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.

if eating was an olympic sport, i'd win gold

Well, I spent the majority of this weekend watching the Olympics and wishing that I had taken swimming more seriously in my youth.  I spent several summers on the community pool swim team, but I quit once I moved up to the age group that required two laps and a flip turn.  Listen, flip turns were not my forte.  I would get to the far end of the pool, flip, and then it would be a surprise to everyone, INCLUDING ME, which direction I would be facing when I surfaced. 

And so at the ripe old age of eleven I kissed my swimming career and any future Olympic medals goodbye.

After I quit the swim team, I didn't really miss the swimming.  What I did miss was playing hide and seek with my friends and eating cheese fries in my bathing suit and decorating my arms and legs with magic marker under the pretense of team spirit.

For some reason I doubt Olympians do any of those things.

I managed to break away from the Olympics coverage for a little bit this weekend, and on Saturday morning I went out to breakfast with Emily.  We talked and laughed and I ordered chocolate chip pancakes because I have the culinary sophistication of a seven year old.  

They were delicious.

Matt came over on Saturday night and we made nachos.  

THIS WEEKEND WAS SPONSORED BY POOR EATING!! 

We layered tortilla chips, taco meat, salsa, shredded cheese, and green onions, and then melted everything in the oven.  It was delicious, but as we were eating Matt said thoughtfully, "These nachos are missing a little something.  I say next time we add a jar of queso between the chips and the meat."

I don't know if I've ever loved him more.

On Sunday my mom and Emily came to my apartment and we all went to church together.  Then my mom went home and Emily and I spent the afternoon at the pool where I practiced my backstroke and flip turns in an effort to get a jump start on my training for the 2016 Olympics.  Rio, here I come.

We also sat in the sun and read and drank ice water out of travel coffee mugs because I am experiencing a shortage of water bottles.

 

We left the pool around dinnertime and I was still so excited about the nachos from Saturday night that Emily and I decided to have a repeat on Sunday.  We watched the Olympics and had a nacho picnic in the living room because we are FANCY.

When it came time to do the dishes, Emily decided that she was not really interested in helping.  In an effort to encourage her, I turned on one of my favorite Flo Rida songs and started singing and dancing around the kitchen.

Well, it turns out I was dancing a little too enthusiastically, because look...

 

 I danced so hard I broke my flip flop.

That footwear casualty caused me to stop by Target on my way to drop Emily off to see if I could find some replacement flip flops.  I got sidetracked in the clothing department, which was a surprise to no one, and experienced firsthand just how picky Emily is when it comes to wardrobe.  Every SINGLE item I picked out got a thumbs down from her.  

I finally chose a plain black skirt that I was pretty sure she would approve of, but when I showed her she rolled her eyes and said, "It looks like it's sweatpants trying to be a skirt."

Well yes, yes it does.  Emily, I'd like to introduce you to what's known as A COTTON SKIRT.

"Geez Em, you're a tough crowd!" I told her.  

She rolled those eyes again and said "I like what I like.  And I don't like that."

I ended up buying the skirt and she ended up buying me a Milky Way so IT WAS A WIN-WIN.

If you need me this week I'll just be laying on the couch eating snacks and watching world class athletes hurl themselves off of diving boards in synchronization, or perform backwards somersaults on a three inch wide beam.

Or maybe I'll be practicing my flip turns.

Rio's going to be here before I know it.

this isn't as exciting as the queen jumping out of an airplane

 So far this evening I've seen a giant baby made from flowing white fabric, someone masquerading as the Queen of England jump from a helicopter, and a dove of peace riding a bicycle in the sky.  

Basically it's been the wildest Friday night I've had in months.

HAPPY OLYMPICS.

As for my thoughts on the REAL Queen of England, they can be summed up with DOES THE WOMAN EVER SMILE?  Of course, she could also be listening to Bob Costas' extremely depressing commentary which would explain the frown.  The man has talked only about war, famine, and death since Liechtenstein walked in thirteen countries ago.

LET'S LIGHTEN THE MOOD HERE, BOB.

This time last week I was just arriving home from a work conference.  The conference started on Wednesday afternoon, so my co-worker and I worked for a few hours in the morning before stopping at Dunkin' Donuts for some extra large Oreo Coolattas and beginning our journey.  

We arrived at the conference center/hotel around 11:30, but since we had neglected to re-read our emails before we left, we were a little foggy on the conference details.  For example, what time it started.  We decided that our best bet was to swing by Panera, pick up some lunch to eat in the parking lot, and then go inside once we saw others entering the conference center.

I ordered my Panera usual, half of a chicken caesar sandwich, a cup of broccoli cheddar soup, and a baguette.  As it turns out that lunch couldn't be more difficult to eat sitting in the passenger seat of you friend's BRAND NEW car.

As we were eating I said to my co-worker, "I wonder how far the Hampton Inn is from here."

"The Hampton Inn?" she said.  "But this is where the conference is." 

 "I know, but aren't we staying at the Hampton Inn?"  I said.

"WE ARE?"

I'm betting that information was clearly spelled out in the email I only glanced at.  Here's a word to the unprepared - if you're ever in a situation where someone else made your hotel reservation, and you're unsure what hotel that is exactly, just try checking in wherever you are.  The reservations staff will be more than happy to tell you that there is no room for you there and you are probably part of the group staying at the Hampton Inn.

Not that I know from experience or anything.

We attended two workshops on Wednesday afternoon, and followed those up with a VERY FANCY banquet at 7:00.  

This is what greeted me when I arrived at my seat.  A martini glass of fruit and a slice of cheesecake.  WELL YES PLEASE. 

 

We had workshops all day Thursday, which were actually very interesting.  Plus there was an incredible mid-morning snack spread in the lobby that included caramel corn and chocolate covered strawberries and there is no snack I'd rather have at 10:00 in the morning.

There was a picnic on Thursday evening, and since my company was running the conference, I was recruited to help at the picnic.  I spent two hours manning the ring toss, and it was every bit as boring and anti-climactic as you might expect.

 

Fortunately, around 8:00 my boss noticed my boredom and the lack of ring toss participants, and promoted me to the highly coveted position of supervising the balloon artist station.

 I will now take this moment to say that I am shocked at the complexity of balloon creations these days.  If I had a dollar for every child I saw walk away with the the incredible hulk standing standing on a building carrying a sword, wearing red sneakers, and eating a banana ALL IN BALLOON FORM, I'd be rich.

Back in the olden days of 1998 when I was a child you got either a dog or a rabbit.  AND LIKED IT.

The conference wrapped up on Friday morning, and as I got dressed I debated wearing a white shirt or a black shirt.  After much deliberation I decided on white.  And then I got myself a cup of coffee, sat down in the first workshop, and spilled coffee all. over. myself.

 

 I managed to cover the coffee at the top of the shirt with a very strategic name tag placement, and the spill at the bottom with my large purse and some papers, but it was touch and go for a while there.

And now it's on to the weekend.  

I have high expectations and plans that include swimming, shopping, and Olympics-watching.  

Here's hoping Bob Costas is in a happier mood tomorrow!

i'm back

Well, well, well.  I have a blog.  Imagine that.

Over the past two weeks I've spent two days in Harrisburg for a work meeting, three days in Lancaster for a conference, and four days in upstate New York on my family's vacation.  Plus I've been working like crazy, keeping up with All Things Bachelorette, and methodically working my way through every new Triscuit flavor.

BASICALLY, THINGS HAVE BEEN WILD AND CRAZY AROUND HERE.

When I opened the photos folder on my phone tonight to get a picture for this post, what to my wondering eyes should appear but the following series of photographs.

 

It appears someone unintentionally photographed her upper leg and headphone cord at various points throughout her nightly walk.

That someone is me.

I BET YOU'RE SO GLAD I'M BACK!

I do have several stories to write about my recent trips and activities.  And hopefully I can find the time to do so.  You know, when I'm not busy photographing my leg and eating rosemary and olive oil flavored Triscuits.

can't even try to tie this together

Guess what.  I just logged on to facebook and saw that the three singers I follow updated their pages at the exact same time!  What are the chances that Celine Dion, Michael Bolton, and Flo Rida would all have something facebook worthy occurring simulataneously?

Yes, those are the three singers that I follow.  An eclectic group, but I believe each reflects a key part of my personality.

Classy, thoughful, and a little bit gangsta.

And right now my parents are shaking their heads.

Holla.

I actually listened to Celine's greatest hits on Saturday morning while I cleaned (I know) and cooked (I. KNOW.).  

I can't explain what came over me, but before I knew it I had vacuumed, dusted, washed the windowsills and woodwork, organized the kitchen cabinets, made a breakfast casserole AND a loaf of banana bread.  

Just like Martha Stewart.  

Except Martha probably would have dusted with some fancy all-natural wood polish instead of a can of lemon pledge.  

And she definitely would have remembered to grease the pan before she baked the banana bread.  

BUT ROME WASN'T BUILT IN A DAY.

After my day of domesticity I went to the Phillies game with Stacy. 

I didn't even notice the temperature.

It was brisk, really.

 Unfortunately, as soon as we arrived they rolled the tarp over the field/diamond/area of play in preparation for a whopper of a storm headed straight for the stadium.  After the National Anthem all spectators were instructed to TAKE COVER and so take cover we did. 

After about forty five minutes, some incredibly gusty wind, and a light rain shower we were allowed to return to our seats because THE SHOW MUST GO ON, as they say on Broadway and in major league baseball.

I'm sad to report that the Phillies were behind the entire game, and ended up losing 6-3.  Although a fan did run across the field in the eighth inning which added some much appreciated late-game drama.  Fear not, he was apprehended by some speedy Phillies playaz and security personnel and was, I assume, PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

Despite the fact that the Phillies lost, I paid more attention during this game than I have during any other in my life.  I actually understood a lot of what was going on, which really made the game more enjoyable.  

I've come a long way from my first baseball game.  It was five years ago, and Matt and I weren't dating yet.  My college roommate was coming to visit for a few days and the three of us decided to go to a Phillies game together.  

After the game started I asked Matt (aka the Phillies' NUMBER ONE FAN) who our batter was.

I didn't know that everyone takes turns batting.

I thought it was a one man job.

I can only imagine what was going through Matt's head when I asked that question, but he patiently explained how the batting order works and that it's not just a job assigned to one player, and I laughed and said "I HAD NO IDEA THAT'S HOW IT WORKED!" 

And that was probably the moment he thought THIS GIRL IS A CATCH.

We've been dating for four years this month, and lucky for me he still thinks the same thing.  

It must be because I'm classy and thoughtful.  And a little bit gangsta.

it's just ashame she doesn't look more relaxed in this picture

some words and some pictures

Well, to say that the last few days have been filled with monumental events would be a drastic overstatement. However, that won't stop me from writing several hundred words about what I've done over the last forty eight hours.

It's what I do.

Let's start with Tuesday.  Old Blue was getting inspected so I borrowed my mom's car and became a temporary member of the 'Stang Gang.

 Let me tell you.  I could get in some CAPITAL T TROUBLE if I drove that Mustang every day, namely the type of trouble that comes from the combination of enthusiastic acceleration and local law enforcement.  As I told my dad when I returned the car, "You don't realize how fast you're actually going until you're going.........."  

"UNTIL YOU'RE GOING FASTER THAN YOU WANT TO TELL YOUR FATHER!"  he said.

He took the words right out of my mouth.

Matt came over that evening so we could attend the local fireworks show.  We had some time to kill between dinner and fireworks, so we went to the food store because Matt wanted to buy plums and also because, HELLO, WILD AND CRAZY!

Here is Matt shopping.  You are probably thinking, "Wow, look at Matt bringing a walking stick along to the food store!  Why didn't anyone tell him he wouldn't actually have to hike along the mountainside and harvest the raspberries himself?"

No, my friends, that's no walking stick.  That's six and a half feet of sugar cane.  Which you can purchase for just 99 cents and so PURCHASE WE DID.

It was so big that we (Matt) had to snap it in half to fit it into the car so it could come home with us.  When we got back to my apartment I started walking towards the front door before I realized that Matt had other plans.  Apparently cutting sugar cane is an outside job, and Matt just so happened to have some sort of knife/blade contraption in his trunk so he started to cut that sugar can right there in the parking lot. 

  

 I believe the words you're looking for are CLASSY and SOPHISTICATED.

Final verdict on the sugar cane is that I wasn't a huge fan.  You can't swallow it, so after you chew it for a little bit and you have to spit the rest out and HOW UNLADYLIKE.

The fireworks were at a park just a few blocks from my apartment, so around 8:45 we walked down to make sure we could get a good spot.  The fireworks were beautiful and definitely the closest that I have ever seen.  We ended up sitting near a police tent and if I had a dollar for every time I heard, "DEBRIS IN THE EYE! DEBRIS IN THE EYE!" over the walkie talkie I would be able to buy a whole forest of sugar cane. Nothing like a little Independence Day medical drama to keep things interesting.

On July 4th I went home and Emily and I went to a new frozen yogurt shop.

 Emily wins for most patriotic outfit.

  Here is the concoction I made for myself.  Vanilla yogurt with chocolate chips, blueberries, pretzels, Reese's, and hot fudge.  

And yes, there is bacon on there as well.  GOD BLESS AMERICA.

After we consumed 3529835779 calories we went for a walk along the creek and took some photos of ourselves.  Never leave home without a packet of tissues and your vanity, that's what I always say.

 

 After our stroll along the creek we came home and watched Enchanted which is one of MY FAVORITE MOVIES, EVER, and then ate paninis and pasta salad for dinner.

It was delicious.

If only there had been some bacon.  And some sugar cane for dessert.

happy 4th