How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

Bringing Sexy Back

So what if Amy is not getting married until September?  She leaves Texas next month, so we moved the bachelorette party up just a tad.

 

We had dinner at the house, Amy opened presents, and then we headed downtown.  I have to say that when you've known someone this long:

it is a little bizarre to then be buying that person a devil horn veil and other racy items.

 

But when you've known someone that long, it makes it all the less surprising that the person will accept a dare involving dancing on a platform, even if there is no one else on the dance floor at the time.

Sorry about the photo quality.  It was real foggy in there. 

That place gave us a free bottle of champagne for being a bachelorette group.  I have to recommend that on any girls' night out, one of you wear a cheesy veil.  It pays for itself in no time.

I also recommend, if at all possible, going out to bars with your twin sister.  It really messes with the drunk guys.

Hmmm...I am realizing that there is not so much else that I can actually tell you about Saturday night.  I will tell you that the person who sustained a post-bars walking down the street injury was, for once, not me.  I will also say big love to Melissa for being our d.d.  Way to take one for the team.  A note to all of the kids out there: always designate a driver and if she drives a Lexus, so much the better.

Anyway, here's to the happy couple.  Joe, best of luck to you and your blushing bride.

Happy, happy wedding, Amy.   (Please remember that if you kill me for posting this photo, you'll have no maid of honor and will have to get married at the prison instead of Mt. Hood.  AND you'll have to pay the entire May rent.  Is it really worth it?)

Five...Four...Three...

Two days of scoring left!  People, it has been a LONG nine weeks.  But, as with anything in life, there have been opportunities to learn things along the way.  Things that I will share with you.

-There exist, among high schoolers, only about six styles of handwriting.

-High schoolers believe that "quite" is interchangeable with both "quiet" and "quit".  They also believe that "conversate" is a word.

-Under the right conditions, grown people will wear their hoods up indoors.  Yours truly included.

-At some point, I apparently started using the word "dude" in traffic.  I don't know how that happened since I never use this word in any other context.  This is, of course, only used for minor offenses, not worthy of a "rat bastard!"

-When I thank-you wave to people in traffic, I say "thank you".  Out loud.

-When I let people in front of me and they don't thank-you wave, I get seriously irritated.

-If you think you can work 14 hour days with no problem based on the fact that you did this when you were 25, you will quickly discover that you are no longer 25.

-If you think that you did this with no problem when you were 25, you are probably wrong.  You just liked your job more then and have clearly romanticized the suckyness of the hours.

-Sometimes there is construction on I-35 overnight which causes bumper-to-bumper traffic.  Sometimes the traffic hotline will give you this information so you know to take Mopac instead, but  sometimes it will not.  You can bail and cut through downtown, but this still adds quite a bit of time to your drive home.  At 10:30 when all you want to do is go to bed, this is Deeply Wearying.

-If you work in a quiet environment and are prone to getting songs stuck in your head, you need to be VERY CAREFUL about what songs you allow yourself to hear during the day.  Even a few notes of a horrible song will get that song irrevocably lodged in your brain and you will have to sing The Fray's "How to Save a Life" to yourself to get rid of it since you can tolerate that song even though it too is relentless once it gets in your head.

That's all I can think of at the moment.  Then again, I am only about 11% awake.  I'm going to quite writing now since it is probably quite enough in here for me to catch a nap.  Perhaps we can conversate more once I've woken up.

I can name that baby in two notes.

My sister-in-law Dawn called last night to give me the update.  They moved her tests up to yesterday and everything looks fine.  The baby's heart rate is normal now and movement is good.    Whew.  Dawn says to tell you thanks for the prayers.  I said yes, the Internet are sweet people, aren't they?

She also told me (as did my brother this morning) that Future Niece or Nephew is...drumroll please...Future Nephew!  It's a boy!  I could not be happier. 

(In all honesty, if she had told me it was a girl, I could not be happier with that either.  In this instance, I am remarkably easy to please.) 

I have been good so far on the aunt spending front and have only purchased one set of bibs that were just far too cute to pass up.  But have a feeling that Target will now be getting even more of my money in the form of something boy-centric.  I could use the $25 gift card that I received Saturday for working 8 hours at scoring, except that I already spent it on my lunch break on Monday.  I needed bread, ok?  And shoes.  Neeeeeeded.

But back to Future Nephew.  He won't need shoes for a while (although, maybe these?) but he does need a name.  This does not look likely to happen anytime in the near future seeing as how Dan and Dawn are at an impasse.  They are Indigo Montoya.  They will not be moved.  (Did I already use that line?)  He does have a middle name, which is Wayne.  This is Dan's middle name as well as our dad's.  This middle name has effectively removed Bruce and Shane from the list of first name contenders.  As well, I assume, as John.

I had a suggestion, which I feel has been unjustifiably dismissed.  I had an essay the other night where the student wrote about his cousin.  Dickey Wayne.  Future Nephew already has the Wayne part! 

(Future Nephew, if you are reading this at a future point after I have taught you to read, say age three, know that I am not serious here.  I would never do such a thing to you.  Although if it were somehow possible for me to legally change your father's first name to Dickey, I would absolutely do that.)

Anyway, we're open to suggestions.  Suggestions that don't involve naming the baby after imitation turtlenecks, that is.

This is the post I was telling you about last week, which I cannot quite believe I have just posted.

What you are seeing here is my first bikini.  Ever.

It has been worn one time, in my backyard.  It is not likely to make its public debut anytime soon.  I did also buy the matching tankini top and I feel pretty good about how I look in that.  Which may be the first time since I was too young to think about such things that I've been able to say that I felt good about how I looked in any sort of swimwear.  So perhaps the bikini's time has not yet come, but progress has happened.

I weigh, right now, about what I weighed when I was fifteen.  I only know this because, for some reason, I remember how much I weighed when applying for my first driver's license and how much I lied about my weight to make it less since they used to actually print this information on your license.  The funny thing is that my current goal is the weight that was on that first license.  It's my goal because I think I have about that much fat left to lose, not because it is what my fifteen year-old self wanted to weigh.  But there would be some satisfaction in that as well, since it feels like, in a lot of ways, I still carry that fifteen year-old self around with me.

It's about ten pounds that I'd like to still lose to feel bikini-ready.  If these ten pounds were just equally distributed, that would not be a big prohibitive thing.  But they are all clinging tightly together in one spot right around my middle.  These are the Spartan Warriors of fat cells.  They are Indigo Montoya.  They will not be moved.

On the other hand, I weigh, right now, about twenty pounds less than I have weighed for most of my adult life.  Probably about thirty pounds less than I have weighed at a couple of points.  I don't know exactly since I used to think that it would be really bad for me to own a scale.  This was a mistake on my part.  Yes, it is bad to be all about numbers and I would be perfectly happy to weigh more if more of my weight were in muscle.  But it has been deeply satisfying in the past year to see that number go down.  And I have to think that I would never have hit that thirty over point if I had realized at the time that I was gaining that much.  It was always later, seeing pictures of myself that I realized it had happened.  Since most of my clothes come from Old Navy, it always seemed perfectly valid to think that they were probably just shrinking.

I don't think my mental picture of how I look has caught up with reality yet.  In fact, it was not that long ago that I saw something on MSN about how to dress for a plus size figure and I almost clicked on it.  I have never worn a plus size, but my thinking was that I'd get some tips on how to hide things.  What a former co-worker called "pockets of nastiness".  I had to remind myself that I don't have to think that way anymore.  But I really believe that no matter how much weight I lose or how long I keep it off, there will always be a part of me that thinks of myself as a fat girl.  You live with it long enough, it becomes a part of your identity.  Which is really sad, I think.

I wonder whether, on some level, staying a little bit overweight wasn't subconsciously part of what has been, at times, my all-consuming need to just blend.  After all, the average American woman is either a size 12 or 14, depending on your source.  I'm not average anymore.  When a table of guys at Chipotle stops eating to watch me walk by, I know I should be flattered but I still don't really know what to do with that.  Maybe people looked at me before and I didn't notice.  Maybe I didn't want to notice because I assumed that they were thinking bad things.  I honestly don't know.

I watched The Holiday this weekend, and I know you're not supposed to take profound things away from romantic comedies, but there was one part that really struck me.  Kate Winslet is having dinner with an elderly former screenwriter who tells her, "in the movies, we have leading ladies and we have the best friend.  You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend."  And Kate Winslet replies, "You are so right!  You're supposed to be the leading lady in your own life, for God's sake!"

I think I'd like to try that.  I'd like to stop letting my insecurities rule me and stop playing the best friend and be ok with people looking directly at me.  I have no idea how I will do this.  But I think I owe it to myself - fifteen year-old self included - to try.

A river in Egypt

So Tuesday night, I was having some Stabby-esque pain, but knew it couldn't be Stabby since a) I was not stressed about anything and b) it was in sort of a different spot.  So I thought to myself, I wonder where it would hurt if it were appendicitis.  Now, folks, this was not appendicitis-level pain.  But that was not my first thought.  My first thought was, Well it can't be appendicitis.  I CAN'T AFFORD APPENDICITIS.  Really sound medical theory, if you ask me.

I started to think that perhaps it was my body revolting against the Chick Fil-A waffle fries I'd had for lunch, but then decided that since I had eaten the waffle fries about ten hours earlier, they clearly could not be the culprit.  It must have been that apple and string cheese that I had on my break from scoring.  Right?  Never mind that I had also had an apple and string cheese on my break from scoring every previous evening of my scoring career and they had never bothered me.  I blame the apple.  So clearly healthy food equals abdominal pain.  Bring on the waffle fries.  Maybe next time I should also add a mint Oreo shake, just to be on the safe side.

*This is not the post to which I referred yesterday.  Let us pretend I never brought that up, because now I really can't get it to turn into anything even marginally readable.

In the meantime...

Thanks for all of the thoughts/prayers/good vibes on behalf of Future Niece or Nephew and my brother and sister-in-law.  So far, so good.

There is a post that I am trying to write, but it just will not turn out.  Maybe tomorrow.

For now, how about if I share a little anecdote that was snatched from the dark recesses of my memory yesterday while emailing with Vicki?  I think you'll enjoy it.

Several years ago, a co-worker of mine was getting married in upstate New York.  So five of us from the office decided that a really good idea would be to rent a minivan and drive up together from DC.  The wisdom of that decision turned out to be questionable for a number of reasons, but that is neither here nor there.  Hotel arrangements worked out such that I wound up sharing a room with Vicki and me in one bed and Gustavo in the other.  We got there Friday night and Saturday we attended the wedding and reception.  Much alcohol was consumed.

We awoke Sunday morning to the Bee Gees blasting from the room next door.  To this day, I cannot hear the Bee Gees without being back in that Rochester hotel room.  Vicki and I looked over at Gustavo, passed out face-down on top of his bed, still in his clothes.  He awoke, looked at us, and said the line that we have repeated countless times in the intervening seven years and that I now give you full permission to use at will:

A big headache just sent me a fax telling me it's coming!

Just a little something to make you smile (however briefly) the next time you receive prior notice from your quickly-approaching hangover or headache of any kind.  Don't thank me.  Thank Gustavo and that great wedding tradition, the open bar.

Little help here?

The doctor is concerned with Future Niece or Nephew's heartbeat.  I don't really know the details.  Dawn will be getting monitored weekly and will have more tests on May 9, but that is a long damn time to worry about what's going on with your baby.  So if you're the praying kind, we'd appreciate a good word on their behalf.

Thanks,

Lori

Until 11th grade, I thought the expression was "for all intensive purposes".

More gems from the high schoolers:

• Maybe it was my women's into wishing.
• He was taking me for granite.
• I had a new leash on life.
• I had a master bedroom with a walking closet.
• The buzzard sounded, and the game began.

Apparently, that last kid was playing Flintstones-era football.

And now, a note to craigslisters:

If you are trying to sublet your apartment, POST A PHOTO.  And before taking said photo, for the love of God, clean up!  I don't mean wax the floors here.  If you could just get your laundry into a basket or at the very least one large pile, it would help.  Maybe even open a curtain so that your "sunny" apartment does not resemble a cave.  Also, no, I do not want you to throw in the futon, but thanks for offering.

Perhaps I am too old for campus-adjacent housing.

Back at you.

A little while ago, Katie was having a Very Bad Day.  This was the apex in a series of Very Bad Days.  I looked into sending her a bottle of vodka, but I couldn't get that delivered the same day, so I settled for some flowers.  Which she did not actually get until four days later, so the vodka would have worked just as well, but that is beside the point.  The point is, Katie then wrote this post, in which she called me "the best boyfriend I never had".

And then she sent me this:

That, it should be noted, is my attempt at a meh. face.  My post-two-jobs, 10:30 pm, shiny-faced, flat-haired, good-enough-now-I-can-go-to-bed attempt.  And I really just wanted to smile because I was wearing such a fantastic(!) shirt.  A shirt that, if I wore it to my temp job every day, would save me having to really talk at all anymore.  I may not have included the top of  my head for you, but I knew you'd want to see my towels.

Also perhaps a gratuitous bedspread shot?  Although I must say, the level of your fascination with my linens is freaking me out a little.

 

Katie, you're the best.  Then again, you already knew that.

Pretty

This time of year always makes me miss DC with all of the tulips and daffodils blooming everywhere, and of course the cherry blossoms.

But these are good too.

They say the eyes are the first thing to go. My eyes went at age two, leaving it wide open for everything else.

Today I got half-way to work before realizing that I had never put my contacts in.  So I had to turn around and go home and then be even later than usual to work.  It's a real downside to being farsighted.  I could work without glasses or contacts, but I'd have a giant headache in a couple of hours and people might look at me funny since I'd be reading things with my left eye closed so that it could not interfere with my right eye's ability to do all the damn work around here.

Being farsighted also makes eyebrow plucking a rather challenging task.  So I try to do this only when I have my contacts in since without them there's a lot less plucking than there is just repeatedly stabbing myself in the face with tweezers.  But a little while back, I had been wearing my glasses for a few days in a row and the plucking had to happen and I wasn't about to put in my contacts just for the purpose of doing my eyebrows, so I made an attempt.  And there was this one stray above my right eyebrow that I just could not get.  Until I realized what was in fact happening here.  I was trying to pluck a wrinkle.  Ok, "fine line". 

The thing is, I have long been prepared that due to the squintiness, I was going to have the mother of all laugh lines, and I was just going to deal with it.  What I did not see coming were lines above my right eyebrow from all of the arching.  See, this is my arching brow.  This has become so natural a reaction for me to so many things that I do not realize I am even doing it a lot of the time.  But my skin?  Has noticed.

Upon further inspection, I notice that I have also developed a distinct line to the left of my mouth, but not to the right.  I didn't know until a few years ago that my smile starts to the left and then spreads to the right, should the situation warrant it.  Melinda, a really hilarious person who used to work for me, pointed this out.  She said she could tell how funny I thought she was by the stages of my reaction.  Which apparently are: left smile, whole smile, eyes squint, eyes disappear, tears.  Because Melinda was so hilarious and because I was very, very sleep deprived by that job, tears were a frequent occurrence.  Such as when we were discussing a not-great decision we had made and she said, "we are smart's cousin, not smart" and I cried for days and days about how funny that was.

This is really not intended to be a Woe. Misery. Despair. post, so I don't need a lot of "you look fine!" and "wait until you're my age!" comments.  If wrinkles are the price I must pay for laughing often and refusing to inject rat poison into my face, then so be it.  I just hadn't realized that mine would be so...quirky.  I suppose it's better than having the same wrinkles as everybody else.  Who would want their aging to be so prosaic, so pedestrian? 

Just keep telling yourself that, Lori.  That'll make it true.

You're it. No tag-backs.

Tracy tagged me for this meme, which, because I have no other ideas of what to write, I am completing in a (somewhat) timely manner.  The meme involves listing seven songs that you are into right now.  Let us bear in mind that the fact that I live in Austin should not be interpreted to mean that I have my finger on the pulse of the indie music scene.  Quite the contrary.  Pretty much the only time I have right now to listen to music is when I'm in my car driving to or from one job or another, so mostly I listen to whatever is on the radio (which is almost always something by The Fray).  Particularly since I took my CD case inside a few weeks back because it still had Christmas CDs in it and I have neglected to ever switch them and put it back in the car.  So it's been either the radio or No Name Face by Lifehouse for quite some time.  Disclaimer ended.

1. Superstition by Stevie Wonder - Not only is this one of my all-time favorite songs, but it is also now my ring tone.  Meaning that I don't really want to answer the phone when it rings.

2. Everlong by the Foo Fighters - Tracy, you were so right.  This song not only holds up, it seems to get better all the time.   There was a time when this was not even my favorite Foo Fighters song.  Then I came to my senses.

3. You Don't Know Me by Ray Charles - I have always loved this song, and have had it in my head on and off for the past couple of weeks since I finally got around to watching Ray.

4. It's Alright by Third Day - I fell a little bit in love with this song when I ripped it from my sister's CD legally purchased the CD and put it on my crappy old mp3 player before I went to Europe.

5. Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol - I know.  It's trendy and all, but how am I not going to like a song that advocates both wasting time and just laying here?

6. Fade into You by Mazzy Star - This song is on fairly continuous radio play around here.  Which is weird, but fine by me.

7. Nothing on but the Radio by Gary Allan - Yes, country.  What can I say?  I'm eclectic.

And now, I tag all of you.  You can post on your blog and leave the link in the comments or just put your answer in a comment.  There are, as ever, no actual rules around here, so do seven, do more or less...whatever.  Totally up to you.

His nemesis: The Archduke of Glad Tidings

You see some interesting stuff when you spend 20+ hours a week scoring high schoolers' essays.  Actually, to be quite honest, most of it is pretty uninteresting.  There's a lot of "I remember it like it was yesterday" and "it was a Friday just like any other Friday..."  No dark and stormy nights yet, but give it time.

There are some boys who will go on at length about the beauty of their (often ex-) girlfriends.  One girl had the body of a goddess, one had skin that made porcelain look cheap.  Interestingly, I find that roughly 9 out of 10 of these girls are named Jasmine.

But some kids do give you a little something more original.  Like the one who said that, when called down to the principal's office, he contemplated escape until he realized that it might mean missing lunch and a portly kid wouldn't get far without lunch.  Extra points were awarded for honesty and outstanding word choice. 

Or the kid who wrote that something was "faster than Superman with a hooker" and then followed that with "come on, test reader, laugh.  You know that was funny." 

I was also highly impressed with one boy who was sure, when he asked a girl out that he would "go down in flames like the campaign of Michael Dukakis".  You'll be glad to know that apparently he was wise enough to choose one of the more discriminating females for whom intelligence and geekdom are sexy, and he fared much better than a certain former Massachusetts governor.

But my favorite image to come out of these things was entirely unintentional.  One kid wrote that he didn't want to be "the baron of bad news".  Since I am a visual learner, this immediately conjured for me the image of a smartly-dressed British guy walking around with a storm cloud over his head, thoroughly depressing everyone he meets.  Sort of the Debbie Downer of the nobility set.  Nobody wants to sit next to this guy at tea.  On the other hand, his wife, the Baroness of Nasty Gossip, is quite popular indeed.