Alright time: Get wasted! (I know it's 10 in the morning, but time is a wild and crazy guy.)
I feel this kid's pain. I, too, know what it's like to be utterly unappreciated in your own time.
This one's a little lengthy, but still cool.
Why couldn't it have been me, Troy??? WHY? WHYYYYY?????
How come my dog didn't come with a volume dial??? I want my money back.
Also this:
Ohhh I wanna turn it off but I CAN'T! I CAN'T!
For those of you don't feel like you've wasted quite enough time today, here's a sweet website Leah sent me:
Garfield Minus Garfield
Now get back to work, slackers.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
An Open Letter to a Whole Bunch of People
Dear English-speaking Population,
Why are you all up in my grill?
First of all, I knew that when I started writing a weekdaily blog post that there was a good chance it would become wildly popular and eventually lead to fame, fortune, and all the forfeitures of privacy that come along with it. (Still holding out for the fortune portion*.) But honestly, even cyberlebrities such as myself deserve a little respect -- such as, I don't know, the capitalization of his or her initials, maybe?
Everywhere I go, I see it: e.g.
My friends and family have tried to console me by suggesting the possibility that my name has just become so popular and widely used that it's evolved into a new form of slang. That made me feel a little better, but then I started noticing several instances of people just calling me out for no apparent reason.
For example (if only there was a shorter way to type that phrase!), the following is an excerpt from our company website.
And why are you constantly trying to pit me against this i.e. person? Maybe i.e. and I would like to be friends; did you ever consider that? It would be nice to sit down and have a chat with someone who really understands what I'm going through as I struggle to adjust to the general public's rampant lack of respect for my two favorite letters, but it won't be easy with everyone constantly posting stuff online about "i.e. vs. e.g." as if we're about to compete in the death match of the century. It seems our friendship was doomed to fail from the very beginning.
It's not too late for you to change your ways, English-speaking Population; there are a few simple measures that can be taken to start the healing process, exempli gratia, you could just start using my whole name. (Ever feel like you just can't get your point across without the gratuitous use of Latin? I know it's confusing - perhaps even alienating at times - but what other choice do I have?)
*Consequently, "Fortune Portion" is the title of my next hit single.
Why are you all up in my grill?
First of all, I knew that when I started writing a weekdaily blog post that there was a good chance it would become wildly popular and eventually lead to fame, fortune, and all the forfeitures of privacy that come along with it. (Still holding out for the fortune portion*.) But honestly, even cyberlebrities such as myself deserve a little respect -- such as, I don't know, the capitalization of his or her initials, maybe?
Everywhere I go, I see it: e.g.
My friends and family have tried to console me by suggesting the possibility that my name has just become so popular and widely used that it's evolved into a new form of slang. That made me feel a little better, but then I started noticing several instances of people just calling me out for no apparent reason.
For example (if only there was a shorter way to type that phrase!), the following is an excerpt from our company website.
Any unauthorized use of the information contained on this site (e.g., for private solicitations of any nature), without the express written consent of [the super top secret company by which I am employed], is prohibited.What gives??? When have I ever privately solicited any other staff members without express written consent??? Is this about that time I called Whitney Kroneberger fifty-seven times in one night begging her to be friends with me??? THAT WAS TOTALLY WORK-RELATED. We were on the company softball team together and I NEEDED SOMEONE TO PRACTICE WITH.
And why are you constantly trying to pit me against this i.e. person? Maybe i.e. and I would like to be friends; did you ever consider that? It would be nice to sit down and have a chat with someone who really understands what I'm going through as I struggle to adjust to the general public's rampant lack of respect for my two favorite letters, but it won't be easy with everyone constantly posting stuff online about "i.e. vs. e.g." as if we're about to compete in the death match of the century. It seems our friendship was doomed to fail from the very beginning.
It's not too late for you to change your ways, English-speaking Population; there are a few simple measures that can be taken to start the healing process, exempli gratia, you could just start using my whole name. (Ever feel like you just can't get your point across without the gratuitous use of Latin? I know it's confusing - perhaps even alienating at times - but what other choice do I have?)
*Consequently, "Fortune Portion" is the title of my next hit single.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Old Ladies, You Nasty.
I went to a bridal shower for a friend this weekend, and I learned a lesson that was equally valuable and disturbing: Old ladies are dirty.
I'm not proud of this, but I fear I may be developing some slightly ageist tendencies, at least in one respect. I'm just gonna throw this out there: If you're old enough to have a grandbaby, you're too old to make sex jokes in public. You've got kids; we get it. You've had sex.
This is the part where I reluctantly share the comments that managed to brand themselves on my brain before I had a chance to pour bleach in my ears.
"I want to share a wonderful recipe for you and your husband after you say I do. It's called Honeymoon Salad, and here are the ingredients: Lettuce alone; no dressing."
"If you're in a fight, get naked. If you can still fight, then it's something worth arguing over." (This one didn't actually come from an old lady, but they all thought it was HILARIOUS and repeated it several times.)
"Even if it's not real, fake it." (This last one was probably the most disturbing since I know the woman who said it...as well as her husband. Bleeeechhhhhhhh.)
Why does it bother me so much worse to hear this kind of thing from people of the elderly persuasion? I'll tell you why. It's the same reason I can stand to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but not Grumpy Old Men. Because young people are stupid! We dress weird! We tweet our every thought! We take out hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans which we will almost surely never be able to pay back! We have the excuse of being young and reckless, and can therefore get away with making the occasional inappropriate comment.
Sorry old folks, but at your time of life, you should know better.
Now if anybody needs me, I'll just be over here rocking back and forth in the fetal position with my fingers in my ears repeating my newly adopted mantra aloud: I was delivered by the stork. I was delivered by the stork. I was delivered by the stork.
I'm not proud of this, but I fear I may be developing some slightly ageist tendencies, at least in one respect. I'm just gonna throw this out there: If you're old enough to have a grandbaby, you're too old to make sex jokes in public. You've got kids; we get it. You've had sex.
This is the part where I reluctantly share the comments that managed to brand themselves on my brain before I had a chance to pour bleach in my ears.
"I want to share a wonderful recipe for you and your husband after you say I do. It's called Honeymoon Salad, and here are the ingredients: Lettuce alone; no dressing."
"If you're in a fight, get naked. If you can still fight, then it's something worth arguing over." (This one didn't actually come from an old lady, but they all thought it was HILARIOUS and repeated it several times.)
"Even if it's not real, fake it." (This last one was probably the most disturbing since I know the woman who said it...as well as her husband. Bleeeechhhhhhhh.)
Why does it bother me so much worse to hear this kind of thing from people of the elderly persuasion? I'll tell you why. It's the same reason I can stand to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but not Grumpy Old Men. Because young people are stupid! We dress weird! We tweet our every thought! We take out hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans which we will almost surely never be able to pay back! We have the excuse of being young and reckless, and can therefore get away with making the occasional inappropriate comment.
Sorry old folks, but at your time of life, you should know better.
Now if anybody needs me, I'll just be over here rocking back and forth in the fetal position with my fingers in my ears repeating my newly adopted mantra aloud: I was delivered by the stork. I was delivered by the stork. I was delivered by the stork.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Dog's Out of the Bag
Welp, our secret's out. The landlords have finally discovered Brutus.
Honestly, I'm mostly relieved (with just a splash of shame and humiliation at having been caught). That just means this year we won't have to go to all the trouble of hiding him while they do our re-rent inspection.
Amazingly enough, they were really cool about it. They say there's a first time for everything, and this is the first time our rental company has failed to totally suck. They're not fining us or anything; we just have to pay the pet deposit we should have paid two Augusts ago when we got him. We wanted to pay it - honest! But it's like $300, which is more than our combined worth on a good day.
Then there was the pet application itself, which gave me no small amount of anxiety because it included a list of dog breeds that are prohibited, such as German shepherds, pit bulls, rottweilers, etc. Huskies weren't on the list, but there was a blanket statement at the end of the list including "any other aggressive breeds." Now, I know and you know that Brutus is about as aggressive as a bean bag*, but I could see some misguided inspector thinking he looks intimidating and kicking us out, thereby forcing us to take refuge in the sewage-stained nether regions of the crackhouse next door. I know what you're thinking: decorating nightmare, amirite? I mean who's doing brown these days? Yuck.
But never fear, for all is well! We're selling Gary's toolbox, which should just about cover the deposit. Never mind the fact that we were going to use that money for food; we get to keep the dog! If we get to the point of starvation, we can always just eat him.
THE END
*Thought you'd enjoy an inside look at the process of choosing the least aggressive thing I could think of. It went something like sloth>snail>fat kid>platypus (according to Samantha - not very aggressive)>pencil eraser>bean bag. Yawelcome.
Honestly, I'm mostly relieved (with just a splash of shame and humiliation at having been caught). That just means this year we won't have to go to all the trouble of hiding him while they do our re-rent inspection.
Amazingly enough, they were really cool about it. They say there's a first time for everything, and this is the first time our rental company has failed to totally suck. They're not fining us or anything; we just have to pay the pet deposit we should have paid two Augusts ago when we got him. We wanted to pay it - honest! But it's like $300, which is more than our combined worth on a good day.
Then there was the pet application itself, which gave me no small amount of anxiety because it included a list of dog breeds that are prohibited, such as German shepherds, pit bulls, rottweilers, etc. Huskies weren't on the list, but there was a blanket statement at the end of the list including "any other aggressive breeds." Now, I know and you know that Brutus is about as aggressive as a bean bag*, but I could see some misguided inspector thinking he looks intimidating and kicking us out, thereby forcing us to take refuge in the sewage-stained nether regions of the crackhouse next door. I know what you're thinking: decorating nightmare, amirite? I mean who's doing brown these days? Yuck.
But never fear, for all is well! We're selling Gary's toolbox, which should just about cover the deposit. Never mind the fact that we were going to use that money for food; we get to keep the dog! If we get to the point of starvation, we can always just eat him.
THE END
*Thought you'd enjoy an inside look at the process of choosing the least aggressive thing I could think of. It went something like sloth>snail>fat kid>platypus (according to Samantha - not very aggressive)>pencil eraser>bean bag. Yawelcome.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Time-Waster Thursday!
Welcome! Let's waste some time.
First and most important, a behind the scenes look at the final HP movie.
Next up, two of my favorite things: babies and beatboxing.
Why not? A dog dressed as Sherlock Holmes running in slow motion.
Because we need more cute puppy videos:
Milton doesn't feel like a walk.
I've never wanted to kidnap a baby as much as I want to kidnap this baby.
You might be a snaaake, but so is my tail.
This one makes the choir nerd inside me pee her pants with glee.
Just remember, anytime you need to turn your brain off, I'm your girl.
First and most important, a behind the scenes look at the final HP movie.
Next up, two of my favorite things: babies and beatboxing.
Why not? A dog dressed as Sherlock Holmes running in slow motion.
Because we need more cute puppy videos:
Milton doesn't feel like a walk.
I've never wanted to kidnap a baby as much as I want to kidnap this baby.
You might be a snaaake, but so is my tail.
This one makes the choir nerd inside me pee her pants with glee.
Just remember, anytime you need to turn your brain off, I'm your girl.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Mom.com
I'm so EXCITED because yesterday my mom started a blog of her own!
She's already posted twice because she's better than me.
All the cool kids are following her, so get on over there and check it out!
Too Cool For Spool
She's already posted twice because she's better than me.
All the cool kids are following her, so get on over there and check it out!
Too Cool For Spool
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
It's Not Unusual.
Apparently until this morning I was too stupid to operate the measurement chart on the Weight Watchers website, but I finally cracked the code and GUESS WHAT!
Since January 31st, I've lost 3 inches in my waist, 3 in my hips, 2 in my thighs, and have gone down 2 pants sizes.
This is what I did when I got to work this morning.
Since January 31st, I've lost 3 inches in my waist, 3 in my hips, 2 in my thighs, and have gone down 2 pants sizes.
This is what I did when I got to work this morning.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Dream Girl
Scientists are still working to determine whether or not there is a direct correlation between the amount of ice cream I ate last week and the extra 3.8 pounds I found when I got on the scale this morning...but they were able to come up with some conclusive findings regarding my dreams. Apparently my usual already-frightening nightmares were amplified into kick-your-husband, mess-your-bed horrifying as a direct result of my increased sugar intake.
Last night for example: I'm standing in line at a gas station when three men enter, faces obstructed, dressed in ninja black. One of them is carrying a hose and dousing the whole place with water. Another approaches me with a green cup and splashes its contents on me. Seconds later I realize it's not water; it's gasoline and I'm about to die in a fiery blaze of glory. The gas station is surrounded by police cars and fire trucks. The men leave, and then I see on tv that a large apartment building full of innocent people has just been bombed; turns out it really was water and this was just a decoy. Hundreds of people are dead and I've been hogging every emergency vehicle in town because I got wet.
Aren't you glad you asked?
UPDATE: I've just been informed that you didn't ask, so I guess I owe you all an apology for being so morbid without giving you any sort of warning.
Last night for example: I'm standing in line at a gas station when three men enter, faces obstructed, dressed in ninja black. One of them is carrying a hose and dousing the whole place with water. Another approaches me with a green cup and splashes its contents on me. Seconds later I realize it's not water; it's gasoline and I'm about to die in a fiery blaze of glory. The gas station is surrounded by police cars and fire trucks. The men leave, and then I see on tv that a large apartment building full of innocent people has just been bombed; turns out it really was water and this was just a decoy. Hundreds of people are dead and I've been hogging every emergency vehicle in town because I got wet.
Aren't you glad you asked?
UPDATE: I've just been informed that you didn't ask, so I guess I owe you all an apology for being so morbid without giving you any sort of warning.
Friday, March 18, 2011
It's Friyeeday, Friyeeday, Gettin' Down On Fri-Dayee
Well it's Friday, and ya know what that means! Time for a totally pointless list of ten things!
1. Stranger Than Fiction was on tv last night. I caught the guitar scene over at Sarah's and now have an unquenchable thirst to watch the entire movie.
2. I read an excerpt yesterday from an interview with Rebecca Black (the girl who sang "Friday"). It made me feel really bad for making fun of an 8th grader.
3. Then today I watched her interview on Good Morning America and she got on my nerves, so I guess we're back to square one. (Read: I'm still a bad person.)
4. My foot itches.
5. Yesterday it was 70 degrees outside, so of course when I woke up this morning there was snow on the ground.
6. It's gone now. (The snow, not the itch.)
7. I'm gonna try to trick Gary into buying me pizza tonight. (Gary, if you're reading this, of course I'm just kidding. But now that you mention it, doesn't pizza sound good for dinner???)
8. Sarah's car's been in the shop for the last couple of days, so naturally the insurance company set her up with a rental car that smells like cigarette smoke.
9. On the bright side, she got a Wii last weekend. Our friend Thomas's house was broken into over Thanksgiving (all the cool kids are doing it) and they just found the guy who did it and got all Thomas's stuff back, including his Wii. The only thing is, he had already bought a new one, so Sarah asked him if she could buy his old one from him. The negotiations went a little something like this:
Thomas: Sure, I'll give it to you for fifty bucks.
Sarah: Oh no; I'll give you at least a hundred.
Thomas: I'll take seventy five.
Sarah: Deal.
Brit, who was standing close by, later expressed his concern that neither of them understand how negotiations work.
10. Colorado has Blue Bell now. About those twenty pounds I just lost...I think they're due for a comeback.
1. Stranger Than Fiction was on tv last night. I caught the guitar scene over at Sarah's and now have an unquenchable thirst to watch the entire movie.
2. I read an excerpt yesterday from an interview with Rebecca Black (the girl who sang "Friday"). It made me feel really bad for making fun of an 8th grader.
3. Then today I watched her interview on Good Morning America and she got on my nerves, so I guess we're back to square one. (Read: I'm still a bad person.)
4. My foot itches.
5. Yesterday it was 70 degrees outside, so of course when I woke up this morning there was snow on the ground.
6. It's gone now. (The snow, not the itch.)
7. I'm gonna try to trick Gary into buying me pizza tonight. (Gary, if you're reading this, of course I'm just kidding. But now that you mention it, doesn't pizza sound good for dinner???)
8. Sarah's car's been in the shop for the last couple of days, so naturally the insurance company set her up with a rental car that smells like cigarette smoke.
9. On the bright side, she got a Wii last weekend. Our friend Thomas's house was broken into over Thanksgiving (all the cool kids are doing it) and they just found the guy who did it and got all Thomas's stuff back, including his Wii. The only thing is, he had already bought a new one, so Sarah asked him if she could buy his old one from him. The negotiations went a little something like this:
Thomas: Sure, I'll give it to you for fifty bucks.
Sarah: Oh no; I'll give you at least a hundred.
Thomas: I'll take seventy five.
Sarah: Deal.
Brit, who was standing close by, later expressed his concern that neither of them understand how negotiations work.
10. Colorado has Blue Bell now. About those twenty pounds I just lost...I think they're due for a comeback.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Time-Waster Thursday!
Well it's Thursday...let's waste some time!
First up, two videos of babies who can't seem to make up their minds. "Is it scary or do I like it???"
Next up, a little something inspiring.
I wish this was my life.
This wouldn't be so bad either.
Soundtrack to my childhood
Waiiiit aaaa minute!
New Kid History!
And finally, the video that literally made me laugh til I cried.
Now for all you nerds out there, some casting news.
Jennifer Lawrence has reportedly been cast for the role of Katniss Everdeen in the upcoming movie adaptation of The Hunger Games.
Frontrunners for the role of Peeta Mellark are these guys:
 |
| Alex Pettyfer |
 |
| Josh Hutcherson |
 |
| Hunter Parrish |
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Now Entering Disturbia
WARNING: This blog post is not going to make you feel shiny and happy. If you're having an even slightly bad day, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER, because this will only make it worse. Other possible side effects include empathy-induced nausea; loss of faith in humanity; a sudden and uncontrollable urge to shake an awkward teenager.
I was planning on saving these for Time Waster Thursday, but after further consideration I decided this was a subject that demanded more immediate attention.
What are they? Three videos; each more disturbing than the last. I know you're probably not going to watch them in their entirety, and I can't say I blame you. But I'd like you to see at least some of each so you'll understand why I'm so upset.
So apparently this is a thing now? Pre-teens making terrible music accompanied by even terrible-r music videos? I just have one question: WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS???
Wait, I have another question: WHERE ARE YOUR LYRICISTS???
Okay forget the one question. I have like a million.
WHO IS PAYING FOR THIS?
WHO'S THE OLD DUDE RAPPING IN THE FIRST ONE AROUND THE 2:31 MARK AND WHERE DID YOU FIND HIM???
WHY ARE THESE SONGS NOW STUCK IN MY HEAD???
WHY????
WHY???????
And what can we do? There's only one thing left to do: Sit back and thank God these aren't our kids.
I was planning on saving these for Time Waster Thursday, but after further consideration I decided this was a subject that demanded more immediate attention.
What are they? Three videos; each more disturbing than the last. I know you're probably not going to watch them in their entirety, and I can't say I blame you. But I'd like you to see at least some of each so you'll understand why I'm so upset.
So apparently this is a thing now? Pre-teens making terrible music accompanied by even terrible-r music videos? I just have one question: WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS???
Wait, I have another question: WHERE ARE YOUR LYRICISTS???
Okay forget the one question. I have like a million.
WHO IS PAYING FOR THIS?
WHO'S THE OLD DUDE RAPPING IN THE FIRST ONE AROUND THE 2:31 MARK AND WHERE DID YOU FIND HIM???
WHY ARE THESE SONGS NOW STUCK IN MY HEAD???
WHY????
WHY???????
And what can we do? There's only one thing left to do: Sit back and thank God these aren't our kids.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Ransnacked
Yeah, I did it. And I'd do it again! In fact, I'm sure I WILL do it again! AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME! NO ONE!!!
Well...except maybe the movie theater employees. They're the ones who stopped me last night, anyway. They think they're so tough with their nametags and their flashlights...well you know what, theater employees? You can take the Diet Dr Pepper I snuck in, but you'll never take my SOURPATCH KIDS! Probably because you didn't see them, as they were stuffed deep into the recesses of my cupholder.
I'm not gonna lie, I was ashamed. Especially because the girl who came and offered to dispose of our contraband was the same girl we had purchased our tickets from just minutes earlier.
I thought we were friends, Dollar Theater Girl! We had a few laughs, didn't we? When you asked if we wanted to donate a dollar to charity, did we hesitate? No! We handed over our hard earned money with smiling enthusiasm!* It's as if you don't even care that the way I said your name just now implies that you have some sort of super powers! But will you use those powers for good? No, I fear you will not. I can see now that wherever you go, you will leave a bloody trail of thirst and betrayal in your wake.
The good news is, you can't ruin Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I. No one can. Not you; not He Who Must Not Be Named; not even Daniel Radcliffe, try as he might to be the worst actor on the planet.
*And by that of course I mean we handed over Sarah's hard earned money with smiling enthusiasm. Whatever. I just got robbed.
Well...except maybe the movie theater employees. They're the ones who stopped me last night, anyway. They think they're so tough with their nametags and their flashlights...well you know what, theater employees? You can take the Diet Dr Pepper I snuck in, but you'll never take my SOURPATCH KIDS! Probably because you didn't see them, as they were stuffed deep into the recesses of my cupholder.
I'm not gonna lie, I was ashamed. Especially because the girl who came and offered to dispose of our contraband was the same girl we had purchased our tickets from just minutes earlier.
I thought we were friends, Dollar Theater Girl! We had a few laughs, didn't we? When you asked if we wanted to donate a dollar to charity, did we hesitate? No! We handed over our hard earned money with smiling enthusiasm!* It's as if you don't even care that the way I said your name just now implies that you have some sort of super powers! But will you use those powers for good? No, I fear you will not. I can see now that wherever you go, you will leave a bloody trail of thirst and betrayal in your wake.
The good news is, you can't ruin Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I. No one can. Not you; not He Who Must Not Be Named; not even Daniel Radcliffe, try as he might to be the worst actor on the planet.
*And by that of course I mean we handed over Sarah's hard earned money with smiling enthusiasm. Whatever. I just got robbed.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Things That Weigh Twenty Pounds
Here are some things that weigh twenty pounds, for no apparent reason. Just kidding! IT'S BECAUSE I LOST 20 POUNDS!
VICTORY!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Like A Thief In The...Middle Of The Day
Someone broke into our house yesterday.
Let me first ease your mind by telling you that Gary, Brutus and I are all perfectly okay. Brutus was the only one home when it happened, and the poor kid probably had no idea what was going on. I was at work, and Gary was (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas.
So here's what went down: Sarah dropped me off after work. I went straight to the back door to let Brutus off his running line but froze when I got to the kitchen because the door was wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. The first thing that came to mind was, "EFF! I left the door open ALL DAY!" 'cause I wouldn't put it past me. Then I remembered the family of raccoons who live in the abandoned house a couple yards over, so I decided to check the house for wild animals. That's when I noticed one of our laptops was missing. We keep Gary's old work laptop hooked up to a monitor to watch shows online - lovingly referred to as our "ghettotainment center". The power strip had been unplugged from the wall and the laptop was gone.
As I turned my head and saw that the mattress on our guest bed had been shoved halfway off its frame, I officially started freaking out. It was clear that someone had been in the house, but what wasn't clear was whether they were still there.
How did I respond? With perfect, rational clarity of thought, of course.
I'm alone in the house. Maybe. BUT WHAT IF I'M NOT?! I never learned karate! I don't remember how to load the guns! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE GUNS ARE! I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I had a baseball bat...
I stood in one spot for about thirty seconds, then figured if I was gonna die, I might as well get on with it. I yelled hello about a hundred times and received no answer. I went into my bedroom and could see that the mattress had been moved aside just like in the guest room. I held my breath and checked under the bed to see if the guns were still there, and thankfully they were. So even if someone was in the house, I was pretty confident they weren't going to shoot me. (Well, at least not with one of my own shotguns...which I found strangely comforting.)
I scanned the kitchen but nothing seemed out of place. The only possible hiding place left was in the bathroom. If you've never been to my tiny house, you should know that we have a disproportionately GIGANTIC bathroom. Once you enter its cavernous belly, you have to turn a corner to be able to see the washer and dryer, which are hidden behind folding doors. I've always privately thought that if I were a murderer, I'd probably perch myself up on top of one of those machines with a machete, ready to pounce on whomever was the first to answer the call of nature. When I rounded the corner, to my great surprise, all I found perched on the dryer were some clothes I washed two weeks ago and still haven't put away. (A pile of two week old laundry is never a surprise...but the absence of a crazed murderer? Occasionally.)
I called Sarah and she came over immediately. I tried Gary a few times on his cell but he didn't answer, so I called my parents' house to see if he was there. My poor mom answered, and our conversation went a little something like this:
Mom (chipper, with no idea anything's amiss): "Helloooooo!"
Me: "Mom...is Gary there?"
Mom: "Nope. Why, what's up?"
Me (sobbing): "Someone...b-b-broke...into m-my - OH! Mom, Gary's calling me, I gotta go."
I talked to Gary and, shortly after, made my first ever 911 call at his request - something you would think would have occurred to me sooner, but like so many times before, you'd be wrong. Since he was 800 miles away, Gary did the only thing he could think to do, which was send over a couple of burly men to protect me. Within two minutes I had an army of saviors in my living room. Let me take a moment to thank Sarah, Leah, Levi, Thomas and Sam for showing up at a moment's notice - you guys are the best.
Gary was in the car when I called him. He was supposed to drive back up today, but when I told him what happened, he assured me that he would begin his drive home right then. I assumed this meant he'd quickly grab his stuff from my parents' house, maybe say goodbye to his family, and then head out as soon as was reasonably possible. I should have known that Gary Gray doesn't do anything reasonably. Apparently he hung up the phone, hopped on the George Bush Turnpike, and headed for Colorado, toothbrush be damned.
I'll give you a moment to bask in the awesomeness of my husband.
Thomas and Levi stayed until the police officer came. He was super cool, and we discovered that all they took were our two laptops. It stings a little to lose our beloved Macbook, but as for the HP...joke's on you, thieves, because that thing is a piece of trash.
Brutus and I stayed at Sarah's house last night just to be safe. Speaking of which, I feel another shout-out coming on...HAILEY! RACHEL! ERIN! Thanks for letting us stay over even though one or more of you is allergic to dog hair. You girls are life savers - and you can take that as literally as you please.
Gary got home at around four this morning, and has since officially set up Crime-Busting Central in our living room, just in case the robbers decide to return. We changed all our passwords, contacted our bank, etc. so hopefully we won't have to deal with any fraud.
As break-ins go, it could have been a lot worse. Luckily we're poor so there wasn't much to take, and I'd like to invite all of you to praise God along with me that Brutus wasn't hurt, stolen, or worse.
Parting thought: This is why we don't have nice things.
Let me first ease your mind by telling you that Gary, Brutus and I are all perfectly okay. Brutus was the only one home when it happened, and the poor kid probably had no idea what was going on. I was at work, and Gary was (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas.
So here's what went down: Sarah dropped me off after work. I went straight to the back door to let Brutus off his running line but froze when I got to the kitchen because the door was wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. The first thing that came to mind was, "EFF! I left the door open ALL DAY!" 'cause I wouldn't put it past me. Then I remembered the family of raccoons who live in the abandoned house a couple yards over, so I decided to check the house for wild animals. That's when I noticed one of our laptops was missing. We keep Gary's old work laptop hooked up to a monitor to watch shows online - lovingly referred to as our "ghettotainment center". The power strip had been unplugged from the wall and the laptop was gone.
As I turned my head and saw that the mattress on our guest bed had been shoved halfway off its frame, I officially started freaking out. It was clear that someone had been in the house, but what wasn't clear was whether they were still there.
How did I respond? With perfect, rational clarity of thought, of course.
I'm alone in the house. Maybe. BUT WHAT IF I'M NOT?! I never learned karate! I don't remember how to load the guns! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE GUNS ARE! I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I had a baseball bat...
I stood in one spot for about thirty seconds, then figured if I was gonna die, I might as well get on with it. I yelled hello about a hundred times and received no answer. I went into my bedroom and could see that the mattress had been moved aside just like in the guest room. I held my breath and checked under the bed to see if the guns were still there, and thankfully they were. So even if someone was in the house, I was pretty confident they weren't going to shoot me. (Well, at least not with one of my own shotguns...which I found strangely comforting.)
I scanned the kitchen but nothing seemed out of place. The only possible hiding place left was in the bathroom. If you've never been to my tiny house, you should know that we have a disproportionately GIGANTIC bathroom. Once you enter its cavernous belly, you have to turn a corner to be able to see the washer and dryer, which are hidden behind folding doors. I've always privately thought that if I were a murderer, I'd probably perch myself up on top of one of those machines with a machete, ready to pounce on whomever was the first to answer the call of nature. When I rounded the corner, to my great surprise, all I found perched on the dryer were some clothes I washed two weeks ago and still haven't put away. (A pile of two week old laundry is never a surprise...but the absence of a crazed murderer? Occasionally.)
I called Sarah and she came over immediately. I tried Gary a few times on his cell but he didn't answer, so I called my parents' house to see if he was there. My poor mom answered, and our conversation went a little something like this:
Mom (chipper, with no idea anything's amiss): "Helloooooo!"
Me: "Mom...is Gary there?"
Mom: "Nope. Why, what's up?"
Me (sobbing): "Someone...b-b-broke...into m-my - OH! Mom, Gary's calling me, I gotta go."
I talked to Gary and, shortly after, made my first ever 911 call at his request - something you would think would have occurred to me sooner, but like so many times before, you'd be wrong. Since he was 800 miles away, Gary did the only thing he could think to do, which was send over a couple of burly men to protect me. Within two minutes I had an army of saviors in my living room. Let me take a moment to thank Sarah, Leah, Levi, Thomas and Sam for showing up at a moment's notice - you guys are the best.
Gary was in the car when I called him. He was supposed to drive back up today, but when I told him what happened, he assured me that he would begin his drive home right then. I assumed this meant he'd quickly grab his stuff from my parents' house, maybe say goodbye to his family, and then head out as soon as was reasonably possible. I should have known that Gary Gray doesn't do anything reasonably. Apparently he hung up the phone, hopped on the George Bush Turnpike, and headed for Colorado, toothbrush be damned.
I'll give you a moment to bask in the awesomeness of my husband.
Thomas and Levi stayed until the police officer came. He was super cool, and we discovered that all they took were our two laptops. It stings a little to lose our beloved Macbook, but as for the HP...joke's on you, thieves, because that thing is a piece of trash.
Brutus and I stayed at Sarah's house last night just to be safe. Speaking of which, I feel another shout-out coming on...HAILEY! RACHEL! ERIN! Thanks for letting us stay over even though one or more of you is allergic to dog hair. You girls are life savers - and you can take that as literally as you please.
Gary got home at around four this morning, and has since officially set up Crime-Busting Central in our living room, just in case the robbers decide to return. We changed all our passwords, contacted our bank, etc. so hopefully we won't have to deal with any fraud.
As break-ins go, it could have been a lot worse. Luckily we're poor so there wasn't much to take, and I'd like to invite all of you to praise God along with me that Brutus wasn't hurt, stolen, or worse.
Parting thought: This is why we don't have nice things.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Man of the House
Gary's been in Texas for five days - visiting his grandpa in the hospital, fixing his mom's roof, and playing Time Crisis on my parents' giant tv - while I've been at home missing him and sneezing until I throw up.
I've heard that dogs can tell when their owners are upset, but I really never expected that to apply to Brutus. He's just never been super affectionate towards us. (Although this has improved since the little episode with Kiya. I guess he saw how happy we were that she actually seemed to enjoy being near us and decided he better start kissing some butt if he didn't wanna get traded in for a cuddlier model.)
But I gotta say, he has really stepped it up in Gary's absence. He stays at the foot of my bed all night, even though I know he prefers spending his evenings depositing as much hair as is caninely possible on our couches; he fiercely protected me when some strangers came to the door and had the nerve to try to give me a free newspaper of some sort; and this morning he took out the trash.
Okay he didn't really take out the trash. But he did exhibit some spectacular self-restraint, the likes of which have never been seen from him and probably never will be again. I could see in his eyes that he would have loved nothing more than to drag the full bag of trash that was sitting in my kitchen halfway across the yard and make me chase him down, but even though I left him inside as I made the long trek out to roll the trash bin away from the curb, up the driveway, and into the backyard, I returned to find that the garbage bag was miraculously still intact. I had to wipe away a single, glistening tear, because that was the moment I knew he loved me. He really loved me.
THE END
P.S. Gary thought he was going home to say goodbye to his grandpa for the last time, but I'm happy to report that Paw is doing much better than we expected. Failing kidneys, schmailing schmidneys. You don't survive two wars and seven marriages by bein' a sissy; that dude is a fighter.
I've heard that dogs can tell when their owners are upset, but I really never expected that to apply to Brutus. He's just never been super affectionate towards us. (Although this has improved since the little episode with Kiya. I guess he saw how happy we were that she actually seemed to enjoy being near us and decided he better start kissing some butt if he didn't wanna get traded in for a cuddlier model.)
But I gotta say, he has really stepped it up in Gary's absence. He stays at the foot of my bed all night, even though I know he prefers spending his evenings depositing as much hair as is caninely possible on our couches; he fiercely protected me when some strangers came to the door and had the nerve to try to give me a free newspaper of some sort; and this morning he took out the trash.
Okay he didn't really take out the trash. But he did exhibit some spectacular self-restraint, the likes of which have never been seen from him and probably never will be again. I could see in his eyes that he would have loved nothing more than to drag the full bag of trash that was sitting in my kitchen halfway across the yard and make me chase him down, but even though I left him inside as I made the long trek out to roll the trash bin away from the curb, up the driveway, and into the backyard, I returned to find that the garbage bag was miraculously still intact. I had to wipe away a single, glistening tear, because that was the moment I knew he loved me. He really loved me.
THE END
P.S. Gary thought he was going home to say goodbye to his grandpa for the last time, but I'm happy to report that Paw is doing much better than we expected. Failing kidneys, schmailing schmidneys. You don't survive two wars and seven marriages by bein' a sissy; that dude is a fighter.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Cold War
I'm winning.*
I swear I'm not addicted to drugs, but I'm not gonna lie - I secretly love having a cold because I not-so-secretly LOVE taking DayQuil. Those two little orange liqui-gels are enough to keep me running strong for six hours at a time...I can almost feel it pumping through my veins. I like the syrupy blood feeling it gives me...it sorta feels like I'm on crack -- and I would know.** I've been around.***
I guess I'll leave you with that, because I'm late for the intervention my coworkers have staged for me.
*This was not originally intended as a Charlie Sheen reference, but what the hell.
**No I wouldn't.
***No I haven't.
I swear I'm not addicted to drugs, but I'm not gonna lie - I secretly love having a cold because I not-so-secretly LOVE taking DayQuil. Those two little orange liqui-gels are enough to keep me running strong for six hours at a time...I can almost feel it pumping through my veins. I like the syrupy blood feeling it gives me...it sorta feels like I'm on crack -- and I would know.** I've been around.***
I guess I'll leave you with that, because I'm late for the intervention my coworkers have staged for me.
*This was not originally intended as a Charlie Sheen reference, but what the hell.
**No I wouldn't.
***No I haven't.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
My Own Worst Frenemy
Theraflu,
You are a wily temptress; a sneaky minx; a dirty rhymes-with-witch.
You wrangled me in with your citrusy aroma, only to burn my tongue and, subsequently, other parts of me as I spilled you everywhere in a fit of confusion and horror.
I don't know how you do it, but somehow you manage to simultaneously make me feel better and give me the sudden and uncontrollable urge to vomit.
If chalk could go sour, I'm pretty sure it would taste just like you.
I hate you, Theraflu.
Don't ever leave me.
You are a wily temptress; a sneaky minx; a dirty rhymes-with-witch.
You wrangled me in with your citrusy aroma, only to burn my tongue and, subsequently, other parts of me as I spilled you everywhere in a fit of confusion and horror.
I don't know how you do it, but somehow you manage to simultaneously make me feel better and give me the sudden and uncontrollable urge to vomit.
If chalk could go sour, I'm pretty sure it would taste just like you.
I hate you, Theraflu.
Don't ever leave me.
Friday, March 4, 2011
There's A Howrey!
Obviously this post is about my older sister. The reasons are threefold (or "c-fold" since my OCD won't allow me to have two separate numbered lists in one blog post.)
a) I like her a lot.
b) Due to circumstances beyond her control, she will not be visiting this weekend as planned, and that sucks.
c) Her birthday fell on President's Day this year - and you all know how seriously I take President's Day - so somehow, she did not get a birthday post.
So without further ado, here's Theresa's birthday slash hope-this-makes-up-for-that-stupid-girl-who-messed-up-your-work-and-made-you-miss-your-vacation list of ten.
1. She's prettyyyyyyy. See? (Anybody else think she looks a little bit like Topanga? Anyone?)
2. She's a lover, not a fighter. She is one of the most generous people I know - and I know a lot of people. She sponsors like thirty World Vision kids (okay maybe not thirty...but at least three) and they're always sending her pictures of the goat they were able to buy or the new roof they put on their house thanks to her donations. She also loves animals...even when they're disgusting stray cats who are mean and ugly and named MacGyver. What can I say? She has a big heart. Really, really big. Like big enough to clean up cat puke. Which leads me to my next point.
3. She has the cutest dog EVER. Her name is Darcy and Theresa rescued her a couple weeks ago. I haven't met her yet but look how cuuuuute! And from everything I hear she's also a sweetie pie. When Theresa went to the SPCA, all the dogs in the place were barking it up except for sweet little Darcy, who was just sitting there patiently waiting to be loved. And now she is!
4. She's a bit of a smarty pants. Apparently it wasn't enough for her to be the only one of us who finished college. Nooo, she had to go even farther and get a master's in accounting and become a CPA. I'm not even jealous, 'cause that just means when I'm old and withered and poor and Gary's gone (killed in a fiery helicopter crash while heroically saving a baby), I'll go live in her giant house and she can support me.
5. She's a tough guy. (I know it seems like I'm contradicting number two* here...but you'll recover.) Back when she was in high school and I was just a nerdy middle school kid, I was perpetually in awe of her terrible power and badassness. She listened to Pantera and Rage Against the Machine and she had a wicked scar on the back of her hand that she got from a knife fight.** She scared the crap out of me and I wanted to be just like her, which is why I repeatedly borrowed her clothes without asking and then blamed it on Sarah since she was Theresa's favorite and therefore less likely to be killed.
6. She is the dancing queen. Normally, she's pretty reserved, but get a couple adult beverages in her and she is a boogie MACHINE.
7. Her name is cool. One time when we were younger, she gave Greg a book for Christmas or some other gift-giving holiday and she said, "If you look at the top, you'll always remember who gave it to you." That was the day my brain exploded because it couldn't process how cool my sister was.
8. She laughs at everything I say. This has nothing to do with why I love her so much, but it certainly doesn't hurt.
9. She could probably beat you up. She won't, 'cause like I said she's not a fighter...I'm just saying she could 'cause she's a workout machine.***
10. I LOVE HER. She's the best big sister ever! I still look up to her just like I always have, except now we're friends so I'm not so scared.
*Hehe. Number two.
**Either that or she poured boiling water on it. I'm pretty sure it was the knife fight though.
a) I like her a lot.
b) Due to circumstances beyond her control, she will not be visiting this weekend as planned, and that sucks.
c) Her birthday fell on President's Day this year - and you all know how seriously I take President's Day - so somehow, she did not get a birthday post.
So without further ado, here's Theresa's birthday slash hope-this-makes-up-for-that-stupid-girl-who-messed-up-your-work-and-made-you-miss-your-vacation list of ten.
1. She's prettyyyyyyy. See? (Anybody else think she looks a little bit like Topanga? Anyone?)
3. She has the cutest dog EVER. Her name is Darcy and Theresa rescued her a couple weeks ago. I haven't met her yet but look how cuuuuute! And from everything I hear she's also a sweetie pie. When Theresa went to the SPCA, all the dogs in the place were barking it up except for sweet little Darcy, who was just sitting there patiently waiting to be loved. And now she is!
4. She's a bit of a smarty pants. Apparently it wasn't enough for her to be the only one of us who finished college. Nooo, she had to go even farther and get a master's in accounting and become a CPA. I'm not even jealous, 'cause that just means when I'm old and withered and poor and Gary's gone (killed in a fiery helicopter crash while heroically saving a baby), I'll go live in her giant house and she can support me.
5. She's a tough guy. (I know it seems like I'm contradicting number two* here...but you'll recover.) Back when she was in high school and I was just a nerdy middle school kid, I was perpetually in awe of her terrible power and badassness. She listened to Pantera and Rage Against the Machine and she had a wicked scar on the back of her hand that she got from a knife fight.** She scared the crap out of me and I wanted to be just like her, which is why I repeatedly borrowed her clothes without asking and then blamed it on Sarah since she was Theresa's favorite and therefore less likely to be killed.
6. She is the dancing queen. Normally, she's pretty reserved, but get a couple adult beverages in her and she is a boogie MACHINE.
7. Her name is cool. One time when we were younger, she gave Greg a book for Christmas or some other gift-giving holiday and she said, "If you look at the top, you'll always remember who gave it to you." That was the day my brain exploded because it couldn't process how cool my sister was.
And it gets cooler still! Her first name is actually Mary, and our cousin Anthony used to say, "Mary Theresa Howrey? No way, she's my cousin!" You can imagine my chubby little self wondering if I would ever be as cool as they were. (SPOILER ALERT: Fifteen years later and I'm still not.)
9. She could probably beat you up. She won't, 'cause like I said she's not a fighter...I'm just saying she could 'cause she's a workout machine.***
10. I LOVE HER. She's the best big sister ever! I still look up to her just like I always have, except now we're friends so I'm not so scared.
*Hehe. Number two.
**Either that or she poured boiling water on it. I'm pretty sure it was the knife fight though.
***Despite the fact that I've referred to her as a "machine" several times in this post, I just want to make it clear that she is not actually a dancing exercise robot.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
200th Blog Post!
Wow. You'd think I'd have something better to do, but you'd be wrong as usual.
To celebrate, I'm gonna blow your minds with a combination of Time Waster Thursday and CILKARAMO! (That stands for Children I'd Like to Kidnap And Raise As My Own for those of you who just realized it's cool to read my blog.)
THAT'S RIGHT! IT'S TWO-IN-ONE! WE'RE GOIN' ALL OUT!
***WARNING*** Women who are not pregnant or nursing should not watch these videos as they may cause an uncontrollable desire to conceive.
(Shout out to Whitney D for sending me this one)
Congratulations! You just wasted almost an entire half hour of your day and are now pregnant.
To celebrate, I'm gonna blow your minds with a combination of Time Waster Thursday and CILKARAMO! (That stands for Children I'd Like to Kidnap And Raise As My Own for those of you who just realized it's cool to read my blog.)
THAT'S RIGHT! IT'S TWO-IN-ONE! WE'RE GOIN' ALL OUT!
***WARNING*** Women who are not pregnant or nursing should not watch these videos as they may cause an uncontrollable desire to conceive.
(Shout out to Whitney D for sending me this one)
Congratulations! You just wasted almost an entire half hour of your day and are now pregnant.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
You're Not Cool Unless You Cry In Public
Which makes me SUPER COOL, 'cause I do it ALL THE TIME.
There's really nothing like crying in front of a stranger to make you wanna crawl into a hole and never come out. Wait, yes there is! Crying in front of NOT a stranger -- just somebody you see all the time and don't really know that well!
This is all hypothetical of course.
For example, let's say yesterday I hypothetically lost it in front of five or six coworkers...one of whom (the only man in the room) was made visibly uncomfortable and sought to cover it up by suddenly becoming very interested in the spot of carpet he was standing on. I really can't say I blame him. I can say that I'll be changing the time I go to lunch from now on so as to avoid bumping into him in the lunchroom.
Or maybe we could say, for argument's sake, that I cried in front of one of the ladies who works at my chiropractor's office the first day I met her. That was cool, because since I now have a standing weekly appointment, I get to look her in the face every Monday and wonder if she still thinks I'm a crazy person despite my efforts to act as normal as possible around her.
Here's a non-hypothetical: Samantha and Paul (my two officemates) are officially the coolest.* In the year and a half or so we've worked together, I'd say I've probably cried six or seven hundred times. At this point it doesn't even phase them anymore. They've actually developed an extremely effective plan of action: Paul looks at me with his head tilted to the side and gives me a verbal pat on the shoulder while Samantha provides the nonverbal autism hug. Works every time.
So I'm thinking of setting up a meeting including Sam, Paul, a certain accountant, and a certain chiropractic receptionist so that they can sit down and discuss the fact that I'm not actually a mental patient.
THE END
*Not because they cried in public.
There's really nothing like crying in front of a stranger to make you wanna crawl into a hole and never come out. Wait, yes there is! Crying in front of NOT a stranger -- just somebody you see all the time and don't really know that well!
This is all hypothetical of course.
For example, let's say yesterday I hypothetically lost it in front of five or six coworkers...one of whom (the only man in the room) was made visibly uncomfortable and sought to cover it up by suddenly becoming very interested in the spot of carpet he was standing on. I really can't say I blame him. I can say that I'll be changing the time I go to lunch from now on so as to avoid bumping into him in the lunchroom.
Or maybe we could say, for argument's sake, that I cried in front of one of the ladies who works at my chiropractor's office the first day I met her. That was cool, because since I now have a standing weekly appointment, I get to look her in the face every Monday and wonder if she still thinks I'm a crazy person despite my efforts to act as normal as possible around her.
Here's a non-hypothetical: Samantha and Paul (my two officemates) are officially the coolest.* In the year and a half or so we've worked together, I'd say I've probably cried six or seven hundred times. At this point it doesn't even phase them anymore. They've actually developed an extremely effective plan of action: Paul looks at me with his head tilted to the side and gives me a verbal pat on the shoulder while Samantha provides the nonverbal autism hug. Works every time.
So I'm thinking of setting up a meeting including Sam, Paul, a certain accountant, and a certain chiropractic receptionist so that they can sit down and discuss the fact that I'm not actually a mental patient.
THE END
*Not because they cried in public.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Ten Things I Love About You
No, not you. My mom! Because it's her birthday! Look how adorable she is!
1. Hold the Salt - I'm not even scared to tell you how old she is today (FIFTY-ONE) and you know why? Because I bet none of you would have guessed correctly by looking at her. She's fifty-one and she has NEVER dyed her hair. Bravo, mom. Bravo.
2. Gene-ius - If the way my mom looks is any indicator of my future, I guess I can expect to be cute forever. No grays, no wrinkles, great teeth, beautiful skin...I'm pretty sure I could go on forever. She's KIND of a cutie patootie (see above)
3. Sew Adorable - She makes cute stuff - quilts, purses, coasters, reversible aprons that I use every day of my life, etc. I'm in the process of trying to get her to cash in on this by selling her cute stuff on the internet so she can make a billion dollars and build a summer home in Colorado.
4. Nerd's the Word - She is real dang smart. (When I said "nerd", you thought I was gonna say something about how I grew up watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and was really confused when I got to kindergarten and no one else knew who Phil Collins was, but I'm NOT! Wait...)
5. This One Doesn't Have A Cutesie Title - But I thought I should mention she lets Gary call her Teenie Weenie, which I think is pretty awesome.
6. Hip to the Jive - She read all the Twilight books. She watches Glee. She knows Rupert Grint by name. In short, she is probably cooler than your mom. (Please don't tell your mom I said that.)
7. Mean Green - You've heard of a green thumb...I'm pretty sure my mom has an entire green arm, 'cause she can make stuff grow like nobody's business. I wish I had a picture of her backyard...it's like a little jungle oasis in the middle of Wylie, Texas. Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised to find out she could make a bald man sprout hair. (Speaking of which, mom, you should try this out on dad. JUST KIDDING DAD! You've got months before you go bald!)
8. Scrub-a-Dub-Dub - She wears scrubs to work every day and still manages to be ADORABLE. Have I mentioned that my mom is pretty? Well she is.
9. But Seriously, Folks - Even from 800 miles away, she's always there for me when I need her to tell me I'm not fat/help me suck less at cooking/listen to me cry about nothing.
10. I'm Her Favorite Child - Well if I wasn't before, I sure as hell am now.
MOM - You're the best mom/friend/person ever and I love you the most. I hope your birthday is amazing and I can't WAIT to see you this weekend!!!
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