oh hell no
Good Morning! It appears that if I am meant to publish an entry, it must happen prior to 7am in the morning!
Speaking of mornings, at 2:15am, I woke up in a CRAZY panic realizing that I didn’t publish any of the 45 pages of content I wrote yesterday. Seriously, who does that? Here I spent the majority of my day yesterday writing and editing content and I didn’t hit Publish? WHO DOES THAT?
I managed to fall back asleep for about an hour, and then decided that I wanted to review some reports that a client sent me. Sweet.
I fell back asleep for another 30 minutes and decided that I needed to check email. Bad, terrible, no good idea. Whatsoever.
The moral of this story? Once you start working in the middle of the night, you are screwed. And not in the good way.
This is what today means, in between having an appointment that requires me to drive, two different people working on my house, and a volunteer thing later this afternoon, I am most certainly going to require a nap. If no nap is taken, I apologize in advance for what shall come out of my mouth. Btw- this is a pretty cool breakdown of naps. I’m down with the 60 minute nap, but will happily squeeze in a 10 minute disco nap if I can.
Now that I’ve dumped that random content, I’d like to share a few tidbits that are floating around my head:
1.) I am stupidly jealous of my BFF as she and her husband head to Michigan today. I hate that I’ve not been home in a year, with no date to travel in sight. I need to make this happen before October. This is my Michigan Mission.
2.) I laugh at my big fat yellow dog- This morning, as I sit here typing away, I see him laying on my robe with a toy and a towel under his head. He lives comfortably.
3.) I need to invest in a Thunder Shirt for Black Dog. She lost her fool mind yesterday (and the day before that) with the storms.
4.) Speaking of storms- Really? Haven’t we had enough?
5.) Have I mentioned that I’d like to go home?
6.) It is one week away from ‘Merica Day. Aka, I MAKE THE HOUSE ALL STAR SPANGLED SPARKLY. There will be music. There will be thematic food. Even if it’s just for me. Perhaps I might invite one or two people over. Then again, maybe I’ll just sing “coming to ‘merica and eat my Fancy Pants Independence Day Dessert all by myself.”
Life has exponentially improved over here on Lavender Lane lately. I’ve got a wee project that I can’t wait to talk about. No, correction, I yearn to talk about, but need to hold off a bit before I run my mouth. My garden is thriving, I’m laughing a lot and I look forward to each day. I laugh at the overly dramatical, and shake my head at the truly un-understandable.
Next blog post? The Curse of The Fantasy Football Team.
This particular post has been brewing for about a week now, and in the spirit of full disclosure, my dad, who happily doesn’t read this blog would be exceptionally annoyed if he saw the content. That being said, I’m going to continue with this work of literary greatness, and suffer the paternal consequences if he finds out. (Nanny and BT- HUSH).
Last week, I made the annual pilgrimage to purchase a strapless bra. Oh, how I hate to buy a strapless bra. When your chest area is over a 36 C, the strapless bra is absolutely the worlds biggest pain in the ass. They are, for the most part, ill fitting, uncomfortable, and insanely expensive. I hate, hate, hate buying them, but sadly, fashion dictates that i don’t have bra straps exposed. Correction, there seems to be a trend out there that allows women to show off bra straps (Carrie Bradshaw, I’m looking at you), but when your “Girls” are more than a handful, it just looks lazy and ill planned.
Back to my story. I hate strapless bras. Hate them with a red hot passion. In fact, I’ve written a similar diatribe HERE . My point is, strapless bras are uncomfortable but serve a purpose. I tried on about 14 different variations, argued with the sales girl about the size of my chest, and settled on the one that sucked the least. I was hot, crabby and not at all happy about the fact that I just spent $90 on something that I would be bitter to wear.
ANYWAYS… I started thinking about my chest. I was an “early bloomer” so they say. When most of my friends were able to wear cute bathing suits in 6th Grade, my life changed. I could no longer wear the simple unlined one piece. Things were happening, and by God, my parents were going to cover that stuff up. Gone were the days of wearing simple tanks and bathing suits, and welcome to the world of forced upon modesty. I had boobs before any other single female. I was not happy with this. They were annoying, in the way, and caused grief. When I headed into High School, my parents took to enforcing a dress code that could be similarly alligned with that of the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints. Long baggy jumpers and turtle necks. All to hide the gifts that just kept on giving. I kid you not, I wore the baggiest clothes in the world, about 2 sizes too big just to avoid having anyone know that I had boobs. In retrospect, I didn’t really see what my mom was doing. I just went along with it. When I finally got to college, happily, I met a friend who looked at me, said “your clothes suck and you need a good bra.” We went to Victoria Secret and I bought a v-neck shirt. For the first time in my life, I actually revealed that I had a figure. People, I’m not kidding- I hid that stuff like Osama hid in a cave.
Genetics are a pain. All of the women on my moms side of the family are blessed with perfectly normal chest sizes. All of my maternal grandmothers sisters were 36 C. Yes, all 6 of them had perfect sized chests. On my dads side however, things changed. Oh man, were those women dealt a crappy hand in the card game of boobs. Short women, big ole chests. Pendulous if you will. There is not a flat chest among us. Button down shirts were purchased two sizes two big if you wanted to get them to close. V-Neck shirts were a no-no. Horribly ugly bras with 4 inch wide straps. It was a whole lotta cleavage.
Back to last week. I was exceptionally bitter and aggravated about the purchase of barely fitting strapless bra, and I called my mom to bitch. My dad answered the phone, and I said “Dad, I have a bone to pick with you.” Now, if you know my dad, he is as easy going as the day is long, and rarely reacts to anything that comes out of my mouth. He paused for a moment, and said “what did I do now?”
To which I responded “MY BIG BOOBS ARE YOUR FAULT.”
Through the phone I could hear him laugh and choke on his coffee.
He quietly asked “and how is this my fault?”
My response “your stupid genetics and your mom gave me big boobs.”
“You are right, life’s a bitch isn’t it?”
Oh the parental support I continue to receive after all of these years.
But really, when I finally suck it up and get my reduction, I should bill it back to Nedra, Norma and the gaggle of women that blessed me with these overflowing cups.
What I should be doing right now:
Instead, what I look like this morning:
I ABSOLUTELY caught up on sleep yesterday. No, I got an over abundance of sleep yesterday. It was AMAZING. All caps worthy. However, after taking a two hour nap n the middle of the day, and locked down for sleep before 10, I find that I’m pretty close to being up before the Farmers are up this morning. My goal was the gym and/or yoga class. The reality is that I might do about 10 poses, and then I will be on my way for the day.
It’s not my fault that my butt isn’t at the gym. I woke up this morning humming “All I Need” by Jack Wagner. Yes, you remember that song. Don’t pretend that you don’t. On a most excellent mini road trip last week, my friend Caren made a most epic play list including over 1000 of our favorite songs. Good thing that we were on the road for a big ole 3.5 hours total ANYWAYS….. My point is, this song came on, and it’s been stuck in my head since Friday morning. I wish you could see the dance that I choreographed for this music. My 2rd grade choreography skills were especially awesome.
Yep. 1984. Magical. Soak it in. Are you good? Let’s get back to this entry shall we?
Seriously though, I can’t stop watching this damn video. His hair. His clothes. SO FREAKING RIDIC.
Back to the point of this post- I have a busy today today. I have what is cooking up to be a good busy week. My Tigers are in town, I have work this week. As God is my witness I will actually GO TO YOGA this week. I will find a balance of wine and water. Or margarita versus water.
I will be sweet.
I will be less snarky.
I will battle the mosquitos.
I will be Mary Kathryn Gallagher awesome.
So, make this Monday brilliant why don’t you?
Tomorrows post? Why I blame my dad for my big boobs.
Despite the fact that yesterday was the first day of Summer, it sure as heck doesn’t feel like summer here in Texas. The weather has been gorgeous. We’ve not yet hit 100 (praise Nordstrom), and my flowers are still alive.
This morning, I woke up late (for me). 7:15am, I woke up before the dogs. Seriously, that is a very big thing. Normally Dog 1 and Dog 2 wake me up before God wakes up and demands their morning feed. Instead, they were both zonked out to the sound of rain.
As my Martha would say “that’s a good thing.”
So, here I sit. Listening to an exceptionally cheesy station on Pandora (70’s inspired), blogging and looking out my front door. Things are just green and happy.
I have a list of crap I need to do today- organize the office, finish up laundry, freshen up the bathroom, blah blah blah. What I want to do is hunker down with a stack of books and just enjoy the day. If this is the hardest decision I need to make, then I’m doing all right.
There is a wee part of me that wants to head to the kitchen and bake something. Anything. Perhaps a loaf of bread, or a fruit tart of some kind. Maybe I will. Part of me also wants to swing to the Dallas Farmers Market and buy a box of something to can. I’d like to do tomatoes, pickles, peaches and strawberry jam this summer. Maybe I will, or maybe I’ll just lay around doing nada. Either way, it’s a good day.
Side note, my water hating labradors are boycotting going outside. I’m almost ok with that, because Fat Bastard Gus, just bathed yesterday, has a HORRIBLE habit of finding the nastiest mud puddle and goes swimming. Weezie, on the other hand, hates rain, thunder, wind, well, anything out of her normal. I’m probably going to have to leash her up soon and force the issue.
It’s odd- I haven’t really done anything in the kitchen lately. I’ve been eating out a fair amount, or just picking around food I already have. I feel a summer feast brewing. I want to grill delicious meats. Have a heaving table filled with summer salads and sides. Stock the buffet with pitchers of sangria and other yummy summer beverages. Make a plethora of pies. Ummm…pies.
(Perhaps I need to eat breakfast, maybe that will satiate my need for pie.) Screw that, I love, love, love pie.
I feel like this post should have been meatier, deeper, more bloggity blog. Instead, I’m going to transfer my mood to type and leave it that.
How are you spending your Sunday?
Whine whine whine.
As per usual, I’m incapable of keeping to my content plan for this weeks blog. I was supposed to write about weapons of mass destruction (wmd, aka strapless bras), dogs that scare the bejeezus out of me, and why life doesn’t suck.
Instead of writing about my life this week, I chose to live it.
Simply put, life is good. I could wax poetic, be slightly snarky, but I just am content. Sure I could be a little thinner, my bank account a bit more robust, but really- all is well. I got to spend time with two of my favorite people this week- my Anne came down from Bismarck and we snuck in some much needed friend time, and at this very moment, I’m typing this from a hotel room on an indian reservation in Oklahoma. Sure, I’m working in between all of the fun, but life is good.