a real dream come true

I've been a big fan of Kate Middleton since the day she came on the scene.  In fact, I just searched my blog for her name and the result was eight posts.

Eight. 

I TOOK A VACATION DAY FROM WORK for the royal wedding for goodness sake. And then I got up at 4:00 in the morning to watch it.

And of course I got TWO Kate Middleton rings for my birthday last year. 

If Michelle and I are ever bored, we search the TV Guide channel for shows about Kate.  And if I had a dollar for every time I said, "I WISH I WAS KATE MIDDLETON" well, I would have enough money to rent out a wing of Buckingham Palace.

However, due to recent developments in the form of a mask from Michelle's aunt, I will never have to make that statement again.

Now I'm going to go eat some scones.

Cheers.

i should have gone to sleep an hour ago

Well, I come to you tonight with two pieces of sad, sad news.

The first is that my man was not selected as the newest American Idol judge.  Right now you're probably thinking, "Wow, I can't believe Laura didn't mention that Matt was even in the running for the position," and that would be because he wasn't.  

I'm talking about my other man, Brad Paisley.

It appears that his country counterpart, Mr. Keith Urban, was chosen instead.  Must have been that Australian accent that pushed him over the line.

The second piece of tragic news requires a bit of a back story.  I wrote about it here, but the short version is that when Michelle and I moved into this apartment in December, we were so impressed with ourselves and the fact that we were able to obtain jobs that paid enough to cover rent that we cleverly decided to name our wireless network "Workin Girlz."  

Yes, with a Z.

 Shortly after our move-in, my brother broke the news to us that "working girl" is another name for hooker.  Well, color us naive.  We had no idea.

I mentioned in the last post that our internet was broken, and on Friday a Comcast technician came out to fix it.  The only solution was a new modem and, tragically, a new network name. 

Workin Girlz is no more, and now our internet is an unending string of letters and numbers.  How boring and mature.

Luckily that was the end of the bad news for the weekend.  We had a family wedding on Friday night, where I learned that construction paper glasses, a feather boa, and a chalkboard will make me happy as a lark.

And on Saturday night Matt and I went out with some friends and I didn't get home until TWO THIRTY A.M., which is quite possibly the latest I have been out since college.  I'm more of an in-my-pajamas-by-midnight-at-the-latest kind of girl.  

When I walked in the apartment Michelle was just coming home from a night out herself, so we sat in the living room for twenty minutes and chatted about our evenings and what had happened and OH LOOK AT US BEING ALL WILD AND CRAZY AND STAYING UP SO LATE.

I felt like I was 23 again.

And now I am struggling to come up with a clever conclusion for this post.  I'm fighting the urge to write some sort of joke about how when I wake up tomorrow morning it will be time to be a Workin Girl again because I'm afraid that might be in poor taste.  But that's pretty much all I can come up with.  

Thank you and goodnight. 

i left again sooner than i planned

Well just as I’m ready to start blogging again, our internet dies. 

 It just stopped working on Sunday night.  

And so here I sit in the technological dark ages, typing this post into a Word document.  If you’re reading this, it means that Mr. Comcast finally arrived at our apartment and set the Working Girlz on the straight and narrow once again.

I celebrated my birthday this past weekend.  I turned the big two four on Saturday, and kicked the occasion off with a bang in the form of spending three hours at the DMV to get my new driver’s license.  In Pennsylvania licenses are renewed every six years, so the license I had was from when I was just a babe, aka 18 years old.  It was still a vertical license, which signified that it was issued before my 21^st birthday, but this birthday meant I was finally old enough to get the grown up horizontal license.

 

I got to the DMV, reapplied my lip gloss, and walked in ready for my close up.  There was a sign in the lobby asking patrons to take a number.   

I was #26.

 

They were on #5.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME.

When my number was finally, AND I DO MEAN FINALLY, called, I marched proudly up to the desk and handed my credentials to the woman behind the counter.  She shuffled through my paperwork and then looked right at me and said, “Well honey, you don’t look nearly old enough for a big girl license.”

Thank you.  Thank you so much.  That’s not something I hear ALL THE TIME.

Nevertheless, I smiled for the camera and waited for my new license to print, eager to get a look at the photo I would be seeing until 2018.  And here it is.   

And all I have to say is that it’s a darn shame that I couldn’t find any big earrings to wear.

I went to my parents’ for dinner on my birthday.  We had my favorite meal and I opened some presents.  You know you’re not a kid anymore when you get pot holders and spatulas for your birthday.

HOW’S THAT FOR BEING A BIG GIRL, WOMAN AT THE DMV?

On Sunday I went food shopping.  I picked a few recipes for the week and hit the store armed with a list of exactly what I needed to buy, organized by aisle.  I know what you’re thinking.  MY WHAT A 24 YEAR OLD THING TO DO. 

The weekend ended on a high note, and by that I mean Michelle and I devoted several hours to proving/disproving the Birthday Paradox, aka the theory if you get 23 people in one room, at least two people will have the same birthday.  Well, thanks to Wikipedia and an overabundance of free time, we now know that the birthday paradox is accurate about 65% of the time, and that Nascar drivers, Cuba Gooding Junior, and Jennifer Aniston have an awful lot in common.

And then the internet died.

Perhaps it was a sign that we had too much time on our hands and it was time to do something more productive.   

Like use my new cooking tools.   

Or go earring shopping.

i'm back until i leave again, and other very deep thoughts

I got a text from my mom last night informing me that my sister has been anxiously awaiting a new blog post.  And, since I aim to please, here we are.  Shout out to Emily.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 

I have been absent here on the old blog lately, but I do have a good reason.  A reason that begins with a little trip down memory lane.  

Matt's uncle lives in Bermuda, and about five summers ago Matt went to visit him.  We were "just friends" at the time, or, as my parents called it, "non-dating."  Matt was gone for a few weeks and when he returned he brought me back a bottle of pink Bermuda sand.  My brother called it love sand because he is HILARIOUS, but I kept that sand on my dresser and even brought it with me when I went back to college in the fall.

And little did I know when I put that bottle of sand on the shelf in my tiny little college apartment that five years later I'd be lucky enough to go to Bermuda with Matt to see that pink sand for myself.

 

 We got home from Bermuda on Saturday night and on Monday afternoon I was on the road again, this time for work.  The trip required stays in two separate hotels, the first of which was brand spankin' new and had cathedral ceilings and a snazzy navy blue/lime green color scheme that made me want to come home and redecorate my bedroom entirely in navy and lime green.

Do you know what else it had?

The most complicated shower I have ever met.

Have you ever seen a shower with so much equipment?  I am not used to all of those knobs and controls, and my inexperience became very evident by mid-shampoo when I realized that I had neglected to open the drain and was standing calf-deep in water. 

Gross.

The second day we continued on to the conference center, and upon my arrival I was informed that since I was a member of the planning committee, I earned the right to carry a walkie talkie.

And people say dreams don't come true.

You better believe that I clipped that technological status symbol to my belt post haste.  I also held it to my ear periodically to appear as though I was listening to some top secret information, despite the fact that no one ever told me what channel to use so the whole thing was completely useless.

NOT ONLY was I given a walkie-talkie, but take a gander at the card that conference attendees were given when they checked in.

Thaaaaat's right.  

Oh Laura Darling was the emergency contact. 

Do you know how many people found themselves in emergent situations and contacted me?  Zero.  Which was probably good because there was no cell phone service where we were staying, and the only way to call for help was with the walkie talkie that I couldn't use.

It's really a shame I didn't put the walkie talkie to good use though, because I had the lingo DOWN PAT.

Roger that.

10-4.

Over and out.