-like calm and thought to yourself, "Now would be a great time to be sick. I have loads of time." NOPE. Have you ever been on vacation and thought, "Ah, if I had to be sick, I have lots of time to do it right now! I'm taking it easy anyway!" NOPE. Have you ever thought to yourself that life is so hectic that you'd almost welcome a cold...

Alternate title: My pretty son. Tuesday was my baby girl's 8-month birthday. It was also Veteran's Day, so we had the day off work. While home, Patrick's parents and grandmother dropped by our house unexpectedly, which turned into an unexpected lunch out with the family. Patrick and I got the restaurant just a few minutes ahead of his parents and grandmother, so we waited outside for a few minutes. While waiting, a nice, grandmotherly-type lady approached us. You know how it is. You go out with a cute kid (and ours, obviously, is the THE CUTEST IN THE WORLD I LOVE HER SO MUCH), people are going to hound you like paparazzi stalking celebrities. Hey! Over here! You, with the most gorgeous child in the world! God bless you and that sweet baby!   Hey! Over here! Your baby is so cute! I wanna pinch her cheeks!   Ma'am! Your daughter should be a baby model!   Oh, my! Isn't she cute! How old is she? What a fun age! I love her shirt! What? People don...

When you strike gold, you keep digging, right? Well, piggybacking on my RAGING success from the other week , I'm here to post my... AWKWARD SELFIE OF THE WEEK   Or my awkward selfie of the month. Or year. Or I may never do this again. Whatevs.   Elements of the selfie that I nailed: downward angle for most flattering (ha) results duck face/silly face (with an element of "Say WHAAAAT?" thrown in) excellently clever hashtags   It also highlights my highlights. More accurately, it highlights how long it's been since I've had my highlights done. (Over four months.) Howdy-doo, roots?   I did not get a truly awkward location but I did do it at work which is probably a no-no. That was 10 seconds spent not doing something I should have. But, hey, I'd been at work for, like 30 minutes. I needed a break.   Now, on to the show:   #worklife #dontcare #helloroots #hashtag     Take note of the immense clutte...

Following an most excellently hot and sweaty walk Saturday morning, I decided that I really needed to take a post-workout selfie. Because if you don't, did it even happen? No, it did not. Based on all the selfies I've seen, and I've seen far too many, I've learned that all the best selfies contain a few crucial elements: hand on the hip duck face OR "I'm so ridiculously happy" smile OR sassy face downward angle, to aid in looking slimmer and/or showing some cleavage   There are also some fantastic optional elements that seem to bring some further life and interest to the picture: bathroom locale post-workout flushed cheeks faux-self-deprecating caption OR blatantly bragging about yourself caption I've also noticed that the most enjoyable selfies contain awkward items in the background, and those are often found in bathroom selfies. Putting all of those things together, m y goal was simple. Extend arm upward, place hand on hip, f...

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 De vereaux .) I have used, and will continue to use, the word "ain't". I sometimes "re...

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...

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 i...

"Why did he bring that jerk to this party? He KNOWS we just broke up, and he knew I would be here. Ugh, why is he trying to cause so much drama?!"   "Everyone who's trying to cause drama by telling people what I said can all just kiss my [expletive]! Why don't you try to live your life instead of living through mine!" "I'm soooo tired of the drama!"     Don't you just love it?  Surely, I'm not the only person who has noticed something about the self-proclaimed drama haters. (Should that be "haterz"? I don't know how the kids are spelling it these days.) It's something completely contradictory, which is why it amuses me so. It is simply that those who say they hate it the most are actually it's biggest fans. But you already knew that, didn't you? For any of you who were not already privy to that little nugget of information, I'm sorry to shatter any illusions you may have had. But, reall...