Me and Corey Hart

Within two-fifteenths of a second after my alarm sounds each morning, my little hand shoots out of my blanket cocoon to the nightstand to hit the OFF button. On the way back to back to bed, the hand takes a detour to grab my glasses and shove them on my face so I can see the clock and determine exactly how many minutes I have to snuggle in bed and fantasize about unemployment before I absolutely have to get up.

This morning, the same routine: alarm, hand rockets out, alarm off, glasses on. I sat up, startled, in a bleary-eyed panic as a wondered, "DID I GO BLIND OVERNIGHT? I CAN'T SEE!"

It was then I realized I was not wearing my glasses; I had on my sunglasses. All is well. I'm not blind.


Now if you'll excuse me, I must go call my mother to inquire if I suffered severe brain injury in my youth for I'm fairly certain I'm kind of an idiot more often than is normal.

Vicodin, like meatball subs, is really good but only in moderation.

I joined a flag football team a little while back and was surprised at the intensity of some of the other women in the league. Um, they’re incredibly intimidating, like, "ARRG! Football! I am totally hard-core and buff and that's why I'm on a football team!! ARRG!"

I, on the other hand, joined because one day I was thinking, "You know what would be hilarious . . ."

Our game on Saturday was pretty intense, and by "intense" I mean "horrifyingly vicious". There were injuries and penalties all over the place and it seems that everyone threw the instinct for self-preservation right out of the game. It was ferocious. By the end of the game I had given myself over to ugly-girl-cry sobbing. Because I'm tough.

I woke up Sunday and thought, “Good mornOW, OW, OWOWOWOWOW!” I gingerly pulled myself out of bed and inspected my poor, battered body*. Various contusions on my arms, legs and face greeted me along with a bruise the size of a loaf of bread covering my ribcage. It kind of felt like I had been hit by a truck but while I was getting hit by the truck I was tackled by a bear and then the truck ran over me and then the bear punched me in the jaw. I determined some serious painkillers were in order. Luckily, I happened to have a bottle of Vicodin from back when I had surgery a little while ago. Yay, Vicodin! I popped a couple of those babies along with a muscle relaxer and was feeling good. So good I was singing Journey at the top of my lungs on my way to church and I think I might have accidentally hit on my home teacher afterward. I made it through church and back home before the pain hit me again. So I took some more Vicodin.

And then I got really sleepy and then I freaked out because I've seen those commercials with the people who accidentally overdosed on painkillers and fell asleep and never woke up and I don't want to die! So I drank about a liter of Diet Coke so I wouldn't fall asleep.

I realized eventually I would need to actually sleep sometime so I wrote a touching note to my roommies that read "In the off-chance I don't wake up in the morning, I just want you to know I've really enjoyed living with you. Also, would you please return my library books? Thanks!" Instead of the expressions of concern and worry I would expect from my closest friends right before I'm going to die by the way, they just started calling who gets what when I go. Karen claimed my books and Gretchen wants my movie collection and my aquarium. Thanks, ladies.

You'll all be happy to know I did, in fact, wake up this morning and have a new zeal for life because I freaking cheated death last night. What, what!



*As much as we all wish to be one of those classy women who exude sophistication, there comes a time when we find ourselves standing in front of a mirror rubbing IcyHot on our bare bum. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Conversation with a three-year-old. Also, I am seriously so awesome with kids.

Child: I LOVE THOMAS!

Me: Who's Thomas?

C, holding up a small toy: THOMAS THE TRAIN!

M: Well, that's technically not a train. A train is a series of connected railway cars with an attached locomotive. What you have there is a tank engine. (patronizing chuckle) I'm surprised you didn't know that.

(Child pauses to examine toy.)

C: I LOVE THOMAS!

The grossest word I can think of

globule


Seriously, how gross is that word?

I have a Facebook quiz that might disagree with you.

I had lunch today with my awesome friend. This is the same friend who told me I remind her of a character from The Office.

Which character?

Is it Michael, the impetuous idiot who needs a lot of attention?


Karen, the sexy but totally fun and cool girl?


Andy, the toady anger-management case?





No, no, no, no, no, my friends.














Is that not awesome? I mean, this is not the most flattering comparison I've ever been involved in but I just can't be offended because it's like the most awesome thing I've ever heard. I can't stop using the word "awesome" because that is the only way to describe how I feel about being compared to Kevin Malone, the man who once said, "I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs. That's all I've ever wanted." I am overcome with awesome.


And now, my very favorite Kevin moment ever.

Logic

On my key chain, I have a rape whistle. Just in case.



And in my purse I carry a second, backup rape whistle. In case something happens to my primary rape whistle.



This makes perfect sense to me.

*cough, cough*

I have a cold and, while I'd love nothing more than to be curled up under a pile of blankets right now, I'm plugging away at my desk.

Not without the help of a few necessities, though.

(Seriously, who invented this stuff? It's amazing.)

Ahh, I almost have motivation to work today. Almost.




P.S. Someone half-heartedly rolled out of bed 20 minutes before she had to leave the house this morning and grabbed the first clothes her hands landed on in the closet. After sitting at her desk for over an hour, she realizes her outfit doesn't exactly match. Like at all. Not even close.

I've give you three guesses who this person is.

My Life is Sometimes Kind of Weird

Jeff the Musician was at my house last night. He wanted to share with me a new song he had written but he didn't have his guitar with him. He was disgusted with us for not having an acceptable alternate instrument.

"I could go get my accordion," Gretchen offered.

There were a few seconds of silence then, slowly, every head in the room turned toward her.

"I'm sorry, your what?" I asked, dumbfounded that I could live with someone for so long and still be so unaware of her musical holdings.

"Uh, my accordion?" she repeated, disappearing into the basement. She was greeted with squeals and applause on her return a few minutes later, laden with a dusty accordion.

The apparatus was passed around the room; all of us immediate children, giggling as we pushed buttons and made funny noises. Keith called in the middle of my (fantastic) composition. He asked, "Hey, what are you up to?"

"Uh, I'm playing a freakin' accordion, that's what I'm up to."

He paused and then said, "Hang on, you're pla . . . what? Where are you?"

"I'm on my couch, Keith," I said. "I am on my couch playing an accordion. Can you even deal with that awesome?"

Then I put him on speakerphone so he could hear me play the accordion because I didn't want him to think I'm one of those girls who will tell people on the phone that she's playing an accordion when she's really not. You know the type.

He told me it was the best accordion music he'd heard all day*. Aww, shucks.



*Did you just think of Roy from Season 3 of The Office, too? "Your art was the prettiest art of all the art."

Bubba-o-lantern

We carved pumpkins for FHE this week. Robin wanted to make a scary, gut-y type pumpkin but I really wanted something cute. Robin, ever the gentleman, obliged.

I was very excited.

Heeey, guuyys! Doh-do-do!*

I knew I needed a knife to carve but I wasn't sure if I'd have time to go home after work so I put one in my handbag before I left in the morning. Aaannd then I walked around all day with a large knife in my purse. I went to the supermarket, a meeting, the dry cleaners oh yeah, and work. Like the school where I work. You know, the one full of children. The one where you probably shouldn't be carrying knives into. And somehow this didn't set off any alarm bells in my mind?


*I wish I knew how to upload an audio clip so you could hear the way I say this. I've been cracking myself up all week. Heeey, guuyys! Heh, heh, heh.

Identity

My mom always signs her text messages with Sherrie/Mom.

As if I have a ton of friends named Sherrie who send me texts reading, "Have a good day, punkin!" and she is just clarifying that she is the Sherrie who is actually also my mom. Or maybe she thinks I have other moms and she wants me to know which one is sending me "Hey are you up yet? Call me when you wake up," at 5 am on a Saturday.

Should I start signing my texts back Kim/Your Child?

My Trip to the Old Line State

It's always lovely to pop back East for a visit. Actually it doesn't matter where you pop for visits, it's always lovely to do things like not work and eat Mom's apple scallop by the fistful, both activities in which I engaged with much vigor.

A few highlights:
I hit the Inner Harbor and Fort McHenry with Amy and her family. We also went to Arlington where I found some people who may or may not be relations. The National Archives was my favorite part of our foray into D.C. We were walking out of the Rotunda when I asked Matt (7) what he thought of the Constitution.

"The what?" he asked.

"Um, the Constitution. Of the United States. Didn't you see it?"

When he replied in the negative, I circled back with him and held him aloft so he could secure a viewing. I mean, come on, you can't go to the National Archives and not see the Constitution.

"Is it that?" he asked, pointing to a painting on the wall.

"No. The Constitution. Right there." I said.

"Uh, where?" he asked.

"Right there. Right there. In that big case with all the security personnel. Right in front of you."

"Oh. You mean that big paper thing?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I saw that."

On the way out I gave Matt a quick (relatively) history of this country's constitution to which he responded that I was "being more boring than 500 boring teachers put together." Ouch.

Mom and I took a day trip to Monticello, which was simply delightful. We wandered round and round the gardens and grounds, both reluctant to leave such a lovely place. If you find yourself near Charlottesville without anything to do, I strongly recommend checking this place out. Like, seriously, strongly. Like, I can't wait to go back strongly.

Would you like to see some of the five thousand pictures I took? Welp, have at it.