All joking about reading addictions aside, Evan's wedding was a blast. Can you say Tiki bar? How about Shrimp and Grits? Not just seeing old friends, but getting to see them, without kids, for two days straight? My belly laughed like it hadn't laughed in years - I was sore afterwards. (Or maybe that was all the waterlogged Flying Burritos I got in the pool at 1 a.m.)
Best of all? Nightswimming in a calm ocean under a full moon. What hurricane?
Here are a few of my favorite pictures from the weekend, along with a link to the whole set on flickr.
Evan getting last minute lovin' from the ladies on Friday night.
Fran the Cougar with her prey, Dan.
Me and Jason, friends since 10th grade biology.
Me and the Creeker boys.
Dan and Wendy at the Reception, which was extremely hot. I think you can actually smell Dan from this picture.
Jason and Laura
My nemesis for the weekend, Kyle, a.k.a. Corey Haim.
Me and the ole ball and chain, all spiffied up.
Me and D, who is no longer a delinquent teen, but an upstanding husband and father, with some damn cute kids and a hot wife.
Rush to get work done. Kiss chilluns and husband goodbye. Finish more work. Decide against shower. Make up for no shower with makeup. Rush to pick up Ness. Speed demon over to Thinking Man's. Miss first trivia questions. Suck at first round. Do better at second, while stuffing face and trying to watch UGA baseball game a mile away. Come in . . . Not last.
Make other girls move over closer to television so can view UGA get their asses handed to them by Fresno St. Drink more beer. Be left by two members of party. Third member of party agrees to sit at bar if I will have another drink. (Twist arm here.) Third member of party reads Tennessee Williams while I watch UGA suck ass. UGA loses 2nd game. Nessie goes outside to discuss Eminent domain with dork. I remain at bar, order last beer, and get quarters for pinball. Nessie still sitting outside debating politics. Nessie's friend tries to get a rise out of me re: eminent domain. I say i have a pinball game to play. Run out of quarters. Find a crumpled five in purse. Ask bartender if he will be annoyed if i play five dollars worth of jukebox songs. Spend ten minutes admiring awesome randomness of Thinking Man jukebox. Return to bar to talk to random guy and bartender. Nessie comes in and we leave. Nessie requests Taco Bell drive through (high point of evening!). Crank up The Hold Steady and open sunroof. Admire Half Moon. Taco Bell not open. Turn Hold Steady up higher and debate doing donuts in Lavista Rd. parking lot. Return Nessie to home and then clock land speed record to home from her house. (six minutes!)
Come inside, kiss dog, let him out, and blog. Sleep. Late. No kids. Call me if you want to go to the pool tomorrow. No kids allowed.
Ahhhhhhhh. . . summer.
Did i mention no kids? Who wants to go watch UGA with me at 7 pm?
With goats. Todd makes fun of me, because I just love goats. I mean, first of all, they taste good. Second of all, they keep down weeds. I have loved them since I was a little girl, with their wispy, eccentric-looking beards. Those spindly legs. That funny, angry noise they make. They come in all colors.
I always tell Todd I want goats when we finally buy our big property (or what my friends James and Dana refer to as "the compound." Yes, we were saddened when the Putnam County, Georgia Nuwaubian property was demolished and sold off to developers; We had our eyes on its faux-Egyptian majesty for a while.)
I think, though, that Todd secretly finds my goat amour cute. This belief was cemented when he sent me the following link. I mean, how could a man who wanted to dissuade me from goat ownership ever expect to achieve his goal by sending me this cuteness?
Get out the smelling salts. Fainting goats. I am so going to have fainting goats on my estate and then I'll get rip-roaring drunk on tequila, and I will do goat fainting party tricks. It will be a dream come true. You are all invited.
I'm the kind of girl who has a leftover dinner of mac and cheese, okra and blackeyed peas, green beans, one can artichoke hearts, and a glass of Chardonnay.
Dessert? One bigass heaping spoon of crunchy peanut butter in a bowl, drizzled with honey and a splash of Kahlua, and a squirt of canned whipped cream, and another glass of Chardonnay.
All of this is of course consumed during one episode of Masterpiece Theatre's Complete Jane Austen's series' Northanger Abbey, followed by the season premiere of Rock of Love 2. That one's on VH1, which means not only am i cheesy, but I am old and cheesy.
I am so tired. Todd and I went to the EARL last night after his book club at Flatiron. Anna Kramer opened, and I loved her! Got this video of a new Band of Horses song they say they hadn't played before. Me likey. Their whole show was really great - I was impressed. I think they were much better than I thought they would be.
Must go to bed now - stayed up till 2:30 and woke up with kids at 7:30. I don't know what their problem is, always wanting me to get up and feed them and stuff like that. They are so needy.
Spent the weekend in NYC with Camille. For those of you who know me, you know about me being the Goatman. See the link for info on the real Goat Man. I never actually saw the Goat Man myself, but my Grandma Palmer always told Pop, when he came in the kitchen door with muddy shoes, or filthy from working in the yard, "Hoooooooooo-Weeeeeeee! You look like the Goat Man!" My family has always referred to someone dressed like crap or dirty or smelly as the Goat Man. (Possibly from dumpster diving with their Grandfather? Not that I would know anything about that.) Pop is the Goatman. I am Goatman Junior.
It is funny how families have inside jokes that become part of their own language, and I often forget that not everyone knows what it is to be The Goat Man. Just like only a select few know what is to have a hair "shark" or "whermp," "accordion stomach," or for a dog to have "salmon." Wet paper is anathema to us. As are Band-Aids stuck to the side of a pool. Suffice it to say that we as a family are all quirkily insane (insanely quirky?) But I digress - Camille and I decided that we would call this trip Goat Man Takes New York.
While I tend to avoid the mob scene at all costs, it was pretty fun to just give in to all the touristy Christmas stuff happening up there, and I have to admit it gave me a little of the Christmas spirit. I had never been to NY during Christmas before, and they do not mess around. They even decorate the scaffolding on buildings under construction. I wonder how anyone with kids manages to keep the Santa secret, because at any given time, you can be walking the city sidewalks in a throng of Santas. The usual street musicians play Christmas carols (my favorite was the steel drum version), and I have never seen so many tourists wearing Christmas sweaters, Santa Claus hats, and bells around their necks in my life. I did wonder how more of them didn't get splatted by taxis, because I don't think one single person within a mile radius of Rockefeller Center was doing anything but looking up. The whole scene is fun, and pretty contagious. That being said, I was completely annoyed by the mass material consumption. I am not a shopping lover by nature, and it baffled me how throngs of people wanted to do nothing but buy!buy!buy! when they could be enjoying all the city has to offer. By Sunday morning, I was ready to shove into oncoming traffic the next threesome of midwesterners who pulled up short in front of me right in the middle sidewalk (wearing Christmas vests and Uggs, no less).
On Friday, we checked into the Intercontinental, then headed over for the Empire State Building. The view is great, and the I am glad I did it, but I will probably never subject myself to it again. I felt just a little too much like cattle. Here is my video from the line. (What can I say? I got bored. I had to mock with mooing. It had to be done.)
Camille and I kept a running list of the New York jobs that seemed to suck the most. I personally detest any job where a person is forced to hawk their wares, or anything that involves a song and dance. With that in mind, the guy in the above video has a crappy job. The guys who dance on the piano at FAO Schwartz have a crappy job. But the crappiest job EVER has to be the poor bastards who get to MC the Barbie Catwalk at FAO Schwartz. My absolute worst nightmare. On the other hand, employees get to hang out in the Leaky Cauldron and around a life-size Iorek, so it is not all bad.
Friday night, we had burgers at some Irish(ish) pub and then had beers with Harris and Anne. They live in Brooklyn and get big props for coming in to meet us despite Anne being a little under the weather and Harris leaving the next day for Tokyo. (For those who know Reese, he's started blogging again - ShiftyEye, we hardly knew ye! - and is documenting his time in Tokyo. Anne is also supposed to be contributing to their blog, but she has yet to appear. Hopefully, she will rectify this soon.)
After they left, we walked around to look at Christmas decorations and enjoy our buzz, strolling along, taking in the Santas galore, and seeing the Rockefeller tree at night. Walked all over to find a place to get another beer, then had one more at the hotel. Got to bed at a reasonable one-ish.
Woke up the next day with a bit of a sinus headache, but headed out to find a bagel and coffee. I love the food choices in the city. I guess I could have called my trip Goat Man Eats New York. Although i am surprised how little I ate while i was there. There is so much to do I just kind of forget to eat.
Saturday was fun. Lots of walking around, and we saw Grease at the Brooks Atkinson Theater. I am not a big fan of musicals, but if there was one I would want to see, this was it. It was good, but not great, although I was really impressed at how much work must go into each production, and i thought the sets and props were way cool. Camille had been planning and looking forward to it for months, so her excitement was contagious. Afterwards, we went to Rockefeller Center for the NBC Studio tour (more feeling like a cow in a cattle chute) and I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed the tour. Seeing the studios themselves (for Conan and SNL) was pretty eye-opening about how much they trick the audience into thinking they are seeing things that they aren't. No, there were no famous people there. I was v. impressed with my knowledge of production, though, when the snooty Canadian hipsters didn't know what Silver Cup was, and I did. Take that, Canadians! My man's in the biz!
After that we cooled our heels in the room, then changed and headed out to meet my friend Jonathon in . . . the E. Village, i think? (I don't really know my way around NY that well.) Camille and I decided to do the subway, since we hadn't used it yet for the trip. Glad we did, as the walk was awesome after getting off and we saw more on foot and subway than we would have in a cab. (Plus, I just love the subway. There is such a sense of accomplishment for me in finding my way around a different city.) We started at Grand Central (which was right by our hotel) and made sure to check out the weird echo in the basement of the station next to the oyster bar. Harris, I'll be honest - I thought you were fucking with us about that. It was v. cool.
Went to meet Jonathon and his roommate Chris, at Euzkadi. Very cool place, laid back, with great servers. It had perfect lighting. Camille had a salad and it was tasty. I had beer. There is nothing better than drinking beer in a nice warm bar while the snow is coming down. We stayed there for a while, then went back to J. and C.'s apartment (very nice and huge!) for more beer. It was a perfect end to a v. long day - My feet were thanking me for sitting on a couch, drinking beer, and talking music. Oh, yeah, and Chris' dog, Norman Bates, was cute as all get-out. I mean, I say that about all dogs, but this one was beautiful.
We caught a cab back to the hotel a little after one. It took a while to catch the cab, and we were being pelted with sleet, but it really doesn't hurt that much if you drink enough beforehand.
Drank the perfect amount on Saturday, because Camille and I both felt great on Sunday. We headed out into the bitter, windy cold and rain. It had been coming down all night, and the sidewalks were icy and there were huge, ice cold puddles at every crosswalk. Of course, I stepped right in the first one i got to, and couldn't feel my toes for the rest of the day, but our flight was at 3 pm and decided against buying a new pair of shoes for one morning of walking around. We walked the stores on 5th Avenue and Madison Ave. We stopped in St. Patrick's during the 11 a.m. service, which was really beautiful. We made fun of people. We decided to go all out and hit the FAO Schwartz, which was crowded but funny.
Worried about the weather, we got back to the hotel in time to check out and make sure our flight was still on schedule. It was, so we grabbed and cab and headed to Laguardia. I was much less nervous about the flight home, which is v. unusual for me, as I am usually a complete nutcase about it. This is partially because I figured out on the flight up that all i really need is a Xanax and TRIVIA IN THE BACK OF EACH SEAT OF THE PLANE. Mother of God, why did they not think of this before? Best invention since pay-at-the-pump! You're pitted against other people on the plane, so that you can say, "You're going down, 27C!" when they are beating you. (Except you probably should only say it in your head, or Homeland Security might meet you with handcuffs at the arrival gate.)
I was despondent upon realizing we were bereft of trivia on the flight home. Things took a distinct turn for the worse when the Captain came on the loudspeaker to tell us, "We have had reports of some turbulence upon takeoff here from Laguardia. Much of this has been severe turbulence. Now, let's put this into perspective: Severe turbulence is not going to damage the aircraft, but it will be very uncomfortable, and will require that you remain in your seat with your seatbelt fastened." He then proceeded to attempt to convince the passengers of his prowess as a pilot by telling us about his background in the Air Force. Um, okay, so are you comparing this flight to a battle situation? Awesome. Just awesome. Thank God for prescription sedatives. Turns out it wasn't half as bad as had been reported earlier. Which is good, because I don't have great bladder control since having children.
We arrived back in Atlanta and I made it home and I was really glad to see the Rugrats, which is the best indicator of a relaxing weekend trip.
I miss New York, though. Great city. Wish I had more time. Didn't get to hit one museum. I am sure Todd is shaking his head at the thought of having to go with me in the future. Not because he dislikes art, but because he dislikes how long it takes me to meander through museums. I guess I'm already planning my next trip. I think I'll call it The Goat Man Returns.
Good, hot coffee at Joe's. Tiller and Rollie sitting on East Atlanta Santa's lap, with not a tear. Meeting nice new people in my great neighborhood. Margaritas with the Reids and my family at La Casita Cantina. Mmmm. Pork Carnitas. . . .
Coming home and cuddling on the couch with my eldest, dozing to the sounds of him watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
Todd and I took the kids over to his parents' house on Lake Martin, where we did second Thanksgiving dinner (yes, we are complete Hobbits) on Friday with his brother Wade, brother Lyle, and Lyle's wife Denise. Wade was on our shit list for not bringing my new niece, Luci, with him, but he made up for it by bringing her over on Sunday. I ate too much.
On Saturday, Todd and I had to get a new tire for the van, so we got up early to drive to the nearest Wal-Mart, which was in Alexander City ("Alex City" to easter Alabamians in the know). Dear God. Oh, the humanity of a small-town Alabama Wal-Mart on the day of the Iron Bowl! You couldn't walk five feet without someone uttering a "Roll Tide" or "War Eagle" at someone else. People looked at me like I was a Martian, presumably because I was not wearing crimson, blue, or orange, and well. . . why is she not wearing one of those? I think it may have been inconceivable to them that there were other states outside of their own that day. On the day of the Iron Bowl, Auburn, Alabama is the center of the universe. I would be lying if I said that I didn't actually care who won. I pull for Auburn when there is no harm in it, and I have definitely adopted my husband's disdain for the Tide. Good God, there is nothing scarier than a female, middle-aged, bleached-blonde Alabama fan in person. Oh, yeah. And my trivia girls and I have a bit of wager with the Alabama graduate who runs our trivia at Graveyard Tavern. He will be footing the bill for our drinks this evening. I have no kids tomorrow. He should be frightened, very frightened.
After that, we had lunch with his parents and the kids, then headed into Auburn to pick up my friend Brett. Brett and I went to high school and college together and he is one of my oldest, dearest friends. I just don't get to see him as often as I'd like, because he lives in Seattle. Brett has his own family ties to Auburn, so he was in town for the game, but is a Georgia fan, so we decided to meet up for tailgating and watching of the Tech game, and also Ky/Tn.
Despite the fact that Kentucky couldn't pull off the win over Tennessee to send GA to the SEC Championship (which I guess actually gives us a higher bowl berth? Whatever. I am over trying to wrap my little brain around the BCS.), I had an awesome time watching with Brett, and with all of the Auburn and Alabama fans who may not have cared about the outcome of the game, but pulled for Kentucky with me, anyway. SEC fans are the best. They get it.
Afterwards, Brett headed to the game, and Todd and I went over to Iain's in Opelika to watch the game. Mostly, i drank while they watched the game. We started tailgating around 2 pm and we stayed up til 2 a.m., when I stopped dancing and passed out on the foldout with my snoring Todd, and four dogs.
Sunday was hell. Okay, except for the part where I finally got to meet my first ever niece. She is adorable and cute and little and she doesn't talk back or run into things and bust her head open. Oh, and my brother-in-law Wade makes a kick ass spaghetti with meatballs. Perfect cure for a hangover, and totally got me well enough to drive two chilluns back to Atlanta. That drive usually takes two hours, but because of Thanksgiving traffic, it took 3.5 hrs plus. I now know what my hell is: Driving in the dark fog and mist, for all eternity with two children screaming, crying, fighting, and singing, while the car lurches forward in 10 mph spurts and headlights blind me in rearview and my head throbs and my stomach churns and I am so desperate for sleep that I almost, almost pull over at Hogansville to get a motel room, just to put me out of my misery, but it would take me another 30 minutes just to get to the exit ramp, so I might as well push on.
Then we dropped Mom off at the hotel and headed to The Blind Tiger for drinks with the wedding peeps. It was funny, because I had been to this bar before, only a couple months after Todd and I started dating. His friend Kate was married at the same place that my friend Marc married at Saturday night, and the night after her wedding, everyone went out for drinks. We went to the Blind Tiger, where Kate passed out at a table in the courtyard. Ah, memories. We had to wait a while for our friends, and Lisa is knocked up, so she was pretty much over it by the time they got there, but she perked up when she saw old friends and managed to stay out for a good while. I stayed longer, and had the pleasure of chatting with my old friend Pierce's wife, Fowler, for a good long while. She is awesome, which I totally would have imagined for Pierce. They next morning, Lisa and I headed out for coffee and shopping. We hit the Farmer's Market, which really consisted of us oohing and aaahing over all the cute dogs people were walking around. The weather was perfect. We walked all down King Street looking at shops and I even saw real live fancy shoes at Bob Ellis. I think if I ever were rich, I would have a shoe problem. Plus, shoes and makeup are fun because they don't make you feel fat. Lisa and I both bought matching heart necklaces and did the sister bonding thing. See how cute we are?
After that, we met up with Mom for lunch. It was a good thing we started looking for a lunch place when we did, because if we had waited any longer, Pregzilla might have eaten Meeting St. We went to Monza for pizza, because that's what sounded good to the zilla. It was really good, and the service was great, and they played Wilco and Bloc Party, and once Lisa ate something, she was a human again. If any of you are paying attention now, you will realize that Lisa is wearing the sweater I wore on Saturday night. It is hers and really comfy. You will also realize that I am wearing the same shirt from the night before. I know! I packed like 500 things and did what I always do - Ended up wearing the comfortable tee. It's my signature look.
After lunch, Mom and Lisa headed home to nap (?!!) and I found a bar with as many tvs as possible so as to assure that I saw at least the first half of the Georgia/Kentucky game. I sat with some lovely Ohio State fans, and some not-so-lovely Gators and Vols. Most people were watching Ohio State/ Michigan. I had to leave at halftime to go get dressed for a 4PM wedding. Evidently, people from the Carolinas and Texas did not get the memo about NO WEDDINGS IN THE FALL IN THE SOUTH. It was explained to me later by the Texan groom that they just don't do weddings on Sundays, because of the Cowboys. Whatevers. UGA won, and I was spared the heart-attack and heartbreak-inducing Tenn/Vandy game. Arrrrgggggh.
Found the lovely wedding location, Lowndes Grove, with time to spare. I always wonder what Yankees think of the south when they see a place like Lowndes Grove. Do they think that Southerners are immune to the beauty of such a place? Do they think regular folks live in places like this? Not so. I am in awe whenever I am in a place like this. The weather was beautiful and the ceremony was timed perfectly to coincide with a lovely sunset over the Ashley River. Wedding went off without a hitch, even with that tricky "speak now or forever hold your peace" part. (Oh, the thoughts that went through my head just then, little Marky! Exploding hotdogs! Underage preteens passed out on my parents parquet floor! The never ending retaliatory prank calls the bride will endure!
Okay, here are the rest of the pics, taken before the reception was over and we got to the too-drunk-to-operate-camera, much-less-my-own-two-mysteriously-skinned-up-legs portion of the evening. Twas not pretty, but was better than my horribly-hung-over Sunday. Note to self: When drinking copious amounts at open bar, also partake of dinner buffet.
Me and Marc's college roomie, Mitchell, who lives in Midtown.
Lisa, Fowler, and my Mom.
Two not-so-sober old acquaintances. I hadn't seen John in almost 20 years. I think the last time I saw him I was cleaning up puke at Aunt Dot's house. He was probably 15. Got to meet his wife, Ashley, a sassy and cute Aussie.
The reasons we were there - My mom and the Groom's mom, Judy, who were childhood friends in Chattanooga.
Tomorrow morning, I leave for Charleston. My childhood friend Marc is getting married. I cannot wait to meet the victim, er. . . bride. Marc and his brother, Pierce, and my sister and I go way back; Our moms were best friends growing up in Chattanooga. We vacationed in Destin with them for years, visited them at their home and on their Grandfather's ranch near Dallas, and when Pierce went to school in Chattanooga, I used to see him and his roommate when I was in town visiting my Grandma. We all exchanged emails recently, and Pierce's roommate was saying how nice it would be to see me again. The last time he remembers seeing me, I "drove a convertible and had bought the Drivin' and Cryin' album that day." We figured out that was about 1988. Yeah, nineteen years. Wow.
Marc is the last of us to get married. Pierce and I both have kids now, and Lisa is expecting. None of this adulthood crap matters much, because these are people who have known me long enough to remember me before I became the woman of grace and loveliness that I am today; They saw the gangly, pimpled girl with the sausage-rolled hair. They knew me when I had no boobs. They knew me when I liked Whitesnake.
It is going to be fun to have all four of us back together again this weekend, even though I won't have them to myself. There will be merciless ribbing, and much, much laughter. And a whole lotta drinking. Look out, Charleston.
I had forgotten. This is what it looks like when Todd and I plan to go directly home after his Loud Music and Beers Book Club at the Flatiron, but then we decide to have one more beer at the Glenwood while waiting for our cab. We run into friends from college and old coworkers. Suicidal Tendencies on the jukebox. It gets a little messy. Good times had by all.
Of course, I am not feeling so awesome right now, and Todd is already War Eagling me, and I am choking down my first cup of coffee and we have to drive to Athens. There are big things on the line here, folks, both in the big football picture for the Dawgs, but also on the home front. We're talking bragging rights for a year, which is a very long time when you are on the losing team. And there's a little punishment in the works for the loser this year, but more on that after we see the outcome this evening.
Halloween was ultra fun. We carved the pumpkin (yes, I am a total slacker and waited till the last minute) and then went and had pizza at Grant Central. After that, we walked around East Atlanta Village for the Eav-O-Ween celebration. All of the shop owners hand out candy to the local kids, and the people-watching is pretty fun. The kids were pretty cute, and I have to say that kids don't get hipper than those who trick or treat The Earl and The Flatiron. Nothing like seeing your little ones waltz right up to a bar for trick or treating. Definitely beats the toothbrushes we used to get from Dr. Grove, the dentist who lived down our suburban street growing up. After that, we came home and Todd traipsed the kids down the street, while I stayed back to drink beer, er. . . hand out candy. There is something so heartstring-tugging about seeing your husband walking down the street, holding hands with the costumed kids, their other hands gripping the pumpkins so tightly and with such purpose. I had a lovely time talking with the neighbors and then Todd and the kids returned, the kids dove into the candy, and we sat around talking some more, while handing out candy. Halloween in the hood is a little different than in the 'burbs. The first few years, you are kind of put out by the older kids trick-or-treating (as one neighbor put it, if you are out on a date, you are probably too old to trick or treat) and the lack of discernible costumes, but you start to realize that it's just the way that folks do things here, and you get into the spirit and go with the flow after a while. And I dare say that this year, it seemed like more people dressed up and that they were trying just a little bit harder. Todd hosed the children down from layers of stickiness and put them both down. About nine, we closed up shop (lights out, candles out), and Todd walked down the street to check out the Gay Superheroes. It seems that the money house (what I call the neighbor's house where everyone meets to party while handing out candy every year - a jackpot for the trick or treater) was doing a Superhero costume theme this year. I am sure they went all out and I should have sent the camera. Damn. I'm drinking beer, fucking around with the Halloween photos, and listening to my Creepy mix. Decemberists' Leslie Anne Levine is on right now. Awesome song. Awesome holiday.
I think I’m going to preemptively turn in my girls’ club membership, because after people read this, it will probably be revoked.
Todd is out of town. He went camping. In Perote. Yes, that is a real place. Pronounced “Pee-Rote.” It is somewhere in the wilds of Alabama. Okay, peeps, here’s the deal. I had tivoed Gossip Girl, America’s Next Top Model, and numerous The Hills and Real World episodes.
Maybe this is Freaky Friday – Todd goes to the middle of nowhere, no electricity or power, where he will not see football all day long. I watch football all day long. Color me Jamie Lee Curtis. Todd is Lindsay, of course.
I just spent the day between about 2:30 and now (11:13) watching football. I did nap for thirty minutes around 3pm. But other than that, I watched football. That is not unusual for me, as Todd and I often spend Fall Saturdays watching football. But tonight, you would think I would be doing the bottle of wine, husband out of town, guilty pleasure Tivo thing. Nope.
Football. I Could. Not. Turn. It. off.
LSU Kentucky. No, wait. KENTUCKY/LSU. Fucking awesome. I had Tiller and Rollie in their pjs yelling “Go Wildcats!” and “Big D!” on that last LSU possession. I even chose to watch those three overtimes over the Bulldogs game. Unheard of, but I really like Kentucky. I think they are a classy act, and I LOVE an underdog and an upset. And I kind of think LSU fans are pompous fuckwads this year, too, for the most part; Heberts and Lambremonts excused. I like to watch an LSU Tiger looking all stunned in the face paint. Good stuff.
Dawgs. God’almighty, they just about broke my heart last week, but they pulled this one out. Knowshon looked stellar in that last quarter. Me likey. I kind of want to make out with Richt when he does stuff like yell at the boys for celebrating too much on the field, and I though him apologizing to Vandy before the media or the fans could even start bitching about it was just another example of what a class act he is. So proud of him as coach. And, hey, if they're gonna have an off season, a rebuilder, or what have you, this is as good a season as any, because the upset factor is keeping me pretty entertained.
Speaking of, Cal. Ha! Little freshman QB was doing okay, but he really choked there on that last play. The annoying part of this whole thing is that fucking Ohio State will move into the number one slot, and I hate them solely on my knowledge of one single Ohio State fan acquaintance. Buckeye Boy is more of a fuckwad than the whole LSU fandom united. Props to T’s Auburn boys for pulling out a tough one against Arkansas, too.
The really sad part is that even when I did watch some of my Tivo stuff, I watched Friday Night Lights. Nope, not kidding.
All in all, good football Saturday. Would’ve been better with a little company.
Oh, wait. . . I gots me a bottle of wine. Which just might secure retainment of my membership card, because I bet I’m the only football fan in Georgia that watched that much ball today while drinking red wine, rather than bourbon or beer. Maybe I'll start the Bulldog Wine Club.
One last football footnote: (God, that’s cute. “Football footnote.”) Must convince Nessie to go see Band of Horses with me tomorrow. Ben Bridwell likes him some Dawgball.
I'm post-dating this. Totally forgot to publish it on Saturday. Wish I had made BOH, but just wasn't feeling like braving a 99X crowd.
Most of the time i feel like Dogwood Girl is a great outlet for me, a healthy exercise in purging my sick mind and all that. But lately? It is just another damn thing that I am not getting done. Who needs something else to make them feel guilty? I am not going to let it get me down. I will post when I can post.
But some things require taking the time. Like when one of your bestest friends, the one that introduced you to your husband, which resulted in your life becoming boring and parental, and yet you still love her, is getting married and you spend the weekend with the girls, acting trashy and pretending that you don't have children or husbands. Much fun.
In case you haven't visited the town, Helen is totally kooky, touristy, and a total fucking riot. Here's a town where everyone drank the Kool Aid and decided to make their little town a theme park. With beer river tubing and taffy and Ye Olde Fudge.
We spent the weekend in a cabin, with a pool table, a panoramic view of Mt. Yonah, a hot tub, rocking chairs, four couches, and three tvs. Anyone who knows me can tell you that if you put me up with a pool table, a stocked bar, an IPod, and a hot tub, I might never leave. I watched Auburn beat out those detestable Gators while pounding beers, playing pool, and hot tubbing. It was awesome. We are even mature enough that we could afford a place where everyone had a bed. I shared a King with my little sis and I barely knew she was there.
This was the first Bachelorette party I have been to, i realized later, at which only the Bride-to-be was a Bachelorette. The rest of us were all Matrons. That is a little disturbing. Didn't get in the way of the shenanigans, though. And as Lisa and I informed the others, we are still way cute when we drink. You can see evidence of this in the following picture, as Leelee exudes cuteness:
High points, other than aforementioned view and hot tub, were the excellent meals, and the company. Great group of girls. Okay, it's a tossup - Girls vs. very frightening, nightmare-inducing Deer Anus Cyclops Head. It could go either way.
More pics: Keri, Robbie, and Nessie:
Robbie solo, and with her very cool future Sis-in-law, Katie:
Et moi, basking in the heat of the tub and two beautiful field goals against the Fucking Florida Gators (Yes, this Bulldog hates them just. that. much.) And to top off a great weekend, on the way home, i met a couple of bikers on Harleys at the gas station. One of them asked me to go for a ride with him. He was cute in a pushing-50s, Marlboro-Man-gravelly-voice kind of way. I was tempted. It was a great day.
"I need to get back to Atlanta," I said.
"I live in Atlanta," he replied with a devilish grin. "I'll take you home."
"I can't. I gotta get back to the husband and kids."
"Ma'am, I'm so sorry. I didn't see your ring. I didn't know you were married."
"That's okay," I said. "You made my day!"
And it did. We're still cute, girls, even when we're not drinking. And chivalry is not dead. At least not in the hills of North Georgia.
[Lisa, and anyone else who is familiar with it, please cue Urban Cowboy soundtrack in your head.]
* Beer upon beer upon beer + free Patron shots = Big headache + much shenanigans. * Damn, I look good in a real cowboy hat. Not that straw shit, either. I mean the sweat-stained, dark, cowboy-like-John-Travolta, Texas cowboy hat. * My husband can ride a mechanical bull. So can all the other Auburn boys. And a few of the girls. * Cowboys are hot, even if they aren't that hot. If you ask them, "How'd you learn to ride the mechanical bull like that?" they reply with a laughing look: "I ride real bulls." Women swoon. * I think I may have done something dirty with a sprinkler on Saturday night at around 5 a.m. Actually, I remember the sprinkler. The sprinkler and I were on our best behavior, despite some unsubstantiated reports otherwise; it's everything that came after the sprinkler that I'm a little fuzzy on. * Despite rumors of sprinkler sex, I am more modest than I thought; Evidently, I was the only girl in East Alabama on Saturday night who wouldn't ride aforementioned bull because of wearing a skirt. I know. East Alabama is probably not the gold standard, but admit it, you all are reading this and thinking "I cannot believe that she didn't ride that bull." I wanted to ride the bull. I will never go to Alabama again with a skirt on, for fear of coming across a bull that I might happen to wanna ride. Cause I'm a lady like that. * My Mama is right: I can drink too much, or I can stay up too late, but I cannot do both (well).
One reason that I have been slow to post of late is that my Internet has been sloooowww, too, and I like to illustrate my points with pictures and video (such as Todd riding the bull), but I sit around and pray and pray that God will increase my internet connection speed and he just isn't listening. I am just kidding. I don't pray for internet speed. That is silly.
Wish you could see the boys on the bull, though. I will try to post more. I promise, Nat.
Husband goes out of town and, in excitement over evening of unadulterated control of television, Annie drinks a complete bottle of wine over the course of the evening.
Very with it this morning at 7 a.m. when son pooped on potty (so proud!) and then came in and asked me to wipe his butt. Who needs coffee?
Waiting for nap time. For me. I need a nap.
I thought that I had learned that, as my Mama says, "The wages of sin are not always death." For the non-Southerner, I believe that translates to "Don't drink a shitload when you have to get up with two kids under four the next day."
I did it. I ran eight miles. That is the farthest I have ever run in my life. I planned to do it outside, but the weather was threatening thunderstorms, so I relented and agreed to do it on the treadmill at the gym. I get so fucking bored on the treadmill that I want to die, but I just told myself that I had to do it and if I didn't, i would be disappointed in myself. Somehow, either the self-induced guilt trip worked, or I just had one of those "magic" running days where it just isn't that hard, and anything seems possible. I was really tired, and it was hard, but I just took two miles at a time, and it wasn't that bad.
Sure, the no hills and lots of AC probably made it easier, but the thing that I am starting to realize is that the most important element to this running thing is the mental element. I just had to tell myself that I could do it, and that, to borrow from that sage poet Eminem, "you can do anything you set your mind to."
Total time for the 8 miles: 1 hr 34 mins 44 secs. (11:51 pace)
Oh, and according to my little calculator I use to map my routes, running 8 miles at a 12 minute pace adds up to about 1000 cals burned. That's, like, ten light beers.
My sister was bummed out about various life stuff and so she came over to destress. Why you would come to the home of two kids under four to destress, I have no idea, but she is a strange cookie.
Anyway, I never even ate breakfast, and then she had me convinced that I should drink a margarita with her, before I had even had lunch. She really had to twist my arm. Ended up having lunch, two margaritas, and hanging out all afternoon in the backyard with the kids, and the two dogs. (She brought her new pup, and once again, I forgot to snap a picture of her.)
The best part was kicking the soccer ball with Rollie. When you have a baby, you just never really let it sink in that they will grow up, start talking, and be able to kick a soccer ball with you in the backyard. It was a little surreal - Just me and the boy, kicking the ball back and forth and talking and laughing.
Might have been the margaritas, but I think it was more that he is just growing into such a nice little boy. Into someone that in twenty five years or so, I might actually be friends with.
Pitchfork: Is there anything else that you want to get off your chest?
BB: College football starts in about fifty days.
Pitchfork: You're not soaking up the baseball season?
BB: I am, actually. We haven't been near it. When we were in Seattle for those three weeks I got to watch some Mariners games.
Pitchfork: So the M's are your team?
BB: Yeah, the Mariners are my favorite pro baseball team, and the Georgia Bulldogs are my favorite college football.
Holy Shit. And more:
Bridwell, the songwriting force behind Horses' acclaimed debut Everything All the Time, lives in a ranch-style home that will soon be smartly appointed with Georgia Bulldogs football memorabilia. He's just moved in, so only the oblong G doormat is in place. A framed photo of the all-white English bulldog "Uga," wearing a red t-shirt and performing a leaping chomp at a nervous Auburn wideout from the end zone sideline, sits on the hearth waiting to be hung.
And also:
They serve micheladas-- cold beers with soy sauce, Tabasco, and half-limes.
Dear God. This might be love.
Okay, I really liked Band of Horses already. (They were number one on my Top Ten of 2006 list.) But the convergence of good music and SEC football fandom (and my Bulldogs, no less!) really gets me excited in an altogether freaky way.
Thanks to Todd for recognizing this momentous item, giving me the heads up, and being okay with me daydreaming about watching football with Ben all day and then going to watch Band of Horses that night. I will try to make said daydream include a victory over Tech or Florida, rather than Todd's lil' tigers. I'm nice that way.
I've written about how my brother-in-law calls our girls' nights "Girls Gone Mild." Not this past Saturday. I felt like complete and total ass on Sunday morning. Totally worth it, though, as it was good to go out and get a little crazy with the girls. Note to self: Beer good. Jagermeister shots bad. Especially after aforementioned beer.
Pictures below. I think I look fairly sedate, compared to the others, no?
My friend Vanessa and I had this very long, drawn-out discussion of the influence of dolls on young girls, and of marketing of sexualized toys to girls, etc. the other night over margaritas. Yes, I do most of my sorting out of world problems while under the influence of alcohol. To make a long story short, we are both very concerned about the media and other outside influences on our daughters, and about how we can minimize these influences in their lives.
The funny thing? I didn't need to be worrying about my daughter at all. She doesn't give a shit yet which bib I put on her at the dinner table. Rollie, though? The morning after margaritas with Vanessa, I asked him to put a bib on before breakfast, and walk over to the table to find him wearing Tiller's Disney Princesses bib. He then proceeded to put his Bass Pro Shops hat on Tiller and appropriated her white Easter hat, the one with the big white bow, for the ride to school.
Ain't nobody gonna put my kids in a gender pigeonhole. Nobody.
As I said, I felt like SHIT on Saturday. Nausea and splitting headache, which i think were due more to lack of sleep than quantity of alcohol. Complete and utter shit, all the same. I told Todd I didn't want to drink a lot, so that I would feel good on Saturday. He made me drink.
We woke up, ate some continental breakfast, then headed out to get a new digital camera. (Ours finally pissed us off enough to be retired.) Then we had a tasty sandwich at a sub place and headed back to the room for naps. I was disappointed that I was so tired on Saturday - I far would have preferred strolling the squares all day Saturday, but knew I must sleep or I would never make it through the wedding on Saturday night.
We slept for two hours, then woke up, had a snack and dressed for the wedding. The trolley (ring! ring! ring! goes the bell) was picking up at 5:40 for the 6:30 wedding. We rushed around getting dressed and got on the trolley. We picked up more wedding guests at the Mulberry Inn and the Desoto Hilton. I have never seen so many women wearing dead animals in my life.
The wedding was at The Oglethorpe Club. Another beautiful house, right across the street from the original Armstrong College, where my father once attended classes. As we pulled up around the corner on to Bull St., we heard the piper playing. I swear to God, they had a bagpiper greeting the guests on the corner.
We got off the trolley, then proceeded up the stairs (festooned in beautiful greenery and white roses - I think they spent more on flowers than I spent on my whole wedding. There were white roses all over the whole house.) We checked my coat, then went up to the second floor for the ceremony. They conducted the ceremony in an upstairs, wood-paneled, long and narrow room. It was dark and candlelit. The bride wore a beautiful dress, and the the whole wedding party was decked out in Scottish tartan. The groom and his family wore their tartan; the bride and wedding party wore their own. Women wore a tartan sash with a brooch, including the bride. Nice, unusual touch. The piper piped as the wedding party entered. They also had a four-piece string instrument thing going on. The ceremony was very short, which was nice, because about half of us were standing in the back of the room.
After the ceremony, it was off to the bar. The Oglethorpe is a men's club. I was a little weirded out about things I have heard about it (no black members, no women allowed to walk up the front steps, etc.) All of that didn't matter - they could have made me crawl around on my knees as long as I could partake of the buffet.
I'm going to throw down the gauntlet: BEST. WEDDING. BUFFET. EVER. There were the usual carving tables, and an open bar, but the piece de resistance was the asparagus/cheese/tomato sandwich/oyster table. If you know me, you know they had me at "cheese," but if you throw in tomato sandwiches with the crusts (I still call them "the bones") cut off, I am yours. There were so many different kinds of stinky, blue-veined cheeses that I would have been sick even trying a bite of each one. Todd, meanie that he is, didn't think it was appropriate for me to put a whole chunk of cheese in my purse at the end of the evening. I am horrified at the thought of the cheese in a trashcan in the basement of the Oglethorpe Club.
Add in a bottomless pan of freshly-fried, hot oysters? Holy crap! I am surprised I didn't get sick. I spent half the evening hovering around the oyster dish with a bunch of old southern men, waiting for the next batch to come out. I think I impressed them with my oyster-eating prowess. I was so tired that night, that i took it easy on the drinking. Well, I did start at 7:00 or so and drink till 3 something in the morning, but i was a good girl. I felt fine on Sunday. One reason? I ate my weight in buffet. The reception lasted a long time, and people were pretty toasty by the end. I was pretty sober myself, having spent more time stuffing my face and looking at old weapons and pictures of Civil War generals.
In the end, the bride and groom came down the wide front steps of the club as we showered them with white rose petals. Both had changed: The groom was wearing ridiculous plaid pants, a bowtie, and a tam. The bride wore pants and sweater, along with a wide-brimmed hat and her tartan sash as a scarf. The "getaway" car was not a car at all - Definitely the cutest "Just married" getaway ever: They climbed onto a vintage tandem bike, complete with basket and bell, then rode off into Monterrey Square. (I think it was Monterrey Square). Adorable. I got a little choked up, and I don't even know them.
We took the trolley back to the hotel, then changed, and met people at the bar the wedding party had chosen. I am going to go ahead and say it was possibly the most hideous place I have ever been. Some kind of karaoke bar, attached to a bar that looked just like an Applebee's. I guess I am a snob, but I am picky. It is bad enough hearing the original versions of crappy rock songs (think Creed or one of those bands with numbers in their names), but hearing drunks butcher them even further was downright painful.
I drank PBRs with Kate (the bride's sister and Todd's friend), her husband, and her lecherous uncle from Bogota. They gave up the ghost and headed home. Todd was just kicking it into high gear (for those of you who know Todd, this is the part where he starts stirring his drink with his fingers, and then licking them merrily one by one) and so despite the fact that I was ready to fall into bed, I took one for the team and accompanied him for a few more hours.
We finally found a couple other like-minded guests who decided to venture with us to another bar, Hang Fire. My friend Donnie had recommended this place as having an excellent jukebox, and so when a fellow wedding guest mentioned it as a place where they might go, I jumped at the chance. It was pretty cool, but by the time we got there, everyone was wasted, and they had a band playing, so I didn't get a chance to check out the jukebox. I did get to see the shocked look on the face of the little South Carolina girl who had joined us, when she saw two girls making out in the corner and about ten guys taking camera phone pictures of them. That actually made the trip worthwhile. She then got into an argument with her date, who had somehow offended her by putting down "Carolina" and "the status quo in Columbia." They were a riot. We met a very nice Chicago girl who had been living in Savannah for a couple of years and tried to convince us that since we like Wilco we like jam bands. Ain't gonna happen. We finally walked back to the hotel with the feuding Columbian (of Columbia, SC) couple. I was asleep within five minutes.
I woke up feeling wonderful; Todd, not so much. Ah, sweet feeling of a Sunday morning without hangover or regret. We looked around in vain for somewhere neat to eat, then in desperation and hunger, I phoned my friend Jason, who recommended The Firefly Cafe, which looked awesome, but had a wait of what looked like hours (think Flying Biscuit waits). We went down the street to a J. Christopher's, which was actually really good, and had IHOP-style bottomless coffee on the table.
On the way, I caught sight of this guy who was carrying an interesting sign. I am guessing he strolls the streets every Sunday to put fear of God into Saturday night's hangover victims roving the streets searching for a cure; Everyone out on Sunday morning seemed to be a slow-moving student, or a well-dressed churchgoer in a fancy hat. It was Sunday, crisp and bright, and the people were walking their dogs with coffee in hand, and the church bells rang at noon. Lovely morning. Todd looked like death eating a ham sandwich, which only cast into relief my elation at having a sunny morning without kids or hangover.
Some things are indescribably perfect. We had a wonderful time (hard not to without kids), and I didn't even mention all the six degrees of separation, or the menage a trois come-ons (or so we like to flatter ourselves,) or the Episcopal Mafia. You can see more of our pictures from the trip by clicking on my Flickr link to the right. They should be up some time today.
Oh, p.s.! On Saturday, even with my hangover, we "discovered" an awesome artist at Chroma Gallery on Barnard. I posted about it here on Atlanta Metblogs, as the artist is an Atlantan. If you ever want to see what I am saying about Atlanta, there are links to my posts on Metroblogging Atlanta to the right.
We arrived in Warner Robins Friday afternoon, and dropped off the kids. We just about left skid marks on my parents after setting up the pack'n'play and saying hello to my grandfather. We took Mom's Honda Pilot, which drives great and is much nicer than our Honda Odyssey. Todd and I have decided that 75 South to Florida is far more boring than driving 16 to Savannah; 16 contains nothing of great interest to look at, but 75 contains a continuous string of eyesores.
We arrived in Savannah around six or so, and had to be at the cocktail party at 7:30, but the trolley (ding ding ding) was picking us up at 7:00, so no shower. You might think that I could get ready in one hour, but I wear it so rarely that I am nearly incapable of putting on makeup by myself. You can ask Todd; It really does take me that long. I would show you how horrible I am at it, but we deleted all the pictures for fear that they would give the children nightmares. Todd, however, looked great. (That's him at the left.) In fact, he looked so good that the groom's mother, upon seeing him, asked the bride's mother, "Who is that handsome man?" We are now working a scheme to knock off the groom's father, wed my husband to the widow, and put the kids and I up in a Savannah apartment until she kicks the bucket. I promise I am not going to end each paragraph in this post with someone dying off.
The cocktail party was held at The Harper-Fowlkes house, which is owned by The Society of the Cincinnati. I had no idea what this thing was, and I actually really dig genealogy and history: Seems that to be a member of the SOC, you have to be a first-born male descendant of an American or French Revolutionary war officer. Each officer can only have one descendant at a time represent them, so in order for a son to take his father's place, the father must kick the bucket first. (Left: The Harper-Fowlkes from the enclosed garden in the back.) The house was gorgeous and the food rocked. It was pretty cold, so people pretty much stayed inside, but the smokers (and me) spent a good deal of time on the back porch and in the garden.
At one point, I went to find a bathroom and entered the "off limits" upstairs of the three-story house. There was a really cool open area in the center of the 2nd floor hall that looked down on the entrance hall to the house. I was able to stand in this dimly-lit area and overhear everyone's conversations; unfortunately, it was mostly old people talking about boring stuff. I wandered around, looking at the oil paintings and weird Society "stuff" - old medals, books, and pins enclosed in glass cases. There were two bedrooms, impeccably furnished, with their own fireplaces, and a society library. The hallway was lit, but the rooms were not. I ventured into them, but frankly, I was a little creeped out. I also went to the landing halfway up the stairs to the third story, but could not see a thing further, and did not want to draw attention to myself by turning on a light. (Note to self: When going to parties in creepy old houses, make like Nancy Drew and bring along a spare flashlight in my clutch purse.) This was all even more disappointing when I spoke with a teenage boy, son of the host and hostess, who told me that he has explored the third floors, attics, and basements of every old house in Savannah - evidently, he has been dragged to a hell of a lot of boring society parties. (That's a picture of the bride and groom above.)
After the party, we went back to the hotel to change, then met other wedding guests in the lobby. We were kind of hoping to hit some off-the-beaten-path watering holes, but of course we ended up going to some "Irish" bar on River Street, because it was just plain easier than convincing people to go somewhere else and then getting them there. It ended up being pretty fun, and we had a whole upstairs bar to ourselves. (That's us on the left.) There were probably 15 to 20 of us. We knew two of them, but as the evening wore on, we met every Rhett and Scarlett in the place.
B.T. and Kate, with Todd. The only other two people we knew at the party. No, I'm not kidding, one of them was really named Rhett. Okay, no Scarletts, but any other family name you can think of, there was someone with that name in the room: I met Rhett and Reeve, Dallon and Porter. Even the women with regular names had another name appended to the first, so that they became Kimberly Gay or Mary Ellen or Emma George. I felt so plain when I had to tell people my name: "Anne." They looked expectantly at me until they realized it was just that one syllable. I guess I should have been sticking that middle name on the end the whole time, just to not mess with their world. I am joking, of course - they were all lovely people. One of the wonderful things about a wedding where you don't know anyone is that you get to meet so many great people, and learn such interesting things about them. (Geologists! Creative Writing PhDs! Lawyers! Insurance Salesmen!) As the evening wore on, we lost most of our party to sleep, and they closed the upper bar, so we headed downstairs for one more drink at that bar. On the way down, I met an audiologist (read: Hearing Aid Salesman) and his two coworkers, who were in Savannah for a convention. They were from Montreal, but one of them was a Frenchman from Lilles. I wowed him with my incredibly terrible French; No, all the alcohol in the world could not give me the gift of comprehensible French. He turned up his nose at my pronunciation until we finally hit upon a common bond - Our children are the same age and it seems that in any language, kids are a pain in the ass, and parents will compare pictures of them anyway.
While talking to the Quebecois and Monsieur Lilles, I overheard the guy on my other side saying into his cellphone, "No, I'm in Georgia." He sounded like he wanted to blow his brains out. I said, in my bitchiest drunk voice: "Is it really that bad?" He met my eyes and looked like he was about to cry. I said, "Oh my God, are you okay?" Turns out that he and his sister were in Savannah for his sister's wedding, which isn't that odd, except that it is his half-sister, whom he had never met before. They have the same father, and they found each other on the internet. While he was at the wedding, he received a phone call from his home town of Portland, and was informed that one of his best friends was killed in a car wreck. So, he was sitting beside me at the bar, drinking to his dead friend, when he received a call that the whole thing had been a horrible mix-up; The friend was not dead at all. He was so relieved he was about to cry. I was drunk and gave him a ridiculously huge hug. He hugged back. Ah, the friendships I have made in bars. He ended up walking back to the hotel with us (he was staying there, too) and bitching about how Savannah didn't know their cocaine. We bid him farewell in the lobby, and he looked like a lost little boy. (That's him at the left.) Anyway, perfect example of the fun and interesting conversations you have when you go to a wedding and hang with people you don't know. I should point out here that his sister who was married in Savannah is not the same as Todd's friend Kate's sister, Emily, whose wedding we were attending. That is how rumors get started.
All in all, a wonderfully fun evening, and did I mention that I felt terrible on Saturday? I felt terrible. Part II to come tomorrow!
Will Run More. Or At Least Blog About Running More.
So, the new year is all about resolutions and that damned sticking to them. So, one of my resolutions was to run more. Haven't been so good at that - the kids and I have been sick for over two months, off and on, and we have been busy, blahblahblah. Enough with the excuses. I am going to try and be better. One way that I find to make myself better adhere to any resolution is to tell others what I want to do. It keeps me honest if everyone knows I am Eating Less, Drinking Less, Running More, Writing More. I wrote recently about overcoming my writing fear - part of that was saying on here, to lots of people who know me (and a few who don't) that I want to write more. Scary, but effective. I will now do the same with my running. I am going to start logging my runs, and my weekly mileage. Just to try and keep myself honest.
Today: 4.7 miles. Unfortunately, that is all i have done this week. Hope to do more before the yard sale on Saturday and my trip to Orlando on Sunday. (Looking forward to getting some running in while in Florida, though.)
Okay, now you know. There. I've said it. Help hold me to it. Guilt and embarrassment works.
To be broken. My new year's resolution was: Drink less. Eat less. Run more. Write more. I've done pretty well with the eating less, writing more. Drinking less and running more? Not so much.
Night started off slow, with me laying a base of soup and salad at the nicest Olive Garden ever. Todd's Mom says so, and she should know, because she lives in that mecca of fine dining that is Dadeville, Alabama. I also had a latte at Starbucks in an attempt to jumpstart my very hung over body while Todd chatted with the Turks. No doin' on lighting a fire under me; It wasn't until I arrived at Iain's and choked down that first beer that I started feeling a little better. I had grandiose plans of dressing up, even maybe wearing a skirt, but I was lucky to get there in one piece, much less to change out of jeans and t-shirt. I threw on my fluffy-fringey sweater in an attempt to give myself some style and just ended up looking like a Smashing Pumpkins' D'arcy wanna-be from 1991. You will notice only one picture of me in the whole New Year's set on Flickr. This is not coincidence.
Highlights:
Black-eyed peas and greens and Iain and Annie's Crappy Cornbread Quiche.
Todd drinking brown liquor is always a highlight. He starts gesturing with his hands more, and he likes to stir the ice in his glass with a cute little tinkle. He gets a bounce in his step that he only ever gets when he is drinking liquor. (Bounce has been known to morph into him falling backwards on his ass in the basement at Gravity Pub, but he was drinking vodka tonics that night, so we cannot blame that on the revered bourbon whiskey.)
Watching people strip down and display body art and mutilation in the largest fucking bathroom in Alabama was pretty entertaining.
No evening is ever complete until you have cleared the whole living room of furniture so as to perform a few numbers from Grease, replete with male and female parts, and dancing on remaining furniture.
Finally, and this one is so obvious, but I will say it anyway: I am so cute when I am drinking. Everyone says so.
The only thing missing was the people that I couldn't be with this year, but they are always in my thoughts, and just as soon as I make that first million off Dogwood Girl, I am going to buy a farm and start a commune where we can all live together. Right after Lisa and I buy the Sea-Doo. It's gonna happen - 2007: The Year of Big Dreams. Who's with me?
Me and the Creeker boys.
Jason and Laura
Me and the ole ball and chain, all spiffied up. 
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