Pennsylvania thoughts and stories

Ok, Ok. So I've totally been slacking when it comes to updating this thing. Its not that I haven't had things to write about. I just haven't had the time or the will. Most of my writing mojo these days has been directed towards my little side project with my good friend, LoveBadReality. We have fun talking smack. Good times, good times.

But, I realize I owe you all some long overdue Pennsylvania stories. Yes, they're old and not really relevant anymore, but some are still pretty remarkable. I'll keep them brief, though, so you don't lose interest...

-During an extended coloring session with my little second cousins N and V, ages 3 and 5 respecitvely, they informed us that they had just seen "The Wizard of Oz". My sister asked what the Wicked Witch of the West says and right as N was beginning her answer, my uncle, who has been a prosecutor for his entire professional career, popped his head in the kitchen and said, "The Wicked Witch of the West?! Don't you mean Nancy Pelosi?". He was serious. 100% serious. My jaw dropped and I shot my sister a look that said, "For the love of god, AGREE. Do not get into this right now. Or EVER, for that matter". Fortunately, she read my face correctly and agreed. My uncle trailed off out of the kitchen, satisfied with the "funny" he'd just made. My family and I would talk about this moment for weeks after the trip.

-After more family time than we could handle, my sister and I hijacked the rental car and headed down to Quaker Steak and Lube. This place is famous for its ridiculous selection of wings, but we had just finished a dinner of cabbage rolls (ick) and needed a cold drink (or 3) to wash them down. Plus, there was hockey on and it had been made very clear that there would be no sports watched in my aunt and uncle's house other than golf. I didn't even try to argue that golf is not a sport. Upon arriving at the 'Lube, sis and I each ordered the most obnoxious drink we could think of. For me, that translated into a Ketel One and tonic...in a PINT GLASS. For sister, it was a 24 oz. Bud Light. After round one, we decided that we were in fact hungry so we ordered a basket of fresh pretzels and some fried zucchini strips. Sis went for another beer, but I decided on a mango Lube-N-ade, which is one of the most ridiculously wonderful, but lethal, things I have imbibed in recent memory. If you're keeping score, that's two huge drinks each and two appetizers between us. The bill? $34. TOTAL. My vodka pint nightmare was a whopping $6. LOL! You can't get a bartender in San Francisco to spit on you for $6. It was a good night.

-One night, sis and I were supposed to stop by Cousin D's house to check out the digs and meet his kids, Lil' D and MJ, ages 5 and 18 months. When we got there, we were greeted by a very distressed D and wife J. Apparently, D had just tripped over the baby gate in a Superman effort to save MJ from the top of the stairs. In the process, he hurt his thumb, although he could not tell me how exactly. Upon examination, I decided a trip to the local ER was in order, as the thumb at the base was about the size of a golfball. D downed a 9% beer, two Advil and begrudgingly got in the car. Once at the ER, we didn't wait long to see the triage nurse, who actually asked him if he objected to having an X-ray. "Ummmm, that's why we're here", I said. Seeing as that I know my way around a thumb and an ER, D let me do all of the talking. When the ER doctor, who did not introduce himself, came in to the exam room, I told him exactly which parts of the thumb were affected, pointing to the swelling. Mid-sentence, he cut me off and hauled D off to get an X-ray, stating, "I'll X-ray it, but I know its not broken". He didn't even touch D's thumb. We waited all of two minutes before the "doctor" came back to say, "Yup. Not broken. I've been doing this for 30 years and the minute I looked at it, I knew it wasn't broken. You want to know how I knew? When bones break, they bleed. Where's the bruising? Mmmm hhhhmmmph". He was so sure of himself. All I could do was sit there with my mouth hanging open. He then continued, "All you need to do is start moving it around, and put some heat on it tomorrow". At that point, I grabbed D's good hand and told him that I'd heard enough and we were on our way out. Fortunately, D knew a good hand surgeon, and I advised that he get a second opinion in the morning. Sure enough, D showed up to dinner the following night with a cast on his hand. Fuckin' A.

-If I have to sit on an airplane for more than two hours, I always pick up a copy of In Style magazine in the airport before boarding. Its the only mag with enough substance to both keep my occupied and put me to sleep, all at the same time. I had just paid for May's issue when a book caught my eye. Before I knew what I was doing, I turned back to the register and purchased Confessions of a Video Vixen by Karrine Steffans. Yes, the woman also known as "Superhead" in the hip-hop industry had apparently written a controversial tell-all book about damn near EVERYONE and I had to have it. As I read the opening pages, I learned that this book was written not only as a tell-all, but as a way for young girls to avoid making the same mistakes that the author had made in her lifetime. I felt badly for her in the early chapters. But as I eagerly turned page after page, devouring juicy gossip about everyone from Shaq to Fred Durst to Ice-T to Ja Rule to Jay-Z, all I got out of it was that this chick slept with A LOT of men for money and that she lived a super up and down life, without taking much responsibility for herself or her actions. The tone of the book was not at all one of "Don't do what I've done. Do better for yourselves". Steffans seemed to be bragging about all the shit and people she'd done. There was no lesson to be learned, here. During the last few pages, I hoped for light at the end of the tunnel. When none came, I ended up feeling like I had just put money in her pocket to allow her to continue living the exact same life depicted in the pages of the book. In retrospect, I should have just stuck to my copy of In Style, which remained in my carry-on for the entire flight. I feel like I got played by the author the same way all the men in her life played her. Not cool.

Ok, that's all for now. Hopefully, you're still with me. Sorry for the length of this post. I probably should have broken all the stories down into separate posts, but I can't say that I'd have had the motivation to write that much in separate instances. Meh. Hope you enjoyed, anyways...

The beginning of the end?

The other day, it hit me. The career path I've chosen isn't exactly on the cutting edge of fashion. Most likely, I will be stuck in scrubs and running shoes or some sort of tennis shoe on a daily basis. Worst case scenario depending on where I chose to work, it'll be some sort of plastic shoe that can easily be hosed off or disinfected (read: anything but Crocs. I refuse to submit. REFUSE, I say!). No more 4" heels of fabulousity during work hours. Soon, my fragile ankles and arches will no longer be able to tolerate a night of dancing in anything but my suede Pumas. This whole thing is really bumming me out!

The other day, I sat with my collection of beautiful shoes and gave them a good dusting. Yes, that's right...they sit, unused, day after day, collecting *dust*. It pained me so. Online, I recently came across a pair of Circa Joan & David t-strap gold and brown peep toe heels that were selling for the bargain price of $27.99, shipping included. They usually retail for $140. I couldn't resist. Here they are:


Oh, I love them. And then I thought, where am I going to wear these? Jeff would say, "Hello!? Grocery shopping!", and as hot as that sounds, I have about as much use for these shoes as I do for the trusty Trainer's Angel. At dinner the other night, a friend asked if my Uggs (yes, I wore them to dinner) were actually slippers. I've never been so embarrassed of my footwear choice! The Counselor, too, called me out on my Ugg-wearing at jury duty, although in my defense, the point is to look as disheveled and irresponsible as possible, thereby convincing the lawyers not to select me for their jury. See how that works? ;)

Because I don't really have a reason to dress up these days and with my future career in nursing, I have to ask, is it possible that I'm losing my sense of style? I *am* currently wearing sweatpants, for crying out loud. Don't believe me? Think I'm bluffing? Peep this, bitches:


Yeah, that's right. Keepin' it classy. Yes, these are the very same sweats that I wore during my bathtub caulking extravaganza and the remnants of my epic fail can still be seen there on the left leg. Is it all over for me? The way I figure, as long as I FULLY renoucnce the evil Crocs, there's still hope for me. But, bloody hell, I'm in some serious fashion dire straits.

In an attempt to avoid completely taking up residence in Frumpville, I did wear a dress and the above shoes to meet DJC for lunch on Friday. He looked surprised, but complimented my appearance and made me blush a little. It felt nice to hear that I can still pull it off when I want to. The problem is that I just don't really want to anymore. Weird.

Olympics water-works

What IS it with this year's abundance of incredibly touching, tear- jerking Olympic stories?! I don't know why this Olympics has been so emotionally different for me as compared with past years, but I CANNOT stop crying! Alexandre Bilodeau opened the flood gates and since then, tears have been a regular occurrence as I sit and watch on my couch. I'm so moved by all the stories, you'd think my icy heart has defrosted.

Since these stories are nothing short of amazing, here are the ones that have really made me lose it:

Canadian figure skater Joannie Rochette's mother died unexpectedly in Vancouver after traveling from Montreal to watch her daughter fulfill her Olympic dream. Rochette skated a clean short program before letting the tears start to flow, and let me say that I doubt if there was a dry eye in that building. My god, I can't even imagine what this poor girl is going through right now. I don't know how she has managed to summon the courage to hold it together and continue to compete. Rochette is currently in third place going into the free skate. I hope she nails it and takes home a medal of some sort. To be able to execute any sort of performance under those circumstances deserves some sort of recognition. Needless to say, I cried like a little kid watching her performance tonight.

I'd seen snowboarders sporting stickers that read, "I ride for Kevin" in the X-Games and in Vancouver. I had no idea what they meant until last night. Back in 2009, things looked good for snowboarder Kevin Pearce. He was in line to make the Olympic team and possibly upset the ubeatable Shaun White. Then, he sustained a terrible head injury in a training run on December 31st. Since regaining consciousness, Kevin's had to re-learn how to talk and walk. Slowly, he's making progress, but its his relationship with his mentally disabled older brother that started my water works a-flowin'. Tom Brokaw did an excellent piece on the family last night and if you really want to be inspired to be the best you can be, click and watch. I challenge you not to cry or at least tear up a little.

Dear lord, I need to toughen up a bit. I don't know what the hell is going on with my emotions when watching sports! I used to not get this sappy. I used to be able to watch competitions without the hard lump in my throat and my eyes welling up. Well, there was that one time where BT and I sat together on the couch (much too closely) and got choked up over a McDonald's commercial during the Summer Games one year, but that was a freak occurrence that I can fully blame on the fact that we had gotten too much sun that day. Yep, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. These days I really have no excuse. I'm getting soft. More evidence that its the beginning of the end for me. First, I've given up on fashion, and now I can't hide the fact that I can and do get all gushy inside. Good lord. Someone put my out of my misery.

Back in action...almost.

I'm home after a strange trip to Amish-land. I have PLENTY to tell ya'll about, but I just haven't found the time to upload the necessary pics and gather my thoughts. But the stories are coming, I promise. Some highlights to look forward to:

-The HELLISH red eye flight that we took to get out there. Let me just say, I got not one fucking wink of sleep.

-Taking my cousin to the ER and dealing with possibly the MOST INCOMPETENT "doctor" I have ever come across. I hesitate to even call him a doctor. "No talent ass clown" would have been more appropriate. Now that I think about it, the douchebag that has been taking care of my grandma is less than qualified to call himself a doctor, too. Just. Horrid.

-My sister and I learning the secret family recipe for the beloved Russian holiday nutroll. That's right, bitches. I baked. And I KICKED ASS at it! What now?!

-My little second cousins (all 5 of them) and their very different personalities and how everyone around them bent over backwards to keep them from losing their shit, which can happen at any time, for any reason, without any sort of warning. It was brutal, but REALLY good birth control.

-My sister and I visited the famed Quaker Steak and Lube. Many drinks and appetizers were consumed between the two of us. The final price of our excursion will shock you. Srsly.

-The five minute Brazilian I got today. Ok, so this didn't happen in western, Amish, prude, uber- religious PA, but holy shit on a stick! The whole thing literally took only five minutes from beginning to end. FIVE!!! AMAZING! I didn't even have time to complain about the pain. I figured it was worth mentioning. Thanks, Christina!! Now back to your regularly scheduled Pennsylvania updates...

-A ton of random pics of all sorts of things. I've got lots...and I'm not afraid to post them. Word.

Ok, I'll be back soon with lots of crapola to keep you entertained. Stay tuned...

Jack Frost is nipping at my patience...

Am I the only one who HATES Christmas music? Like really hates it? Its just that at this time of year, I can't get away from it. Everywhere I go, its playing...Starbucks, Trader Joe's, The Gap, Kragan Auto Parts, TACO BELL. Damn it! I can only handle so much of "Its Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas" before I start to lose it.

I woke up this morning with "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" stuck in my head. Have a fucking HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS! Seriously! And I can't make it stop!!

There used to be one exception to this...and it was the Peanuts Christmas CD. My dad loves the music and played it every year during the entire month of December. He did this for years, but now that my parents are living far, far away, hearing this CD only reminds me of how much I miss them and how I won't be seeing them for the holidays. Consequently, this CD's out, too. Can't listen to it without getting sad.

In a nutshell, I'm over Christmas music and wish every establishment I walked in to would give it a freaking rest already! Yes, some may say that I am a Scrooge, but you have to remember that Scrooge came around at the end of the story and found the Christmas spirit in his heart.

I'm not as open to change. Fa-la-la-la-la....la-la-la-la.