Courtesy Clap

It's getting really painful to hear Bush speak.

On that note, I got this in my inbox this morning with some kind of prompt about Homeland Security needing help.

It reminded me of that picture of a cop that's on the gas pumps warning you not to steal gas. You know - the dude that's got the ginormous glasses. I couldn't find his picture, but I did come across State Trooper Anthony Stone - the man pictured on Florida's pumps.

Read about him here.

Evidently, and completely dismantling my belief to the contrary, these pictures ARE depicting real men/women of the law. Who knew.

Anyway, my allergies are going nuts today. My eyes feel like I just spent 24 hours in a shoebox chain-smoking and doing bong hits.

Hmm bong hits...

Sorry, what was I saying?

Oh yeah, so allergies suck. Especially when you live in a place where the mandatory morning weather conversation consists of the phrase: "Yeah, it must be a red air day."

I need to go back to the beach, sharks and all.

Ahh

Nothing like trying to get dressed for the day with a team of Mexican workers right outside your bedroom window...and your living room window - and you live in a tiny apartment where the windows pretty much make up the entire wall to the outside.

Nice.

So, I'm back. Despite sunburns, the trip to Florida was great. See some pics here. For more details of beach activity read Mike's report here.

Well, Jess is finally married.

I'm still having trouble getting used to that for some reason. I guess it's because she and I were inseparable until she met Brandon. Then she and Brandon became inseparable, and mine and Jess' plans for a beachside BBQ chicken slash Margarita stand were abandoned. I guess Brandon didn't like the idea that we were gonna make him dress up like a chicken too much.

Anyway, my nose is peeling, and every time I look down I can see a little piece of skin sticking out.

BEEEACH

Me in a little more than 24 hours.

OK, maybe it will be a little more like this.

I can't wait. Beach, here I come. Well, here I come tomorrow, after driving to DFW, taking two flights, and renting a car. You better be ready.

Working today was a silly idea. All I can think about is how I need to go by Target (again) or somewhere to find a purse suitable to take to the wedding. I need one that requires little attention (i.e. no clutches, must have shoulder-carry capabilities), can house my camera (comfortably) and will match my very cute green-swirly sundress from Anthropologie (I would show you a picture, but I can't find it on the website anymore).

I'm also mentally trying to figure out what clothing items are absolutely essential, and which ones I can take out of my bag to make more room. I'm trying to pack very efficiently (and lightly) because I don't check my luggage anymore (very susceptible to lost luggage, I am) and I know my bag can get pretty heavy after lugging it around all day.

Damn. I've got to go to a meeting now. This time tomorrow, I'll be two hours away from a nice frosty Pina Colada and a sandy beach chair. Cheers.

How I Almost Had a Heart Attack

"Claire wants you to check these one more time for a final approval because she is going to go ahead and print them."

Checking. Yep. Everything looks good. Lingerie shower at 8, immediately followed by bachelorette party on the town. Cute. Love the black and white.

"Tell her to go ahead with them."

Flash forward 10 minutes.

Email pops up in inbox. Subject: B party...

Hello Team!
Just wanted to check and see who was doing what regarding Kat's shower and Bachelorette Party---I think last we emailed--the shower was during the day and the Bachelorette Party that evening--just wanted to check and see if we had finalized a place for the shower and a meeting place for the B Party--and if anyone was working on invitations for each??


Slight heart palpitation launches into full freak out mode. OH FUCK. Did I miss something? OH FUCK.

Frantic dialing.

"Hi."

"Um, Um, I'm confused. I thought the lingerie shower and the bachelorette party were combined."

"They are."

"They are or they aren't?"

"Are."

"Aren't??"

"Are. As in YES THEY ARE COMBINED."

"So the lingerie starts at eight and we're going out after that, right?"

"YES."

"Oh, OK."

Whew.

Time Frame

The truth is, I hate deadlines. But I love the writing. I love writing about people mostly, and what they've done in their life and what they plan to do with the rest of it. That is, for the most part. But man do I hate getting that writing done quickly. See, I go through spurts of creativity (read: being productive). And for every hour I spend submersed into stint of productive/creative activity, there's about two hours I need to recover from that (read: surf the internet/stare blankly at monitor). So timeliness is not my strongest quality.

It doesn't help that when I'm getting into writing up a story and I'm really into a groove, I always manage to get a call from some old person that remembers reading something about something in an article from three years ago — or maybe it was in the past three years, he'll say. Automatic time loss of 30-minutes, and loss of train of thought, which, in turn makes for an even larger chunk taken out of that limited window of personal creativity. Erg. Of course you think, don't answer the phone. Aha! But see, I'm waiting for people to call back, important people, whose comments will tie my story together. People that are a bitch to get a hold of. I have to answer.

The worst are the people that start speed-talking as soon as you pick up and never seem to stop for a breath of air, therefore leaving no significant pause to cut them off. You sit there for about 15 minutes listening to, for example, a woman's spiel on Greyhound losing her luggage — and finally, after several false starts, you get a chance jump in and explain that hers is not a story that your magazine would cover, and refer her to the daily newspaper or local TV stations. (Truth is, you don't even know if they would do the story seeing as you stopped listening in the first five minutes after figuring out your publication wouldn't do it.) You tell her you hope everything works out.

Orange or Purple

Before last night I had plans to talk about how Melatonin is my new best friend. But even that can't always conquer the circulating stress that resides in my brain and kicks any attempt to doze into the land of slumber right in the ass. On top of that I couldn't get past the overwhelming feeling of bugs crawling all over my body last night, and the sensation that my t-shirt, your typical soft cotton sleeping style tee, felt like a suit of armor, stuffed with fire-hot coals, getting tighter and tighter and tighter.

I'm feeling a little better about things today, so hopefully tonight will be better w/r/t sleeping. And, in less than a week, I'll be sipping the froth off of the top of an ice cold Bud Light while digging my toes into a mound of sparkling white sand, just until only the tops of my feet are visible. Yes, my fat ass will be glued to a beach chair. And when not on the beach chair, with a cold one in my hand, I will be on a raft. Hopefully a purple one. I imagine one of those $2 ones from the outside of a Tom Thumb convenient store that flop around whenever the wind blows. It will probably be orange though, because that's always the only color they seem to have. I once had to sleep on one of those for a week of family vacation because there weren't enough beds, my dad is a cheap ass and I was the youngest kid.

What Did The Hamburgers Name Their Daughter?

Patty.

OK, so I've been eating a lot of popsicles lately.

Just a little update while I'm waiting to see if the Jackson verdict came out in time for inclusion in The Daily Show tonight.

Cristin is much, much better. She says one hundred percent. She even giggled a little when I talked to her today, and Dad says she was arguing earlier (which is a good sign) They still don't know what it is/was. My mom has her theories, of course. So does Dad. But the docs say there's nothing that an MRI can do, so if she's better, then just to keep an eye on things.

Dad seemed to be a lot calmer about things, which made me feel better as well.

So...did anyone see the woman release the dove after hearing the MJ verdict?

Good news, sort of

Cristin does not have encephalitis, or meningitis. However, now nobody knows what the fuck is wrong (I think those were the doctors' actual words). Apparently, an MRI should have been done as soon as Cristin walked through the hospital doors. In fact, that's what my mom kept requesting. But for some reason, the doctor just didn't ever order one. So, after the spinal tap (which, by the way, the initial doctor didn't even show up for and some bystanding doctor had to take over), after that came back clear, the only way to determine what was causing the problem would be an MRI. But, alas, Lincoln General Hospital does not do MRIs on the weekend.

So Cristin went to my mom's house doped up on sedatives and traumatized from the spinal tap.

She started feeling better on Sunday - enough to argue that she DID NOT WANT AN M-A-R. But her headache is still there and she told me she didn't feel good enough to watch TV, which, in Cristin speak means she still feels like shit. But at least she was up.

So today, my dad is consulting a neurologist to determine if they should go ahead with an MRI.

In other completely unrelated news, I can't get enough of the new White Stripes album. It is most awesome.

Just Hang on to the Buttons

Honey whole wheat bagel, sun-dried tomato schmear; toasted - from Einstein's:

Most likely the highlight of my day...

So last night I finally just had to shut down my phone. I'd had enough. After the incident with Bridezilla, it was my mother, then my dad called during the middle of dinner at Cheesecake Factory, then as soon as I got in the car it started ringing again (sorry Pags). I still haven't called my dad back. And now, I really just don't want to turn the damn thing back on.

I saw a sign outside the bank today that had that old saying written in chalk: "Don't judge a person by their relatives."

However, I fully admit that I am crazier than a tree full of loons.

Anyway, I got the buttons on my couch repaired yesterday. Trying to tell the repairman how to get to my apartment took longer than the actual repair time. But the new couch looks new again. The bad news is, as Jesus* explained, the buttons will probably come loose again. The only thing I can do is just hang on to the buttons.

In other news, my back is much better. I was actually able to get outside for a little exercise yesterday. I took it easy, because there's still a little stiffness and tenderness, but all in all, I'd say I'm healed.

And then there's this.**

Old people are so sweet.

*I couldn't understand what he said his name was.
**Membership to this website was the unintentional result of a story I did. I swear.

Inquiry

Tell me, is this unreasonable:

"I'm still working. Can I call you back when I get off?"

I thought this was appropriate phone etiquette. Apparently I was very wrong. Bridezilla is now on the loose. Any of you in Houston or the surrounding area may need to evacuate.

Seal Stretch Only

OK, so if any of you have ever dealt with sciatic nerve issues then you'll be able to relate.

It all started Saturday morning, early, too early for the greater good. And when I say greater good, I mean any person that is unfortunate enough to have to deal with me when I have to wake up at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

This fateful Saturday I found out that it is, in fact, a good idea to warm up before an 8 a.m. softball game. You know, a little leg stretch, side bend, arm circle. Alas, I was too focused on ingesting and metabolizing my sugar-laced McDonald's coffee to worry about stretching appropriately. I slurped it down heartily while watching Mike do warm-up sprints across Left field.

I think it was my first at bat that did it. Something went amiss - and not just with my attempt to make contact with the ball. Gradually, throughout the day, the pain in my lower back became worse and worse. Sharp pains shooting up my spine and all. And it kept getting worse.

Sunday I tried a various medley of stretching and heat. Back seemed to get a little better, but I noticed my leg started throbbing too. At first I thought maybe I had pulled a muscle at the game.

It kept getting worse. Monday, my co-workers were a little inquisitive as they saw me walk by hunched over and limping, my leg dragging behind me like a horror movie zombie. This was when I learned that the sciatic nerve works its way down your leg, even into your toes.

Nice.

Some pointers I have received:
1. Apply substance called Bio-Freeze.
2. Seal Stretch only, no rounding of back
3. Take a golf ball, place it in between your back and the wall and roll it around (this was not a good idea, come to find out, as I got stuck when I rolled myself too far down the wall)
4. Massage
5. Apply heat, but do not take hot baths
6. Swim

Any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you, that is all.

hmm

There's always been something faintly disturbing to me about calling a gym "Fitness Factory."

updating

I'm not feeling very original, so today I bring to you the obligatory June 1 New Year's resolution update.

Here's the list I posted in January:

1. Finish Infinite Jest and then work through the stack of unread books on my shelf.
2. Do some more paintings.
3. Remember to call people on their birthdays (I've been told ecards do not count as birthday greetings).
4. Make more time to read (obvious).
5. Learn/do Yoga.
6. Watch all the movies I've been meaning to see, but just haven't gotten around to because there are always those new and shiny ones at the front of the movie store. A couple I can think of are Apocalypse Now and, for the love of God, I am determined to get through Godfather III in its entirety.
7. Learn how to play tennis.
8. Take more pictures.
9. Cook more.
10. Buy a couch.

I can check off numbers 1, 3, 4, I'm working on 6, 8, and 10. I'd say that's pretty good.

Unfortunately I'm still sending people ecards instead of calling them on their birthday. (This, I'm ashamed to say, is even true in the case of my own sister.) I have not even picked up a tennis racket. And unless heating up things in the toaster oven counts as cooking, I'd say I haven't put much of a dent in number 9 either.

I've got a bunch of shit to do for the next two weeks. Everyone is going on vacation, and by everyone I mean the one other person in our editorial department. Good thing I've got an intern:) starting next week.

I guess I better get back to work -- pressing issues among the neighborhood 4th of July parades demand attention. I'll leave you with a link to an eight-minute-long video that appeared in my inbox the other morning from my boss. "An interesting commentary on media," he said. I think he might have been bored.

click here for the "video"