Tuesday, March 27, 2012

the weekend wasn't too long ago

On Sunday evening I started a post about my weekend, and planned to finish it up and post it Monday night.  And then on Monday our internet broke and I spent an hour and a half on the phone with Jeff from Comcast while he tried to fix our problem.  Poor guy didn’t know what he was in for when he started the conversation by saying, “Okay, let’s start with the basics.  Are you running Windows 7, Vista, or XP on your computer?”   

And I said, “I’ll be honest with you Jeff.  I have no idea.” 

He didn’t have a lot to work with.

After NINETY MINUTES of troubleshooting, Jeff told me that my best bet would just be to go to a Comcast service center this morning and tell them that I needed a new modem because the Ethernet port in our original went bad, which I think that was really just code for I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU ANYMORE.

So today I got a new modem, and thanks to thirty minutes on the phone with Comcast representative Bill, the Workin Girlz are back in business online.

 
ANYWHO, back to the weekend.  Friday consisted of a wedding shower at the office, a short work day, a manicure, and happy hour.   

FRIDAY WAS A KEEPER.  

I think I mostly just relaxed on Saturday.  Around dinnertime I went to Matt’s house for a pizza with French fries right on top and a giant container of cheez whiz for dipping.  I still haven’t made up my mind about whether or not that combination is delicious or repulsive.  

After our light, healthy dinner we hit the mall because we have two weddings coming up and I wanted to get some gift ideas.   After our SECOND stroll through Macy’s, Matt began to express frustration with the fact that a man would probably not want a beautiful serving bowl or crystal goblets.  I asked him what kind of wedding gift he thought a man would want, and his top three ideal gifts were :

1-      Guns for hunting
2-      A serious grill set
3-      Something made from REAL copper

Unfortunately they don’t sell any of those items in Bloomingdale’s, so we left empty-handed. 

Matt is looking into options for graduate school, so on Sunday we ventured into the city for an open house at one of the schools.  We got lost and ended up in a NOT SO NICE NEIGHBORHOOD, but at least we were lost in a car that smelled like heaven.

Matt does not fool around with his car fresheners.
Sunday night Michelle and I got sucked into a marathon of Long Island Medium and Draw Something.  At one point I sent Michelle this picture and she said, “A Muslim ghost?”

 

It’s supposed to be Buddha.  So not only does this picture prove that I need to brush up on my artistic skillz, but also my information about world religions.

Maybe I can work on that this week.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

it fits right in with the snowmen

A couple of weeks ago Matt came over to my apartment and cooked a fancy dinner.  He made steak with a blue cheese filling and a dark, sweet sauce drizzled over the top.  We also had mashed potatoes because I love them, and asparagus because we are adults and it's time to voluntarily eat our vegetables.

Last night I went into the kitchen to investigate that classy piece of foliage you see in the right corner.  We had reason to believe that a large spider was making his happy home in those leaves and Michelle and I intended to nip that in the bud.  Literally.

While we didn't locate a spider during the inspection, I did notice a new addition to the space above our cabinets.
It appears that Matt didn't just cook while he was here last weekend, he did some decorating as well.

He is a man of many talents.

Monday, March 19, 2012

it didn't even have any crunch left

Last week was a bit of a doozy at work.  And not just because first thing Monday morning I put a packet of papers on one of the big bosses' desks with a post-it note that said "Thnaks!"   

THNAKS.

Smooth.

I really like my job, but sometimes the work can get a wee bit on the sad side and last week had a lot of those days.

Luckily my coworkers and I have a code that we use when one of us is feeling A TINY BIT OVERWHELMED.  The code is, "Hey, want to go for a stroll?" And the rest of us know to dig for loose change in the bottom of our purses so we can head downstairs to the secret vending machines and then wander around the first floor while we eat our snacks and play a game we like to call "Which Set of Doors Do You Think Leads to the Morgue?"

Because our office is in the same building as the coroner.  Which is weird.

And I realize that a game involving the morgue may not sound like a typical cheer up game.  However, it works for us and we have narrowed it down to two sets of doors.

Down one particularly cold hallway.

 However, the highlight of our afternoon strolls is always our stop at the secret vending machines.  We categorize them as "secret" because the prices are at least thirty cents lower than the prices in all of the other vending machines in the building, so we are convinced that the vending machine company has forgotten about these machines in the last several months, and therefore the prices have stayed low.  We don't want to many people to find out about these bargain snacks, so we try not to mention them to others.

My snack of choice at our secret stash is usually a bag of goldfish, but one afternoon last week I was feeling particularly wild and chose a Nestle Crunch bar. 

I ripped it open as soon as I got my hands on it, and took a big bite right away.

It couldn't have been more disgusting.

I pulled the wrapper open a little bit more, and upon further inspection I came to the conclusion that the vending machine company REALLY HAS forgotten about these vending machines.

Because that is one stale candy bar.


Looks like it's time to start shelling out that extra thirty cents for something that was made this decade.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

just because i want to remember

Emily and I had planned to do some serious hanging out last Sunday, and before I drove home we exchanged a few texts discussing logistics.  After we settled on 12:30 and a loose outline of things to do, I sent her one last text that said, "Hey...want to wear matching outfits today?!" because, as my mom says, I JUST LIKE TO GET A REACTION OUT OF HER.

I just KNEW that her response would be something along the lines of  "NO WAY LAURA, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD ASK ME THAT.  I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD NOT SIX! YOU ARE SO WEIRD."

So imagine my shock when I read her reply.

"Sure!  What are you wearing?"

JUST WHEN YOU THINK YOU KNOW SOMEONE.
 

Friday, March 9, 2012

my weekend, five days later

Each afternoon before I leave work, I write a few reminders on a post-it about things I need to do or places I need to go the next day.  I didn't put this brilliant system into place because I have so many things to do at work that I can't remember them all, but more so because once I walk out of the office I have a lot of other things on my mind such as "I wonder if Jessica Simpson had that baby yet," and "Why can't I remember if I like blackberries?"  

So before I called it quits on Monday afternoon, I wrote Tuesday's note and included a capitalized, underlined reminder of COURT HEARING, 1:00

And then I went home and exchanged my gunmetal gray nail polish for a more courtroom-appropriate pale pink.  And when I woke up on Tuesday I put on my black suit and and grabbed the bag that I bring to court.

And then I got to the office and discovered that the hearing was not really Tuesday at all. 

It was Wednesday.

My whole post-it note reminder system would be such an effective tool if only it were accurate.

The only explanation is that I had not yet recovered from my exhausting weekend.

Oh, I kid because my weekend was the epitome of low-key.  Matt came over after work on Friday, which worked out well because he is one of my favorite people to see.  He had to work at 7:00 the next morning so he didn't stay super late, and after he left Michelle and I decided that we had enough time to watch an episode of the Bachelor from earlier this season.

Which is how we found ourselves in our pajamas, on the couch, watching reality tv RERUNS at 11:00 on a Friday night.  It really is exactly how glamorous we dreamed our Friday nights would be when we first started thinking about moving out.

On Saturday morning I texted Emily to see if she wanted to do something, and she responded to tell me that her schedule was actually pretty packed for the day and she didn't think she could fit me in, and that Sunday would really work better for her.

Okay then.

So instead I went to the bank and exchanged all of the change I've been saving for 116 dolla dolla bills ya'll and then stopped by the grocery store for some necessities.  I got lots of fresh fruit and vegetables, some bread, a quart of coffee creamer, and provolone cheese.

And I don't know why I just recounted my grocery list, but I think it's clear that THE CONTENT AROUND HERE IS JUST RIVETING.

I put the produce on the checkout belt first, then the bread, and finally the creamer and cheese.  And then I heard a voice say "Well, you were doing pretty well until the creamer and the cheese."  Which was weird because I've never heard my conscience ACTUALLY SPEAK ALOUD before.

Turns out it wasn't my conscience at all but instead a fellow grocery shopper who happened to be A SUPER ENTHUSIASTIC nutrition student.  In the five minutes he stood behind me in line, he shared his views on dairy, the importance of asparagus and other green vegetables, the best sources of protein, differences in bottled water and tap water, and his theory on heart disease elimination.  

In case you were wondering, he did not mention the nutritional value of white chocolate macadamia coffee creamer.

After my errands I went home to relax a little bit because WHY NOT, and then Michelle and I browsed Home Goods, TJ Maxx, and Bed Bath and Beyond.

I babysat on Saturday night.  The kids were only awake for an hour before I put them to bed, but in that hour we pretended that we were mummies, ate about 16 cheese sticks, and played at least 30 rounds of Marco Polo.  

And right now you're probably thinking, "Oh how neat, the family must have a pool in which to play Marco Polo!"  Oh no, we played the non-aquatic version of Marco Polo.  In the living room.  It seems as though the kids have figured put a roundabout way of being able to play tag in the house.

On Sunday I met up with Emily to hang out since her schedule was finally open, and our first stop was McDonald's for some shamrock shakes.  TIS THE SEASON for mint milkshakes in a disturbing shade of lime green. 
 After that we went to the car wash.  I had a coupon for a free car wash and almost went before I babysat on Saturday but I thought, OH NO, I WILL WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW BECAUSE EMILY WILL LOVE TO GO TO THE CAR WASH WITH ME.  It was like I forgot that she is now sixteen years old and is no longer blown away with excitement at a trip to the car wash.
But alas, we went anyway and she was less than impressed but still pleasant company.  We spent the rest of the afternoon walking and shopping and talking and I stuck around the house long enough to get an invite for dinner which I accepted OF COURSE.  

I was home from about noon on Sunday until around 8:30 that night.  IT WAS LIKE I NEVER MOVED OUT AT ALL!

Here's hoping this weekend is just as good!
 

Monday, March 5, 2012

looking the part

It should come as a surprise to approximately nobody that Michelle and I are not what you would call gifted in the tool department.  Oh sure, we have enough knowledge to get by, but don't be fooled by the fact that we hung this very large, heavy picture ALL BY OURSELVES without the aid of a level or a man.


Because there are eight very uneven picture hangers and six feet of wire behind this poorly hung piece of bargain Bed Bath & Beyond artwork.

We encourage all visitors to SIT WITH CAUTION on that couch. 

And I can understand why someone might assume that the person who hung this mirror so expertly on the door frame to be a TOOL EXPERT.

But what really happened is that Michelle came home right before I started the mirror installation process, and I told her that my game plan was to just screw this bad boy into the door frame and call it a day.  And then she asked how you know if you are supposed to screw something into the wall or nail it.

Well, hmm.

I'm sure there's a universal rule of thumb, but I tend to just operate by the "grab whichever is closest" method, and it has served me well thus far.  In other words, that mirror is still securely attached to my door frame and I can get a 360 degree view of my hair whenever I please. 
Despite the fact that Michelle and I may not know how to use all of our tools, we own a plethora of them.

In fact, this is a picture of our tool shelf.

 I have no explanation for the hot rollers and their presence on the designated tool shelf.  Although let's be honest, they are a tool in their own right.

And I realize that the snowman gift bag may seem like an unlikely container for tools.  I would not disagree, but I would bet that no other hammers in Pennsylvania have such a cheery, seasonally appropriate place to call home.

Since I have moved into my own apartment, I have incorporated a new question in my typical conversation when I go back home.  And that question is, "So do you guys have anything that you're trying to get rid of?"

And asking that one simple question has provided me with several things over the last few months, including but not limited to a giant bottle of windshield washer fluid, two tilapia filets, yankee candle coupons, a tupperware of coffee grounds, a candle holder, pork, and a gallon of liquid fabric softener.

 So, you know, SCORE.

I stopped by the house the other night and before I even had a chance to ask my standard question, my dad said, "Oh! I left something on the fireplace for you!"

And just like that I became the proud owner of an OFFICIAL tool bag.

I think somehow my dad must have known that we were keeping our screwdrivers in a pale blue snowman gift bag.

Well, no longer!  Because now our tools reside in this professional, totally legit tool bag. And while we may not be able to correctly utilize each tool in this bag, we certainly look like we know what we're doing.

And isn't that half the battle?