Guess Who Won Tickets??

Norfolk Tides vs. Indianapolis Indians. Section 108. Row C. Seats 13 - 16.

Morning To You

Notice I strictly said "Morning." Not "good morning." I was up at 5am. That's not a "good," that's a "I-have-things-to-do-this-early-in-the-AM" morning. As my dad would yell at Hay Buggy (and maybe still does), "GET VERTICAL!"

But first, you know, I have to stalk the blogs. Have some toast (we're out of milk, I know!, ring the alarms for a Code Red anti-Cheerio morning). Peruse Gap.com looking for "tall" button-down shirts that actually fit my monkey arms and can stay tucked in all day. Wish me luck on that one.

But the shower does call. And at least coffee's made.

Now if only I didn't wake up multiple times last night "ensuring" that I didn't miss my alarm, which instead put me into a silent panic that I would miss my alarm.

So ya, TGIF.

And someone just screamed outside like a moron. Hey buddy, it's 5am. Let a girl blog in peace, will ya!? Oh, and some people are trying to sleep. But I don't care, wake them up too. Only I'm allowed to be a princess and sleep in on the world. Haven't you learned anything from the Redheads Are A Dying Breed And Should Be Treated With Royalty handbook? Apparently not. And you probably don't have a trust fund.

On A Corvallis Death Bed

"To my family: If I don't survive this heatwave, or the chance I become a vegetable, I love you. We had a good run. Hahaha mom can have my iPhone, dad can have my racecar. Courtney, my clothes. Ginger can have my house decor (sorry there's no jap crap) hahaha and hay can have my tv.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh okay I'm going to go submerge myself in the kiddie pool in the backyard so I don't feel the sweat."

- Tracy, texted last night while I was successfully shopping for work clothes

I remember how those nasty summers felt when houses pre-1970s didn't have air. Where we monkey-rigged fans with wet towels in attempts to cool off just 5 degrees. Kiddie pools were compared to the Grotto. Boob sweat was the new black. And cold beer was sold out faster than water. And we couldn't get the pregnant lady cool enough (love you Mommy McD, especially since you make and bake such great, little munchkins!).

An Internal Memo

To: Mrs Wookie
From: Your Liver
Date: July 26, 2009

Re: Wookie's Birthday


Miss Ashley,

We'd like to inform you of our recent protest to the high volumn of beverages that were consumed on the festive Saturday evening. While we enjoyed the bartender at Trilogy and his loving of our Oregonian-ness, and how he can make a gorgeous martini, however care should have been taken when traversing to Havana.

I'm glad to hear there's a ban implaced by the group's consensus that'll reject the idea of shots for future events. Shots are something for the 18-22 age demographic. [This statement does not take into consideration any tailgating events, as those are times for reverting back to the college lifestyle.] The idea of a group of mid-20 yuppies, living in a posh Downtown setting, ordering Red-Headed Sluts isn't the right market.

But we are on board with maintaining a high-class image of martinis, vodka tonics with lemon, and exceptional beer. In fact, we love those. Shots, just not our favorite.

We hope you learned your lesson Sunday morning as we regretted to put you through the slight headache and nauseousness from your overjealous celebrating.

And we're incredibly impressed that you even plugged your phone in to charge before crawling in bed for the night. Wouldn't have thought that one out.

Next time, less shots. That's all we ask.

And tell the Wookie happy birthday for us also. Glad you were around this year.


Thanks, Ashley, hope to be of service to you soon.


Sincerely,


Mr. Liver

ps. We're okay with going back to work, but we understand if you'd like to limit yourself from now on since you'll be incorporating running and yoga back into your schedule.

pps. And if we'll only be used during the weekends, how about a request. What about more red wine? I love those tannins, and the antioxidants are great. I think a glass every other night would do the Ashley good. Just my thoughts.

Another Year To The Tally

July 25, 1985. San Diego, California. 8 lbs even. Balder than an 80 year old.

Happy Birthday to the boy who lets me get angry when Joe takes the slow-as-balls route to the Bradford Paisley concert, who'll let the washclothes accumulate at the bottom of the shower (I can't use one twice), will put up a legitimate fight for bedding in the middle of the night just to be beaten by the vice grip I have on all the covers, and who'll bring back not 1, but 2 6-packs of pure, Coloradoean(?) deliciousness for my Oregonian liver. Thanks handsome.

Let 24 treat you as well as it's treated me. Both times. And again this year.

The Future Mrs. Brad Paisley 2.0

We just got back from one great time spent out on the lawn of the Amphitheatre.

2 opening acts (some guy, and that Dierks dude) before my love graced the stage.

It was awesome. I had a great time. Enjoyed a single, tasty beverage. Sang my heart out to my favorites. Glared at the stupid people who were overly intoxicated/fighting with each other/getting broken up with/copulating/annoying the crap out of us.

I only took my phone in because I didn't want to be held up in by the "Bag Check" line, so I'll get the video I took on my phone uploaded tomorrow...hopefully. We'll see. Considering there's still Wetting Down pictures to post. (But really, all you need to know about that was 1.) open bar, 2.) prepped liver, 3.) rowdy times, 4.) boys running into the ocean in just boxers because they wanted to hold the literal translation of a Wetting Down. That's cool, I'll take pictures.

But for now, it's late, I'm pooped, and pajamas call. Comfy fleece ones. Good night.

Technology And Its Rules

Dear Alarm Clock,

Thanks so much for letting me sleep in that extra 20 minutes. I'm still not sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. But for now, it's just a thing.

It was nice to sit in that half-conscious realm between sleep and fully awake. So thankfully it wasn't that difficult to crawl myself out of bed and down the stairs to a heaping bowl of Cheerios.

My only complaint being I didn't get to enjoy my cup of coffee while perusing my blogs this morning. You know, that's one thing I love about the morning. The 5-10-15 minutes that I dream that it's only the weekend and there's not a car to walk to, a job to drive to, a desk to sit at, etc....where I just enjoy blogger's frenzies, ask wook what we wants for breakfast, and then ask if there's more Mad Men to watch (we're about halfway through Season 2, so we're getting caught up since we're Late Watchers in the movement).

Plus, my shower was cut shorter than usual, which is something that Mother Nature and I can learn to enjoy (saves water, yay...saves money, yay...saves me from sitting down in the shower, nope! Thought you had me, eh?).

I'll probably still hit up the post-lunch cup of coffee (which was Thermos'd to work today), but brings me down from the usual 3 I indulge. Yes, 3 cups of coffee. A girl's gotta bring some energy to the workplace with being on my feet most of the day, and all.

But yes, maybe it was a good thing letting me sleep in that extra amount. After all, I still was able to get ready in the full capacity. Maybe we'll try this intentionally tomorrow.

We'll see.

But until then, let's keep the communication open.

Thanks Mr. Alarm Clock. Have a good rest of the day.


Sincerely,


Mrs. Wookie

Date Night

I'd just like to inform the masses of my date night on Friday.

With the one, incredibly irresistable, Mr. Paisley. Meow.

Clean up, Aisle 7, a large puddle, of what seems to be drool. Stat.

Literally, A Blind Follower

How do I put this lightly? I'm a retard. Or a re-tard. Or a ret-ard. Get it?

For those who don't know, or never got the TPS cover report, I'm a pretty lazy person. So in my spare time of finding blogs, with links to other blogs, with more links to blogs, whenever I'd find one that entertained me (under the strict guidelines that you have to be very witty/clever/funny/win me over via linguistic abilities), I'd just bookmark it.

Come time at the end of the day, I'd start re-hitting the blogs to check the action.

Well today my mind was blown. Completely shellshocked. 50-cal recoil. *splatter*

With over a year of blogging under my belt, until this evening, I was only technically "following" a handful of bloggers. Why? Because I didn't know how to add a blog when it didn't have the ticker up top to make "following" oh-so-easy. Thank you, Mommy McD, for hitting the Staples EASY button.

Apparently, and due to her CIA Operative connections in Emergency Rooms, I've been missing out on one tiny, tiny fact. You know that "add" button at the bottom of the Dashboard. It's called "adding" blogs to follow for when they don't have that nifty ticker up top.

Oh. My. Gawd. Where have you been all my life? Okay, just my blogging life.

And what rock have I been hiding under?

I'm now amazed at the ease at blog stalking now. It's all right there. At my spindly little finger tips. Just waiting for me to sign on, then it'll jazz hands and show me the fun that's been created since I've been away sleeping/eating/Mad Men-watching. Shnifty nifty.

I'm still amazed. At a.) technology. And b.) my stupidity.

But now that I know, man, people...watch out. There'll be a redhead following you!

Home Ec 101: Sweeping and Mopping

Something that I usually get around to doing every other week or so, this time it was put on a severe back burner. So far back, it had been over a month. I think. I can't remember. Which affirms the statement that it was so long ago I can't recall. Yikes.

Collected from the front room, kitchen, hallway, and stairs...this pile of "omg, I'm so embarassed, but I'll post it online because I can/will entertain people with my slacking housekeeping skills." You're welcome.

And the 4 Swiffer pads I went through on my battle of "Ashley vs. What The Heck Is That On The Floor." It's still up for debate whether this is classified as a win or a fail.

God Bless North Carolina

I'm one lucky girl. This boy I know/live with/adore is heading back from a weekend in Raleigh with a slightly heavier payload. The goods? New Belgium classics.

For the record, and so my Dad can "woohooo" with me, there's a 6-pack of both Skinny Dip and 1554 with my name written all over it. Why only 2 6-packs? Only 2 hands.

I know. There's this modern invention called the "shopping cart." But let's not be greedy. That's a lot of beer calories that need to be equalized with exercise.

Please kneel for the blessing of the logo. Amen.

Next vacation spot: Raleigh, NC. With one empty cooler for medicinal transport only.

Recap: 4th of July!! (Location: Lincoln Memorial!)

Better late than never. And I finally give you: THE BEST 4TH OF JULY IN MY LIFE.

Thankfully through friends, we knew some locals who assisted in camping out for the best spot possible on the Mall. We stretched out on the Lincoln side of the Reflecting Pool (fireworks were shot off from the middle), where the grass is angled, providing the most perfect angle to layback and enjoy the show.

Perfect. Amazing. Well worth the wait/heat exhaustion/slight sunburn/cramped conditions of the Metro (I swore it was like rush hour in Tokyo).

First off, some love for my beloved state. Thumbs up. I miss you Oregon.

And a complete thumbs down for Florida. And a pouty face. Moving on.

Here duckies, duckies, duckies. Gross part: People waded in the water to cool off. That's alright, if you want your genes mutated and to bear children with 3 eyes. Then wade right ahead.

So we just arrived. A little after Noon. Heat bearing down on us with 8 hours to wait.

As you can tell from the scenery, not many came out this early. But by God, when we tailgate...we mean business. What a view we had. Phenomenal.

I think the words that came out of my mouth were, "omg, there's f***ing nuns!"

This is after we took a stroll to Macy's looking for better shoes for Katie, an umbrella, maybe a Derby Hat to keep covered, but instead found some awesome scarves. Too bad it was a little late, we were already pink, and the strongest part of the sun was over. Oh well.

Not sure what time it was, but people started to make their moves out and about.

Collin and Crowe discuss the political essays in the Economist. In D.C. Shocking.

And we're looking more like sardines. But what else do you really expect?

Oh ya, baby, fill 'er up. Oh wait, that makes me miss Oregon again.

Okay, so Crowe was making fun of Collin for looking like a model. So Crowe copied him, but Crowe put his arm up like a douche. Right as I took the picture, Collin itched his head. Perfect.

Assume the position, lay back, relax, and enjoy the show. That's what she said.

Why, yes sir, it is time to doctor our sodas from Subway. Now where's my flask? :D

Almost ready. The excitement was beyond my control. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew it would knock our socks off. It was like being 5 again and it's Christmas.

And so I give you, some shots that I was able to squeeze out, without actually looking in the viewfinder and aiming, in the few minutes I alloted to trying to capture the moment.

It was stunning. The best 20 minutes of fireworks in my life. And the 4th of July is my 2nd favorite holiday. Because of the fireworks. 2nd behind Christmas, of course. And the pictures can't do the justice of how cool it really was. Just plain cool.

I thought it was so cool to have the Washington Monument as the backdrop. And what you don't think about when you see the fireworks on the news, we were so darn close that the concussions of the blasts made it hard to breath. It was beyond words. So fun, so magical, so literally breath taking. Superb. Delightful. Magnanimus.

A Once in a Lifetime moment. Purely sensational. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

And while some people were disappointed that the fireworks only lasted 20 minutes, it was an exceptional display of patriotic enthusiasm. Recession or not, one of the best times of my life.

Then while all of DC were fighting for spots on the Metro to make their way back home, we made the 15-minute walk to our hotel to refresh for a night out on the town. This image captivates how we felt on the walk home after hitting a couple Georgetown hotspots.

And to the Fireswamp, I had more than a great time with everyone. I wish we could all live together again. It was like the old days. The good days. The college days. Minus now we have paychecks. And no homework. And we're stylish. I really look forward to our next rendezvous. However we choose to try and top this reunion. And maybe a game of golf will be in for the boys. And a spa day for the girls. And the vacation won't be cut short by the government.

Beaver Breakdown!

According the Beaver Boards (the stalking website which Beaver fans alike post links, stories, quips, and other styles of following the Orange and Black), there are 49 days until the First Kick Off of the 2009-10 Season.

But I think I need a new Beaver gear shirt for the new season. Right, Dad?

Panic! At The Loft!

I'm usually quite prepared on the forefronts of birthdays, thinking of and purchasing gifts weeks in advance (minus for Father's Day 2009 - it's here, I just need to get I sent out already...still...shorry Dad...still love you though!).

But...I've been hit with a SNEAK ATTACK!

Wook's birthday is in a week and a day. 8 days. 192 hours. Ish. Crap.

No clue. No ideas. All I have to start with is gifts.com (an awesome site, btw).

But let's not worry about that tonight. Let's get dressed for a Winging Party. Why? Because when the cat's away...the mouse, and her only female friend mouse, enjoy free drinks. That's why.

And on the menu for dinner. Cinco Hombres. Prost.

Sponsored by Gatorade

What do I usually keep stocked in my fridge for mornings like these?

A 6-pack of the perfectly individual, cute little Gatorades. In pale purple.

However, I forgot to them Wednesday on my weekly stroll to the market.

So what did I have to do this morning?

Don my Chacos (hello, my little friends, it's been awhile!), jeans, shirt, and wet hair.

This is what happens when you arrive at Guadalajara's at 6:15pm, am greeted like the Pope (the boys were that far gone), and we continue to make our way down Granby St., and don't eat dinner till the last place.

But like the champion and Mrs. Draper (Mad Men, anyone?) I am, I go pick up some Gatorades for myself and the boys (Boy A being Mr. Draper [aka, Mr. Wookie], Boy B being Roger Sterling [aka, the always-awesome Mr. Joe Cady]).

But now that it's 8am, I should put some makeup on, fill my travel coffee mug with more Gatorade, take some Ibuprofen for the road, and hope the sun doesn't blind me on the drive out.

Norfolk's Costco, A Lesson in Preparation

Between comments from both coasts, all shapes, sizes, and language (okay, just English, but wouldn't it be cool to have comments in more than just English, or Engrish), I've now learned that only my dismal little Costco is not the awesomeness that everyone else gets to encounter. Talk about the grinding in of a spiny Kirkland Signature stilleto into my pasty back.

But I have plans for next time.

Hit a bar up for a drink before hand. I never have any cares after a cocktail.

But then I never have any responsibilities after 2 cocktails.

...then I never have enunciation after 3 cocktails.

...need we continue?

Both Mommy McD and Ms. Olympia (which I shall call you, which totally makes you sound like a Beauty Queen - do you have a tiara, a sash, and some white gloves? And can you do the wave?), I'm jealous. You get Costco-paid boxers. I get...well...a rise in blood pressure, a fidgeting habit, wook's ears to bleed after I berate the subject for longer than I should, etc. Boo.

Recovery Complete

It took a run to the supermarket for those leftover items, a call to my dad saying he picked up my check from the Ashland Consignment Shop (yay $96!), the venting online, a pint of the new Magic Hat Summer Seasonal (eh, not bad, not stellar, but a good summer beer...and it's pink!), some killer kabobs from Chef Boyar-Wookie, and more Mad Men (I'm in looove with the sassy redhead).

And last note on Costco.

Everywhere else I've ever been to Costco, there's a booper and a boxer. Always. My little, ol' Medford of all places. Albany, Oregon. In California. 2 people for 2 jobs. The EC needs to get on this bandwagon quick. You guys save money on not repairing the freeways, like ever, and now you can employ some person to box the frequent out-of-staters' purchases. Amen.

But then last night after dinner, I had a thought.

Oh no, an email didn't go out about Friday being a jean day.

I thought yesterday was Friday. I know, I know. Nice try. But I can't blame my mind for being one step ahead of the week. That would have been nice. But then again, I don't have to be in until 9am today. Oh ya, total yay. I'm making me some Columbian (coffee).

And the last thought of the day.

Wook's going out of town for the whole weekend. It'll be weird. This'll be the first time he's jumped ship since I've been back. And I kinda don't know what to do with myself.

I've talked with Jess (the cute blonde in their class - who is the only female I know in a 100 mile radius). We may go to the beach. We may hit up a Winging Party this Friday. Hey, free drinks. Plus, I can work on my flirting. Maybe have guys buy me drinks. (This is funny, because Winging Parties are open bar - get it?). Who knows.

Wish me luck. ;)

While I'm On The Ranting Wave

Dear Loft Ghost,

I do not find it funny that when I "delay" the dishwasher 2 hours so it'll run when wook and I aren't home...you somehow make it not run during the day. Whether you open the door ever so slightly to disengage it, you need to stop. I need clean dishes and utensils.

When I get home from Costco, I'd like to put away the dishes before the onslaught of tonight's dinner clogs the sink up. But noooooo, let's f*** with Ashley's chi. Because you know that putting away the dishes really grinds my gears, let's just make this the Maraschino cherry (go Oregon State - invented there, if you didn't know) on the sundae.

It's one thing for when the dishwashers at work take forever. Those are work dishes, and those can always wait. But when it comes to my own kitchen, I'd like things done now. Not 5 minutes from now. Not a full cycle from now. But now. Unless, of course, I set a delay on the washer so I don't have to hear the unexciting noise of responsibility rumble from beneath the counter.

So while the dishwasher gets off its duff and actually does something for once, I'll be hitting up the market on the corner for the rest of my groceries (i.e. greenleaf, lunch meat, eggs, beer...and the trashbags which were on the list for Costco but never made it into the cart. Woops.).

And I'll continue finding fish scales attached to my skin throughout the night (I made 5 filets out of 1 big one since this household only has 1 Salmon Lover). Oh joy.

I should probably sign off now.

Umm, Rightfully,

Ashley

Costco, Minus 20 Points!

I literally just walked in the door, with a box o' meat under my arm.

And I'm still mad/perved/peeved/pissed/irritated/wtf'd.

Umm, ya, Costco, just a couple questions. But let's start at the top.

1.) Why do you not have someone at the register to box my things?

If asked, "would you like boxes?"...yes, I'd like boxes, I'd like my things put in those boxes, I'd like my things put in those boxes by someone on your payroll. I got off work early (because I clocked in at 6:58am and my boss let me go for the rest of today), therefore I am no longer responsible for things which occur outside my workplace.

You, however, are on the clock. This is your job. Maybe even your second job. You get paid to 'boop' things. Did they not cover 'putting things in the box for the bitchy redhead' in class? (And a statement, I wasn't bitchy to anyone's face...just gave glares after the fact - just to clarify - I'm still a Saint to the outside world).

I'm curious whether these Booger Eating Morons (credit for that phrase goes to the Sheriff) are just retarded, lazy, both, or in this neck of the woods...is boxing things Costco-style (you have a style for a reason!) just not in their job description.

I go to Costco for 2 things. Okay, 3. Sometimes 4. First off, the samples. Dur. Secondly, cheap prices on those big @$$ boxes of Cheerios. Third, "a slice of Costco pizza a day keeps the Dr. away" (but in all honesty, once a month when I don't feel like cooking lunch/dinner...the deliciousness calls). And last but not least, my dad and I would forage there when bored. Not so hard to believe, right?

So until I find the wine opener, or maybe I'll settle for a cold beer since it's a little warm outside, the perturbness will have to linger until my liver can take appropriate actions.

Ugh.

And now I've forgotten my second question.

But I was able to procure (is that right?) a large filet of Wild Alaskan Salmon. Yay.

Tis Here, My Love

There's been a little quizzicality in my disappearance over the weekend.

But I assure you, I'm still here...committed to my fellow West Coasters.

Unfortunately (for my social and blogging life) and fortunately (for my bank account), I've been a little swarmed with early call times and late requests at work.

And to continue the pity party, let it be known that I have to be at work at 7am.

But I still love you, Mommy McD, and will be visiting next month. I promise.

Only In The PacNW

Want to know what's in Oregon (and parts of Washington) besides the good beer, great camping, excellent outdoors-ing, real mountains, and super friendly people?

Bald eagles.

My dad emailed me a link to an "EagleCam" that's perched overlooking a Bald Eagle nest within the Deschutes National Forest (yes, think Deschutes Brewery [Black Butte Porter, Obsidian Stoute, Mirror Pond, etc.] and you're in the kinda-right area).

I wasn't able to figure out to post the video feed directly, but at least check it out.

Recap: July 3rd (Location: D.C.)

It was a pain to get out of town. Especially after the Northbound tunnel to Hampton Roads was closed due to a water line leak. Traffic was backed up for 20 miles. No joke. And wook wanted to leave at 730. Ya right. Well we left just after 730, made the loop around Norfolk/Chesapeake, and headed for the other tunnel. We hit 10 minutes of stand-still traffic. And were off.

DC or Bust!

We got into town around 11pm. Crowe may or may not have been disappointed in the time we made, but with Norfolk being in the huge Charlie Foxtrot that it was, we made great time.

So let's start off with the recounting of 3 days with some Oregonians.

While wook and Crowe were out galavanting to Dulles to pick up the Collin & Katie crew, Joe and I headed to Georgetown to take in the sights/sounds/books of the area.

Pretty roadway on the way to Georgetown from DuPont Circle (where we stay).

The little river where some Congressman (or something) dumped that Intern's body. Really? A little river in D.C. is where you try to dispose of a murder victim? Wow. You should do more research. Find a wook chopper...or fake a suicide on the Metro...or boil their body down. Amateur. Anyways.

"Omg, Joe, can we go in??" I wanted to check this place out in person since I've perused their goods online. Eh, nothing really I needed at the moment. And I'm pretty sure Joe enjoyed the view of girls walking around in yoga pants. Boys...

This was the main reason for going to Georgetown. The stairs from the Exorcist. I don't remember it. But apparently they're the ones that the priest throws himself down. Okay. I don't remember that part. I'll have to YouTube it.

So naturally we have to hike up them. "Joe, don't judge if I'm huffing and puffing at the top. My cardio's not exactly stellar." His neither.

At least Joe didn't enjoy that little hike either. Emo expression on that decision.

And apparently it was Paint Your Door Day. I'm like the black doors. To me it means, "go away, I never said I liked you, unless you're bringing some adult beverages... then come on in. I like you now."

Ya, I was totally lurking the bright blue, fuzzy Jesus statue in the window.

And the group is finally back together!! And riding the Metro, of course.

We did have to make a stop-off to Macy's Shoe Dept. Katie was wanting some black flats to go with her outfit for the evening. Despite the boredom that their expressions warrant, we were literally in there for less than 10 minutes. Those boys can't complain about that.

So we tried the Payless Shoe Source across the street. But the boys thought that trying to fit a nylon sock on Collin's head was much more entertaining.

And now it looks like something else...a saggy Yamika. Or a big nipple. Or a tumor.

Relaxing in the Museum of Art. A huge place. We barely got to half before we were all cranky for food. And wook got yelled out for answering his phone in one of the galleries. "What part of no cell phones didn't you understand?" Ya, one of the boys called him. Haha.

On to evening wear. The boys in their new suits looking shnaaaaazzy. They definitely brought their A Game. Next stop: Russia House.

My bra always seems to make an appearance. But at least my martini tasted good.

I love these boys. Seriously. Collin, Katie, move out to D.C. We need more.

This was only our first stop, but things went downhill fast. It was legen...dary.

6 friends + 1 great city = Who needs more Gatorade? How's your stomach, Crowe?

There Is A Pulse

I'm here. Never fear. I'm in gear. For the weekend.

I've thrown a load of dishes into the washer. Nursed a Coke Cherry Zero. Eaten the leftover popcorn from our outing to see Public Enemies (on Tuesday - yes, it's a few days old). Ate some of wook's cashews (shh, don't tell).

There's still a boat load of laundry to be done. I sniff-tested a shirt this morning, it smelt awful, but I still wore it because it's all I could find that would make a Casual Friday outfit. Sad, I know. But these early wake-up days don't center my chi enough.

Wook's at the Toby Keith concert, till whenever that ends.

I'll be enjoying an adult beverage later, once the mud mask has dried, the pajamas have been put on, the bed prepped for my sprawling, and the last disc of Season 1 of Mad Men has been started (I love the saucy redhead - but seriously, why wouldn't I?).

I call it a very successful evening. One of relaxation. One of "I'm home alone!"

I've debated just running over to CPK for some dinner. But then I realize that I haven't had French Toast in forever. In fact, I was complaining about wanting it in DC (yes, I know, those posts hopefully will surface tomorrow - I've been a little preoccupied with being awesome - but they still remain a priority, rest assure).

But I did learn something awesome this week: I work with a couple Office fans. :D

Welcome to Fields, Oregon

Photo documentation of where my parents will eventually retire, right, Mom??? ;)

Okay, well my mom says never, but I'd still think it'd be a kick to visit "our" town.

But don't hold your breath, people,...and just check it out.

Almost....there! It's almost as exciting as going to Redding...right Hayley?

That's it. The whole town. Well at least they water their trees.

If the sign was "donated" then there's no trust fund for those with the town's name. :(

Hi, welcome to the promise land...or at least...the business location for a day.

I will steal this sign eventually. Roadtrip, anyone? Gas is on me. I'll sing too.

I lost my $#!t with this "emo" picture of my dad, the Beaver bubba keg, and the sign.

Ya, we didn't really get to yack much since there wasn't cell service either.

Final Tally: 4 dead birds (my dad called them suicidal - apparently that was the case), and the almost-roadkill count of 1 deer, 1 bunny, and a few squirrels.

And somehow I still kinda miss Oregon...even the backwoods, missing teeth, shotgun-toting, barefoot and pregnant, cousin-marrying kind that inhabit the not-so-glamourous parts.