Bells Will Be Ringing Monday, October 31, 2005

Money's tight right now, like it is for a lot of people. Each year, I plan out my holiday gift-giving very carefully, ahead of time, so that I can get what I want for each person on my list. NOTHING is more exciting than giving people presents, at least not for me. I think at length about what to get each person -- sometimes it's perfect for them, and sometimes it's a total bust. But it's so much fun to plan out!

I usually have my master plan (and saving) done in November, and I do all my purchasing in the first week of December before the stores get too crazy. That gives me 3 whole weeks to enjoy the look of all the presents under my tree. This year, there might be a lot of envelopes with bows on them -- I'm finding all sorts of wonderful charities to which I can make dedicated gift donations.

My family and friends are so lucky to have what they need on a daily basis -- food, water, shelter, and their health. They don't really need anything.

When considering your holiday gift giving, how about giving your loved ones a feeling of having traded something material for something significant -- instead, letting them know that their gift is actually for someone else. It could be money for research, blankets, or even a water buffalo. I promise you that it will be a memorable holiday for you, and for so many others.

Irritated

You know what I find ironic? People come to my site often (as in, multiple times a day) via another site, and will occasionally leave me a negative comment or two. Out of total annoyance, I'm not going to post the site because that would only give undue attention to this person/these people. Yes, I'm talking to YOU, "Anonymous" from Ashburn, VA and Chicago, IL.

Instead, I'm going to make a disclaimer.

I am a woman who isn't always the smartest in the room, but I can hold my own and I'm okay with that. I like talking, and writing, about things that others might find inane, pointless, vapid, whatever you want to call it. I think that negative comments marked with "anonymous" are passive-aggressive and I will delete them. Not because my feelings are hurt, but because it's my blog and I can do whatever I DAMN WELL PLEASE.

The aforementioned comments aren't useful, they aren't intelligently written, and they are meanspirited in every way. Each one is usually a direct attack on my personality, my intelligence, and my behavior. Why anyone who doesn't know me would get some sort of cheap thrill by insulting my way of life is completely beyond me. While all of my readers are entitled to their own opinions, I reserve the right to pull their a**hole input off the site.

If you don't like what I write, how I express myself, or what I do in my daily life, then don't read this blog. You probably won't ever find a post on this blog regarding any of the following: the government, religion, indie rock and/or filmmaking, the outsourcing of technology to overseas markets, the real estate boom, stocks & bonds, the meteoric rise of Richard Branson, or selling out to "The Man." If you're looking for an adult perspective on the issues of our times, YA AIN'T GONNA FIND IT.

I don't listen to Interpol or The Smiths, I don't read Chuck Palahniuk or Ayn Rand, and as a fan of Britney Spears, I still managed to graduate college and get a full-time job. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! If you don't like it, you can leave. And on your way out, step around your enormous ego, get over your pompous self and stop leaving negative comments.

Please and thank you.

Note to Self Friday, October 28, 2005

Dear Jamie,

If you want to wake up NOT looking like you've been beaten about the face by a gang of thugs, do not watch an entire premenstrual evening's worth of "The Knot: Real Life Weddings" on your OnDemand Cable.

Sincerely yours,
Jamie

By way of KateT, who is NOT a nerd Thursday, October 27, 2005

My results were: "Not nerdy, but definitely not hip." I don't know if that's a good thing, or a bad thing. What is YOUR result?

Whatever Happened To...

Mundane as it may sound, my morning commute is where I do the lion's share of my daily thinking. Here is a typical thought progression...

Wow, I can't believe the Sox actually did it.
I can't believe I stayed up as late as I did these past two nights to watch the games.
I'm really tired.
I can't believe Halloween is this weekend.
I'm so sad that no one is having a halloween party where I can debut my Tammy Faye Baker costume.
One of these years, I'm going to actually dress up as something scary.
Wait...Tammy Faye is pretty scary in her own right.
What a glum Halloween this will be.
I can't believe Sean threatened to dress up as a clown, he knows I'm scared of clowns.
I should watch a scary movie this weekend.
That might give me nightmares, like Poltergeist 3 did when I was 11.
I should have never watched that when I was home alone.
What was that guy's name again?
Robert Englund, I think. Whatever became of him?
Wow, I can't believe I remembered his name. That's odd.
Speaking of odd, whatever happened to Ron Perlman from Beauty & The Beast on TV?
Katie will make fun of me for remembering his name.
Ooh - remember to email Katie and Barbara about tonight...

And it goes on and on like that for about 30-35 minutes. Too bad I'm not schizophrenic -- then one of my personalities could tell my other ones to shut up and just listen to the radio.

Calmer...sort of

Thanks to DaveM and Parisjasmal for the sound advice. I appreciate it.

After a conversation with Sean, who is (among other things) FAR less melodramatic than I am, I have decided to pull my last blog entry. Should the 0.000001% chance that Mr. Old School see that entry, it's really not worth losing my job over. Additionally, if someone were to think that of me and write a blog entry instead of approaching me about it, I would be hurt and embarassed.

I'm working on finding a diplomatic way of approaching the issue with this person, so wish me luck. Let's hope it's all just a big misunderstanding.

What to do...what to do... Wednesday, October 26, 2005

I am in a quandry. I have the opportunity to take on a part-time job that might lead to significant additional income, in an industry where I have the most experience and expertise. Unfortunately, it involves working on Saturdays (no exceptions). No one can sub for me - it has to be me there, working. On Saturday. Every saturday.

What would you do?

Necessary Self-Disclosure Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Confession: I already have all my holiday cards written and addressed. I am one of those people.

If you feel the urge to delete me from your blogroll for this reason, I will completely understand.

Baby Boy

I took a day off yesterday to meet my new nephew, Grant. Here are a few of my favorite images (out of the eleventy gajillion that I took)...click to enlarge.

I am always surprised at how tiny babies are. In a temporary fit of CSI-fueled ridiculousness, I took a photo of Grant next to a dollar bill, you know, for scale and perspective.

Brianna seemed to be adjusting very well to the addition of the baby, although it's only been 4 days or so...

I know it's completely crass, but I can't help thinking that I've managed to document the very first instance of Grant trying to blame "that smell" on someone else. He's even pointing. Clearly, he's a genius and is frustrated at our lack of sophisticated infant communication ability.

G is a snuggler, and likes to be right up under a warm chin. He just sort of installs himself there. It's adorable.

His big sister was so incredibly adorable from the very beginning, that I was a bit worried that Grant might not be able to live up to the cute-level that has been established. I don't think I need to worry about that anymore.

Self Portrait Friday : Achy Friday, October 21, 2005

The thing about working an event, whether it's for charity or for work, is that it can be surprisingly grueling. Up and down from a chair, off and on (usually on) your feet, putting on a happy face for the clients, grabbing what food you can (when you can), and it goes on like that day after day.

I only went to the bathroom once yesterday. I just forgot - shows are distracting like that. I just realized, five minutes ago, that today is Friday. It's like being in another world.

On the upside, I am getting a lot of reading done on my new book, A Breath of Snow & Ashes by Diana Gabaldon. And I've only been yelled at by a client twice today - that's a record low these days.

Mazel Tov! Congratulations! Huzzah! Thursday, October 20, 2005

Huge news, folks. After holding back a couple days in an effort not to spoil the news, I must burst open and tell you all that my good friend Heather and her boyfriend Scott have gotten engaged!

Congrats, you crazy kids!

Wow.

Things are a little slow here in the showroom, so I decided to finish up a book that has been puzzling me recently. I've been reading What Remains by Carole Radziwill.


An award-winning journalist in her own right, Carole is the widow of Polish prince Anthony Radziwill - Anthony was the cousin of John F. and Caroline Kennedy. If you don't know who those two are, then I can't help you.

The book is a memoir of the last years of her husband's life (he battled several cancers), and the tragedy of the plane crash that took the lives of John, his wife Carolyn, and her sister Lauren. I know that people regard the Kennedys as an ill-fated family - American royalty. I know almost nothing about that part of our history...I have never been interested in the cultural phenomenon that is the Kennedys. I consider myself a clean slate when it comes to pre-conceived notions about the Kennedy family.

As the book came to a close, I found myself fighting back tears. You know, the way one does when their social context/environment demands that they NOT burst into tears - the painful, blocked throat, watery eyes, and the burning lungs. It is truly an amazing book, not solely for its literary and historical value, but because it tells the story of one woman's courageous fight against the tragedy and helplessness of her life.

I highly encourage you to get a copy and read it. It's like a paper copy of reality television - it takes a universal thing (death, in this case) and lets it loose in an elite world of power, money, and prestige.

Once you pop, you can't stop

It's true, you know. This is the only time during the entire year that I think to eat Pringles - we keep them in the showroom along with other various lunchtime sundries and foods. I have already been through a entire can. Today. It's 11:46am.

I think I can feel my butt getting bigger. Oh, but those damn chips are tasty.

Homebody

Dear Apartment,

I miss you. I want to lie down on your overstuffed (and sometimes a little hairy) green couch, and watch hours of unnecessary CSI re-runs on SpikeTV. I want to light your Citrus-Cilantro and Butter-Vanilla candles. I wouldn't even mind washing dirty dishes if it meant coming home.

Will you ever forgive me for not sweeping often enough, and for marking up the dining room wall while crookedly carrying my unassembled bed frame? I feel like I'm cheating on you by staying here, in another state, in another house. This house is old, musty, and full of other's people's medicine cabinet contents -- not my familiar Kroger dental floss, leave-in conditioner spray, 7-day scrub, and Shiseido purifying face mask.

I don't care if your bathroom window no longer opens, and that the hallway outside my door is sort of smelly and needs re-carpeting. I miss you, apartment. Hope to see you soon.

Love always,
Jamie

Uh Oh... Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Someone found my site recently by searching for the following phrase in their internet search engine:

fun things to do in highpoint nc

Furniture Capital of the World

Southern women. Does anyone understand them? If they are as strong as they claim to be, historically and presently, then WHY IN GOD'S NAME do they need assistance at baggage claim? Does all the jewelry, piled on top of a velour tracksuit, with the makeup and the big hair - does it hamper their ability to pull their own damn bag off of the carousel?

I cannot express to you how many Southern women I saw last night, upon my arrival, just point at their bags so that some poor soul with a dolly could run and fetch them. One woman actually fell over trying to get out of the way of her luggage-man and ended up with a big jamie suitcase handle in her butt. She said nothing about the ass-violation, but did utter a soft "My word..." as she crumpled to the ground. I just got the hell out of the way. I will be taking my suitcase to therapy immediately when we get back to Chicago.

These women had better be good tippers, that's all I'm saying.

Announcing... Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Please welcome my new nephew!

Grant William O------
Born 10/18/05, 7:33 am CST
6 lbs. 11 oz.
Perfectly healthy - dark hair! (I knew it!)

Picture to come soon...

Gah - my ears! Monday, October 17, 2005

In sad news, I have been worried recently that I'm losing my high-frequency hearing. For instance, when I'm washing the dishes, I can't distinguish/articulate any sounds other than the water. Or when I'm driving with the windows rolled down, I find it difficult to hear the radio. As soon as I get back from hell...er, I mean, Highpoint, I'm going to have my hearing tested.

In sadder news, have you heard that GODAWFUL song from the Black Eyed Peas - the one with the humps, and lumps?! It came on the radio this morning and I wanted to kill myself.

Seriously. I don't pretend to be educated about quality music - I have been the proud owner of some pretty bad albums in the past [read: Howard Jones' Greatest Hits]. This song is a ugly, disgusting pimple on the butt of hip-hop.

Sunday, bloody Sunday Sunday, October 16, 2005

Roses are red, violets are blue.
I'm dreading this week, and the following weekend too.

Here I sit in the free-wi-fi-heaven of Cafe Avanti, pondering what I can do in the next 24 hours to bolster my sense of humor for the week ahead. What is it about Sundays? Mine never feel quite right because either (a) Sean is leaving the next day to fly off somewhere for work, or (b) the week seems to loom precariously in my immediate future, bringing all of its stress and craziness. Sundays, to me, are the black sheep of the Weekend family - the child that just doesn't fit in.

I try my best not to talk about work on this blog, because a select few of my coworkers read this blog (hi guys!), but I sort of have to around this time of year. In less than 48 hours, I will be sitting at O'Hare, killing time before a flight to Greensboro, NC/Piedmont Triad Airport. Hoo boy, don't it sound fun, ya'll?! In the furniture business, every manufacturer, retailer, designer, and their associates flock to Highpoint, NC, for the semi-annual furniture convention. As the lone customer service wolf for a local manufacturer, I serve as an office representative onsite in NC for most of the show along with our owner and other employees.

It's a chance for me to see/meet the clients I spend my days speaking to, and to attempt to talk them down from whatever ledge it is that they've placed themselves on THIS TIME. It's also an opportunity for me to be yelled at and blamed for things that are entirely out of my control. It's like a tropical vacation every 6 months, complete with sore feet, snobby interior designers, angry people, and lots of barbeque.

Looking forward to it, as always.

P.S. Isn't it sort of cliche to be playing The Cranberries at a coffee shop? SOMEBODY MAKE IT STOP.

Self Portrait Friday: Delurking Friday, October 14, 2005

I hereby proclaim today to be Self-Portrait Friday in the form of delurking.

I know that I have readers all over the globe - England, Scandinavia, the Philippines, Japan, Slovenia, America, Canada, Spain, Germany (hi, Paige!), and even Brazil. While I appreciate the international traffic (even if it's a result of some weird browser search for "lindsay lohan feet" or "linda evans wig" - eew), it is a bit disconcerting that I don't know ANY of these people, even in a semi-anonymous internet way.

So, today, I command all lurking readers to reveal themselves by way of a quick post below. Don't fret - Haloscan requires no registration, you won't have to sell your soul to make me happy! (Although I know some people who would fervently contradict that statement - ha)

I particularly want to hear from whomever is from the following locations - I see your geographical location on my site-tracker all the time...

- Medinah, IL
- Maple Ridge District Municipality, Canada
- Lake in the Hills, IL
- San Jose, CA
- Dallas, PA
- Dekalb, IL

Who are you, and what are you all about? Everybody say hello!

Oh. My. God. Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Am I the only one who finds this creepy as hell?! It's supposed to involuntarily stimulate your facial muscles, thereby reducing fine lines and wrinkles. Now we know why Jason really went nuts and killed all those people - he was just trying to smooth out his features. A little botox could have saved so many innocent, young lives.


Crikey.

BoosedaMAHNkee!

While I am currently unmarried and childless, I do have a niece and 7/8 of a nephew to think about. I must remain updated on all trendy childrens toys, shows, clothing, etc. lest I become the outdated, stupid aunt that isn't any fun. I fully plan on being the aunt that plies her little ones with sugary sodas, too much television, and plenty of naked time. YOU WANT TO PET THE TIGER AT THE ZOO, OKAY THEN...PLENTY OF PEOPLE LIVE FULL LIVES WITH ONLY ONE HAND. LET'S DO IT!



That kind of aunt. Sort of.

I have to make a confession right here and now - I don't understand Dora The Explorer. I should know more about this...more than half of the blogs I read are written by young mothers. Can somebody explain to me the appeal of this show?

My niece, Brianna, is currently obsessed with Dora's sidekick Boots. Based on my limited knowledge of the show, I gather that Boots is not a human, but rather a monkey. Since her verbal skills have been rapidly developing, she now refers to him as "BoosedaMAHNkee" - translated to be "Boot the Monkey." Is this obsession normal?




That's Bathtime Boots in the photo, being clutched by little 2 y.o. sausage fingers. God forbid we not hold Boots at all times.

Laughing my Ass Off Tuesday, October 11, 2005

I know it's terribly judgmental and meanspirited, but this is quite possibly the funniest thing I have read in a really, really long time.

Won't you be my...

Dear new neighbor,

It was so nice to meet you last night at MIDNIGHT and to be ambushed into a 20-minute conversation. I think it's just HILARIOUS that we both have small, black dogs. I'm sorry that yours is a hyper, yappy, super-annoying Pomeranian that is desperately in need of professional grooming. I thought it was a little weird when you started asking me what my apartment looked like, but I figured someone who has a purse dog and was dripping in Tiffany's chain link jewelry wouldn't attack/rape/murder me in my home. I don't care if you see my sink full of dirty dishes. Oh, and thanks so much for that look of pity when you asked me where I was from and made it clear that I grew up in a non-cool suburb. Obviously I should have lied.

Then you invited me to see how different YOUR apartment was compared to mine. I went along with it, to be polite, until I realized that you are a breed of slob that has previously been unknown to modern science. I can overlook the fact that you just moved in, but I cannot overlook your dog's shit ALL OVER THE FLOOR EVERYWHERE and 5 (!) cups of open yogurt on your bedside table. No, I don't want to know what that's all about. It's your apartment, do with it what you will.

In an answer to your question, no, I don't think you should bug our landlord about repainting your apartment. If you'd ever cleaned a wall, you'd know that those marks on your kitchen door frame would easily come off with a little scrubbing. Water + Rag + Soap = Clean. Memorize this ASAP. You scare me a little, in a very non-threatening way that makes me want to avoid you at all times. Please don't ever come over to borrow a cup of sugar. I don't have any.

Have a nice day.
Sincerely, Jamie

P.S. I have to slam the back door to get it to shut properly. Sorry 'bout that.

P.P.S. Yes, I CAN hear your dog barking all the damn time. But I lied and said "no, of course not" because I feel guilty that my dog barks occasionally as well.

(insert clever title involving the word "Run") Monday, October 10, 2005

I'm not feeling terribly clever today, so this is a self-titled entry. As in, you can title it YO DAMN SELF.

Yesterday marked the annual running of the LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon (see? I'm even too lazy to link to the race site - it's been that kind of day). This marathon is God's way of reminding me how truly lazy I am. Despite that, there's something very cool about the event - I live in a building that is directly on the race route, so I got an amazing view.


I took a few minutes to stand on the curb and cheer on the runners. I generally attempt to avoid anything that involves running - I find it boring, painful, and I REALLY DON'T UNDERSTAND how it can be any of the things avid runners claim it to be, such as relaxing, fun, or addictive. Crystal Meth is addictive, running is insanity. Who in their right mind trains 6 days a week, endures blisters, cramps, and fatigue just to mimic a historical event that killed its first participant?! THAT'S A HINT, FOLKS.


Putting my prejudices aside for awhile was refreshing, and I have to admit that spectating was fun. It's like the ultimate people watching -- brave people running in costume, old people, young people, disabled folk in wheelchairs, and even blind people (yes! Cool, huh?). I love how some of the runners put their names on their clothing, so that people can cheer for them by name.


One girl was even talking on her cell phone to a friend, trying to approximate her location. After 8 miles, I wouldn't be breathing let alone chatting on my phone.


More power to 'em, but I still think they're all bonkers.

Confessions of a part-time airhead

I am perplexed by shoes in the road. Have you ever driven somewhere and seen a lone shoe, or rarer still, a pair of shoes just lying in the road?

How do they get there, and why hasn't the owner come back for their shoes? Don't they notice that they're walking about town in socks, or worse, barefoot?

Hallo-wienie Friday, October 07, 2005

I have made a decision NOT to dress my dog up for Halloween.

Apparently my sister has decided that her toddler will be a cowgirl, and her newborn will be a cow. Keep your eyes peeled for the inevitable, ridiculously cute pictures.

I, on the other hand, am getting more and more psyched about my Tammy Faye outfit. Both the silk pantsuit (complete with Linda Evans-quality shoulderpads) and the 80's pre-styled wig arrived this week, giving me ample time to accumulate some spray-on tanner, bright pink lipliner, and multiple pairs of fake eyelashes.

If you're lucky, I'll post photos on the site. If I just end up looking like an extra from the cast of Dallas, then you're out of luck. Do blondes really have more fun?

What are YOU going to dress up as for Halloween?

Everytime I Hear that Song, I Go Back Thursday, October 06, 2005

After more than a year of copying other people's blog-memes, I've decided to create my own. It centers on musical memory, i.e. the songs that one associates with certain, significant times in their life, and serve as audio cues to memories of those particular occasions. This list is really going to date me, but oh well.

Jamie's Musical Memory List

Family road trips as a child:
Mountain Music by Alabama
Close to You by The Carpenters

The apartment we lived in during the summer of 1986:
All at Once by Whitney Houston
Wake me Up Before you Go-Go by Wham

My grandmother playing piano:
Mood Indigo by Duke Ellington

My favorite dance recital routine EVER:
Heart of Rock-n-Roll by Huey Lewis & The News

Elementary School:
Cover Girl by New Kids On The Block

Junior High:
Galileo by Indigo Girls
It's A Sin by The Pet Shop Boys
Walking in My Shoes by Depeche Mode
Too Legit to Quit by MC Hammer

Trip to Europe w/aunt, sister, and cousin in '93:
One Love by Bob Marley
Fields of Gold by Sting

The girl with the locker next to mine who sprayed Drakkar Noir constantly:
Crush on You by The Jets

High School:
Jurassic Park Score/Theme [composed] by John Williams
Friends are Friend Forever by Michael W. Smith
Sabotage by Beastie Boys
Good by Better Than Ezra
anything off of Queen's Greatest Hits albums (still an all-time favorite)

Driving away from my high school graduation ceremony:
Chain Gang by the Pretenders

My Youth Fellowship friends from my childhood:
Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden
Simple Things - a Quaker hymn

Time spent living as an exchange student in Germany:
Dr. Dick (don't ask- it was an odd translation)
Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond (I can't emphasize how much I hate this song)

Breaking Up with my high-school boyfriend:
Come Talk to Me by Peter Gabriel

College:
Oskee Wow Wow by the Marching Illini (I was in the band, cut me a break)
Throwing Stones by Paula Cole
It's Your Life by Lenny Kravitz

My bout in '97 with mono:
Let Me Clear my Throat by DJ Kool (oh, the irony)

Getting pulled over for speeding for the very first time:
Sweet Surrender by Sarah McLachlan

Breaking Up with my college boyfriend:
Gold to Me by Ben Harper

Driving In/Out of Nashville:
Lie to Me by Jonny Lang

My first job out of college:
Can't Get you Out of My Head by Kylie Minogue
Dance For Me by Mary J. Blige

Ouch! Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I went to pilates at my new gym last night. I'm not an expert or anything, but I've done my share of pilates in the past...I have no idea what we did last night, but it sure wasn't pilates. The instructor was clearly new to the discipline, and stumbled over herself attempting to describe the motions to our MASSIVE 3-person class.

I wish I could say that my sore abdominals are the most embarassing part of this whole experience (I'm rusty, people. Very rusty at this thing they call exercise) but, alas, there was something else.

During one section of developmental ab work, there is rolling involved - basically you hug your knees into your chest, open your knees (keeping your feet together) and grab onto the outside of your ankles. Pulling your feet slightly off the ground, you roll from your "sit" bones (aka tailbone, ass, booty) back onto your shoulder blades, then roll back to sitting.

I couldn't do it. Why, you ask? BECAUSE MY CHEST GOT IN THE WAY. MY CHEST. THE GIRLS. LAVERNE & SHIRLEY. MARY KATE & ASHLEY. MY CANS. THEY WERE TOO BIG.

The capitalization above is brough to you by the letters W, T, and F for WTF?!?!?! I actually had to ask (read: stammer quietly) the instructor for a modification that would allow me to complete the motion. The other women in my class actually LAUGHED OUT LOUD at me. It was mortifying.

I know it's a sign that I've gained weight (everywhere, apparently) when I can't accomplish a basic Pilates roll with my arms and hooters jammed up between my damn knees. Clearly, this is the first time I've EVER had this problem.

Of all the physical exercise goals I've set for myself, being able to comfortably rock back and forth on my ass was never one of them. Pathetic.

Installment #1 of "Jamie's Layperson Movie Reviews" Tuesday, October 04, 2005

I happened upon the movie Vanity Fair last night on HBO. I've been begging a certain SOMEONE to rent it with me and watch it, but HE has consistently refused to. Instead, I spent two hours of last night with 2.5 glasses of red wine, the dog, and my remote.


I'm still not sure what the hell happened in the movie. Has anyone read the book? Is it good? Was it confusing? No self-respecting movie-goer should be left with so many rudimentary questions at the conclusion of a film. At the heart of my ill-at-ease opinion of the whole thing is Reese Witherspoon's character, Becky Sharp. Was she really JUST a coldhearted social climber? I spent half the movie wondering if I should feel sorry for her instead of hate her, as the director clearly indicates should be happening.


Has anyone seen this movie and can shed some light on it? I found it only relatively entertaining, and sort of blah.

Weekend Wrap-Up Monday, October 03, 2005

So this weekend - it was a quick one. Went by so fast, I feel like it didn't even happen.

Friday was the celebration of Kate T's (aka Kahtay) birthday. She's an old lady. Oh wait...I'm older...never mind. We got to see her new apartment, which is a hint in bold, underlined typeface that there is SO MUCH MORE to be had if you move to the suburbs. She pays 2/3 of what I do for 3X the space, and her dining room floor doesn't roll towards the west. Prior to visiting Kate, I stopped into a Borders to kill time. $80 later, I left out of fear that I might agree to purchase the entire store. I'm lethal in a bookstore, folks. Lethal.

Saturday was sort of a blur - went to my parent's apartment downtown to celebrate my father's 60th birthday. Strange, because I've never seen my parents as anything other than 45 y.o. That's just the age that sticks in my mind, for some reason. My sister, brother-in-law, and niece were there...always fun to have the little ankle-biter around. I did heaps of laundry in their building's laundry room (so much cheaper than my own), and swam in the pool for a little until I realized the water was WAY TO F*$#ING COLD. Also got to see an old man in a speedo, sunning himself. Eeew.

Spent most of Sunday reading and watching the Talladega NASCAR event. My favorite driver, Matt Kenseth, almost won...Sean's favorite driver, Tony Stewart, drove like an aggressive ass (as usual) and ended up 2nd. My fascination with NASCAR grows by the week - unexpected and unusual but always very fun. Also did a ridiculous amount of dishes, hung curtains in my room, bought a new rug (which was promptly dirtied by my muddied dog), and put my 19 loads of laundry away.

All in all, a great weekend. Productive, too! Turns out I'm an adult, who knew?!

Feels Like Home to Me

What's a girl to do when her BF shows up for dinner, having recently consumed 4 Irish Car Bombs with his roommate?

Watch Napoleon Dynamite, of course, and drink red wine quickly in order to catch up. Then watch said BF rough-house with dog until one of them gets dizzy and has to stop.

It's entertaining! It's funny! It's a Sunday evening in the Jamie household, and I wouldn't have it any other way.