Archive for September, 2009


Makes me feel fine…

September 24, 2009
Don't shit on me, bird.

Don't shit on me, bird.

I’ve been on ‘stay-cation’ this week from work and you know what I’ve realized?  I’m miserable.  Somewhere in the last few years of becoming a wife – then mom – then mom again – and having a demanding full-time job, I’ve completely forgotten how to relax and just ‘be’.  Save yourselves the energy and skip sending me that email about how sad all of this is…I already know.

And — wrote myself an email:

Webie Gal,

You’ve let me down (once again).  Oh how I’ve looked up to you all this time.  I really thought you had it all together.  That you understood life and what was important.  That you knew the value in spending quality time with yourself and those you love.  I guess I was wrong.

When did you become this person?  How did it happen?  Don’t you even see it?  Everything that you are focusing all your energy on isn’t real.  Your family is.  You are.  Let’s be honest…nothing in life is guaranteed.  But, I can guarantee you that if you continue to live your life this way – you will end up losing everything that should be most important to you.  And once you do, it will be too late to get it back.  What does that leave you?  Miserable.

Please pull it together WG.  Take today to go out and smell some flowers.  Even if you end up getting stung by another psychotic-hell-bent-on-spreading-pain-and-fear bee, at least you’ll know that you’re out there — living life.

I’m pulling for you Kelsey (we all are),



Go find yourself a spin cycle…

September 21, 2009
Your damn right it is.

You're damn right it is.

The cosmos love me*.  They always have.  No matter what’s going on in my life, I’ve always felt their warm rays shining down upon me.  Yes my webie friends – I am blessed.

Today began my first day of what I’ve dubbed ‘stay-cation’ for the first time in years.  Seriously YEARS.  As most of you already know (since you read this blog as often as you pick up your copy of Twilight before drifting off to dream about boys young enough to land you in jail) I’m somewhat of a workaholic.  It’s really hard for me to let go and just be home with nothing work-related to do.  This makes me irritable and restless and looking for something to keep me striving – achieving – reaching higher. [queue Gloria Estefan music]

So, I do what any *normal* mental-person would do.  I clean.

While I was head first into a tub filled with a half-inch of water during an electrical storm this afternoon, I realized to myself – I just might fulfill that life-long dread of being nominated for a Darwin Award.  (Too bad for my kids that I’ve already given birth to them.  The genes live on even after the stupid dies.)  If I don’t win, I’ll be sure to grab the mic and let everyone know how awesome I thought this video was.  Seriously…you all know you couldn’t take your eyes off her legs.  It’s ok to admit it.

*This little gem arrived in my mailbox on my birthday last week.  Why would that solidify my belief in how much the cosmos love me, you ask?  Simple.  Anyone who has ever had the pleasure (or pain – sometimes they really are the same) of sitting near me in life has no doubt heard my schpeel about wanting a maid more than diamonds.  Having this arrive on my birthday was like a big-wet slap across my ever-more-brown-spotting face.  A reminder that I didn’t get any diamonds, and, I still don’t have a maid.


I’ll show you my flair…

September 19, 2009

The non-stop rain we’ve been living in down here in the south gives me the perfect excuse to be a little moody (I know, I know…like a need an excuse) so I’m taking the opportunity to remind everyone what is courteous and what is not.

Let’s start with what is.

Leaving the parking spaces closest to the building open for people who just might have small children in toe is.  I can honestly say that when I’m flying solo – I park in the back of a lot.  It’s not like my chunky-fanny couldn’t use a little extra toning anyway.  Walking through the parking lot is a pretty easy way to burn a couple extra calories.  It’s also considered courteous to not block entrances and walkways that are clearly marked “No Parking” or “Drop Off Only”.  Others around you enjoy having the ability to get into and out of places (whether solo or not) without having to pull a Bo Duke in order to gain entry to a building.

Let me show you what is not.


Apparently this ass-clown (yep, it was a guy) believes that it’s not only his right to park as close to the building as he feels is necessary – but he also pays no attention to walkways.  I just so happened to be walking through the opening you notice now completely blocked by his coupe-de-graw when he was pulling into the alcove.  I stopped, and waited for him to pass through.  Uummmm…ok then.  Guess I’ll just squeeze my cheeks around your hood then.  No worries.  It’s all good.  I’m just walking here.  In the walkway.  WALKWAY.

*I will tell you that while I do not park in these spaces – I have no issues with people who chose to take “Expectant Mother” parking even when it’s obvious they are hardly expecting.  Unless you count expecting-to-have-a-heart-attack-from-excessive-alcohol-and-fried-food-consumption as “expecting”.  In that case, those posted signs take on a whole new meaning.


Send in the clowns…

September 16, 2009

All my talk of “pushing the red button” kept taking me back to a simpler time* in my life.  Well, simple for some reasons and would-never-want-to-go-back-there-again for others.  Those of you who have been around these posts a while no doubt will remember this little photo confession.  For those of you who have seen that before, I apologize for putting you through it again.  For those of you who just saw that for the first time, I apologize for putting you through that.  But I think it’s important to be brutally honest with you all.  I’m not always pretty – or nice – or clean – or sane.  But, let’s be honest…who is?

YOU LIE! [Rebuke me.  It was totally worth it.]

So…back to the button.  Ever since I first punched that time-stamped rambling thought into my BlackBerry note pad in the back of the ‘death cab’, I haven’t been able to get this damn song out of my head.  Just the visual of pushing the button and having to hand off that duty to someone else for the big moment – it all culminated in my mind into this totally awesome 80’s music video.


*Simpler times circa 1986 include:
Still feeling guiltless after eating a jumbo-sized TCBY white chocolate mouse with extra peanut butter cups because you were young and dumb enough to believe that it truly was “better for you” than ice cream.

Pre-cell or smart-phone: a land where when you left the office for the night — you left the office for the night.

Gigando-sized shoulder pads were all the rage and totally made your hips look smaller (too bad this fad died out before my really fat days began).

The internet, Perez Hilton and reality television didn’t exist and we all felt better about ourselves because of it.


In a New York minute…

September 15, 2009

The following are detailed accounts of actual events.  No names or places were changed as there was no need to protect the innocent….this cab driver knows who he is and what he did.

Viewer discretion is advised.


You don't know it yet...but this is why you're here.

You don't know it yet...but this is why you're all here.

Monday, September 14, 2009 5:31AM
That had to be the most refreshing 45 minutes of sleep I’ve ever had. Good thing I’m more than 3.5 years into this mommy gig and fully conditioned to handle extreme sleep deprivation or there is no way I’d be up and making this flight this morning.

What the hell did Kanye do this time? There weren’t any recent natural disasters and – last I checked – the man in charge wasn’t named “Bush”. One can only imagine. Maybe he and Serena should enroll in anger management together. It could be filmed like a real life story of the movie with Adam Sandler and Jack Nicholson. Something tells me Serena would be playing Jack’s part.

Ahhhh, I see. Amy was right last night. Kanye indeed does = douchebag.

Who needs to worry about safety while flying when there’s a MARTA transit station parking lot? Apparently the asshole in the Corolla didn’t get the memo – the big, red 8-sided thing you just whizzed through at no less than 20MPH means “Stop”. Not your right of way. Must be sure other cars aren’t already coming through. Just in case this is too difficult for you to remember, the word “STOP” should help clue you in. Asshole.

I’m so proud of myself. I figured out how to use the fare machine without incident (well, ok…so there was that small matter of inserting my debit card backwards but – in my defense – the diagram is very small and I always confuse my right with my left). As is common in life, this feeling quickly fades as I am nearly trampled to death riding up the escalator and then “psssst’d” at by a nice stranger who points me to the train that is next in line to leave the station. Who knew there would be 2? The station should mark that stuff for people like me. I just ask that they use something other than “left” and “right” when creating the diagram.

Lady-with-tons-of-luggage just plowed over someones bag in the aisle. Thank you ma’am. Now no one remebers that I’m the chick who tried to board the wrong train.

Train just stopped, doors opened, and lady-with-bag-strapped-to-her-chest TOOK THE F*CK OFF! The mind bounces with ideas of what she could be running to (or from). Maybe the breakfast cart guy who parks in front of her office building runs out of blueberry scones by 7AM and she’ll be dammed if she doesn’t get one this morning. I know that would make me hustle. That and getting there before anyone has a chance to sneeze on all the offerings.

Seriously people – go back and read my post on elevator etiquette. The same basic rules apply to riding mass transit.

I keep looking at the posted sign “Do Not Lean on Doors”. As each train hurls by on the opposite track, I wonder who in their not-right mind would even attempt to lean in the direction of certain death.

Nothing like being herded as cattle in the name of security. I’m surprised no one has asked us to “strip down and spread your butt cheeks!” yet. Ridiculous. [And bring on the hate mail – I am very well aware these measures help keep us safe but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the process]

Mayhem- MAYHEM ENSUES – as people pack into this flight and scramble to put their what-they-believe-to-be carry on sized luggage into the overhead storage bins. To be honest, it shocks me to think that none of these flight attendants demand the baggage definition offenders to check their rhino-sized bags of mess. If I end up hit on the head and dead like Billy Mays* I’m gonna sue.
*Yes, I realize Billy died of a heart attack brought on by drug use but since his family chooses to deny that fact, I can chose to do so as well.

I keep telling myself not to test the tray table clip in front of me.

Been sitting on the tarmac for over 15 minutes now just waiting…waiting…waiting…  It reaffirms my wondering of how people who are stuck for HOURS do it. At least I have man-who-is-pissed-at-Delta and his wet-noodle girlfriend all cuddled up next to me for company.

Just landed at LaGuardia. Can’t wait to get out of this plane and start bumping elbows with New Yorkers. [No doubt a few bumps will result in facial bruising]

Been riding in the back of a Ford Escape cab for what feels like an eternity – and I’m pretty certain we’ve only gone 5 blocks and have struck and killed 2 pedestrians. I’m trying to contain my “yes, I’m an out-of-towner” dorkness and have refrained from hanging out the rear window to take any pictures. I also have an interest in keeping my head attached – so, I shall resist.

Licking not permitted.

Licking not permitted.

I was looking forward to having an ‘all beef’ frank directly from a street vendor named Abooboo but it turns out, lunch has been catered for us prior to our meetings this afternoon. I guess I’ll have to return to NYC some day in order to cross that item off my bucket list: acquire food borne illness at the hands of random street vendor.

Meeting is well underway and all I can think about is how my ass is completely numb from the folding chair. You read right – folding chair. After the delectable sandwiches and finely tuned salad for lunch, I guess my posh-tush was anticipating something a wee bit more ‘squishy’.

Just made the call for my backup in the office to “push the red button” at 4PM. Good things are about to transpire. [Keywords: Good Thing]

What a whirl-wind hour. The secret is out. All the hard work has come to a big ending. I am very proud to say that I played a role in making it all happen. Not many times in a webie gal’s career can she say “yeah, I worked with The Home Depot AND Martha Stewart. ” Now you all see why the boots were so important.

What the hell is wrong with CNN? As I sit here in the terminal waiting to board the flight back to Atlanta I’m listening to this ridiculous nonsense that tea parties are somehow connected to race. It honestly makes me want to walk over to the TV – put my sassy-ass boot through it – spit on the floor and walk away screaming “F*ck the media!”

There’s about to be a revolt if we don’t taxi down to the runway soon. Every time the captain checks back in with us it seems there’s another plane in line ahead of us. The good thing is I have a very nice neighbor who is chatting me up. Much better than man-who-is-pissed-at-Delta and his wet-noodle girlfriend from the flight this morning.

Hey! Will & Grace is on!

Hey! Will & Grace is on!

Holy shit my left ear is about to explode! Who knew that flying with pig bug would have this kind of effect. I am about to DIE if this ear doesn’t pop soon. There’s an infant 2 rows behind me who sounds like (from what my now half-deaf self can hear) it’s feeling my pain.

Sweet mother of pearl – we’re cleared for landing!! Salvation awaits (for my ear drum).

So the good news is we’ve landed and my ear is somewhat relieved from the pressure. The bad news is we’ve been sitting on the tarmac for over 15 minutes waiting for a plane to get the hell out of our gate. It better hurry – my exploding ear has been replaced by my bladder. Just imagine how much fun I am to sit next to.

Figures the only train out of the airport is going to the station that I don’t want to end at – nothing like having to transfer trains after a very [very] long day of traveling. Seriously, I don’t know how people do this all the time. Either I would end up dead or would need to start wearing my glasses. My eyes – my eyes! Add that to the growing list of complaints and you can picture just how absolutely stoked this guy is to be sitting next to me. Poor blissful man. He has no idea how my boot heel could crush his pinky toe.

Dude next to me just tickled my leg and said “see ya” as he got up to leave. WTF? Should I call in a possible molestation? Is this a normal behavior on mass transit? Did I just cheat on my hubs???

Nothin’ better to do on a Monday night than have to stand on the platform waiting for the right train back to my car. If I have to wait too long I might just end up going a little bonkers and start walking up and asking random people “Dude! Where’s my car?”

Finally – the last leg of my one-day NYC journey. I’m always bitching about how I want to have more adventure and experiences in my life. Well today, I had one. And you know what?  It’s E.X.H.A.U.S.T.I.N.G.

As is often true in life, my day has just come full circle.  I’ll let you in on a small secret about myself: I often do stupid things. Now I don’t mean the kinds of things done on purpose that are worthy of a Darwin Award, I mean things that I don’t mean to do that end up making me look stupid.  Since this is bound to happen at least once during a normal 24 hour day (not even R.E.M. sleep is safe) I warned one of my travel companions of my tendency early this morning so she wouldn’t be alarmed when I ended up boarding the wrong flight.  Well, obviously I didn’t so all day I kept on waiting for the stupid.  It never came.  Or – so I thought.  Turns out, stupid found me before I ever got out of my car at the train station this morning and I didn’t realize it until just this moment.  When I arrived at the ticketing check-in area at the airport this morning I suddenly noticed that I didn’t have my cell phone.  Ok.  Don’t panic.  It’s most likely [I think] to be sitting on the table at home.  No big whoop.  Fast forward to our meeting this afternoon.  The damn ‘pig bug’ decided it was time to commence “Operation Dry Heave” and I was digging through my purse for one of the half dozen or so throat lozenges I knew I had packed this morning.  Empty.  Not one to be found.  What the hell is going on here?  First my cell phone – now my please-God-help-me-stop-coughing-in-front-of-all-these-people drops were gone too?  Well, turns out I was doomed from the start.  Remember Corolla asshole from just after 6AM?  Apparently when I slammed on the brakes to avoid a head-on collision, my purse flew over and said items fell on the passenger side floor.

I was so flaming mad at that asshole (who ended up parking 3 spots over from me) that I wasn’t thinking and stormed off into the stairwell.  How does this come full circle you ask?  We ended up leaving at the exact same time from the parking deck.  Turns out asshole is really a bitch.  But so is karma.  So, I shall resist.

Like a beacon of light - Alton is there to guide me home...

Like a beacon of light - Alton is there to guide me home...


I don’t need a man…

September 12, 2009

Most of you who know me well enough know that I’m pretty cheap.  Now, I know there are those readers out there who are saying to themselves “This chick is about the most eccentric, dramatic, look-at-me personality out there – no way in HELL is she not a mall whore.” Well my obviously-don’t-know-me-very-well friends, you couldn’t be more wrong.  What I did just moments ago broke every — EVERY — rule in my book of economics.  But, as you all will find out on Monday, there is a very good reason.  A reason big enough to warrant not being able to pay my mortgage.  Nah!  I’m kidding.  I didn’t spend that much.  See?  All you doubters should be feeling much better.  You were right about the dramatic part.

I really wanted to end this post with a video clip from an episode of FRIENDS where Rachel explains her reasoning for going out shopping and spending way too much on boots.  [Boots.  There’s a ‘keyword’.]  But after minutes of searching every word I could think of to find it, I settled for this one instead.  So what if it’s not relevant to this topic?  Is damn funny and it’s my blog.  I can post anything I want.


Mercury is in retrograde…

September 8, 2009

I’m going to open this entry with a caution: I’m kinda drunk.  A little, anyway.  You see – I was given this movie to watch tonight by a friend (I guess I can call him ‘friend’) and I was worried I just wouldn’t enjoy it as much if I was stone sober.  I dunno…there’s just so much pressure when someone recommends a movie for you to see.  There’s all this assumption that you will find it humorous and tell them all about how great it was in the morning.

Wow.  Flashback to my college days.

Anyway, the movie was fine.  Of course I found it amusing – wine or not.  And I thank my [friend] for being generous enough to let me borrow it for the night.  It will be returned in the morning with only slightly more scratches than it had 24 hours ago.  (Hey, I’m drunk.  What the hell do you want from me??)

All kidding aside…

Remember “The Grill to Nowhere” from a few months back?  It was inspired by my sisters almost-always-drunk neighbor who found it most-logical to drag is grill out into the middle of the side yard one day and leave it there permanently as a form of suburban yard art.  I really haven’t spent much time over there this summer so when the hubs and I had to stop by to get something out of the storage shed, you could imagine how delighted I was to find this:

It's like a smoking Buddha.

Ahhh Danielson - It's like a smoking Buddha.

*It is nice to see that they have made a conscience effort to mow UNDER the grill this summer instead of allowing the grass to grow up around the legs like ivy.  Not that I don’t appreciate fine art – I just don’t appreciate the depletion of property value by the thousands…that’s all.  I can only imagine that the carefully placed folding lawn chair sees many hours of sweaty ass while all-beef franks meet there untimely char at the hands of “I like mine dirty” martini man.  Grill on zen master.  Grill on.