It knows where I live.
It knows where I live.
I’ve mentioned before that we have some pretty amazing Utah Jazz seats three rows off the floor that my husband shares with a colleague (for business networking purposes OF COURSE). Because of this prime real estate, we rub shoulders with a rather impressive crowd.
Our seats are right next to Masha Kirilenko, wife of Utah Jazz forward Andrei Kirilenko.
You know, the NBA wife who is famous for allowing her husband one “free” affair a year.
Just reporting the news folks. No editorial comments here.
One time Carlos Boozer winked RIGHT AT ME. Then I realized his wife was sitting behind me.
Or maybe it was Michelle. Not sure.
Anyway, great seats.
I try super hard to keep it classy and not drool for no apparent reason and keep my mouth shut when I chew.
It’s the least I can do.
One game, I kind of fell in love with Masha’s shoes and asked her if she minded if I took a photo of them.
She was kind enough to allow it.
I heart them.
Moments later, as my legs were crossed with my left foot leaning toward her, I joked, “Would you like to take a photo of my shoes?”
You could not possibly be surprised to know that I was, indeed, wearing cowboy boots. This time, in pointy brown:
She was generous enough to say, “I LOVE cowboy boots!”
Nice. Then she said, ‘Where did you get them?”
Without hesitation, which, I probably should have thought a little bit more about it and made up a better answer, I said, “Reams.”
For the non-Utahn – Reams is a grocery store that sells Wranglers and pretty nice cowboy boots. And looks and smells pretty ghetto, to be honest.
I simply could not be any cooler.
This is what happened to me yesterday:
I got up early (for me – give me a break) and went to the gym to work out with my buddy J. We did our cardio and then decided that even though we hate doing legs, it was going to be a leg day.
First machine: Squats. I did about four squats when something in the right lower back quadrant went OW. I was puzzled by this…because I was doing legs. And I’m not that smart. Because apparently they ARE related. So I did two more squats. Goodness – still OW.
So I tried something else. Then I said to J, “I think I’m done.” We both seemed too happy about that. But that’s only because we hate the gym. We like each other, but we hate the gym.
So I left. And seriously, my back really hurt (and still does – what the what??). I’m limping and hobbling like an 80 year old.
So when I get in my car to go home I check my phone and I have two messages: One from my husband asking if I’d seen the registration renewal for his truck, since he’d just gotten pulled over for being expired. I hadn’t. Weird. First fire.
I went into my husband’s office to look for the registration card. I didn’t find that, but I DID find Mini’s registration card for the car HE drives, and guess what? EXPIRED as well.
What the what??
Got the registration for the truck paid because it didn’t need emission and inspection, but Mini’s car does. Can’t do his just yet because he DOES need emission and inspection…
Second fire: Number three text messaged, “Have you paid tuition?” GAH!! No I had not. It was due the day before. And if you don’t pay by the due date they drop all your classes. FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!! Somehow I got it paid without him dropping classes.
I got ready for work. I work once a week and I can pick the day. Even though it was snowy outside I continued getting ready for work, because it was, you know, Tuesday, and I usually work Tuesday, and to be honest, once I’m dressed and ready, the decision is done. I mean, who wants to change clothes once you’re in them? Huh?
Back in the car. And my back still hurts. Grandma movements all the way. I drove down my street and almost slid into a brick barrier on the way out of my neighborhood. I thought, “Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t go out in this?”
But again – I was, you know, dressed. So I thought, hey, I’ll just drive carefully.
And I did. Super slow.
I got to a red light and stopped with PLENTY OF TIME AND SPACE before the intersection and I waited for the green light. I was about 3 miles into my trip to work. I was on the phone with my sister-in-law so I wasn’t paying attention to my rearview mirror.
Which was probably a good thing, because BANG!! I got rear-ended. By someone who did NOT leave enough time and space to make the stop. I’m glad I didn’t have the stress of watching that happen…
“I just got hit. Prolly should call you back.” Sigh.
So lady-who-hit-me and I pulled over. She came out of her car with handicapped license plates, and pretty much just drug her left side as she walked toward me with her cane.
Her entire left side.
So then, I felt really bad for her. And I started apologizing to HER because she hit me. And to top it off, she was just coming from the dentist, so double crappy day for her.
So I went to the back of my car to see how bad it was (kind of bad…) and realized, MY REGISTRATION IS ALSO EXPIRED.
For crying out loud.
We called the police and the NICEST policeman I have EVER met dealt with our little issue. I mean, I kind of have a crush on this guy. He kept saying, “We all make mistakes.” Super cute!
He cited her for driving too fast for conditions, didn’t cite me for an expired registration, and after one hour of sitting in the snow, I decided, I can change my clothes for sure, and I went home.
And got in my PJs.
BUT, I had a Young Women (church thing) event that night that I really wanted to go to, so I got dressed AGAIN and went to hear what *I* thought was going to be a motivational talk (which I needed) but ended up being a talk about how much I have vs all the starving children in the world and why am I not doing anything about it because I waste so much money on useless things when I could really be helping to build schools in Haiti.
All true. But not what I dragged myself out of bed for. I wanted to feel motivated, but all I felt was sad. And guilty.
And, my back STILL hurt.
Home. Bed. 30 Rock on Netflix.
I’m going to try again today.
When my boys were little my husband used to play this awesome game with them. It began with a poem:
There was an old woman with a stick and a staff
And you must neither smile nor laugh
But say right now, “I will…”
Then he would ask, “Will you eat …. ” followed by the grossest thing he could think of. The object of the game is to neither smile nor laugh – and say “I will.”
This was hard.
Examples: “Will you eat pig guts?” Answer: “I will.” “Will you eat turkey snot?” “I will.” “Will you eat lizard brains?” “I will.” “Will you eat elephant plaque?” “I will.”
You get the idea. My boys loved this game. *I* loved this game.
But now it’s ruined. Because every time I watch The Bachelor (yes – still watching – still can’t look away from the train wreck…Michelle what the CRAP??) and he asks, “Will you accept this rose?” and then she answers, “I will” … all I can think is “Will you eat cow boogers?”
And the moment is lost.
Dear The Bachelor:
I thought we’d broken up. I was cool with that. I was looking forward to lots of free time. Because, after all, it’s Brad…COME ON! I wasted an entire season on him already.
How could you do this to me? How could you fill my Monday nights with all sorts of crazy that I can’t resist?
Michelle. You are simply gorgeous. And from Utah. I want to like you. In fact, I’m kind of attracted to you myself. Homewrecker. BOOOOOOOZER! Whiner. Manipulator. Wannabe model/actress. And quite frankly, freakishly mean and over-confident. We get it. It’s your birthday. STOP WHINING! PS I don’t think she wins.
Booty butt girl…seriously? You’re going to point out your large butt the very first episode? AND got a rose. Huh?
Manscaper. That’s right…manscaper. Who waxed him on the first night. AND made it through to another episode. Go figure. I think she got shafted in the end, but hey, them’s the breaks.
Funeral director. Kinda creepy. Made the first cut. And the second. SO WEIRD.
Dentist – impressive. But are you that dumb to think you can “fall” for any guy on the first date? Yeesh.
Girl who breaks into song (badly) on their first meeting. Sister-friend – keep that in the shower. Bad choice. Bad bad choice.
Waitress who says about fifty times she “quit her job” to be there like it’s some kind of great sacrifice. Like she’s giving up so very much. CHICK – I’m pretty sure you can get another waitress job just about…anywhere. Plus I hear she has nipple rings. She’s not a “really nice person.” So weird, too. Buh-bye.
Crazy blue dress girl from the first episode who kept trying to get Brad alone and kept getting chick-blocked. HYSTERICAL. Sister, if he keeps saying “yes” to every girl who steals him away from you after only 30 seconds with him, he’s just not that into you. And, you’re done.
Vampire girl…seriously??? Ser-i-ous-ly? Who has honest-to-gosh fangs. Built right in. “Lick it!” And, still there. Fabulously addicting train wreck I can’t turn away from. I kind of need a shower after seeing her on my screen.
I kind of like the nanny. And shy girl. Whoever she is. Whatever she does. Dunno.
And cute coal miner’s daughter bleached blonde who married her childhood sweetheart, only to lose him to a plane accident all too soon. Can it be more dramatic?? Yes it can. Just one week after his death she finds out she’s pregnant with her deceased husband’s baby. A little girl she names “Ricki,” which was her husband’s name. You can’t make this stuff up. And…bachelorette is darling and the one we root for – no doubt. How could you not? But sweetie – let’s do something about that hair color…yikes. Your eyes are BROWN. Your hair is super blonde. This is not natural. We all know it.
I thought I was over you. O-ver. Sucked. Right. Back. In. I have no faith in or interest in romance. Please. Don’t make me laugh. A “connection” that begins on The Bachelor is destined to fail. I have no allusions to that.
The word “connection” is forever ruined for me. Because of you. And “journey.”
Thanks for that.
But come…on! How can I not watch crazy town?
Why? Why why why?
So bad you’re good.
I think I need a shower.
I always find it interesting and often surprising what specific information intrigues readers from posts I write. This post was intended to lament my unaccomplished life because the women of Heart are, to be honest, freaking old, and yet, still hard-core rockers.
What stuck? My hair routine. And volume. Hmmm. Well, it has taken some time and some genuine effort (I HATE effort) to get this together for the inquisitive, but I finally got what I needed to share the hair (poet).
For informational purposes, this is what gathering this post required:
You should know the hair routine before I post the photos. You’ve probably already scrolled down to see them anyway, and that makes me sad because I’m really trying to be dramatic here, and you’re just not letting me.
Okay – so, my mornings in high school went like this:
Okay, hair prep isn’t going to work on bullet points, as fun as they are. SO, I found out about five years ago that my hair prep was, um, looked forward to (?) by many a male band member. So yes, Emily, I was the envy of the whole marching band <g>.
Because this is what I did: I went to the corner of the band room and removed my rollers. Then, with my backside to the room (thinking that was less obtrusive, because, you know, I couldn’t see them) I dropped my head down for the brushing experience which produced very large hair. With my backside to the middle of the room.
Yeah, picture THAT. Now go wash the horror from your eyes.
Apparently crowds did indeed gather for the morning ritual.
And yes, I am mortified to know this.
No need to re-state the ritual. If you want to read it, see the referenced post.
And the result, my friends, is archived below…
You will, I’m sure, be delighted to know that I have pretty much almost given up on the anonymity thing because, after all, who else reads this but you who (yoohoo) pretty much know me anyway.
AND, like anyone is going to recognize me from photos from the dark ages.
First, this is a photo of me and the other Drum Major. Who was short. And I was tall. Gargantuan. He did not know that the photo was going to include the entire head-to-toe layout. Nor did I. This is a very famous photo. You are welcome.
Next is an image from the Honor Society photo. I could give it to you up close, but I think it’s funnier from a bit of a distance. I needn’t point myself out. I am so…THERE. And the poor people around me just trying to get in the frame. This was a spectacular hair day.
I happened to be on the yearbook staff and my picture is ALL OVER this yearbook.
You tell me, was this post worth the wait?