The Opinion of Baby Sister

She wanted to get me a shirt for my birthday. Awww, what a sweet sister.

This is the one she had in mind. Glad to know what she really thinks of me.

What I Want Out Of Today?

Well for starters, more sleep. There's only so much snooze-hitting you can do in the morning and still feel rested. I started out in my flannel pajama pants, but then got too warm so I had to stick a leg out. Then I got too cold, so I had to move the leg back in and scoot closer to the bed buddy. Then I'd get warmer and stick a leg out. Vicious cycle repeat.

And yesterday, I didn't get all the laundry done I wanted. I was worried about whether I'd run out of laundry detergent. And I didn't want to purchase a sub-standard one just to get the rest of the loads done. I'm particular about my detergents. I want my Ecos, but it's a difficult one to find out here. Usually I have to settle for a mainstream detergent which "brags" about it's 25% post-consumer plastic bottle. Not my first choice. But it beats driving all over the city for one laundry detergent.

But there's still 4 loads left. Just staring at me from piles on the floor. Gigantic land mines that have invaded the bedroom loft floor. And wook's not very good at not stepping on the piles. He didn't grow up with persistent training of how to avoid any and all toys on the floor. Apparently I have a better base for ninja training than he. Cool. But still, this ninja-in-training needs some clean clothes. Especially 'roos and socks. The bare essentials.

And as much as I want this week to just fly past, there's lots to be done at work. It's one of those weeks where both work and personal lives are crammed, and I don't know when I'll have time to breathe. Work party I'm planning. Halloween bash wook and I are planning. It's a very full plate. And Sunday will be a welcome sigh of relief. But that's after Halloween on Saturday. I can't wait. Well...actually...I can.

Halloween Can't Come Soon Enough

Good news: Wook bought a back of snack-sized Snickers in case our building get hit by Trick or Treaters between the hours of 6pm and 8pm.

Back story: The entire Hampton Roads area (Norfolk and a 30+ mile radius) has an ordinance in effect that severely restricts the fun to be had on All Hallows Eve. You can't be over 12. No masks. Parental supervision required. Blah blah blah. Talk about no fun. But anyways, the local government says that there are instances of gang-like groups going around and terrorizing neighborhoods, children are being hit by drunk drivers, etc. My thoughts: it's Darwinism. But that's coming from someone who Trick or Treated as a Senior in high school. Like I'd pass up free candy, people? What did I go as? A college student. I wore sweats. Brilliant, I know.

Bad news: I opened the package Saturday morning. They're just staring at me now. Eat me. Just one. So tempting. And only 80 calories each. But of worthless nutrition. Then when you eat a handful, you've just replaced lunch with a sugar crash in an hour. So not worth it.

When's Halloween again? For the sake of the candy, come soon. And bring Trick or Treaters. Even past 8pm. Just make the candy gone. And not because of my sticky fingers.

What's The Rule On Couch Sleepers?

I ask because we have a couch sleeper. From last night. Because we went out.

Mom, obviously you can tell that I went out as opposed to going to the gym after work. Maybe I'll get there this afternoon. After my hairdid. Hopefully the Beavs will show up.

Anyways, back on topic.

When am I allowed to go down to our first floor (we have a loft, people, so there's not a spare bedroom or any door to close to hide the fact that I'm blogging my debating)?

Would putting away my clean dishes be offensively loud to someone past 10am?

Do I wake them up with one of my "GOOOOOOD MORNING!" moments (and you who've fallen victim to my "Goooood morning!!!" know what I mean)?

Do I start making breakfast so they'll wake up?

Do I read blogs that make me crack up out loud (sometimes, that happens)?

Do I not turn on the turtle lamp because turtle lamp = turtles who think it's day?

I ask all these things because I question whether or not I did something. It's past 10am on the weekend, so I'd like to get motivated around my place with all the cleaning I have to do. Since I got back later on Sunday evening from the weekend in Woodbridge, I wasn't able to do my laundry/put away my new purchases/clean up from the week before, etc. So now's the time. Minus my hair appointment sometime this afternoon. I have to call the salon to check because I don't know if I wrote it down. Woops.

Anyways.

I've put away my clean dishes. I loaded the washer again. I picked up from the potsticker mess from last night (you know it was a long night when potstickers are unleashed at ungodly o'clock in the morning). I haven't started more laundry because the dryer could wake someone 3 floors up. And I'm blogging while laying in bed since the common area downstairs is being inhabited by someone with a slowed pulse, closed eyes, and a blanket draped over them. But, I mean, it is after 10am, I think I'm in the clear, right?

I hope so. But it's not like I really care. Considering I've done just short of murdering a cow on the first floor. It's 10am. On a Saturday. With a Ging that needs her breakfast. Let's get moving. Even if she is planning on breaking family tradition and having French Toast on Saturday, not Sunday. Somethings are too good for me to wait 24 hours for.

Where's Poppy?

Let's play a game. The Sheriff is on business in Portland, and whether you guessed it or not, will be staying at the Chateau de Baby Sister. And like always, there's a texting battle of where to go to dinner. And who gets left out? This blogger all the way on the wrong coast.

So last night was a hit on the Deschutes Brewery in the Pearl District. A brewery that originates out of Central Oregon (for those who have heard of the Deschutes river...woah....2...and...2...together! Nice work, Carmen Sandiego.) My vote was for Ol' Spaghetti Factory since the nearest one out this way is the one wook and I hit up during Christmas last year in Nashville, TN. Norfolk to Nashville, toooooo far for mizithra. I complain about driving 10 minutes to dinner around town.

So we'll see if I get an email tonight/tomorrow morning spiraling me into a depression because I'm on the wrong coast, with the wrong food (you know how hard it is to find Hawaiian - impossible!), and the wrong beer (Sam Adams, Shpam Adams it's generic and bland and lacking all things integral for a great beer - next!).

And in case you can't tell...that's the Sheriff's hand in the picture. Probably texting.

What Does $170.27 Get You?

A great weekend. With my bestest in Woodbridge. Known to the blogosphere as Mommy McD. And her 2 gremlins/trolls/pieces of adorability. And her vehicularly magnetic husband. And a whole bottle of red wine. And that was just Friday night. Money well spent. Let's do it again.

But first, a trip sponsored by the Five Guys Corporate Hummer. Sorry dad for hanging up on you so quickly. But look at that precision photo taking ability. All while going 75. I mean 70. I mean the speed limit. Superb. And I did call you right back. So no complainsies, right?

First stop, well, Saturday morning after ditching Husband 1.0 at home with Offspring #1 and #2 for...pedis! Oh please. Yes, please. It's been forever. Like Spring Break. I know! Too long. And while it wasn't Perfect Nail, May I Help You? (inside family joke!), it was still Asian. "You want raza (razor)?" Umm, sure? So I had my feet razored. Apparently my calluses were a bit much. I was slightly offended. Slightly humored. And slightly embarrassed. But whatever. They're just jealous. My eyes are bigger. (Too much?)

Price tag: $37.00

Then we hit up Target. Yay! It's been forever since I've gone shopping with a girl. Usually it's me and my .45 in the ghetto surrounding Norfolk. This time it was suburban Target; white picket fences, 2.5 children, with a dog and a yard Target. Muuuuuch better.

So after 2 rounds of trying things on (I'm still on a mission of increasing Corporate Wardrobe, so this shopping trip fell in that category), I was successful in purchasing 5 tops, 2 sweater vests, some 'roos (underwear for the laymen), and awesome argyle socks.

But one thing couldn't be left at the store. This fabulous pencil skirt. How Joanie is this?? Green tweed. I mean, seriously! This just screams 1960s. If only I had a wiglette to rock. And I didn't even have to pay for it! Mommy McD demanded it be my birthday present. Oh, okay, twist my arm. I'll take it. Happily. And now that I think about it, we still need to do our photo shoot with your birthday present. Next time. Okay?

Total cost: $133.27.

But onto the good stuff. The McD household. 2 boys, under 4. The means of my nickname "Aunt Bop." The reason I sleep so soundly when I visit (I'm tired!).

I've known B-Rox since he was -5 months. And Kenny was a Buddha Baby that I've grown to love. Put them together. It's fun. It's hysteria. It's Aunt Bop crawling around at their level of the world documenting the crap they do to their parents (Mommy and Daddy McD).

No, really, the crap they do. Like tie strings all over the door handle to where Mommy McD has to cut it off. How? I don't know. They're little McGyvers, I tell ya.

And look at this little man and his awesome pajamas. Let's not forget those killer slippers. They're baseball hats. One day he'll know that he wore the slippers of the Back-to-Back National Championships Oregon State Beavers. One day.

This is Kenny tilting his head in a quizzical manner. Anyone not falling in love yet?

And I dare anyone to try taking emo shots with wound-up toddlers. It's hard. Especially when they're all grabbing for the camera. But this'll have to work. Because I don't know if I could wrangle them again. But I'll accept monetary donations to fuel another trip to attempt.

And they wanted me to take a picture with the Moose. I named it Sarah Palin.

And I leave you with a taste of the boys in actions. And they were calm.

Mommy McD, I'll check my calendar and let you know. I need another trip.

Crossing My Fingers

I go away for one weekend and who gets sick? The wookie.

So now, I'm pumping myself and the wookie full of Vitamin C, Yogi Immunity tea, multi-vitamins, and prayers. And hope that I don't get the crap that's going around.

I mean, who doesn't want to catch the crud? I know I wouldn't mind losing the Football Five that's acquired itself onto my booty this football season. But seriously...

Now when does Friday arrive? I'm dying for it already. And it's only Tuesday.

Here Friday, Friday, Friday...

This Afternoon's Braxtonism

Brax: "What are you doing?"

Aunt Bop: "I'm packing."

Brax: "Why?"

Aunt Bop: "To go home. I have to go to work tomorrow."

Brax: "You have to work?"

Aunt Bop: "Yea."

Brax: "You don't have to work, you're my friend!"

This Morning's Braxtonism

Aunt Bop (me): "I need to de-stink."

Brax: "What's that?"

Aunt Bop: "I need to shower."

Brax: "I want to join!"

The Family of 'Passengers of the Week'

This trip sponsored by Dramamine. Because you never know when this blogger will get the random case of nauseousness because of former Air Force pilot flying techniques.

And Pepto. Because sitting for long hours can cramp the digestive tract. Stuck on an airline is the last place I'd want an upset stomach, nausea, heartburn, diarrhea, or indigestion

.
Goodbye Norfolk. Not a teary farewell at all. Let's just get in the air. I need sleep.

Sunrise out the window during one of my conscious moments. Rare, yes.

So story time....

After landing in Sacramento and transferring over to the old terminal that was reminiscent of Long Beach (i.e. gheeeeetttto), I jumped my last flight to Portland. The motherland. All things right. The Northwest. The beacon of rain, Columbia jackets, ice storms, and great beer.

Anyways, so I'm on a Horizon/Alaska Air flight. For those who don't know...this is the greatest airline ever. No bag fees. And freeeeeeeeee beer/wine on flights. Yes, free. No price. Full pours. Flying with a buzz, greatest feeling ever.

As Marie Claire (otherwise known as the Best Flight Attendant) came through the cabin offering to top off people's beverages, she gets to me.

"Ma'am, more Widmer Okto?"

"Yes, please. I live on the East Coast, so this is a special treat to get such great beer."

Then the world stops spinning, after she tops off my beverage. You won't believe it.

She plops down a full 20 oz. in the seat next to me. "Have a nice trip." Seriously?

And who's excited for my ass to be back in town?? You know it. Baby Sister.

Greatest state ever. Well, maybe behind Alaska (although I haven't been there yet). Not counting Sarah Palin. Ugh. But yes, welcome to the wildnerness. The mecca of outdoorsness (okay, behind Montana). But still, a pretty awesome state. I'm partial. Very.

And for Middle Sister, her favorite kind of vehicle stickers. The Stick Family!!

And what's Oregon without real cheese. You'd think being in Virginia would provide ample amounts of Wisconsin cheese. Fail. Not really. There's Vermont. And it's very lackluster. It's generic, at best. This is heaven. Via cow product.

Let's finish off this blog post with a little car singing from the Baby Sister. Enjoy.

Mom, Dad, pay no attention to the lyrics. Hay, love it. Trac, you're next. Cheers!

Last Night's Epic Braxtonism

Daddy McD: "Did someone fart?"

B-Rox: "NOT ME!"

This Galoshes Are Made For Walking

The latest addition to don my perfectly sized-8 feet, minus the slight stench that can eradiate from them (which is totally my mom's gene pool, despite her laments! Sorry mom, we love you, but the feet genes passed along to Brother and I can raise the dead. Shorry!!).

Oh why, what's this? What perfectly circled tape. Could that be a target? Oh, how cute, Target's target. What a clever play on words.

This box showed up sometime in the morning. Wook told me about it sometime in the afternoon. Why did he wait? "I didn't think it was important." Oi ve. This blogger loves shoes, loves rain, why wouldn't she want to know if the shoes that are meant for the rain have arrived? Silly boy...

Yes, unsightly shot. Pasty leg. They look much darker in this shot. But I love 'em.

He doesn't see the reason in the constant pictures. He obviously doesn't understand my fan club. I mean, I'm important. People need to know about me. And vice versa (hint hint, for those who don't have blogs...it's a great bandwagon to jump on). And yes his shirt is from CafePress.com.

And an awful picture of me in the reflection of the shower stall. I have no mirror. This is the best there is. This is how I get ready in the morning. And yes, that day was Dress Like a School Marm day. It was cold out, so I opted for a button-down and sweater combo. Yes, not flattering. Very bulky. But I stayed warm. And I know it's not very Joanie from Mad Men, but that was more of a Peggy Day anyways. Besides, it's the boots that are important. Now oogle.

One Back-Logged Blogger

Yes, I know. I'm very, very, very behind. But I've also been very, very, very much trying to catch back up in my non-blogging life.

1.) First, I worked crazy hours trying to get things set at my office while I'm off galavanting for 5 days in the "Oregon wildnerness."

2.) Then I had as much fun as humanly possible catching up with family, friends, places, eateries, beverages, tailgating, football...and did I mention my family!?!?

3.) Then there was the delay, in which I still need to write my nasty gram to United.

4.) Then I worked super hard at work to get caught back up on what I missed and what needed to happen after my return.

5.) Then there was finding time to sleep.

6.) Then a Squadron Ball.

7.) And I never posted about my NEW GALOSHES which got broken in today - thank you Mother Nature for providing the excellent downpour.

8.) There's the hockey game I WON the Office tickets to last Saturday.

9.) I've done a bit o' work-clothes shopping lately, which needs to hit the blogosphere.

10.) And lastly Jim and Pam got married. I could have cried at parts. Jim was so sweet. Then Michael had to ruin it for me. Good thing. I hate getting emotionally attached to shows. Oh wait, too late.

So here's to catching up to the blog this weekend. If I can. I do have a slight roadtrip in mind. 3 hours North. To invade upon the McD Fortress. And prove to those munchkins yet again that, "Aunt Bop rocks." And to get a pedicure. Because Mommy McD and I need it.

I Forgot How Good They Are

I had them after my lunch break. While fending or "fending" off the munchies.

Looks like the munchies won if I chose this snack full of vitamins and minerals.

I'm just secretly adding to what-I-now-call the Football Flab. It's those 5 extra pounds you gain during football season because of the ceremonial beer, bratwurst, beans, cookies, chips, Pond Water (it's a beverage - but more on that later), jello shots, and overall over-indulging of football food because you're team is winning/losing/losing when they shouldn't (been there, done that, more times than we should).

But dang, Doritos I've missed you. Not too much though. That 250 calories per little bag is enough to keep you away from my grasp in favor for yogurt and granola. Sorry. It was a sweet, small reunion. But somethings are meant for the memories.

Busy Bee

This blogger is dying to put up everything from her vacation to Oregon to the Hockey Game last Saturday night.

But this blogger also got off work at 6:30pm last night.

My goal is to get at least half the posts up before Friday, since Friday I'm jumping ship for Woodbridge, VA. Home of the McD clan. Home of 2 rugrats who kill me. And their mom who's a peach. And the husband's not bad too, when he's not bolting in front of vehicles on a flimsy bike.

So that'll be posting material on its own.

Can I get a mental health day? Pretty please. Since I didn't get Columbus Day off. No Happy-Columbus-Didn't-Actually-Find-India Day for me. Boooo. Okay, well I want National Ginger Day off then. I mean, it's only fair.

Better Than Syringes

This is your trashcan. This is your trashcan on drugs. Any questions?

That's all coffee. Or, to be correct, that was all coffee. How do I spell out addiction? D-U-T-C-H B-R-O-S. It's a coffee provider from the depths of Southern Oregon that's taken Oregon by storm. There are still hardcore Seattle's Best-ers, Starbucks-ers, Allan Bros-ers, etc., but since we hail from the depths of So. Oregon. It's home. And when the Middle Sister's Boyfriend works there, it relieves the pain of the wallet when you add all those dead soldiers up.

But seriously, Tracer, it's time for an intervention. Or at least try a reusable mug.

I've Been A Little Amiss

So Tuesday was my beloved birthday. I intended to carry out the tradition all week and keep up the spirits, but work was a heavy load this week. And so, I failed my mission of Birthday Blogging all week. Sorry folks.

But let's hit the highlights of the week.

Wednesday was a very busy day which thankfully ended with happy, fed people. And happy, fed coworkers (I love when guest counts are lower than expected).

My night only got better as I walked into my place, only to be greeted by the one, the only Mr. Andy Mew, of Alaska. The man's a legend. And he's back from deployment. And that means one thing: Scotch. Well, for him. I had 2 vodka tonics. With lemon. And we caught up. Without wook. Because he had a 6am flight. Ya. In that early. No thanks. Andy and I'll go out instead.

But let's fastforward to Thursday morning. I wake up. AT 7:45AM. I LEAVE FOR WORK AT 7:50AM. Oh, shit. So I call my coworker, tell her I just woke up, and I'll be there when I can. And I know what you may be saying, "But you did stay out all night drinking." I had 2 drinks. And bars around here close at 10pm on weekdays. That means I was in bed before 10:30pm. Not nearly the rough and tumble night that can be assumed. I wish I had a story like that. Instead my story is, my phone didn't go off.

So you can imagine the amount of body spray I used to cover the fact that I didn't shower. Not like the headband and wavy hair didn't give it away.

And lastly tonight. I started feeling like crap at lunch. My whole abdomen just aches. Not in one place. Just all over. It's like heartburn, but belly burn. It's weird. I haven't WebMD.com'd it yet, but I will. But first, I have to make dinner. Yes, I have to make dinner. I'd rather just go to sleep and wake up feeling better. But the wookie and I need to eat. And wook cooked all week. My turn. Bad stomach or not.

A Birthday Teaser

Three days ago:

Me: "Hey, you should get me Shaun of the Dead for my birthday."

I don't ask. I tell him. It's my favorite zombie movie. It took me awhile to get into. But that's because someone didn't tell me it was a British zombie spoof. I took it as a real movie. But now I'm hooked. And it's not Simon Pegg. It's "Shaun of the Dead." Not "Hot Fuzz." Not "Run, Fat Boy, Run." Get it?

So when I elect to open a present before I head off to yoga in 10 minutes, I opt for the DVD. (Back story: I always get a DVD for each gift-giving occasion, because when we first started dating I only had 3 DVDs. Wook thought that was incredibly sad. So he's still fixing that notion. My collection has thusly increased. That's right, I said thusly. End back story.)

So do I see when I rip away the pretty wrapping paper from the shiny case?

"Get f***'d, four eyes!"

The boy not only delivers, but had purchased the DVD weeks before I mentioned to him I wanted it. Stellar. Tell me he's not a keeper. Well, I mean, you can try, but I probably won't listen. He got me Shaun. He can do no wrong.

Wednesday, October 6, 1983, 6:49am

If only I had this button to wear around the office to promote my Princess-ness.

Instead, the other Today Birthday and I are wearing purple in honor of our shared day. Now if only I could get permission to lounge in a hammock all day, drinking beverages from the Cabana Boy while getting a footrub...I'd be a happy person. But instead, I'll be working. Extra hard. Big day tomorrow. Thursday and Friday are downhills. Bring on the weekend. But first...those almost-so-cleverly hidden presents I found that night. Come to papa!

The Accidental Investigator

Me: "Hey wook, where are the jars?"

Wook: "They're under the...mumble mumble."

So I look underneath the junk drawer, in what I shall coin the junk cabinet. There's everything down there. Our million reusable grocery bags. The tool bag. A hack saw (you never know when you'll be forced to perform a Civil War-era amputation).

"Ooooooooooo, what's that?????"

There are some boxes. Pretty boxes. Wrapped boxes. Are those birthday boxes????

Me: "Is that my birthday present????"

Wook: "Woman!!!!!!"

Spoiler alert. I found my wrapped presents. In the junk cabinet. Because wook wouldn't think that I'd look there before tomorrow. Instead I was trying to be the good roommate and do the dishes after he slaved over dinner. He said I should have been irresponsible just one more night so the cat could stay in the bag. Well, guess what. The cat's out. And it's exciting. I jumped up and down like a 6-year-old who finally got her pony. Well, I'm assuming that's what I would have done had my parents actually gotten me a pony. In fact, I wanted a Clydesdale. Still do. Because I'm tall. But I knew that was never in the cards. And obviously never was the pony.

But back on topic.

I have presents. Already wrapped up before my fabulous birthday. Wook's a sly one. He pulls the stunt about, "Oh no, what do I get you for your birthday? It's tomorrow." Lo and behold, the boy went out while I was traversing the country and picked up some goodies.

What are they? I don't know yet. But I'll keep you posted. You know that.

In Honor Of Getting Older

Tomorrow marks another year of noticing wrinkles on my forehead. Of gradually making my way to the 3pm early-bird special. Of nodding off to sleep before 9pm. Of hitting the officially-over-25 mark. The downhill to 30. Happy 26th Birthday to me. Tomorrow. Less than 4 hours.

So for those who've nagged me about "what I want." Here's a starting place...

1. A cute passport cover (because no cover isn't cute)
2. Emily Post book (or other fashion books)
3. Funny Girl (Barbra Streisand's award winning role!)
4. Paint by number wall art (I don't know if it exists, but it sounds cool)
5. Okay, any kind of cookbook (that's not British, lol)
6. Cookbook stand/holder (Target, Ikea, Crate and Barrel, etc.)
7. Gift card to Macy's for new bras! (It's that time of the year, people)
8. Gift card for work clothes? - specifically Corporate Wear (Gap has tall buttondowns, Eddie Bauer has tall buttondowns, etc.)
9. Another magazine subcription?? (I have Cooking Light...so Women's Health? InStyle?)
10. Yoga sticky gloves (I slide, everytime)
11. Hanes white wife beaters - mediums (they're my go-to workout tops - classy, I know!)
12. Made In Oregon gear (only the best!)
13. Or some stellar West Coast gear would be acceptable (cafepress.com?)
14. Hypoallergenic earrings (because I don't like ear sludge)
15. Speed-dry nail polish - both work and fun colors (because I'm 12 and only have 5 bottles)

I know it's an awful starting place, but when you turn 26...you don't really need much. Now "want" is a different story. Here puppy, puppy, puppy...

And in the ideal world I'd get Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast in bed, after sleeping in until past 9:00am. But in this lifetime, wook gets a 5:30am wake up call to be on base at 7:00am. So much for Happy Birthday Ging! At least I get to sleep into tomorrow. Unlike today. 5:30am was too early.

Happy Birthday me. The downhill-to-30-at-26 me. The it's-totally-okay-to-start-lying-about-my-age me. The it's-my-birthday-so-treat-me-like-a-princess me. No really. Prin-cess. Crown. Saber. Pageant wave. The works.

Must...Must...Must See

Amazing. I'd see it again. It's shares the top zombie spot of Shaun on my list.

The theater applauded when this was over. And some people came in costume. I haven't laughed that hard since Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The same time wook laughed so hard he popped a contact out. Superbly funny. Delightful. I kinda want to see it again. This movie critic gives 2 thumbs and a cocktail up. Why a cocktail? Well, why not? The day ends in Y doesn't it?

Do You Know How To Make A Person Feel Like They Don't Belong?

So I went back to Oregon this past weekend for a visit. A reintroduction of my roots.

Person: "Wow, you sure look East Coast."

Me: *GASP!!!!* "No, don't say that."

I was slightly offended. Slightly taken aback. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't want to unload a "wtf????" I just sort of stood there, jaw open, sure of my strong West Coast-ness, my love for all things relaxed and un-uptight.

I recycle...religiously...for crying out load. I love Columbia. And Chacos. And Subarus. I joke about being a lesbian and taking my dogs for hikes. I'm not offended by rainbow stickers and gay marriage. I live for the rain. And wavy, unpolished hair. I choose enviro-friendly products for even the most menial cleaning ventures.

How could I be called East Coast??

I'll recover. Somehow. After a healthy dose of real mountains, micro brews, pine trees, and Big Foot sightings. So for starters, anyone seen wook?

Touchdown Wrong Coast!

I'm here. Alive. All things with me. Only a slight headache.

It wasn't too bad. I zonked out a good portion from Portland to Chicago. Then I had a half hour layover in Chicago, which left me finding a bar right next to my gate. "Blue Moon and a cheeseburger, please."

Then in the 6 minutes it took me to eat my burger, I had a 45 minute delay.

I love when news is sprung on me after alcohol kicks in, because then I don't care.

But alas, we make it all the way to Norfolk. Wook picks me up. We start driving. I start yelling at the idiots who can't drive correctly. The retards who can't stay in their lane. I'm tired of Norfolk already. And it's only been 17 minutes.

Tomorrow's back to the grindstone. Back to the working life. Back to dreaming of the West Coast. Of the superb beer. Of my family. Of the Orange and Black. Of next time.

Second Time's The Luck?

I was up at 3:30am PST. I'll leave here at 4:30am PST for Portland International. Flight scheduled for 6:31am PST (not just 6:30am, mind you). And I hope there's a fully functioning steel tube prepared to jump over the Rockies into Chicagoland. Pretty please...

Open Vice Grip, Enter Head

First it was December of 2008. Now it's September 2009. I love cancelled flights.

Thank you for the failed engine that caused my flight to Chicago to be cancelled. Thanks for the 45-minute wait in order to rebook my trip back East. United, you did it again. Awesome.

New Plan: PDX at 6:30am, tomorrow morning (Tuesday).

Layover: Chicago, Illinois.

ETA: 5:00pm in Norfolk, Virginia.

Next step: Breakfast. Then a nap (since I wasn't able to get one mid-flight). Ugh.

But honestly, how can you complain about being stuck in Portland, while visiting Baby Sister, and having one last night of great beer and food. I mean, you should feel sorry for me.

Welcome Committee

Up at 2:30 am EST. In after 2:00pm PST. One long day of travel. All worth it.

I expected a swoop-in-to-the-airport-arrival-lane kind-of pickup. Not a welcome committee. Complete with a sign. A "We (heart) Ging" sign. That made my day. Let the good times begin.

A Girl, Found, Remembered

It was a nice summer in Oregon when a young woman was taken from an apartment complex just off Oregon State's campus. My campus. My beloved campus. Right there. Asshole. And I'm not sure if it made national news, but the PacNW was definitely aware of how a rapist was already caught in New Mexico and then considered an interest in this missing girl's case.

That fall and later, 2 bloggers moved into the same apartment complex (although not together, but less than 30 yards apart). I, being a nearly 5'11" redhead, didn't worry about being abducted. But you better believe I was around with Mommy McD at her towering height of 5'Short."

People questioned my sanity for living in an apartment complex with such a history. Journalists would come by asking for stories, viewpoints, opinions of living here. I never gave a care. I liked living 8 minutes walking to my building. I liked living 10 minutes walking to the tailgating spot. I liked living on the quieter side of campus where there isn't unst-unst music till dawn, people barfing in my yard, or hooking up on the front porch couch across the street. And the new managers loved us. Just call Mommy McD and Mrs Wookie apartment complex favorites.

Well Mommy McD facebook'd today that after 5 years, she was found. Finally.

And the killer did all that to avoid the death penalty. I wonder if it's considered un-kosher to reneg on that offer. Be like, "Psych!" and throw the switch. I would.

Emmy Aftermath

I didn't watch them, but I'm happy with the results. And the host. Oh, NPH...

And if the only thing you get out of this post is to watch one movie, I did my job.

Jessica Lange won Best Actress in a Movie for Grey Gardens (a remake) on HBO. It was produced by Drew Barrymore, and it was stellar. Very thought-provoking. A great movie. I watched it twice by myself, and once more with my mom. Then again by myself. It definitely helped me in making my decision to jump East. I recommend downloading it. Legally or illegally, your call. Or Netflixing it. Or HBO-ing it. Something.

Mad Men won, because...well...it's Mad Men. Don Draper doesn't need a reason.

A look at that body. She defies modern genetics with looking that good. Dayum...

Battle of the Bacteria

First I got sick. Then wook got sick. Then I got un-sick. Then wook got un-sick. Then I got re-sick. Then wook got re-sick. Then wook got un-sick. Then I got a case of the lingering phlegm hanging off the back of my sinuses. (Sorry, I know, it's kinda a sick mental picture - but just think, you don't have to hear me.)

So I got even. Knobs, handles, arm rests, switches, buttons, and pulls beware. There's a new killer in town (and I'm not talking the killer that's on the loose in Washington State). It's called Lysol. Brought to you by Mrs Wookie's index finger. It's like an aerial ballet around the loft. Spray, spray here, spray, spray there, a couple of la-dee-daaaas, that's how we keep the germs at bay at the Merry Ol' Land of Oz. This thing is awesome. Not only am I "cleaning," but I get to dance while I do it. How often do people have fun cleaning a toilet? Exactly. I can get on board this kind of cleaning. Now if only there were a spray for runaway Cheerios in the morning. And laundry.

I Heart Target

I clicked my order in Thursday night. By Friday early evening, both boxes were marked "shipped" by the Gods of Target and had a tracking number.

I decided on a neutral boot that can go with all arrays of jacket colors. And this one was deemed a "tall boot" - so I thought that a little extra boot never hurt my lower legs. And darn Target for only carrying a couple selections in store. But at least this way I save gas and avoid the ghetto where the nearest Target is located.

And in order to qualify for that pesky "Spend $50 In Completely Random And Obscure Areas, Qualify For FREE SHIPPING!"....this baby is on her way here. Just look at her. A fabulous orange work bag. (Go Beavs.) Now let's hope the beauty is in the bag and not just the picture. Because that would not be cool, Target.

The Fortune Gods Don't Lie

Today's fortune brought to you by PF Chang's via Heather's (a coworker) lunch.

I wasn't really feeling it since tonight's an average Thursday night on a work week. But then Heather made a statement that tonight's the season opening of my show.

Oh Jim and Pam, I've missed you. And I'm excited. I love you. There, I said it.

Happy Birthday Mamacita!

Turning a whole 24 (is that right?) on Mexico's Independence Day!!

At least I think you're 24. Wook's age, right? I could be wrong. But whatever.

Anyways, my dear, get better. You sound like death. I know it's not nice to tell people that/when they sound like death...but friends don't lie.

I wish you consciousness on your birthday. Maybe an adult beverage to kill the pain. A quick recovery. Maybe we can hit up a pedi stop the next time I'm in town. (Mark, have I ever told you, you're my favorite adopted sister's husband??)

And what's up with your sister making equally adorable offspring? You guys need to stop. The world needs to catch up. And by world, I mean me. Do you know how hard it'll be to pass on eyeballs the size of mine??? My dad did it, but I mean, look at me. I'm a rare cause. A diamond in the rough. A granule of awesome in a bag of oats.

Wait, how'd I get off topic again?? Happy Birthday Mommy McD!! Woohoo!!

Today's Specifics

Wake Up Time: 5:09am. "Hey baby, it's 5am, don't you need to get up?" Awake from peaceful sleep, look at the clock, think No, it's not 5am, it's 5:09am, there's a difference, 5am allows me to pretend I'm sleeping for another 9 minutes...but instead you made me think that I have 9 minutes of delaying the inevitable need of getting up way too early.

Breakfast: Okay, no surprise here. A gigantic bowl of Cheerios. And this time they all stayed in the bowl as I walked from the kitchen to the coffee table (we're still kinda searching for a pub-height, 2 stools with-backs, table to officially call a dining nook). Yesterday was a little crazy as over a dozen suicidal Cheerios jumped from the bowl all over the floor. And I forgot to clean them up. Wook thought a grenade went off in the battle of Captain Crunch vs the Honey Bee.

But let's not forget my mission yesterday of tracking down vegan butter (yes, an oxymoron, I agree) and egg replacer. I'm bringing in homemade vegan pumpkin muffins this morning since we have to be in really early today. And yes, one of coworkers is vegan. And it's not like it'll hurt us to eat vegan. Besides, it was kinda interesting to watch a vegan recipe come together (the egg replacer is a powder you add water to - weird - and then the amount of baking powder is ungodly).

The Attire: I don't know yet, story of most mornings.

Lunch Date: It'll be my leftover Thai food from Saturday night.

The End: Thank goodness tomorrow isn't as earlier as a morning. Yay, sleep.

Another Blog Launched

Of course already added to my blog roll, the one, the only, the Santo Kerbina has created another blog to chronicle her time in...yet, another foreign country.

I'm pleased to present: http://kerbyinvienna.blogspot.com/

And FYI, it's juuuuust launched. No fancy-shmancy templates or features yet. But those are to come, right Kerby??? I know lots of people use Cutest Blog On The Block, so I'll look around for anything I feel is "Kerb worthy." If not, we'll work something out. But at least it's launched, which a step in the right directon.

But until then, feel free to jump on over and visit.

I mean, the girl's only been there a few days and has already met the German Chancellor! At a rally. And got to hold a sign for her. And shake her hand!!!

I can see the headlines now...

American pulls off excellent German accent, invades political rally, meets Chancellor, shakes hand, is offered job at U.S. Embassy in Berlin, American accepts immediately!

And the sub-headline...

Penthouse loft arranged for American and redheaded friend-slash-blogger attached to the site Wookie & Co., redhead pegged as Executive Assistant, starts German classes.

Nice work Santo Kerbina! And have I told you lately I loooved Heidelburg?!

A Claim to Seattle Fame

Graduate high school. Play college softball. Live in awesome Seattle. Get great job.

Picture courtesy of Seattle University Athletics

The girl on the left is my cousin Katie, who's squeezed in between Trac and Hay in the long line-up of cousins on my mother's side of the family (Trac, freshly 21...Katie 20...Hay 19).

She plays softball for Seattle U, and has a little claim to fame as a Ball Girl for the Mariners this season. How bitchin' is that? I love having famous family. Besides myself, of course.

Wanted: New Family, Almost

There are few things we PacNW-ers take seriously. Pac-10 sports, microbreweries, and the delectability of In N Out. With that being said, I was talked off the ledge this afternoon by the Sheriff in wanting a new dad and sisters.

The text-versation as follows:

Sheriff: "Redding.....Guess where the next stop is?"

Me: "I've disowned my family."

Sheriff: "Please don't. I will buy you a Rubberhead."

Me: "Tempting...make it a pitcher and some cajun tots, deal."

Sheriff: "Ha ha and I will throw in a hummus plate to boot."

Me: "Now we're talking...wooooohoooooo!"

Clues for those who don't know what we're talking about. It's called McMenamin's. And it's a place of the Beer Gods. The pinnacle of the Beer Gods. Home to Portland, Oregon. Pure heaven in an always-frosty pint. It dries the eyes of children, while envoking tears in adults of its tasteful concoction. It was a staple of every Oregon State alum's college experience, so much that our boys were known by name at the one just off campus.

McMenny's, I've missed you. It won't be much longer. Keep your head up.

And what would a blog post about In N Out be without the deliciousness of some animalized fries. Thank goodness there weren't any action shots of my dad and sisters mid-bite. My heart couldn't handle that. Coronary, Aisle 4.

Bon Voyage!

She's gone. Again. Story of her life. And not just a few weeks or a couple months time. This girl seems to jump ship for a years-length of time. Next stop: Vienna, Austria.

First it was Germany for a year. Which some awesome Ging (me!) trekked 10 hours on a flight to see her. Not to mention, after almost missing my flight entirely, and de-magnetizing both my debit card and credit card. But I was successful in packing for 2 weeks abroad the morning of my flight (however, that's not why I was late to the airport, fyi).

This time she's on the other end of the radar. No longer student, it's now TEACHER!

I don't have too many details right now, but when we launch her blog this week (oh, yes, you people will succumb to her blog also - Kerb, no pressure now. But in all honestly, it has to be funny. Super funny. Use that brain of yours. If you can study multiple languages, you can humor me. Now go. Try. Succeed!!).

And I need your address too. :D

She left at 1:30pm PST out of Portland, OR (PDX) aboard a Lufthansa flight.

If you have the chance to fly non-American (but I'm not talking like a piss flight between Nepalese villages), go for it. Free alcohol. Better food. Announcements that aren't in English. Good time, great oldies, cool 107!

Not sure what time that puts her into Frankfurt, Germany, but she's probably there by now. She's staying with a friend in Mainz (where she went to school for a year - a town about 45 minutes outside Frankfurt), before she takes the train south, over ze Alps, into Austria, and to the awesome place she'll live for a school year.

Kerb, best of luck. Not like I won't hear from you. Let me know what kind of phone plan you have. If we can accomodate texting. If not, Skype dates it is. And I'll put your time zone on my phone so I can track where you are in your day. Keep me posted. We'll launch the blog soon. Tell Julia hi for me. And I need to email Sandra Grau Grau too. Have some schoko brotchen for me. And some schoko milchen. And ein dunkelweiss, bitte. Ampelmanchen! Omg, now seriously, I may need an Ampelmanchen mug. The green Ampelmanchen. Let me know what you see and how much that would run to ship one back to me.

And what do you want/need from the East Coast? I have mermaids, Navy flair, Obama gear, non-micro beer...

Packaged With Care! And Love!

I usually only check my mail once every couple days, since I'm never really expecting anything via snail mail these days. Well this definitely made my day.

Oooooo, what's this?? Torrid tackle? I see spankies!! Me likey already...

Let's dump it out like a 5 year-old on Christmas. Lootin' time! Let's see here...

Ding, ding, ding. Spankies! With an anchor on it, nonetheless. And scarves!!

In case you didn't get the full effect of seeing the collection of scarves and pair of underoos, let me stand and take a picture for you. Torrid scarves are the best. And the 'roos are completely wedgie-proof. Even Sarah Chalke can't disagree. And the scarves,....oh the scarves. I should dedicated an entire post to them alone. My neck enjoys these scarves. And the one in the middle of the 3 looks like a mexican blanket. Too bad I can't do mexi-scrunchy hair. :(

Thanks Bubby for making my day! I can't wait to see the fam in a few weeks! Beaver Tailgating...watch out! The Sisters are back in action. Ready, set, jello shot!

Happy Labor Day!

Here's to those who are enjoying picnics, or concerts, or roadtrips back from Boston in a car full of dudes and 80's rock bands, I hope your labor day is a great day off.

I'm in the midst of a torrential downpour for who-knows-how-long. But it's not like I mind. I live for days that bring me back to Corvallis (larger picture: Oregon). It's not often that the memories of home can be brought on with God's watering can. I guess that solidifies that notion that I'll be inside all day, since the wrath of Hurricane Ashley still needs to be cleaned up. Where's FEMA when you need them? Oh wait, that's right...I'd be waiting a week to get any sort of response. Guess I'll have to start cleaning it on my own. Boo.

It's Late, Do You Know Where Your Child Is?

Well for my parents, I'll tell you where I'm going. To bed. *yawn*

I had a rough day today.

I woke up. Had a delicious bowl of Cheerios. Started cranking out this awesome brochure for my dad. Webcam-ed with the Sheriff while we fine-tuned this piece of delectable creativity. Put a fork in it and called it good. All while I snacked on cocktail peanuts "MADE WITH PURE SEA SALT." And lamented about how I need to clean the house before wook gets home otherwise Mrs Wookie will become Mrs Homeless.

So now I'm tired. I had a delicious dinner of French Toast Sunday. I fed the turtles. I've changed into pajamas. And I'm ready for some unconsciousness. I mean, my eyelids are drooping while I barely put this post together.

Tomorrow will be a big day. Well, at least a busy day. I have the entire house to pick up. Sadly Hurricane Ashley still resides over this apartment, strewing contents and possessions everywhere. Good thing I have all day tomorrow to make things right before the wookie of the house makes it home. Ready, set, clean!

But first, I am le tired...

2009-10 OSU Football Season: Are You Ready???

It's official, kids. Oregon State launches another great year of Orange and Black, today (this morning to the West Coast folk), in a home game vs. Portland State.

And what are tailgaiting efforts without celebratory mimosas? Good thing Hay and I had a stringent lesson about the proper ratios of mimosas (lots of champagne, just enough orange juice to give it coloring).

And in our family, new season = new sweatshirt complements of the CEO in World Headquarters. Wooohooo!

I'll be picking my new collection when I make it back for the Arizona game.

And this is the first official season Trac will be a legal drinker. Double Woohooo!!!!!

Go Beavs!

Land Mines In Norfolk

I woke up and went to yoga this morning. Sunrise Yoga. At 9am. Ya, the sun's already up at the time which makes my dad giggle. Anyways...

Walk the 75 yards to the gym, enjoying the recent turn in weather (it's now comfortable sweatshirt weather), ready to get my Namaste on.

Yoga was great. Almost fell asleep during Savasana...again.

On the walk home, enjoyed the weather as I decided that I wanted an egg salad sandwich for lunch before I started cleaning the house and getting my hairdid at 2:45pm.

Then, holy shit, watch out. W..t...f??

Some douche decided to barf right in the line of walking home. Really? You couldn't have diverted from the path by a foot. Or waited until after I got back from yoga, and am on my post-yoga high. No. I'm going to ralph up something fierce right in your path. Great. Thanks. Good thing my legs were warmed up so it wasn't a stretch to put a deep lunge over the mine, avoiding vomit on my flip flops, and trying to not breathe in the stench.

But who really vomits between 9 and 10am, exactly, after a night out (21st b-days excluded)?

How Not To Impress Me

Let's remember last night was game night. So around 10:00pm, I moved my way to Gator's to take in the Blue and Orange of Boise State. Smurf Turf! Smurf Turf! Smurf Turf! Anyways...pony up to the bar. All by myself, but I'm feeling okay with it. Get a Killian's and a menu. 20 minutes till Kick Off. Am enjoying myself, then...

"Heeeeey, Corvallis........" (it sounded like Stillwell Angel, A League Of Their Own)

I look over. This guy is smiling at me. So I give him my best princess wave.

I am in my grey, angry Beaver, Oregon State sweatshirt, because a girl has got to represent her distaste in the Green and Yellow...oh, and Diamond Plating, Black, Grey, Wings...and any another weird shit Phil Knight feels he needs to put on the jersey. Amen.

This guy continues this allllll night. And it's not like he was routing for the Ducks. He was...well...just...drunk. I mean, listen buddy, just because I'm here on my own, enjoying the game, without another Beaver fan in tow, doesn't mean I'm not used to standing my own. I know plenty of Bandwagon Duck Fans (you know, the kind that love the school, but never actually attended it as an educational establishment minus to score some good weed).

But I don't let it get to me. I'm enjoying an Irish Red. I had 2 sections of the BBQ Chicken Quesadilla. It's a low-scoring game, which I was prepared for a shoot out.

Oh, but let's fast forward to the beginning of the second half. Mr. "Hey Corvallis" comes over to chat with me. Well, chat would be a great verb. However, I think it was more like slurring. No, wait, it was slurring. Heavy slurring. I don't even think he could comprehend a Field Sobriety Test at that moment, but that's beside the point.

In 5 minutes he was oozing alcohol out his pores, I had to concentrate so intently on this guy because his lack of motor skills got in the way of his ability to speak coherently.

But during that 5 minutes of conversation he said he's "from Forest Grove"..."he went to Pacific"..."But I'm really a Huskey fan"...."I played football at Boise State."

So which is it?

Thankfully I could turn my attention back 'round to the game as soon as they kicked off, so he somehow got the hint that Hey, not even remotely interested in a walking breathalizer case.

And the "Heyyyyy Corvallis" continued all night. Swell.

Mid-3rd quarter, nature called so I made my way to the loo. Oh, but who should out-of-nowhere grab my hand like I'm some video vixen available for purchase? "Hey, stay and talk with me."

"I have to pee." Not, I have to use the restroom. Or, some other well-formed method of telling him that there are other priorities than soothing his drunk desire to chat up someone from the exceptional area of the PacNW. "Okay, well stop back by." Ya, will do, can't wait, let's schedule mani/pedis, and go out for tennis at the Club, you'll meet my parents, it'll be grand, want to be my baby daddy?...oh wait, where's a bucket?...I'm going to be sick. Back off, buddy.

No, I don't go back to chat with him. Yes, I tune out his future "Heyyyyy Corvallis." Yes, the bartender only charged me for 2 Killian's, not 3. :) Yes, I left her a healthy tip (like 25% for that slight calculation...yay!). No, I wasn't mugged on the walk home. Yes, I have still have quesadilla leftover for lunch. Yes, I was absolutely entertained when Blount laid a lick on a BSU player. Not because I agreed. But because law enforcement had to restrain him. Killer. It's like an episode of Cops: Green and Yellow Edition.

One Is The Loneliest Number

I came home from work. Got the mail. Opened the door. I really wanted to say, "Hey, I'm home." But there's no one to hear me. Just the turtles. And it'll be like this until Monday evening.

Wook's gone.

And MommyMcD, I know what you're thinking. "That tramp, she promises to come up for the weekend, but then bails on me with plans of football and such, and now she's holding out on coming up since wook won't even be around!" I thought wook would have been around this weekend. But as of last week, those plans changed. Drastically. Connecticut, drastically. And by then I was already in the mindset of not fighting the tunnel traffic to see you. I'm sorry. I'll be up again, I promise-promise. Just hold steady that I won't pick up another cold from your little wascly wabbits.

Anyways, where was I before I was so ruuuudely interrupted...

So I'm home now. Talking to my imaginary fans online. Because face it, I come home from work and my string gets pulled (you know, like a talking doll). I like to talk about my day. How many "That's what she said"s were dropped. The usual.

But tonight, no one. Alone. On a Thursday night. Game night. Who's game night? Boise State vs. Oregon. On at 8:30pm MST. 10:30 EST. So where will I be at 10:00pm? At a bar. Alone. Watching the game on ESPN. Have I mentioned I'll be alone? How sad. I'll be alone, in a bar, drinking a beer, watching football. You'd swear I just had a fight with my wife and was kicked out of the house. But alas, I wasn't. I just don't have anyone to watch it with or the means (we don't have cable because it costs a ridiculous amount and any shows we do watch are also featured online - caught up now?).

Wook's not completely on board with me going to a bar by myself. I think he's worried of the riff-raff that may placate the area. But on the bright side, what if a guy buys me a drink? That's one less I have to pay for. But then there's the issue that he may think I'm single. Which, well, is definitely not the cause. I guess tonight I'll focus on my own tab since I don't have Dr. Stacey Kervokian here to rescue me after I pull the all-signs-point-to-a-needed-rescue ear tug.

But let's get to the deeper issues.

What am I really worried about? Honestly.........feeding myself.

I know, it's sad. At the mid-20s circuit, I'm concerned how I'll survive until Monday when I'm perfectly capable of cooking. Capability is one thing. Skill is another. And wook's a champion in the kitchen, whipping up delectables. My skills severely lack. I blame the gene pool as Hayley came out with all cooking abilities from the genetic mess, and all I got were big eyes. I mean, thanks Dad, all the better to order off a menu when I'm left defenseless and starving on a holiday weekend.

Last night was entertaining as wook and I hit the market for some needed groceries. We were out of milk, and the one day I had to suffice toast for breakfast was the threshold for, how long can Ashley go without Cheerios? But while we were there we decided to pick up some could-be essentials for the long weekend ahead of me. Some bread. Some gatorade. The afore-mentioned milk. Some cheese. Eggs. Micro-brewery beer (yes, an essential). And some other things that I just can't think of right now. And you may be thinking, what about the all-so-awesome frozen dinner? Not yet.

The weekend doesn't worry me as much since I'll have all day to figure out a menu. It's tonight and tomorrow. The times when I come home from work, tired, and starving. Wook, being the champ he is, will usually have dinner started or at least thought out in his head.

And since I have this long break in action between being off work and kick off, I'm left to scrounge in the mean time. And by scrounge I mean, I've already pounded a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunchy Granola (tasty!) and am trying to think of what to make for dinner. But then there's the thought of, do I take a nap? Which I'm thinking yes. It'll make time go by faster, and it'll give me more energy between now and tomorrow morning.

Okay, so here's to surviving a weekend without my live-in chef.

May the force be with me.

Another Year Coming To A Close

It's about that time again. The time where you count your candles. And your wrinkles. And the hours it takes to kick a hangover. And realize, wow, it's going downhill and fast. Ugh.

I'll even be honest and tell you that a couple days ago, I forgot how old I was.

26? 27?

How do you forget your age? Easy. You lie about it for repeating years. So I've pretty much brainwashed my short-term memory into thinking that I'm still 24. Awesome, I know.

But lastly, I'm not 24. At least on paper, in my medical chart. I will be hitting that over-the-25-mark of 26. Thank God it's an even number (which makes it easier for me to deal).

So last night I decided to be proactive in starting a birthday wish list to help the wookie in my life out a little. Apparently it's incredibly hard to shop for a girl who thought that a two-butt lawn chair was the coolest thing ever (seriously, I named it the Love Bench and it's a huge hit in baseball game/park outing/barbeque-ing settings). But he's a boy, and I don't want coal for my birthday, so I'll oblige to his silent request.

On the top of that list:

"Wash Car, Vacuum Inside."

I kid you not. I'm too lazy to drive it down somewhere to have it done. And vacuuming it out just takes too much effort (not that my car is strewn with fast food paraphenalia - but my dash is dusty and the Sheriff isn't here to clean it for me). So I'm resorting to my birthday. Which any boy should think, awesome, gift #1...check.

And as I played around with Gifts.com in hopes of lengthening the list that started with a car wash and glass-bottomed Tupperware (I need more receptacles for my leftover-dinner-turned-lunch-at-work), I decided to see what the difference between "Milestone Birthday: 25" and "Milestone Birthday: 30" was.

Honestly, not much. If not lameness. The 25 was still pretty alcohol-based, while the 30 was home-based. Is it bad that I liked what the 30s suggested better? Maybe that means I'm wiser than my years. (Or my mom's thinking that maybe I'm outgrowing my love for vodka tonics - haha, right...I'm my father's daughter, so let's be real).

Thank goodness I still have a little over a month to sort out how old I'm getting.

What's One More?

I'm going to agree with Mommy McD, Mrs. Duggar needs to suck up Menopause for just another couple years so she can pop out that can-she-do-it 20th child.