Til' Tuesday

Up until last Tuesday I have been dealing really well with the fact that I AM TURNING THIRTY NEXT WEEK! The truth is that you could not pay me enough money to go back to being twenty, or twenty five. Yes, I was young. Yes, I had my whole life ahead of me. Yes, I had less wrinkles. Blah, blah, blah. But I think back on my twenty year old self and realize that I was so confused, and so unsure of myself. With every year that has passed I spend less time doing things that don't matter to me, and more time focusing on the things that do. I can also now pinpoint what I want to spend the rest of my time doing, or what the focus of that time will be. At twenty I had all sorts of ideas of how I wanted my life to be, and some of them were good. But at thirty, I know my life is good. I know that I am blessed with many, many people that care about me and love me. I travel a lot, I have experienced adventures of various kinds, I see my peeps as often as I can, and I have even found someone to do all these fun things with me. I have been dealt a really, really good hand.

But, back to Tuesday. I was standing outside my office, talking to a coworker (Hi Kelly!) and we were discussing my birthday plans. Somewhere in that conversation she asked me what day of the week my birthday is on. Right between the Tue and the sday, the weight of a thousand Yankees fans came slamming down on my shoulders. It was at that point in time that I actually realized I was turning thirty, and that I was spending my last Tuesday as twenty something. H-O-L-Y C-R-A-P. All of my thoughts and feelings about thirty being better than twenty actually shot into the air at breakneck lighting speed, and collided full force with the fact that even if I live a long and healthy life, it is one third over! There were sparks.

So it isn't the getting older that bothers me. It is that there is an end to this ride, and I am getting closer to it. Maybe only by inches, but still closer. Now having sensed that I had taken this massive left turn, and may not be returning for a while to the land where normal people are allowed to function in society, Dave took matters into his own hands. He went out and bought me some therapy. Yes, therapy. Therapy in the form of a shiny little green gift card with the letters JCrew written on the front. Retail therapy. At my favorite store. Brilliant. This may seem very nice of him, but I think it is only to prevent the massive breakdown that would happen on Tuesday morning, when we go to do fun things for my birthday, and I start another total brain melt because I have nothing to wear. He is smarter than he lets on.

So after a night of therapy, I feel a lot better. How could I not feel better? I bought a few outfits, and I even got a pair of skinny jeans! It is like I am back in the 80's and ten years old again. Which for right now, is a lot better that being closer to dead.

That noise you hear is my insides screaming for help

There has been much discussion with some of my friends about the wide world of fried foods. As an almost general rule, if it is fried I will try it. The ongoing joke used to be that if I ever took my old car on Pimp My Ride, it would have come back with a deep fryer in the front seat. Mmmmm, fresh french fries while driving.

We went to dinner tonight with my good friend Kim, and tried out a new fish and chips place in Old Town. It is a start up by the owners of one of the best restaurants in the DC area, so it is "upscale" take away food, with a few benches inside. I don't eat seafood, but they did have a "Batter Burgah." The server explained that it was the best ground meat you can find, covered in flour and deep fried. Sold.

But the best part of the entire meal, really my entire day, was the deep fried Milky Way at the end of my meal. Yes, deep fried Milky Way. It tasted like a donut with a melted candy bar inside. Best. Thing. Ever. As you can see. You know, any meal is a hit when you can say at the end, that washing down a fried dough ball with Guinness is cleansing.

The Fantastic Four

In my last post about Project Runway I expressed how I didn't want any of the last four designers to leave. It was like I was channeling Heidi Klum, because the judges decided to send all four contestants to fashion week! Surprisingly, for me anyway, I didn't want to strangle one of them. I like how unique they are, and how well they all get along. I loved Runway for the drama, but now I love it for the people and their work. It is a grown up version of Project Runway, and I think the judges made a great decision.

But having said that, some of those last fashions were bad. Michael's model looked like she was getting ready for a white trash prom. Even that purple was trashy. It was more Kayne than Michael. I also think that the model makes a bigger difference than we notice. Uli's model was on fire...and has been the whole competition. I wonder of Michael can do as well without her now.

OK, enough with me being in love with everyone. Bring on the reunion show and all the trash talking!! I do love the trash talking.

I'm Starting With the Man in the Mirror

There is a strange phenomenon happening in my neighborhood that I need to explore with you fine people. It does not matter what season, what day of the week, or what time of day. Perfectly normal strangers, most which seem like fine upstanding members of the community, are encountering each other on the street and giving each other head nods. Yes, head nods. Now, these head nods of which I speak only happen when both individuals are running. Two people, sweating while pounding the pavement, nodding at each other. Sometimes it is your standard forehead-down head nod. Other times it is the more complex head-tilted-to-the-side-chin-up head nod, the kind you would normally associate with a "what's up?"

Now, what I find so strange about this tribal ritual is that is it distinct to runners. When walking around my neighborhood, the head nod does not happen. Walkers prefer the standard "hello." Maybe this is a whole pace of movement thing, the faster the person the faster the interaction.

What bothers me though, is that runners and walkers don't interact. Each group has decided that the other is unworthy of acknowledgement. Each is a members only club, fearful of, or ambivalent to, "others." I have decided to single handedly break down this barrier. I am going to introduce a new form of communication that will be suitable for both groups, no matter how fast they are moving. It will be something slower than a head not, but faster than a "hello." Maybe I will use a "hey." Or even a "yo." Or maybe even a combination head nod and grunt. Not nonverbal communication, not yet a word. Something that will break down this wall that is tearing my community apart. I hope to unite the sidewalk, we can't keep going on like this.

Girl

It blows my mind that my oldest niece is no longer a baby, or a toddler, but actually a little girl. The last time I was home she got her "big girl bed." She was so excited you would have thought that Mickey Mouse himself had put the thing together. And this look....ugh, too funny. I have a feeling we are going to be seeing more of this look as time goes on.

This is also my Photo Friday entry for girl. Some weeks I will see the category for Photo Friday, and I will have the perfect picture to share, but I have already posted it on the blog before. I don't like repeats. But some weeks I just think the category is lame. And then sometimes I just think this whole Photo Friday thing is lame...who knows. I do know that I can't resist posting pictures like this one. Or this one:

I'd love to drop anchor in your lagoon

Today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day!!! All the other land lubber lasses and I in the office have adopted this as our official speak of the day. Aye! I suggest that you do the same.

If ye need some lines to attract ye lasses while drinking some grog, ye should use the list of top ten pirate pick up lines.

Aye aye matey!

If the shoe doesn't fit...

During class tonight a fellow student gave a presentation. I don't know her personally, but she is very put together. She wears more makeup than I plan on having on in my coffin, but she still looks very nice. Not one hair is out of place, her clothes are crisped to perfection, and her french manicure showed no signs of chipping. She is also very well spoken. She studied her subject well, and formed complete and coherent sentences for all to follow along. The problem was, that while I should have been paying attention to the words that were coming out of her mouth I could not take my eyes off of her toes. She wore open toed shoes that were very cute, they had a nice little kitten heel. Even her pedicure was spotless. Her feet showed no major aesthetic or functional deformities, it was just that her big toes were hanging over the front of her shoes. ?!?!?! They didn't just creep over the edge a little, there was actually about an inch or so of toe that carried over the front of the safety of her shoe. I could not look away. I kept thinking about how she had been walking around all day with her bare toe skin touching everything on the ground. Out of her house, to work, to lunch, in anti-freeze puddles, to class, who knows what toxic or bacterial organisms her toes made out with all day? Upon closer inspection, because her toes were the proverbial train wreck, I could see massive dirt and callouses underneath her big toes. This led me to believe that this peeping toe incident was not a one day fluke. She is a repeat offender. Appearances aside for a moment, how can that be comfortable? Good God. I could not look her in the eye without thinking, at what point in the shoe store did you prance up and down the aisle trying on sandals and say "well, my toes may not conform to the traditional boundaries that society has come to expect for the sole of a shoe, but they are on sale, so I'll charge 'em?" So strange. I don't get it, I am just glad that sandal season is almost over, and she will be forced to put those things away.

Wild Goats Can't Be Broken

A group of us camped out on Assateague this weekend to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. Despite the rain, I fell in love with the beach. Very fitting considering it will probably be my last beach trip of the season. There are wild horses that roam around the island with no fear. One particular horse liked us so much that he stuck his head in our food bag and pulled out hamburger rolls to eat. It was quite humorous to watch eight adults try to shoo away a wild horse. There were also dear and goats scattered among the campers. Yes, goats. Goats with high tech tracking devises in fact. It is odd to see goats wearing more bling than you.

I don't camp enough. Dave comes with camping gear, which we have promised each other to use more often. The last time I camped was six years ago at the Grand Canyon, way too long ago. I couldn't do it for long stretches of time, but it is so fun to sit by the fire, stare up at the stars, toss back a few beers, tell crazy stories, and in this case, listen to the waves crashing on the beach. Fun times.

Just when I thought that I was out they pull me back in

I have totally and completely been sucked right back into Project Runway. When they brought Angela and Vincent back tonight I was unhappy. Then they both started designing, and I realized there was no way they were staying. The thought of watching them get booted from the runway, twice, made me downright giddy. Giddy like a school girl. What the hell was Angela thinking? Her dress looked like some disheveled, farm girl dracula on crack.

I am in love with Jeffrey, his designs, and his cocky attitude. He reminds me a lot of Santino, and we all know how I feel about the great Santino. Jeffrey's yellow Paris dress blew the rest of them off the Seine. Even "Bad Mommy" Angela is growing on me. The cocktail dress she designed tonight was gorgeous, and I want to rock that number. The hard part of next week is that I really like Michael and Uli too. I don't want any of them to go!

It is quite a turn this season has taken. It is really quite a turn my life has taken when I start quoting Michael Corleone...over a TV show.

Happy Birthday Pops!

I decided not to go down the embarrassing photo route for my Dad. I have heard him quote Bill Cosby way too many times, you know, "I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it." Despite his age (as he says the 23rd anniversary or his 39th birthday), and no matter how hard I try to take him down, he can still kick my ass.

Happy Birthday Dad, I love ya!