How to Look Pregnant 101

a.) Actually be pregnant.

or

B.) Have family visit so you eat and drink your weight over the long weekend.

Friday night consisted of margaritas at Chili's.  Saturday morning was the continental breakfast at the hotel (we joined the family).  Saturday lunch was spent sampling beer with our lunch.  Saturday evening was more beer with a steak dinner.  Sunday morning was more breakfast.  Sunday lunch was tacos...and yup, you guessed it, more beer.  Sunday evening was spaghetti...and just a vodka tonic.  And this morning starts the bloating detox.


Good thing we didn't go to the beach.  I would have either been asked when I was due, or been confused for a beached whale that was attempting to escape the oil slick.  Not pretty.


So on the menu for dinner tonight...?  Salad.  And for tomorrow?  Salad.  And the next day?  Salad.  And the next day?  And the next?  And the next?  Salad, salad, salad.

For some reason I love waking up early on the weekends. Maybe because I don't have to go to work.

Yesterday was...

National 'Wear Sunscreen' Day

Obviously I am a huge advocate of this because a.) I'm a redhead, b.) I'm awesome, c.) sunburns hurt like a bitch, and d.) they're only acceptable after Half Marathons in March when the weather is perfect for imbibing on the beach.  And the burn was only one part of my shin.  That's it.  AMAZING!


Anyways, back to this Memorial Day weekend shit...


I know I shouldn't, but I like the weekend more because it's a 3-day break from the monotony of adulthood.  No early catering pick-ups, no late nights cleaning, no suit, no name badges, no tech support, no late lunch deliveries (this meeting was not coordinated by your truly), and no coming home drained.


I wish I could be up in the District for the Ride to the Wall.  We have a security guard who's participating, again.  Something like 200,000 Hogs screaming their way through the Mall with police escort.  Badass.  I wish we could be up there, camped out on the Mall's Lawn, hibachi grill and picnic, watching all the action.  That'd be an amazing sight to see.


But for now, we have guests in town that need our love and attention around the city.  So I've set my alarm to be up, and coffee'd, and ready to join them for breakfast.  Hotel accommodations = continental breakfast.  SCORE!


So in honor of this weekend's true meaning, we'll be touring the MacArthur Memorial, the USS Wisconsin, and anything else the gang wants to do this weekend.


And just don't drink and drive.  You may hit a curb and spill your beer.

Oh wait, you mean Friday's finally here?

I can complain all I want...but Mr. Wookie's week has been worse.  Fail.


So in honor of today, we were up at 5:00am, with only a couple of snooze sessions, and indulging in coffee by 5:30am.  Thanks to him, coffee was already made by the time I dragged my eye-boogy ridden face downstairs.  Fridays are usually ugly.


But we are celebrating May Birthdays in my office.  So a break at 9:30 is in the works.  I can almost taste my New York water bagel already.  Mmmmmmm....


Then hopefully lunch will come and go.  Then it'll be 5pm...and I'll be out.


But first, what to wear?  No need for a suit today (yes!)...so maybe I'll go casual.  Okay, semi-business casual.  Okay, casual rarely works in my area because Chacos are not an East Coast fashion practice.  Darn.  I should have gotten a damn degree is Eco Practices.  Because I can so have my office be a National Forest.


I guess the first order of business should be to shower.  But that means I have to crawl outta bed for the second time.  Life is so cruel.


Happy Friday!  And if you're off today, just suck it.  I don't want to hear how awesome you are.

Screw you Draft Blogger and your inability to upload pictures tonight!

So you don't get the intended upload and commentary tonight because of Blogger being st00pid.


Bad Blogger.


I guess I'll just ramble at you now.


Thank goodness it's Wednesday because I'm dying for this damn 3-day weekend to get here.  The Wookie & Co household will be hosting 2 visitors this weekend.  One Mr. Wookie's Dad and one Mr. Wookie's Grandmoose.  We last saw them back in December when we were hooting and tooting Mr. Wookie's Winging.  So I'm in work mode once again trying to figure out what to do with them this weekend.  Besides frequenting our watering hole.  Of course.


It's less than 2 weeks until I land in the free, the spacious, the beautiful State of Oregon.  It's been since early October I made it back to Oregon and I'm STOKED.


Right now we're watching Casino Royale.  Mr. Wookie can't fall asleep without a movie playing.  And I can't go to bed without visions of hot men in my mind.  Daniel Craig it is.  That and Puck from Glee wasn't a bad way to start the night.  I love my life.


Thursday will be a long/tough day at work, so a coworker and I might be hitting up Guad's (Mexican food) after work.  There's just something about margaritas that make the day right.  Let's hope I don't have to call the Mr. Wookie Taxi for a ride home.  That and I have 2 miles to log tomorrow, so I need to be good.


Speaking of miles, the 8K is coming up in about 4 weeks.  And I haven't been training like I should.  I seem to be slacking through this race's training.  Listen, I totally completed a Half Marathon on piss-poor training.  An 8K is nothing.  True.  But still, I need to be back in the saddle and working towards that New Year's Resolution.  500 miles will NOT run themselves.


I'm still searching for a race to run while hodge-podging through England and Scotland this summer.  The only hang up is that we don't have our exact itinerary scheduled out yet.  So technically we can work around any race I find.  Let's hope i can find one!


And speaking of England and Scotland, does anyone know anyone/read any blogs from the land over the pond?  We'll be landing in Heathrow (duh!), then moseying up to Nottingham, Glasgow, and Edinburgh, along with other cities along the way.  I need connections.  Places to eat, things to see, people to avoid, etc.  If you're awesome traveled and can hook a Ging up....please do so!


Can we just fast forward to the part when Daniel Craig emerges from the ocean in his little shorts???


I need to acquire more Glee songs.  I'm pretty sure that'll help me keep my rhythm while running the same routes over and over again around the city.  That and the perma-image of Puck in my mind after last night's episode.


So I don't know if I told you, but we've switched over to Kona coffee in the house...and are IN LOVE.  The bad thing is...I get super depressed when my travel mug goes empty after I've been at work.  There's no way that the Starbucks or Columbian can dare compete.  It's like comparing Birkenstocks with...well...plastic bags.


Speaking of plastic bags, I have a New Year's Resolution for next year already.  Now, are you ready????  No ziplocs for a year. And I think I can do it.  I have enough glass "Tupperware" and reusable containers that I shouldn't need to use those little baggies for awhile.  Marinating chicken?  Big ass glass container.  Half-eaten apple?  Reusable fruit container.  I do have some time to tweak my preparations, but I think it'd be a good one.


But until then, it's almost 10pm and this Ging needs her sleep.  Two wake-ups until it's Friday.  Amen.

How to have horns protrude by 6:00am.

So there I am, lying peacefully, beautifully asleep in our sprawling Queen-sized bed, dreaming of unicorns, dandelions, and Timothy Olyphant, when my alarm started in on its escalating shrill of a devil dance on the nightstand.


Yawn.  Okay, snooooooze button.


Why snooze?  Why not snooze?  It's like flippin' the world of wake-ups the bird while you cozy back down under the covers for another 10 minutes.  Because 10 minutes is enough to rehab my sanity.  Or at least, that's what I'm counting on.


But what's this?????  It won't snooze.  IT WON'T FREAKIN' SNOOZE!!  One after the other are multiple "Wake your asssssss up, Gingy!" alarms.  And I'm about to pull out my freakin' hair.  One.  Alarm.  After.  The.  Other.  So this leaves me no choice but to pull the batteries and curse the day already.  NO one likes to wake up instantaneously in a fit of rage, pissed at their cell phone, without any morning coffee yet.  I swear, if I weren't a Ging...I probably would have turned green and 'roid-like.  Minus the denim cutoffs.  That's soooo 1994.  Really, what was Hulk thinking?  Personal stylist?  Nope.


So I pull the battery, and debate falling back asleep and waking when I want.  But when's the last time I missed work for oversleeping?  Never.  Attendance = A+ record.  Sorry tangent.


Well, after restarting my phone, I got into the "alarm creating" file.  And holy shit.  I had...somehow...Mr. Wookie??....Dorothy????.....over a dozen 6:00am alarms.  WTF?


In the words of Meredith Brooks..."I hate the world today..."


But alas, I'm up.  Working on my first cup of coffee, making all things right in the world (at least right in the Ging-sense).  I'll be Mr. Wookie-less for dinner/running tonight as the Navy wants to spend a little quality time with him.  I can't blame them really.  He looks very cute in his uniform.  Especially from behind.

What I won't be watching tonight...

Nope.  Don't care.  Not an ounce.

I make Vera DeMilo look like a drag queen.

It's Saturday.  Finally.  And I spent it in true Ging fashion.  By setting my alarm to get up early, waking up at said alarm time, chowing down on some Cheerios, then crawling my ass back in bed until 10:00am.  Superstar.

 That's right.  Read it and weep.

And Mr. Wookie is a champ.  Whether he sacrificed his second cup so I could have a second, or whether he made an extra amount, after he left for work (yes, on a Saturday)...I scored the last drop.  The super hot last drop.  The it splashed outta the mug and onto my forearm which made me yell, "Son of a BITCH!" hot.


So on today's agenda...jack shit.  Or jack turd.  To-may-to...to-mah-to. *pinkie up*


I worked my ass of this week.  And I deserve a day where I don't have to plan food for events.  Where I don't have to configure table arrangements.  Where I don't have to make sure the supplies aren't running low.


But I plan on having dinner in the pipeline for when Mr. Wookie comes home.  And there's some laundry to do and put away.  And we're outta dishwashing soap, so to the store I go.  Oh wait, that sounds like work.  So basically, I never get days off.  If it's not working for the Man, it's working for the Wookie.  Dammit.  Where's that trust fund.  This shit's getting old.  I love you, Dad.


And now my coffee is tasting like bacon.  This could be a sign.  But again, we're out of bacon.  $^%@!!!


UPDATED @ 1:00pm:


It smells like shit now. Like a fart from 1994 in which my brother had nachos for lunch and chili dogs for dinner.  I think I see the white wall paint starting to peel.  It's coming off in chunks now.  I fear for my life.  Okay, not really...but I maybe should have Google'd what the self-cleaning cycle for an oven smelt like.  Because I may or not be regretting this.  Or....maybe it's the push to get outta the house for a bit and hit up the FREAKIN' bookstore.  Oh, yes.  I like this answer.  To the shower, Batman!  Or maybe not.  Because we only have a small shower stall.  And that cape will take up waaaay too much room.

Coffee tastes so much better on days off.

But unfortunately that's not the case this week.  Should I be off?  Yes.  But I'm not.


So welcome to the bitter party.


Angry Ging, Party of 1.  Your table next to Beelzebub's is ready now.


My coffee is only "eh" since I was up way too early this morning.  And it's not like I had plans today.  I just had the opposite of plans.  Lounge around and enjoy my day.  And maybe hit up the damn used bookstore I couldn't make it to last week.  And there's blogging to do.  Because we've had some new arrangements surrounding a technological death that occurred last week.  AND I don't get to enjoy the concert tonight.  I WILL NOT be having a romantic evening with Future Husband #4 this evening.

Future Husband #4

Because who wants to listen to this complain halfway through the opening act?  Who's Darius Rucker by the way.  You know, "Hootie."  But no Blowfish.  Because he's a "country" star now.  Mmhmmmm....

But I would like to thank EVERYONE and their excellent ideas for Middle Sister's graduation next month.

I just want to lick it, it's so pretty.

I will say that the KitchenAid will not be the Graduation present though.  Because I can't contribute one to a  family member until I HAVE ONE FIRST.  Yes, I'll be biting the pricey bullet...probably next year.  Because that's my timeline for this beauty.  It's not a priority, considering I don't have a fantastically large kitchen to bake in nor the trust fund needed to solely stay at home and bake with said KitchenAid.  So until then, I'll lick the screen.  Anyone have those electronics wipes so I can get the streaks off my laptop?

"WTF Wednesday?"

I had to run errands for work yesterday around the 2:30 mark.  And this is the joyous sight I stumbled upon.  More like avoided like TB.

Seriously...U-Haul was out of moving trucks?  What about taking 2 trips?  "No, we're men.  We can handle this is one.  Even if I lose a dishwasher out the back."

Time to Poll those Bloggeratzis!!

Okay, troops, here's the time to sound off.  Gimme your $.02!  I want answers!


Middle Sister graduates from college mid-June...and I don't know what to get her!


What I won't get her?  Money.  Cold-hard cash.  Because that's just not my style.  I'm her sister.  I'm an avid fan of "useful" gifts - like a Roomba (but too bad she already has one of those!)  And I demand in a quality, thought-out, will-be-used/admired/appreciated gift.


Ready, set, go!  And yes, I'll be dancing over to Gifts.com to see if they're any help.


Thanks all.  Happy Monday!

My weekend totally beats the crap outta your honor student.

Now let me rub my weekend in your face.  Because I can.  And I will.  Because it's rare that my weekends amount to anything more than kickin' it with my roommate, Netflixing it up, and rocking pajamas on Sundays.

So what's better?  Spending $45 for a 60-minute pedicure...or spending $50 for a lavender mani/pedi that lasts a luxurious hour and a half.

And oh darn, a glass of Pinot Grigio...twist my arm.

And you know how you get the brain-numbin' woosh over your scalp when the massage starts...well a glass of wine totally doubles that.  And it's the best idea ever.  I'll have to start packing a flask when I go to places that don't offer wine.  Because that sensation can cure cancer.  Or at least make you feel amazing while going through chemo.


...Friday's festivities segued into a fun-packed Saturday.


Saturday's scheduled involved the annual Beer Festival in Hampton Roads, Virginia.  For some, it's Drunk Fest '10.  For us, it's the chance to have the great beers come to the area.  And by great beers, I mean...

Widmer

and

Kona.

Thanks to Aveeno sunscreen SPF 70 I didn't burn.  Two layers.  Some others did.  Thanks to pacing myself through my first 3 beers of 9.2%, 9.4%, and 10.2%, I didn't have any issues.  Some others did.  There were a few individuals passed out.  In the park.  In public.  With law enforcement closing in.  And I was dying for these 2 muscle heads to brawl it out.  There was pushing, there was shoving, there was name calling, and there was a Ging cheering them on from 20 feet away.  Because nothing is more exciting than watching 2 highly intoxicated brutes pound it out.

The only thing disappointing about the weekend was this movie.  Seriously...save it for Netflix.  Not even being residually buzzed could have made this entertaining.  Sorry Cate and Russy.  Not your finest.

I'm going to lounge and ramble at you while I enjoy cup of coffee #2.

Slurp.  Jealous?  Because I'd be.  It's 10:21am...and I'm not in work clothes.  In fact, I'm lounging on the couch, blanket on the legs, laptop roaring, ready for the day.  Not that I have lots planned.  But in theory, I do.


I'm researching spas/salons right now because I feel that I need to thank my feet for their work last night.  I woke up this morning still a little sore in the legs, hips, and feet.  I should have worn a pedometer last night.  But then again, I don't really want to know what I put my body through. Job satisfaction is good enough for me.


I did a pass by the used bookstore this morning to check their Friday hours.  They open at 1pm.  Suck.  I need literature.  I'm bored with what I have. That and I'm hoping to find more cookbooks.  Because I love cookbooks.  And I'm trying to up my creativity in the kitchen.  Otherwise I'll starve during deployments.


Sorry, I just had a coworker call to check up on me.  She's uber jealous I'm planning on a pedicure today.  Because my little babies need it.  Well, the toenails need it.  And the massage isn't a bad deal either.  And why not?  But I'll see her tomorrow.  Because I have cool coworkers like that.


But I'm actually not in too bad of shape for working all day yesterday.  And I genuinely feel bummed for not being at work.  There's always stuff to do.  Whether it's organizing my pantry or prepping for next week's seminar and [another] cocktail reception.  But here's a secret...I totally brought my calendar book and work for next week home with me.  So I can't promise I won't be working a little at home.  At least I'll be thinking of work while at home.  But only for a moment.  And probably on Sunday evening.  Because I do need time to myself.


Speaking of time to myself, Mr. Wookie's gone in to study for a few hours today which leaves me time to crank the Taylor Swift and clean/laundry it up.  There's just something about utilizing a free day, off from work, and putting your home back into working order.  Because, as you may not have guessed, working long days leaves my house looking a mess.  Because I come home, scrounge dinner, have a beverage, and would rather fall asleep on the couch than lug my butt upstairs to sleep in a real bed.  Yes, I feel like I'm 17 sometimes, back when couch sleeping was the epitome of lazy.


But I still have half a cup of coffee next to me.  And I can't abandon it.


On my trek to the bookstore, I saw a mom pushing a stroller.  I don't want to be that mom.  I don't want to be the mom that squishes a kid out at 39.  I don't want to be so old that people think it's your grandkid.  I don't want to have more wrinkles than they have baby fat rolls.  I don't want that.  But then again, I don't want to be 26 with 5 kids.  Talk about needing to find a hobby other than entertaining pheromones.  I don't want to be tripping on my sagging lady bits because they've been under so much duress.  I don't want my uterus to protest outside the capital building for birth control reform.  Because they'll probably have a run-in with an Intern.

A Day as a Catering Coordinator

Well, I wake up in the morning, And the 'larm gives out a warning, And I don't think I'll ever make it on time....Woop woop.


Actually no, my day doesn't begin with the Saved by the Bell theme song, but wouldn't that be nice?  Instead it begins with incessant waking up in the early hours of the morning because I'm absolutely PARANOID I'll oversleep my alarm and all hell will break loose.  I don't show up on time = worse than the Taliban's ability to crochet a swimsuit for your Aunt Mildred.


So a piss poor sleep is how I start my day.


On my schedule for this evening is a cocktail reception at an alternate location.  An alternate location means I get to transport anything and everything I need to make said cocktail reception a success.  So I pack.  And I make lists.  And I double check lists.  And I go crazy with lists.  And I triple check lists!


So at 2pm, I made the move towards the location.  Estimated start time...5:00pm.


But first, I have to swing into a gas station for bags of ice.  Because where I'm going...there is no ice.  And beer needs ice.  So does wine.  I can't just fill the containers with packing peanuts.  Thank the Lawd for a smart phones...because otherwise I wouldn't have found the nearest gas station with an ice box.


So...I pull into the GHETTOIST Shell gas station ever.  I was banking on having my car on blocks by the time it took me to buy 2 bags.  That and the crazy man eating saltine crackers and some unrecognizable substance next to the cash register...I couldn't get out of there fast enough!  I was the only one there not walking with a limp, packing heat, and with a rap sheet.  Goodness.  So I open the car, throw the ice in, lock the car, walk around the car, unlock the car, throw myself in, lock the car, peel out in a getaway heat.  Skinny Ging in a suit on a mission!


I make it to the destination and I start unloading.  And unloading.  And beginning the arduous task of set-up.  Between 2 of us, it takes almost 2 hours for catering placement, beverage service, and the like.  Mind you the view is overlooking the water, so nature was on our side in that respect.  And I have a plan of watching the sunset and seeing the water color change.


Come 5:00, people are arriving ready for the festivities.  I'm working, I'm meeting, I'm greeting, I'm talking Scotch.  And now I'm starting to feel my feet bitch.  And bitch they do.  They're dying.  And we've only just started.  And yes, they were Reports.  But I don't care how comfy your shoes are...long days on your feet are killer.


Oh, but wait,...we're running out of tonic???  Oi.  Okay, I'll run next door for more.  No problem.  Run, grab, purchase, back, no sweat.  Well, actually there was a lot of sweat, because I was power walking, in a suit...in a heat wave...ya...


Add additional tonic to beverage service.


15 minutes later...*EXPLODE*


Someone opened the new tonic in a fit.  And now it's everywhere.  In the fresh drinkware, in the bar mix, in the bowl of limes, on the water bottles....PAPER TOWELS COMING RIGHT UP!


Feet are barking...feet are barking...


Note to self: Open tonics in a controlled setting in the kitchen.  Done.


They eat, they gaggle, they socialize, they finally drag themselves to their event.  We were just the preamble.  What's next?  The clean-up.  Ugh.


But let's fast forward through that.  Because you don't care about that.  You don't care that as soon as the guests left I pitched my shoes off in a fit of rage.  You don't care that there was extra wine left over that I helped myself to a glass.  Well, actually a coffee mug.  Because I wanted to relive the college years.  That I called my mom and told her about my day.  And told Mr. Wookie that...no, I'm not done yet.  And you might care that I just had to sample the fresh fruit tray that NO ONE touched.  I swear healthy eating eludes this coast.


And there's a load more detail, but you don't care.  And I don't care.  The pain has faded from my feet.  I've had a few sips of wine...but that's because I'd rather tell you about my day.  And this is a very abridged version.


But the icing on the cake for the day.  This morning, I emailed my boss saying that by the end of this evening, I will have worked a full week's work...so I'd like to take Friday off.  And I wait for the "okay."  And I wait.  And I wait.  And 4:00pm passes.  And I wait.  And I wait.  And near 5:00pm, beauty was granted.  I have Friday off.  I HAVE FRIDAY OFF!  What up???!?!?


Oh, and when was I done?  8:25pm.  12-hour work day.  And yes, I love, love, love my job.

Jesus rode shotgun this morning on my commute. He hearts my state too.

This morning, my stomach wasn't easy.  I was on "E" since Tuesday sometime.  And I knew I needed gas.  But after getting out of work early yesterday (for a change), I just wanted to cruise home, pour a glass of wine, scrounge some dinner, and hit the hay.  So I didn't gas up.  "Oh, I'll gas up tomorrow."  Hahhahaahaha, I didn't.

So this morning, I was praying/thinking/streaming consciousness...

Please don't run outta gas.  Please don't run outta gas.  Please don't run outta gas.  We're at the bridge, a quarter down.  Keep going.  Keep going.  You can make it.  Okay, so if I do run outta gas, what are my options?  Wook?  Umm...no...he's asleep...a.) he won't hear his phone ring, b.) he has the day off...so c.) probably a cab.  Not that I've ever taken a cab.  That's gross.  Unless it's Ben Bailey.  Then we're on.  Or Andy Hillstrand.  But that's another story....Ooooo, I can see my building.  10 minutes out...I can do it...off-ramp...no traffic...DAMMIT, RED LIGHT.  This is burning my precious fuel.  And I can't gun it because that'll kill my gas more.  Oh, gas station is in SIGHT!  Almost...almost...THERE!!!  Score.  $30-something down.

Thanks Jesus for turning water into Petrol.  Much appreciated.

Anyways, onto the important issues.  My beloved State of Oregon.  Home of the...well...hippies.  Us and Vermont.  But Vermont's like the size of a county.  So it doesn't count.  But that doesn't detract from my still wanting to visit there.

Based out of Eugene, Oregon, Yogi Tea is a hippie tea that focuses in varying needs of the body.

My personal favorite: The Immunity-Support Echinacea tea.  It's so good, there's no need for sugar.  De-lic-ious.  I definitely look forward to any and all throat tickles indicating a possible-impending illness, because I get to indulge in this bad-ass concoction.  And then there are the rare times when I'll drink it even when I'm not feeling sick.  Because I feel like indulging.  Because I can.


You should be able to find this is any grocery store/supermarket in the tea aisle.  It's in the pretty square boxes that just scream, "Ging!"  I suggest you check out the stash...if not anything, because of my free, shame-less promotion of my state.  And the hopes that more people can learn the ways of the West Coast.


The only downside...the price.  But I base out that it's shipped from a medium-sized city in Oregon, out to the bustlin' hub-bub of the Eastern Seashore.  That and the call for hippieness isn't loud on this shore.  Yet.  I have faith in this coast.  Just not a lot.

Can it please be Friday yet...?

I don't have much time.  It's late.  I have a half of glass of wine to finish.  I've logged 3 miles (yes, that's it, but tonight's schedule only called for 2.5) and some upper body lifting.  Tortellini is in my stomach.  But I have much needed sleep to gather.


Wednesday and Thursday have gotten increasingly busy.  We're talking 7:00am at the office.  And out of the office...when I get outta the office.


And yes, this occurred last Friday as it was past 7:00pm when I got off work.  7:00pm on a Friday night.  So yes, I missed Happy Hour.  And no, I wasn't happy about it.  And yes, I made up for it.


So calling it a night is in order.


But first, I'll leave you with this.  Today I burned out my cellphone battery by 1pm.  By a blog I found this morning. I give you: DC Interns.  It chronicles the unbelievable lack-of-intelligence DC Intern.  I cannot wait to go to DC and play "Spot the Intern."  Because according to this, it should be like shooting fish in a barrel.  Or gays in San Francisco.  Or lesbians in Berkeley.  Or Illegals in Arizona.  Oh wait, that might be hard now....

How KEEN are you?

For those travel enthusiasts, there are exactly 30 days until VIVA OREGON!  And with that, I'm launching a campaign to cover the 15 most-known-about Oregon-based companies that you should adore/oogle/marry.  Because everyone should be proud of their home state and try to pimp their goods.  Unless you're from Mississippi, because I can't think of anything that comes from there.

So in honor of the family vacation this summer to England and Scotland, our first pimp-out is Keen Footwear, Inc.  Because who likes blisters from crappy shoes when they're vacationing in foreign lands?

Never worn an ergonomic shoe?  You're missing out.  Ergo shoes are insanity.  They're built to support the foot as opposed to being shoddy work with just a celebrity name on it (i.e. Jessica Simpson = absolute crap!).  Your knees won't ache, your hips won't pop...it'll be like walking in a cloud.  And ergo shoes have come a LONG way since your grandmother's day.  Because nursing home fashions are so 1956.

Coronado Mary Jane, $60

These cute little shoes are my latest oogling on Zappos.com.  I'm in search of a cute, non-super-lesbian walking shoe while touring England/Scotland this summer.  And because their weather isn't always so South Beach, I have a feeling I'll be needing more than just flippy floppies.  And I love the deep, hot pink.

So like I said, KEEN is based out of Oregon.  Portland to be exact.  And who lives in Portland?  Baby Sister in fact!  And where am I flying into on June 9th?  Portland.  So what shoe store is a short hop away?  KEEN!  (Tired of the questions yet?  Haha, there's another one!).

I just don't know if I can hold out though. TWSS.  I may just buy them online.  Because I'm itchy like that.  And who doesn't like to come home to a Zappos.com box at your doorstep.  It's like Christmas in July May.

That's what she said.

Me: "Hey, try this wine.  It's awful."
Mr. Wookie: "No thanks, I have sausage in my mouth."
Me: "What?"
Mr. Wookie: "I have sausage in my mouth."
Me: "Once more..."


To me, my humor never gets old.  And there's nothing like a good "That's what she said" on a Sunday afternoon.


And I hope all y'all called/wrote/carrier pigeon'd messages to your mommas today.  Because they didn't need to have you.  They were totally selfish in wanting children.  And it's a good thing we like them in return.

You're welcome, Mom, for the 6-hour labor.

I'm an easy child.  As you could tell by the time it took for me to enter this world.  I never needed more than a bowl of Cheerios in the morning, every morning.  And maybe some pants that covered my long-ass legs.  Because being 5'8" in junior high has it's limitations.  But that's thanks to my dad's genetics, so he'll have to wait a month for the post in his honor.

So Happy Mommy's Day.  Or in the wise words of Shaun of the Dead, "To a wonderful Mum."

Welcome back you swamp-like East Coast summer weather.

Ever spent a summer on the East Coast, or in the South, or anywhere not on the Best West Coast?


Sweaty. balls.


And it's back.  And I have mixed feelings on the matter.  This winter was a cold one.  I think I had skin cells that hitchhiked to Mexico, it was so cold.  So to be out of the cold, I'm wondering Is it worth it?


I make the 6 block walk to get my brows waxed this morning, and I about had heat stroke.  It was SWELTERING.  And barely 10:45am.  So when I made it back, near death, and on the brink of mental breakdown (seeing as it's just only May, and we still have June, July, August...to deal with - who wants to stab me now?), I pleaded my case to not make to the Wine Festival this weekend.  Last year we went and I got pink.  And it wasn't near this warm.  So for the sake of my skin, I'd like to stay in.  And thankfully for Mr. Wookie's headache, he felt the same.


So we get to stay in.  Yay.  Because no one wants to dehydrate from both wine consumption and heat stroke.  That just sounds like a bad romance novel.  One where the EMT who gives you mouth-to-mouth has cold sores and a lisp, lives in his mom's spare bedroom, and is the exact OPPOSITE of Prince Charming.

I always fail Cinco de Mayo.

I just sneezed 5 minutes ago.  But as I'm still on the tail-end of my antibiotics for the mucus and such, I had a string of snot fly onto my pajama shirt.  Hot.


I'm in bed...still...lounging, blog stalking...which is taking exponentially longer now that I have all these other awesome blogs to read.  (Seriously, blog hopping...best. idea. ever!)  In fact, I have so many tabs open in Google Chrome they're just grey tabs.  No space for words.  Blog addiction?  Nah.  Okay, maybe.


But let's talk about last night.  And how this is the third Cinco de Drink-o in a row that I've not made it to.  Last night, I got out of work at 8pm - which is right where I wanted to be.  Drove home, prayed/found parking, then walked my weary body home.  I didn't even check the mail.  I just didn't care that there could be a million dollar check in there for me.  Unless it's a free footrub, I'm over it.

Mr. Wookie and I did our usual routine.  "What do you want for dinner?"  He wasn't really hunger.  Neither was I.  I was just pooped.  A great day though.  Excellent Awards Ceremony and Reception (thus my getting out of work late).  I poured some granola into a Chobani greek yogurt and called it dinner.  Mr. Wookie was on his second third Scotch, so that was his dinner.  Come 9:40pm, I called the need for sleep.  And zonk I did.


This morning's alarm came way to early for someone whose feet are still barking from last night.  Even though I had my Naturalizers on, I still developed some new blisters from the constant being on my feet.  So thank goodness today is a desk day.  Poor pups can't handle back-to-back events.  I mean they can.  But it's not pretty.


I'm making a stand.  This weekend will be just us.  Just sleep.  Just relaxation.  No random trips.  And NO couch sleepers.  And no one to judge me for going to be before 10pm on a Friday night.  My battery needs to recharge still.  Although this freshly ground Kona coffee is trying.


And as much as I'd love to read the rest of the new posts, I just don't have time.  So until that trust fund shows up that I so desire, it's crunching out getting ready for work.  I have 30 minutes.  I can do it.  It may not be the prettiest.  But I was at work until 8pm, I totally have a good excuse.