How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

The Wedding in Pictures (And Also Snide Commentary)

So I went to The Wedding this weekend.  It was lovely.  Beautiful bride, glowing groom, royal blue dresses, pretty flowers, blah, blah, blah.  Not a dry eye in the place.  They really are pretty much the cutest couple ever.  Witness:

The Three Blondes got all dolled up...

...to sit at the single girls' table where the excitement would not end!

Amy and I had a superfun time watching the happy couples dance!

The real star of the evening!

Did the fact that I consumed 9,000 chocolate-covered marshmallows interfere with my decision to eat both the wedding and groom's cake that were served to me?  No, sir or ma'am, it did not.  The skirt had elastic, people.

AND I had extra room due to the uneaten roast beef.  When I heard "but I'm not dead!" coming from the direction of the slab of meat, this should have been a red flag.  But I took a piece, which avenged itself by bleeding all over my plate and mooing whenever my fork came anywhere near it.  The salmon, however, was quite good.

Then it was time for every single woman's favorite part of the wedding festivities: the hokey pokey!  No, I kid!  The bouquet toss of course!  As you will see, the four metric tons of sugar I had just consumed helped make me extra enthusiastic about this!

Notice where the Three Blondes are standing, arms down, off to the side.

Wendy and Melissa, though, went for it.

A good time, as you can see, was clearly had by all.  Waylon and Carolyn rode off in a horse-drawn carriage.  Wendy took home the bouquet.  And the Three Blondes went home with sugar hangovers and sore feet.  And a little thing we like to call dignity.

Until next time!

XOXO

A post in which I do not discuss the swimming.

(except to point out that the style name of my new goggles is The Natator making me I suppose some sort of Nautical Terminator the same way that guy from Snap was the Lyrical Jesse James.)

Dear SBC Yahoo! DSL,

You might be the devil.  We Three Blondes pay you PLENTY of our hard-earned money each month.  (Seriously, one Blonde wrangles 22 second-graders for said money.  Another does some sort of Scientific Things involving Math.)  And yet, your Broadband Link light constantly flashes orange, mocking us with your stubborn refusal to do your one and only job and our total powerlessness to make you.

Before you, I had dial-up.  It was slow, but I could always, ALWAYS check my email anytime I wanted.  That's right, bitch.  I said dial-up was better than you.  And way cheaper.  Take that.

And I will post this rant-in-letter-format if you will only be so good as to let me online.  Pretty please.

Kisses,

Lori

(This rant was written last night in a murderous rage which included an Office Space-esque fantasy involving the DSL box and a baseball bat in the backyard.  However, I couldn't post it last night since the orange flashing would not stop.  So this morning I sat down to a green light which immediately started flashing orange when I touched the mouse.  I swear, for once in my life I am not even exaggerating.  I think the little bastard knew what I was going to write.  Spooky.)

The Pruney and the Restless

Alternate titles to this post included:

• General Natatorium
• One Life to Swim
• As the Water Churns
• The Bold and the People Who Wear Makeup to Swim Laps

Melissa and I, being Serious Athletes, on more than one occasion yesterday swam as many as two laps without stopping in between.  Of course this meant that after the two consecutive laps, we needed to take an even longer than usual break at the end of our lanes, which led to the creation of our little pool soap opera:

Before we started swimming last Friday, Melissa became convinced that we were going to meet a 60ish guy named Barney who wore a Speedo, had a six-pack, and could totally kick our butts at lap swimming.  We saw just such a character on Friday, but as we didn't meet him, could not confirm that his name was in fact Barney.  Which of course did not stop us from referring to him as Barney.

Barney didn't make an appearance yesterday, but during one of our extended breaks, Melissa did point out Barney's wife Betty.  They're having problems, she told me.  Which must be why, I pointed out, they swim separately.  We both nodded sadly.  The breakdown of a fictional marriage is not something to be taken lightly.

Then the real drama started.  I showed Melissa where Betty was standing at the far end of her lane, having her own mid-swim chat break with the guy on the next lane over.  Enter Leonard.

How could she do this to Barney?

Poor Barney.  He had no way of knowing that Betty was here at the natatorium they had shared during happier times, chatting it up with another buff senior.  Melissa reminded us though that we didn't know Betty's side of the story.  Perhaps Barney had been skirting around for years (or swimsuiting around, as the case may be.)  Maybe Leonard was just a harmless flirtation to boost Betty's self-esteem and get her through another day of loveless marriage.

Melissa says we do this because we're both writers.  I think it has more to do with being desperately out of shape and needing to procrastinate getting back to swimming.  In either case, a little intrigue never hurt anyone's chances of keeping up with a workout schedule.

In other news, my cousin (actually my cousin's son, making him my second cousin, cousin once removed, some kid who hangs out with my relatives and eats their food...I'm not really familiar with the terminology) was named Homecoming King last Friday.  And since I held him when he was a baby, I am now Officially Old.  I did not see this coming.

Swim (re)cap Vol. II

The word of the day is: natatorium

"Natatorium" is a word coming from the Latin "nata" meaning "water" and "torium" meaning "house of torture."  Today, Melissa, Jenny, and I visited the Bill Walker Natatorium for a little lap swimming.

Lap swimming, it turns out, is damn tiring.  Especially if your upper body is composed of muscles with the consistency of Jell-o jigglers.

We started out in the shorter pool so we'd be able to do more laps and improve our athletic-related self-esteem.  Unfortunately, this pool converted at 11:15 sharp to the senior citizen water aerobics pool.  Yes, the entire pool for eight women.  So we got the boot and had to go swim in the big kids pool where the lanes were easily twice as long.  And there went our sense of accomplishment.

Lap swimming has the potential to be an excellent cardiovascular workout.  That is, if you don't stop to chat and giggle between each lap.  So for us, not so much.  Still though, ow.  Those of you who know the three of us should not expect any good hair in our near future as our arms are not likely to lift over our heads anytime soon.

I would like to give big ups to the swim cap.  I started out swimming without it because, well I do have just a little bit of vanity left.  But a couple of mini-laps later, I was thoroughly sick of hair in my face and got out to put it on.  I am so aerodynamic, y'all.

Despite the soreness and some of your doubts (Amy)  we have committed.  Well, Melissa and I anyway.  Monday-Wednesday-Friday mornings, you will find us at the natatorium.  We'll be the ones standing at the end of our lanes giggling about Melissa's purple goggles or my slick black head.  If you catch us at just the right time, we might even be swimming.  Stranger things have happened.

Swim (re)cap

The swimming starts tomorrow.  For some reason, I got the idea in my head that swimming would be my workout of choice.  I used to run (slowly and not very far) but always got shin splints because I have flat feet.  It takes very little to deter me from any sort of exertion and the shin splints pretty well did the trick on putting an end to the running.

So I heard from a co-worker that you can swim at the school district's athletic complex and it's very cheap.  Which I'm into.  I've been talking about this for a few weeks now, but have of course made no progress whatsoever toward actually beginning. 

That was, until yesterday.  Yesterday I made all of the progress that I possibly could without actually making it to the pool.  Baby steps, people.

I had every intention to go yesterday.  I got all ready, got my stuff together and...took a whole lot of Excedrin for the big big migraine inhabiting my right eye.  I get these fairly often and this was not the kind that makes me sit stock-still in a dark room convinced that if I only removed my eye with a spoon I'd feel one hundred percent better.  This was sort of a low-grade migraine, but still they hurt a lot more when I'm moving, so it didn't seem an ideal time to start exerting myself.

I still had hope though that the Excedrin would do its thing in time for me to get to the pool and swim however far my pathetically out-of-shape body could go before I had to go home and get ready for work.  So I drove to Academy (the sporting goods store) and by the time I arrived, I was feeling pretty good.  I'm totally going today, I told myself.

Then I got out of the car and walked into the store.  Where I found a swim cap, bought it, got back in the car and drove home, because wow, the pain.  And I swear as soon as I got in the shower the headache was magically gone.  My nervous system has a poor sense of timing.

So anyway, I decided that Friday was definitely the day.  And to ensure that I don't find some other way out of it, I talked Melissa into going with me.  Right after my morning Gilmore Girls fix (thank you ABC Family!) of course.  Priorities, folks.

Stay tuned for the update.  Melissa, me, athletic activities...hi-jinks are bound to ensue.

Sweet and Sour

"I'm so sweet like a nice bon bon." ~ The Beastie Boys

Good for you, Mike D.  I, on the other hand, am not sweet.  Sure, I have my moments of sweetness like anybody else, but as an overriding characteristic, not so much.  Sarcastic, smart, occasionally possessing good hair, yes.  Sweet, no.

This becomes a problem.  While trolling some online Christian dating sites (FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES ONLY) I've noticed that most men list this as the number one characteristic in a desired mate.  I'm looking for a sweet girl who loves the Lord...

Many of them list "pretty" second, which isn't really for me to say.

But pretty is not the issue here.  My roommate Holly and I, neither of us sweet but both abounding in sass, have noticed that this phenomenon of guys going for sweet girls exists in the non-virtual world as well.  And here I am referring to our singles group, where we sass-intensive girls breathe a collective sigh of relief every time another sweet girl is off the market.

The sweet girls also tend to be the tiny girls.  "No bigger than a minute," as Holly's Little Mammie would say.  Apparently their miniature bodies lend themselves to sweetness in a way that our average-sized frames do not.  Average-sizedness apparently leads to sarcasm.  Which apparently leads to singleness, at least in the Christian world, due to the pervasive funny girls make good buddies for us guys disease.

I sense a scientific study here on the ratio of tinyness:sweetness and sweetness:marriageability.  Anybody know where I can get a grant?  Because the people have a right to know!

In other news, the Packers did not lose for the second straight week.  Any comments suggesting that this was only due to the fact that the Packers didn't play this week will be deleted on sight.

Simple Gifts

My first student of the day came in bearing a mystery gift wrapped in a paper towel.  She comes directly from school to see me at 3:00 twice a week to work on her reading.  This is the most sincere and eager-to-please child I've personally met, but my how she struggles with words.

So she gave me the paper towel, which contained a quarter of a cheese sandwich.  She had brought this to me from the party they had at school, which, near as I could tell, had something to do with the safety patrol.  She could not wait for me to take a bite of this sandwich.  And every time I did, she grinned.  How often can you make someone's entire day by telling them how good a cheese sandwich is?

Honestly folks, it was wheat bread with butter and what I can only assume to be a Kraft cheese single.  And you know what?  Best cheese sandwich of my life.

All together now...awwwwwwwwwwwww!

Bum Steer

Ever since college friends started marrying en masse, turning me into a biddy by age 21, I've been getting the same self-righteous and very bad advice from what Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones so aptly named "Smug Marrieds."

"Once you become content with God alone, then God will send you a husband."

Loosely translated: We married folk clearly have it together and are vastly more righteous and godly than you singletons.  We're not saying that it's your fault, just that there must be something intrinsically wrong with your relationship with God if He has not yet blessed you with a mate.  Stop having any desires beyond salvation and one day when you are perfectly serene and content, you will have earned a spouse from God.  Like us!

These are Job's friends with bridal registries.  I have always known this sentiment for the total crap that it is.  But now, NOW I  have been proved right by no less than Moses himself!

Thanks to Donald Miller's book, Searching for God Knows What, I started reading the first few chapters of Genesis.  Of course I've read these before, but this time I saw something I hadn't seen before.

Adam was lonely.

And what did God say?  Did He say, "Adam, you ungrateful so and so!  I gave you paradise, dominion, even let you name the animals for goodness sake!  AND I walk around and personally hang out with you and love you perfectly!  And you want more!  Where is your contentedness?  I hereby smite you!"

No, He did not.  God said, "It is not good for man to be alone."  And He made him a wife.

Ha!  The perfect man with the perfect, direct relationship with God still needed someone else.  And God agreed.  Vindication is mine!  Take that Smug Marrieds!

Yes, I'm still single and I don't know why.  But at least I have some heavyweights on my side against the argument that it's due to my low level of contentedness.

Many thanks to Donald Miller, Moses, and God Almighty, without whom I am just an opinionated 28 year-old biddy whose greed for more would surely never win her a husband.

Hey y'all and yeehaw

On Saturday, my roommates and I, because we are women of class and distinction, threw a redneck party.

Originally, it was meant to be a football-viewing party, but then we found out that the Red River Shootout was happening at noon, earlier in the day than we wanted to host.  So eventually, the idea was hatched to throw a party with a redneck theme, food, and entertainment.  We'd rent Dukes of Hazzard DVDs (old school TV Dukes, that is--none of this Jessica Simpson crap) cook up some Frito pie, and crack open some pork rhinds.

We sent out an email, carefully avoiding using the word "redneck" outright.  We hinted toward it with a list of "if you...then you might want to come to our shindig" jokes.  Our favorites were "if you think the Dukes of Hazzard is a reality show", "if you have ever been or aspired to be the queen of anyone's doublewide trailer", and "if you have ever made a pilgrimage to Luchenbach, Texas in hopes of seeing Waylon, Willie, and/or the boys."  (Those last two are country song references, for the uninitiated.)  The email promised fabulous prizes as an inducement to dress appropriately.  We were a little afraid that no one would come or that people wouldn't really get into it.

As it turned out, our friends are fully willing and able to go all out for a redneck party.  We saw camo waders, stonewashed jean skirts, rhinestones, big hair, John Deere apparel, and oh so many flannels.  Even some fake teeth and mullets.  We made up nametags for our friends to choose from with such choices as Cletus, Bubba, Clem, Roscoe, Billy Wayne, Lurlene, Nadelle, Fancy, Glenda Sue, and Bobbi Jo.  Some of the names may have originated with our family members.

Our winners, Jeff and Carolyn for best outfits and Darin for best redneck joke, took home SPAM, Vienna sausages, and beef jerky, respectively.  Actually, rather than take home the SPAM, Jeff graciously opened it up and shared it with some of the braver guys.   Then he left the rest here for us, which hit the trash, right after the leftover pork rhinds.  It turns out that people don't eat those so much.  Pigs in a blanket though, they put away like they're going out of style.  Just a tip for your next party menu.  Also, we learned that Twinkies taste different and worse than we remember.  Of course, no one would admit to having eaten a Twinkie in the past 15 years.

All in all, a huge success.  So if you're looking to entertain, park the car in the front yard, tease your bangs, and invite a few open-minded friends over.  Just look what could happen.

Lone Star State of Mind

An actual commercial that I just saw. 

The scenario: a confused customer (him) calls a Chevy dealership operator (her)

Him: Do you have those full-sized import trucks?

Her: Would you go to a sushi bar for a t-bone?

Both: HA! HA!

Her: You need a Chevy truck.  Bigger is better!

Him: I couldn't agree more!

Only in Texas, people.

XOXO

Dear Brett Favre,

Thank you for winning me a fantasy game by getting the ball to Donald Driver, particularly that one time in the end zone.   Now, at 1-3, I have a better record than you do and I'm sorry about that.  I would trade you Terrell Owens if I could.  Then again, you need a whole offensive line too, and I don't even have one of those.  I know that you're at the bottom of your division and so am I, although I'm not there alone.  I'm tied with a team called the Slutrags and I think I'd rather be all alone than considered on par with a Slutrag.  Because that is not a pretty mental picture.

I hope the rest of your team rises to the occasion at some point.  I hope your family is able to rebuild their homes and lives after the hurricane and that your wife's cancer ordeal really is over.  I hope that you'll pass along my contact info to any single teammates who can read above a fourth grade level.  And most of all, I hope that Driver becomes your go-to guy and scores LOTS of touchdowns. 

Please don't leave me alone with the Slutrags!  It's just not sanitary.

your #1 fan,

Lori

Weekend in Review

Sunday night already.  Where does the time go?  Mostly to football, apparently.

Friday I did the do-gooder thing and was a Red Cross volunteer at Kelly USA, one of the hurricane shelters here in town.  I worked in the "store" where everything is free and donated.  You would not believe what crap some people donate!  Seriously people, it's called compassion and compassion does not foist acid-wash shorts circa 1982 with a hole in the crotch on some poor unsuspecting hurricane survivor.  They've been through enough.  Surely you have something presentable that you could give away.

Saturday was devoted mostly to football and to realizing that I am a wuss and eight hours of actual moving-around-type work causes me to be in substantial pain.  But first I went to Starbucks for my weekly writing appointment with fellow aspiring novelist Debbie.  Where I saw Eva Longoria.  Just wearing some purple pants and getting some coffee.  I wasn't totally convinced that it could really be her until Melissa informed me that Eva had bought a house in that neighborhood.  Yes, a Desperate Housewife in my very own Starbucks.

The rest of the day was pretty much sitting on the couch watching college football and sitting in Champs drinking beer and watching college football, both with my college-football-lovin' roommate Holly.  Together we appreciated the games and the fineness that is Kirk Herbstreit.  Also, I went to Borders, my happy place, and bought two books.  Because my library branch is closed and yes, I know there is another one right by my office, but I haven't bought any shoes in a very long time and so I deserve two new non-pre-read books!  Dammit!

Then today I went to the Saints/Bills game, where being a female football fan finally paid off!  They had separate lines for women and men to be frisked when entering and the girls' line was much shorter, allowing us to more quickly get out of the unbelievable heat.  It was one skillion degrees outside--not acceptable football weather!  San Antonio does not observe fall. 

But fortunately the game was in a dome, where it was of course chilly, because wow do San Antonians love them some AC.  The Saints won in a relatively low-scoring, but still entertaining game.  I paid four easy installments of just $29.95 for a hotdog (with complimentary mustard packet) which was, of course, delightful.

We were baffled by the number of people wearing jerseys that were in no way affiliated with the Bills or Saints.  Did these people get lost on their way to the Browns, Packers, Vikings, Cowboys, and Patriots games?  Were they confused about what was going to be happening in the Alamodome?  Then again, I shout helpful suggestions such as Run! and Get out of bounds, dumbass! to the TV so who am I to judge?

Tonight my roommates and I began to plan our theme-bash for next Saturday which you will all hear more about later.  Dun, dun, dun!!! 

I just checked in on my fantasy game and she's all tied up!  We each have 76 points and one player in tomorrow night's game.  I have Green Bay receiver Donald Driver while the other team has the Panthers' kicker whose name I don't remember.

Go Pack Go!

And if you must lose, at least give a girl a break and pass the ball to Driver!!!! 

It's a nail-biter, kids!  Please don't let me go 0-4...