an easter shirt, and an almost easter bonnet

Let me preface this by saying that I had no plans to write several hundred words about shopping for an Easter outfit.  Apparently I have more to say about the issue than even I realized, and once I got started I got a bit carried away.

Friday night I went out in search of an Easter outfit because there’s nothing like leaving things for the last minute.  I cannot remember the last time I shopped for clothes all by myself, and I learned that I am the epitome of indecisive when it comes to making clothing choices independently.  For example, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to commit to this shirt or not, so I sent this text to my sister and made a lovely face just for her benefit.

 She told me she HATED the shirt and that I absolutely should not get it.  I really did like it and was surprised at her strong negative reaction, so when I got home I asked her what was so terrible about it. 

Do you know what she said?  “Looks too much like what I’m going to wear for Easter.”  Lovely.

I also found some stylish shoes I wanted to try to work my Easter outfit around, but just couldn’t quite decide on which pair I loved most. 

 Kidding.  Well, about the last two pairs.  I really, really, really did almost buy the first ones because I have just been searching and searching for a shoe with some sort of animal print for what seems like forever and these just sang a sweet song to me from the top shelf the sale rack.  Emily’s response upon my seeking her shoe advice via text was “No. No. No. No. Leave the store now.  Resist the temptation.”

Lately I’ve been thinking that I need to incorporate some color into my wardrobe, because right now it pretty much consists only of black, white, and various shades of brown.  But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and I ended up leaving the store with gray pants and a cream colored top, both of which I will be returning.  They were purchased in a fit of fashion desperation.

I was ready to continue the search on Saturday morning, but this time Emily, and her honesty, came with me.  I saw this lovely dress in the window of a thrift store...

 ...and we decided to go in to check it out.  Unfortunately parking close to the store would have required me to parallel park, which is a maneuver I generally try to avoid.  So we parked in this shady lot and just walked quickly.

Sad news.  The store was closed.  So, it was off to the mall.  When we got there we had about four hundred conversations that went something like this…

Me: Do you like this dress?
Emily:  Yeah, it’s cute.
Me:  It costs $45.00.  Do you think it’s $45.00 cute?
Emily: Yeah, I think so.
Me:  Are you sure?  I think it might just be $30.00 cute.
Emily:  Maybe.
Me: I just don’t know if I $45.00 love it.
Emily: Okay.
Me: Does it scream EASTER?
Emily: I don’t know.
Me: I really think it’s only about $30.00 cute. Not $45.00 cute.  And it’s not really screaming EASTER to me.
Emily: Then pick out another one.
Me: Okay, how about this one?
Emily: No, that’s ugly.

And on. And on. And on.

Finally we headed to H&M, where my favorite moment of the afternoon occurred.  I was furiously digging through the rack trying to find a cute peach skirt in my size.  I turned around to ask Emily’s opinion, and she’s standing next to me, serious as can be, wearing this hat…

The traditional Easter straw hat.

She wore it totally seriously for the next few minutes while she spouted off her opinion on various styles and patterns.  It made me so happy. 

Finally I decided on a lovely blue shirt from H&M.  Emily approved, and it was definitely $24.95 cute.

And that concludes this post.  If you read the whole thing, that is surely an Easter miracle.

i think it still gets the message across

The family tradition of rearranging the holiday knick knacks?

It's alive and well, my friends.

Happy stream Easter!

the dramatic evening that wasn't

I visited Matt this weekend.  My large iced caramel latte and I drove up Friday after work and about an hour into the drive I realized that I had neglected to pack any shoes other than what I was currently wearing.  That would have been fine if I had been wearing my cute black ankle boots or some type of neutral flat, because they would both go perfectly with the skinny jeans I had packed for the next day, but I was wearing my “driving shoes.”  My driving shoes are old, clunky, pale blue and white sneakers, and I wear them when I have to drive long distances because there is nothing worse than being uncomfortable in the footwear department when you are putting the pedal to the proverbial metal for upwards of an hour. 

When I got to Matt’s I explained my predicament and while he has never had to face the reality of simultaneously sporting clunky sneakers and skinny jeans, he understood the gravity of my situation and you will never guess where he offered to take me.

Wal Mart. 

It’s like there is some magnetic force that pulls me in to the home of roll back pricing.  So, the weekend started like any good weekend should, with a trip to Wal Mart and a sobriety check.

Apparently the checkpoint was announced in the local paper earlier that week, and Matt will deny this up and down but I know he took that particular route to Wal Mart because he wanted to go through the sobriety check.  He acted “disappointed” and “annoyed” that we would have to “sit in traffic” but I am telling you, he was giddy.  We waited in line while we watched police stop each car, talk to the occupants, and shine their flashlights through the backseat windows looking for signs of anything suspicious. 

As we got closer, Matt and I turned off the radio, got our licenses ready, and rolled down the windows so we would be ready to prove to the officers that we were big time rule followers.  And also sober.  Well, we must REALLY give off the big time rule follower vibe, because the officers barely slowed us down enough to throw a coupon and a seatbelt pamphlet through the window and send us on our sober way. 

They must have seen my driving shoes.

There was no breathalyzer.  No flashlight search.  No backwards recitation of the alphabet.  Matt hardly even had time to say “Good evening, sir,” which is his greeting of choice when speaking to anyone in authority.  Usually when he talks to strangers he addresses them as “buddy/bud.”  Parking attendants.  Cashiers.  Waiters.  Toll takers.  They’re all his buddies.  But he broke out the big guns for the sobriety test and I don’t think the officer even heard it.

Disappointed by the lack of drama, we continued on to Wal Mart where I was able to score some footwear that seriously straddled the fence between slipper and boot for just five American dollars.  When we got back to Matt’s apartment it started pouring rain and didn’t stop for the next thirty six hours, which meant I got door to door service wherever we went because Matt is a gentleman.  It worked out because I had serious concerns that if water touched my slipper-boots, they would completely disintegrate.

Although the rain ruined our plans for Saturday we had a lovely weekend, and on Sunday afternoon I laced up my driving shoes and came home.  The next time I see Matt it will be for his college graduation.  I will be sure to bring adequate and appropriate footwear.  

i certainly hope that last thing isn't true

I wasn’t going to write anything today, but then I thought about the possibility of years from now wondering what I was thinking about on April 14, 2011 and not having an answer.  And I don’t know that I could handle that sort of tragedy.

Today is the first sunny day in what seems like forever.  I feel as though we have had WEEKS AND WEEKS of rain and cold weather even though I know full well that it was sunny and eighty degrees on Monday.  The trees are finally starting to bloom, which is a relief because it means they have recovered from the snow we had on April 1st.  That’s right.  It snowed here on April Fools Day, and you better believe that every meteorologist in the tri-state area got A LOT of mileage out of that built in April Fools joke.

So the sun has me thinking about summer, and there are a few Big Events on my summer calendar and one of them is the free concert our city’s country radio station puts on each June. 

This year the headliner is Jason Aldean and while I’ve never seen him in concert, I’m confident that I will love him and have been practicing his songs in preparation for the big day.  I want to be prepared in case I am invited on stage for a duet.  Thompson Square  will also be there and will hopefully sing their hit song “Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not?”  Not only is that a lovely song, but I have great admiration for an artist who can incorporate suspense into their music.  Is he going to kiss her?  Or not?  That’s probably part of the reason why I like Meatloaf so much.  After years of pondering I still don’t know what it is that he wouldn’t do for love.

The other night Stacy and I went to a bar to try to win tickets to the concert.  We went inside, got our raffle tickets, and walked out seventeen minutes later with 4 passes to the concert. 

Perhaps that luck would transfer to the lottery.

As we were leaving I saw my man Tim McGraw looking positively LARGER THAN LIFE on the side of one of the radio station vans, and of course I wanted my picture with him STAT.

Stacy agreed to take a few, and the results are photographic memories that I will treasure forever and may quite possibly frame and hang in a prominent place. 

Don't Tim and I look great together?

Turns out taking a cell phone picture outside at night is more complicated than it sounds.

Hopefully we will be able to locate the van at the concert in broad daylight and can try to recreate this priceless shot.

P.S. – I am always entertained when I see what google search terms have brought people here to Oh Laura Darling.  Most of them are some variation of “Oh Laura Darling blog,” but here are some other popular ones…

-          but you’ve always known who I am
-          laura darling breaks a leg
-          hillshire farms dangers
-          hue teal corduroy leggings
-          laura darling sings
-          laura darling elementary
-          I am their favorite
-          Do all passengers have to go through a body scanner
-          Gray area of poetry
-          Having multiple pairs of sweatpants in college

And my very favorite…”I embarrassed my mom with my actions.”

Sorry Mom.

she has the dramatic aspect totally perfected

Last week Emily left a comment telling me “i think you should pretty please write a blog post about how awesome Godspell is and how much you luuurrrvvveee me after you come see it on Friday. love, emily.”

So, pay attention Emily, because here it is.  I luuurrrrvvveeeed Godspell.  I also loved it.

The play was fantastic and I was very impressed with what a group of high schoolers can do because let me tell you, that takes some serious guts.  I can sing my heart out when I’m in my car or living room with no problem at all.  However, on a stage in front of all those people?  I will pass on that terrifying experience thank you very much.  I give these kids a lot of credit.

Also, Emily was not kidding when she told us that she cries a bit at the end.  In fact, it’s more like she basically sobs throughout the entire second half.  These tissues that she tucked ever so neatly into her sock? 

Well, they were necessary.  On the way home from Friday night’s performance we told her she didn’t have to be so sad at the crucifixion because she knows Jesus will rise again in three short days!  But nothing helped.  She just could not hide those emotions.

Sunday night was the cast party and when she got home she reported that while she did have a good time she cried her way through that too.  They all had to say goodbye to each other and will miss each other SO MUCH.  They must have temporarily forgotten that they do all go to school together and will continue to see each other all day, every day.  Although, they are the drama club, so I suppose I would expect nothing less.

The whole weekend wasn’t full of tears though.  After Friday night's performance these little girls asked Emily for her autograph and I’m pretty sure she thought her life couldn’t get much better than that moment.

I’m thrilled she had a great time.  And I know that not all of her tears were sad ones…some were tears of joy.

And while I managed to keep my emotions in check at the play, I do know a thing or two about the occasional tear of joy.  For example, my dad took me to Sonic for dinner on Saturday night.

Holla.

And great job Em.

perhaps i should bring crutches, in case she breaks a leg

I’m going to the theater tonight.  My driver will be dropping me off shortly after high tea and crumpets at the Ritz.

And I shall wear a mink stole.

Just kidding.  I’m actually going over to Emily’s high school to see the spring musical.  I’ll be driving myself.  In Old Blue.  After I eat pizza for dinner.

I do have a mink stole I could wear though which would certainly bring a little fancy to the occasion.

And I am all about bringing the fancy.

Emily is in the drama club at her school and this year their spring production is Godspell, which is funny because the two main characters in Godspell are Jesus and Judas.  AKA men.  And Emily goes to an all girls school.  However, it is a Catholic school and since the play falls during the season of Lent this year, the nuns at her school were insistent that the play had to be a religious one.

No one laughed when Emily came home and announced that her all girls school was doing a play in which the leads were boys.  Which annoys me slightly because when I was young and FAR LESS WISE than I am today, our coed high school performed Annie as the spring musical.  Since drama clubs are usually made up mostly of girls, it worked out perfectly for all the girls to be the orphans and one brave boy to be good old Daddy Warbucks. 

However, my fourteen year old self could see this play running into a bit of trouble if there weren’t so many girls available, so one night while I was doing the dishes with my brother I asked him what he thought would happen if a boys school did Annie. 

Well, he proceeded to laugh and laugh and laugh and then share my question with my parents, and finally told me that DUH LAURA…A BOYS SCHOOL WOULD NEVER DO ANNIE.  That comment was made nine years ago and I still haven’t been able to live it down.  It seems like once a month some family member (usually Phil) says “Hey Laur, what do you think would happen if a boys school did Annie?” 

OH THAT WAS SO FUNNY I FORGOT TO LAUGH, GUYS.  TALK ABOUT “SO NINE YEARS AGO.”

Anywho Emily’s drama club had a heck of a time finding local high school boys to portray Jesus and his apostles.  In fact, for many months their slogan was “Got Jesus?  We don’t.”  Finally though, they found some boys and the show went on.  Which is traditionally where it must go.

And so, Godspell is all Emily has talked about these past few months.

Seriously. 

All.  She.  Has.  Talked.  About.

A typical conversation with Emily goes something like this…

“Emily, do you want to go to Target with me/eat dinner/watch a movie?”

“Okay, but at Godspell practice today we finally got the lighting down/sang my favorite song/wore our costumes/used tambourines/did the dances over and over/perfected the finale.” 

Oh, and cried. 

According to Emily, the whole cast is always in tears by the crucifixion.  The crucifixion is a very personal, reverent, thought provoking thing for most people, so I understand.  Plus, when you put that together with fifty teenage girls and ALL THEIR EMOTIONS, you have a sure fire recipe for LOTS O’ TEARS.

Emily keeps telling me that I should bring tissues too because I might find myself crying at the end.  However, if there was a scale to measure “HOW OPENLY DO YOU SHARE YOUR EMOTIONS?” Emily and I would be as far apart on the scale as possible.  She would be on the side labeled “shares emotions freely, frequently, and dramatically,” and I would hold down the fort on the “buries emotions inside as deep as possible and then just ignores them until they go away” side.

Oh, Freud would have QUITE a field day with that I’m sure.

So, the jury is still out on whether or not I will cry at the end, but I know for a fact I’ll enjoy the show and seeing Emily in her First Official Musical Stage Performance Ever.

Here’s hoping she figuratively breaks a leg or two!

i'm going to choose to look on the hypothetical bright side

I went to Ikea this weekend with Emily, my mom, grandmother, and aunt.  Despite the fact that the latter three have places of their very own to furnish and decorate, and I only have my little bedroom, I spent the most money.  Go figure.

We wandered around the store and the model rooms and Emily and I talked about how much fun it would be to live in them.  On our way out we made one last stop at the food court for some famous Ikea Swedish cuisine, because as they say, when in Rome!  Or in this case, when in a Swedish based furniture warehouse store!  I chose the traditional Swedish cinnamon bun and Emily got a slice of Swedish pizza.  I'm sure it was all completely authentic.

My biggest purchase of the day was a little lamp for my dresser.  It was love at first sight and I really thought I could see a bright (literally) future with that little lamp, but in the end it proved to be a bit of a disappointment.

When we got home I opened the box and pulled out the instructions.  Or the “destructions” as my dad calls them.  I headed for the light bulb cabinet to retrieve the required 40 watt bulb.  After a few minutes of unsuccessful searching, my dad came in and pulled a 40 watt right out of the exact box that I looked in thirty seconds earlier and found only light bulbs with 120 on them and wondered why in the world we had so many 120 watt bulbs.

Then gave me a valuable refresher course in wattage vs. voltage.

I headed back upstairs to Lamp Assembly Central and immediately found myself in the midst of another dilemma.  There is no rest for the weary lamp assembler.  The problem this time was that the bottom of the light bulb was round, but the place where the light bulb goes (I’m sure there’s a technical term for that part of the lamp, but-here’s a shock-I don’t know what it is) was shaped more like a rectangular slot.

Trouble.

Right here in River City.

Music Man, anyone?

Anyway I knew after a few minutes that this particular light bulb wasn’t meant to fit in this particular lamp, and if you think this is starting to sound like one of those “how many English majors does it take to screw in a light bulb?” jokes, you’re not alone. 

            (Although the answer would be MORE THAN ONE.)

I sat there for a few minutes with my rectangular lamp and my round light bulb and thought about how I’ve never felt more in tune with how Hilary Duff felt in her 2003 SMASH HIT when she sang “Trying to fit a square into a circle was my life.” 

I hear ya, Hilary.

The next day my dad confirmed that apparently this particular lamp requires some sort of Swedish light bulb, which is quite unfortunate because I don’t generally keep a stock of those on hand. 

So, last night I got on ebay and ordered what I needed from a light bulb dealer in Hong Kong .  If there was ever a time I was doubtful about the reliability of an online purchase…now is that time.  Of course I could have easily just driven over to Ikea and picked up the type of bulb I need, but where is the drama in that?

And so, my lamp currently sits on my desk.  I can’t even sing “you light up my life” to it because, well, that would be a lie.

Don't worry about me though...I’m not completely in the dark.  Because do you know what my other Ikea purchase was this weekend?

108 fruit scented votive candles.

It’s like somehow I knew I would be needing them.

i've always known i'm their favorite

On Saturday night my parents were talking about what to make for Sunday dinner.  They didn't really ask my opinion, but since I have a hard time keeping my thoughts to myself I felt free to go ahead and tell them that I would really enjoy my dad's delicious cedar plank grilled salmon with the fancy sauce.  I also told them that I thought it would go great with some broccoli.  And a side of alfredo noodles. 

And perhaps some strawberry shortcake for dessert. 

Please.

Well.  Look what we had for dinner tonight.

Sorry Phil and Emily, but these pictures just prove that I am indeed our parents' favorite child.

And also maybe a teeny tiny bit spoiled.

it's true what they say...nothing is ever completely free

I have never written a letter of complaint when I have been disappointed with something at particular establishment.  I’ve composed various letters to senior management in my head, of course, but I’ve never actually taken action and sent one because I am not a fan of confrontation.  And I’ve heard the whole “one droplet in the ocean creates a ripple which creates A GIANT TIDAL WAVE” comparison but let’s be realistic here.  It rains all the time in the ocean and tidal waves are rare.  Plus, I highly doubt that Map Quest is going to change their new website layout because it takes Laura Darling over here seventeen minutes to figure out where to click in order to simply “get driving directions.”

            (Seriously though, anyone else hate the new Map Quest site?)

Anyway, my lack of letter writing changed today.  This morning I wrote a letter to B101 radio to express my disappointment in their new campaign, “No Ballad Weekends.”  I’ve discussed this at great length before, so talking about it further would just be beating a dead horse.  However, thanks to technology I can see what google searches bring people here to Oh Laura Darling, and judging by the number of those who arrive by googling “No Ballad Weekends,” I do not stand alone.  This weekend I heard Usher and Pitbull on Philly’s Soft Rock Station and that was the straw that broke this ballad loving camel’s back, and ultimately caused me to write and mail a very honest letter in which I threw down the “now you’re just like all the other stations” gauntlet.

Oh yes I did.

Also, that paragraph included three instances of four legged animals.  A personal best!

So.

My mom, sister and I had a girly weekend this past weekend, which means we spent a great deal of time shopping and were serious about our eating.  Plus, Emily and I were truly gifted with the fact that my mother chose to bestow upon us another pearl of wisdom…“You can indeed control your emotions and actions, and you cannot let strong emotions dictate your actions.  For example, sometimes you will wake up in a bad mood.  That happens.  However, it does not give you permission to get into your car, speed to the nearest convenience store, smash your car through it, and then tell the policeman, “OOPS…bad morning.”  

Ladies, feel free to laminate that gem and stick it in your wallet to pull out in a time of need.

Anyway, before we went to church on Saturday evening we stopped by the library to pick up a few movies for our marathon that night.  If that doesn’t sentence doesn’t tell you what a wild trio we are, I don’t know what will.

As we were walking through the library to get to the move section, we passed what has become my new pet peeve.

Rental books.

If you’re thinking, “All books at the library are rental books,” you’re not alone.  I too thought that way until I was recently introduced to this new, harsh reality.

Because these rental books are different.  They are the ones you have to PAY to take out of the FREE public library, and I’m just as annoyed as I could be about the emergence of this trend.  

Most of the rental books are new releases, books that are currently very popular, or the ones that have been part of Oprah’s book club.  They are the books that the library KNOWS people (except for me because I refuse on PURE PRINCIPLE) will be willing to shell out a dolla for, which I’ll admit is clever and tricky on the part of the library and shows that they have put some serious strategic thought into this money making scheme.

Since I’m on a letter writing roll today, I think I might compose one to send to the library to share my thoughts on making patrons pay for certain books.  

I have the salutation ready to go:  Dear Township Free (except when it’s not) Public Library.

 It’s just the body of the letter I haven’t totally figured out.  I can’t use my signature line, “Now you’re just like all the other libraries.”  Unless, of course, libraries nationwide have adopted this controversial new feature.  And if that’s the case, this uphill battle will be far steeper and more complicated than I imagined. 

I might even need some Map Quest directions to lead me.

Oh boy.

planes (not really), trains, and automobiles

I had to go to school last night, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it because I felt as though I caught the plague and tried all day to get some sympathy, but was largely unsuccessful. 

Talk about kicking me when I’m down.

I’m looking for the silver lining though and I have to say that last night’s drive home from school was better than the one a week ago when I drove home in a lovely mixture of rain and sleet and snow because apparently Mother Nature has not yet received the memo that THE SPRING…IT HAS TECHNICALLY ARRIVED.

Speaking of spring, Stacy and I have decided that when the weather gets a little nicer, we’re going to go into the city one day and walk around because let’s face it, there is a limit to how many times you can aimlessly wander up and down the health and beauty aisles at Wal Mart and we’re dangerously close to reaching it.

Most likely we will be taking the train into the city because listen, I am not about to drive Old Blue into the city.  I know some people drive in the city every day, and big ups to those people, but I am not one of them.  In fact, last Friday night I went into the city to go out with some friends and also prove that I am the muse for Flo Rida’s song “Club Can’t Handle Me.”  Although perhaps the order of those words should be reversed because as we were walking down the street trying to decide which bar to go into, I announced that “I WOULD LIKE TO FIND A PLACE THAT IS NOT TOO CROWDED AND ALSO WHERE I CAN COMFORTABLY SIT DOWN.”  

And it wouldn’t hurt if they have a senior citizen discount for grandma here.

Oh, Flo Rida would be so proud.

On the way into the city I actually had to cover my eyes because the combination of bumpy cobblestone streets and four cars packed into two lanes does not a calm experience make.  I wasn’t driving, so rest assured that it was completely safe for me to cover my eyes.  However, I can’t promise I wouldn’t instinctively do the same thing if I was behind the wheel, which could throw a wrench into a lovely springtime afternoon in the city.

AND SO, Stacy and I will take the train.  Although trains aren’t my strong suit either, so Stacy will be navigating.  Unless of course we decide that we would like to spend the afternoon somewhere other than Philadelphia, in which case, LET ME LEAD THE WAY.  

I don’t take the train into the city all that often, but when I do, I am usually with Matt.  I just follow his lead because he knows the difference between R-2 and R-3 and the R-17.486 and whether we should get off at Market East or Suburban Station or 30th Street, which is all Greek to me.  However, since I don't have to decide which train to board or which side of the track to stand on, I am totally freed up to take pictures of the glamorous experience that is mass transit, so, you know, BONUS.

The one and only time I have been in charge figuring out the public transportation for a trip was when my roommate Heather and I decided to take the bus to Target in college one day freshman year and things went terribly wrong.  There are BUSES GALORE at Penn State so I looked at the schedule, found the one that I thought made the Target loop, and away we went.  

Well, as we were traveling along we noticed that tons of people were getting off the bus and no one was getting on.  Before we knew it we were the only two people left on that bus, and it was then that we realized we were in a wee bit of trouble.  

Turns out the bus we got on wasn’t going to Target at all.  I had apparently misunderstood the bus schedule big time.  The bus driver just shook his head, dropped us on the side of the road at the end of his route, and told us we would just have to wait for a rescue bus to come and get us.  

A rescue bus.

Now, the bus driver was just disgusted with us when he realized what we had done, and it wouldn’t have surprised us in the least if he didn’t call us a rescue bus.  However, we decided to wait it out for a little while and sat on the curb and called our mothers and our friends and our godmothers’ hairdresser’s fourth cousin twice removed to tell them that WE GOT ON THE WRONG BUS TO GO TO TARGET AND NOW WE’RE SITTING ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD WAITING FOR A RESCUE BUS TO COME AND SAVE US AND ISN’T THAT JUST THE FUNNIEST THING?

We had no shame.

Sure enough about forty five minutes later, the rescue bus showed up and took us the rest of the way to Target.  We were the only ones on that rescue bus.  They sent it out specifically to find the girls who couldn’t figure out the bus schedule.  

I will admit- that was a little bit embarrassing.

And that is why I feel it is a responsible decision to appoint Stacy as the navigational beacon on our big city adventure.  I have a funny feeling that the Philadelphia mass transit system doesn’t send out rescue trains for the girl who cannot accurately read the train schedule.

Plus, someone will need to step up and take pictures of the train station walls and the extra long escalators, and I’m willing to rise to the occasion.  It’s for the best.

it would make me look especially sophisticated

Well, I hate to say this but nothing remarkable has happened this week.  I've just been going through my little routine and waiting on the weekend, which isn't necessarily a bad thing because I am a BIG FAN of routine.  However, since nothing very exciting has happened, I don't have much in the way of material for the old blog.

The most dramatic thing going on in my life right now is probably the decision whether or not to get some bangs.  Obviously I am using the word dramatic VERY LOOSELY here because when you think "haircut" you don't necessarily think of a situation fraught with drama.  Or perhaps you do and if so, we are kindred spirits.  Nevertheless, this is an internal battle I fight about twice a year. 

What usually happens is that I decide that I need a change and want to get some bangs, so I get a haircut.  Then the honeymoon is over by the time I get home from the hairdreser and I’m pinning those suckers back in a bobby pin and wondering how long it will take them to grow out again.  I proceed to spend the next few months walking around looking like a girl who got bangs cut and doesn’t know how to fix them which is mainly because I GOT BANGS CUT AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO FIX THEM!

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Literally.

At the beginning of my college career I was casually flirting with the idea of bangs but had yet to make a formal commitment to them, and one day I decided that I wanted to see just how bangs would look on me.  So, armed with a headband, hairspray, and a great deal of follicular enthusiasm I created a style known as the fake bang.

The Fabang.

Now this is a look that would surely bring some drama to my life.

I think I'll make this spring the season of the Fabang.

maybe i should frame it

It’s almost a rite of passage for every college student to get mono.  It’s not a question of if you will get it, it’s just a question of when.  That’s not at all surprising because college is a bit like living in a giant petri dish with not nearly enough sleep and a great deal of beverage sharing.  Plus, let’s face it, it's college and mono isn't called the kissing disease for nothing.  KIDDING!  Just a little infectious disease humor!

Well.  A few days before Thanksgiving break my sophomore year, my eyes transformed into very, very swollen, puffy little slits.  It was so bad that even some very liberal applications of Garnier Anti Puff Eye Roller Serum couldn’t help me.  And when G.A.P.E.R.S. can’t help, you know it’s bad.  I chose not to go to the university health center because, as I told my mom, "they will just tell me I have mono."  The health center was a joke around campus because no matter what symptoms you walked in with, you walked out with a diagnosis of mono.  Stomach pain?  Mono.  Toothache?  Mono.  Broken arm?  DEFINITELY MONO.       

I arrived home for Thanksgiving break a few days later and went to the doctor first thing so I could get a diagnosis of NOT MONO.  At the time I still went to the pediatrician, because it’s a hassle to switch medical records, plus I wasn’t quite ready to give up the post appointment lollipop/sticker combo.  And honestly, at that point, I just wanted someone who could provide me with large amounts of steroids.  Looking back, I should have just called some of my major league baseball friends.  JUST KIDDING.

Turns out the doctor diagnosed me with mono before she even had two feet in the room.  I spent the next seven days lying in bed convinced that I could not possibly feel any worse and wondering if perhaps the doctor misdiagnosed me and I had a terrible case of YOU'RE A GONER.  I'll admit that I have a flair for the dramatic, but truthfully I have never, ever been sicker than I was that week.

However, this past weekend my sister reminded me of the most painful memory from my mono ordeal.  She was writing a paper for school on Sunday afternoon and I let her borrow my all time favorite book from my all time favorite college class, Writing Creative Nonfiction.

I'm not sure that a blog about my love for Flo Rida, Sonic tater tots, and trips to WalMart was what exactly what Mr. Zinsser had in mind when he wrote this book, but it's brilliant nonetheless.

And look what Emily found inside when she opened it up...

My doctor's note.  The colorful, childish doctor's note, with a happy little turtle carrying cheerful balloons and wearing a pink hair bow and a darling heart locket that I had to present to my COLLEGE. PROFESSORS.

When the nurse handed me this note I died a thousand deaths right there in the doctor's office.  I could think of nothing more embarrassing than presenting my lovely pastel doctor's note to my professors.

And, as if the walking, blue-eyed turtle, the balloons, and the pastel color scheme weren't bad enough, there was a section for recess.

Recess.

I was nineteen years old.

I showed this note to all five of my professors that semester.

They laughed.

And now I go to a family doctor.

Lesson.  Learned.

this may be the first time i embarrassed her, but it probably won't be the last

Last night was a bit of a crazy one around our house, and my mom said I could either help prepare dinner or pick Emily up from play practice after school.  Given those options, you better believe I volunteered myself to be in the school parking lot at 5:30 in the pm.

Actually, it ended up to be slightly after 5:30.  I ran into a lot of traffic (NOT LITERALLY) and hit almost every red light (AGAIN, NOT LITERALLY) on the way to her school, and as the time neared half past cinco, I was worried that Emily would think I had forgotten about her.  And there is nothing worse than being left alone in the school yard.  ON ST. PATRICK’S DAY NO LESS.  Talk about o'tragic. 

Now, I NEVER, EVER, EVER text while driving.  Or while at a red light.  I am just not a risk taker in the texting while driving department.  However, I was so worried that Emily would become distraught at the lack of my prompt presence that I decided to fire off a quick text to her while sitting at a red light to let her know that I was on my way.  I was typing quickly and trying to keep most of my attention on my roadside surroundings, so instead of a text that said “on my way-bad traffic,” I sent one that said “on my way-bad tariffs.” 

I imagine she was originally quite perplexed as to why I encountered taxation on imported and exported goods at such an hour, since I usually try to get my international business over with in the mornings.  Oh, I kid.  However when Em realized I meant traffic, she thought my misspelling was just HILARIOUS, and even shared it with all of her friends who were waiting on their fashionably late drivers who also must have hit rush hour tariffs.

This was not the first time the T9 feature on my new phone has led me astray.  A few weeks ago I was texting Matt and I intended the message to say “Nah, I’ll go later.”  However, my phone took the “nah” I typed and changed it into “naghski.”  I’ll admit that naghski has a little more in the way of pizzazz than plain old nah, but it doesn't do so well at getting the point across.  Plus, who says naghski so often that it would be the default T9 word?

So those are my two main T9 gripes.

Although the first three weeks I had the phone, every time I typed “haha” (which is A LOT), it was changed to “hagar.”

"Laura, are you going to be here soon?"

"Naghski, I hit some tariffs.  Hagar."  

I am just a JOY to converse with.

BACK TO THE STORY.

Emily and I were driving home yesterday and since her school play is Godspell, she was cheerfully singing Prepare Ye The Way of the Lord while I sang/rapped (srapped?) along with Timbaland.  We were at two ends of the musical spectrum and by about the third stoplight I decided we needed to meet somewhere in the middle, so I turned on the cd I had.  It happened to be my new favorite, Best Hits of the 80s.  "I Think We're Alone Now" by Tiffany came on first and I was overjoyed.  It was warm out, the windows were down, and eighties songs were on the radio.  Hello, heaven.  Emily didn't share the sentiment, and when we stopped at the next red light, I could not believe what she did.

She looked at the cars around us, hoping against hope that their windows were UP and that none of them were looking in our direction.  She was EMBARRASSED.

ARE WE EVEN RELATED?

To restore my status as COOLEST BIG SISTER EVER, I surprised her at the bus stop after school today and took her to McDonald's for a shamrock shake.  We like to be fashionably behind with our holiday related treates.  But Emily was just thrilled to death and I was totally back in her cool sister good graces until I nearly screached the car to an instantaneous stop because I thought I heard her cell phone ringing and she told me it was just wind chimes on the house we had just passed. 

And then I turned on some Flo Rida and told her we were shamrockin' and rollin'.

That didn't get me many points either.

But am I worried about it?  Naghski.  There's always tomorrow. 

Hagar.