there's never a bad time for a cher song

A few weeks ago I was asked by the big wigs at work to attend a seminar.  I agreed, because I jump at any chance to expand my legal horizons and also, that's something you can't really say no to.

The seminar was last Tuesday, but since it was a few hours away I drove up the night before.  As soon as I got onto the turnpike, it started to POUR. 

I am a girl who has a song for every occasion.  In fact I'm fairly certain that my musical matching expertise is one of Matt's favorite traits about me.  For example, we spent the day in the city on Saturday and I had SONGS APLENTY to narrate our activities, including but not limited to Downtown by Petula Clark.  

 

And if the perfect song doesn't already exist, I can make one up on the spot.  This past October when Superstorm Sandy hit the Jersey beaches, I did a complete overhaul of Cascada's Evacuate the Dance Floor to Evacuate the Seashore, complete with circumstantially appropriate verses and a catchy refrain. 

When the storm began on my drive last week, I started to talk out loud to myself in an attempt to calm down.  I can't remember ever feeling so scared while driving.  I actually said to myself, "Laura, you might get into an accident today.  Just concentrate and do your best to stay calm despite this potentially catastrophic situation." 

Surprisingly that was not very comforting.

And so, instead of composing dramatic speeches to prepare myself for a potential collision, I started an a cappella version of, "Jesus Take the Wheel."  

And continued it until I arrived in the hotel parking lot two VERY LONG, STRESSFUL hours later.

After I checked in to my room I headed over to Subway for a gourmet meal because, EXPENSE DOLLARS AT WORK.  And then I sat in the hotel bed while I watched the Bachelorette and worked on my personal budget spreadsheet because my life is very exciting.

The seminar started bright and early Tuesday morning.  It was meant for lawyers, which means that the attendees had big brains and even bigger egos.

Needles to say, I fit right in.

We listened to a few lectures and then it was time for case studies and small group discussion.  Our first case study was about the Sampson family.  The case study began with fictional family members Homer, Lisa, Marge, and Bart.  I tried hard to concentrate on the legal theory that I knew was hiding in there somewhere and not the questionable character names, but when the next paragraph mentioned individuals by the names of Maude and Rod, I began to have serious concerns about the judgment of the lawyer who made up this scenario. 

After we were finished reading individually, I MADE THE HUGE MISTAKE OF OPENING MY BIG MOUTH and exclaiming to my table mates, "Wow, those were some awful names!!" 

And then Mr. Attorney Seated To My Left, Esquire said, "Didn't you ever watch The Simpsons?"

IT WAS A PLAY ON THE SIMPSONS CHARACTERS.

AND IT WENT RIGHT OVER MY HEAD.

Clearly, the answer to his question was NO SIR, I DID NOT.

And the appropriate song for that moment was "If I Could Turn Back Time."

i didn't smell like a margarita, but i sure could have used one

Several months ago, I had a brilliant revelation in the housekeeping department.  That revelation was that I could fill a small spray bottle with cleaning product, and keep it in my bathroom cabinet.  My thought was that perhaps if the cleaner was actually in the room, those quick bathroom counter wipedowns would happen on a more regular basis.

It is important to keep in mind that I live in a tiny little apartment with four rooms and an itsy bitsy hall closet.  The farthest I'd have to walk for a full sized bottle of cleaner is approximately twelve feet.  Still, I prefer to categorize this revelation as one of efficiency as opposed to laziness. 

I had a bottle of orchid scented body spray in my medicine cabinet that was almost empty, so I dumped out the last few drops and filled it up with bathroom cleaner.

When I was growing up, I remember my parents telling me never to put liquid in an unidentified container, or an already labeled container.  A mix up could be catastrophic.  And when I filled up my body spray bottle with bathroom cleaner, I remembered their advice.

And I poured away.

And over the course of the next several months I proceeded to use that brilliantly convenient, accessible container of bathroom cleaner exactly zero times.

This morning while I was getting ready for work, I slid open my medicine cabinet.  I am going away for the  weekend and had already packed my perfume, so I grabbed that bottle of orchid scented spray and VERY LIBERALLY spritzed myself.

About ten seconds later I smelled it.

I had spritzed my entire being in bathroom cleaner.

Because I have a truly endearing habit of leaving no spare time in the mornings, I didn't have time to rinse it all off.  In a desperate attempt to do some damage control, I wiped off what I could with the sleeve of the robe that was hanging on the back of the door and sped off to work.

And then I spent the entire day sitting in my cubicle smelling like a member of the janitorial staff.  

I think it was even worse than that time I went to work smelling like a margarita.  

 You were right, Mom and Dad.  

Lesson learned.

I hope my cubicle neighbors forgive me by Monday.

i guess june isn't so bad

if at first you don't succeed, try, try again

Well, I am coming to you fresh off a Very Embarrassing Moment.

It's car related and I've thought long and hard about a way to tell this story without providing extensive backgound and detail, but that appears to be an impossibility.  So buckle up.

(See what I did there?)

(Buckle up?)

I have to go to a work meeting tomorrow that's about two hours away.  In addition to a Dunkin' Donuts hot chocolate coolatta and the Kenny Chesney pandora station, the trip will require a full tank of gas.

Before I go any further, let me say that I enjoy driving, and consider myself to be confident behind the wheel.  But, I HATE gas stations.  

I also get anxious in crowded parking lots, and on four lane roads where fellow motorists have the habit of changing lanes without engaging a turn signal to notify others of their navigational intentions.  And I avoid making left turns at intersections without left turn arrows because the directive of LEFT TURN, YIELD ON GREEN is not my favorite.  I also hate ALERT: HEAVY MERGE AREA signs and intersections with only blinking yellow traffic lights.

 And now that I type that all out, it occurs to me that perhaps I should find a professional to speak to about my car related issues, because OH, THEY ARE APLENTY.

As my dad likes to say, "Freud would have a field day!"

Back to gas stations.  They are my kryptonite.  I don't care for all the cars driving in different directions, and to find a pump that meets the qualifications of being open, self-serve, and for non-cardmembers can sometimes be a little like seeing a mirage in the desert.

Or Brad Pitt with a decent haircut.

And so, due to my aforementioned high standards, I have identified ONE pump at one gas station that I approve of, and since I made the discovery it's the only pump I ever use.  It's easy to pull beside, no reversing is necessary, I can pay right at the pump, and drive straight out the driveway.  

If I arrive at the station and someone is at my pump, I assume that the sign reserving it for me has blown off and then drive around the block until they are gone.  

My gas station is a few blocks from my office, but unfortunately I couldn't go on my way home from work tonight because I had an appointment to pick up a bridesmaid dress at 4:30 just down the street from my apartment.  And now I'm just overexplaining.

After my appointment I knew it was time to face the music, or the ethanol, as it were, and I didn't want to drive all the way back to my station.  

Instead I drove to a nearby Sunoco which had OPEN PUMPS APLENTY, so I pulled right in, swiped my card, and got the gas pump situated.  

And then I decided that while I waited, I would wash my windows, because, go big or go home.

I had finished the front windshield and was walking around to the back when an older gentleman in a big Chevy Silverado pulled in behind me and began to WAIT for my spot.  The driver smiled at me and I smiled back and finished my windshield washing like the professional gas station patron that I am.  

I hadn't heard the pump click when I finished the windshield, so I figured I might as well start washing my headlights.

I began to sense my Silverado friend getting frustrated, mainly because I could see him looking around for other open spots, so I walked around to the pump to check things out.

Which is when I discovered that I HADN'T TURNED IT ON.

THAT WHOLE TIME THE NOZZLE WAS SITTING IN MY CAR, IT WAS NOT PUMPING GAS.

I was mortified.  And so I did when any sophisticated lady would do in that situation and put the pump away, hopped in my car, and peeled out of there on two wheels. 

And then I parked in the Macy's parking lot across the street until the coast was clear and I could try again.

I'm sure Mr. Silverado did a double take when he saw that the screen said GALLONS: 0 PRICE: $0.00 after I pulled away.  

The good news is that my second try was a success and I am all set for my trip tomorrow.

And my headlights are even sparkling clean.

Bonus.

yes, i really was an english major

For as long as I can remember, my dad has called small shuttle buses “jitneys.”  And for all twenty four years of my life, I assumed that was a clever word that he made up because it’s much more fun to say jitney than it is to say shuttle bus.   

It wouldn’t be the first time my family had a made up word in our vocabulary.  For example, there is a road near our house with a series of hills make your stomach feel like you’re on a roller coaster.  We’ve always called those types of hills mickels.  I don’t know the origin of mickel, but my entire family knows the meaning of the word and uses it on a regular basis.  

The general public? Not so much. 

And I’ve lived my life assuming jitney fell into the same category as mickel.

Michelle and I were at the beach this weekend and decided to paint the town red on Friday night and go to a bar.  Unfortunately it was 45 degrees outside with a constant gusty wind, which would have made the walk from our hotel on 79^th street to the bar on 24^th A VERY LONG, UNPLEASANT ONE.  

And so, we took to the Google for transportation options and there, the very first result, was the Seven Mile Island Jitney. 

My jaw dropped. 

HOW DID THEY KNOW MY DAD’S WORD?

It turns out that jitney is AN ACTUAL WORD.  

IT IS IN THE DICTIONARY. 

I HAD NO IDEA.

This will forever change the way I communicate with others about small to medium sized shuttle buses.  I can use the term jitney freely and without worrying that I may not be understood. 

I will just have to make sure that I don’t ask the driver to take us down the road with the mickels.

weekend at the beach

it's been a while

Well, after several requests to write a new post, here I am.

Let me clarify my use of several in that sentence.

My mom asked.

Michelle also mentioned the other night that it was time for me to write a new post, and when I told her I couldn’t think of any funny material she suggested I look through our text conversations for inspiration because WE ARE HILARIOUS.

I did find a bunch of conversations that made me laugh until I had tears in my eyes, specifically one about Michelle igniting a small kitchen fire in an ambitious attempt to make homemade candied pecans.  

However, what struck me was that I tend to send to Michelle one type of text quite frequently.  Here is a sampling.

 

 

 

Apparently I need to be more diligent in checking that my hot appliances are indeed turned off before I leave the apartment for the day.

You could say that things have been status quo around here.  I did email myself two pictures earlier this week with grand intentions to write humorous blog posts about them, but unfortunately, I cannot remember the witty posts that I had drafted in my head.  Fear not, I will still include the photos for your viewing pleasure.

 The joy I get out of parking next to a car just like mine is immeasurable.  Don’t worry, mine isn’t the klassy one with the duct taped bumper.

Michelle and I did some spring cleaning the other night.  We emptied our fridge of all expired products and were left with only the pictured contents.   

 

At least we won’t be thirsty! 

 And that box of baking soda is doing a bang up job keeping our Gatorade and mayonnaise SUPER FRESH.

So it looks like grocery shopping will be on the itinerary for this weekend.

 Matt came over last night and we logged another exciting Friday night in the record books.  We got sandwiches for dinner and went all wild and crazy and ate in front of the TV while we watched an episode of How It’s Made.  Unfortunately the featured item of the episode was bacon, and once I saw those raw pig bellies get sliced in half I completely lost my appetite.  Notably, Matt was eating bacon on his sandwich as we watched and IT DID NOT PHASE HIM ONE BIT.  

As Matt was leaving I went to give him a hug goodbye and could tell he was about to sneeze.  When I was growing up, my dad could sneeze so loud it would ring the doorbell.  Matt gives him some stiff competition in sneeze volume department.  

So, when I sensed the sneeze was imminent, I made a big deal of VERY WILDLY AND DRAMATICALLY backing away and taking cover.  Unfortunately my dramatic scene was unfolding just as Matt was bringing his hand up to cover his face and there was a bit of a mid-air collision, resulting in me hitting myself, hard, on the lip. 

After we established that my lip and I were going to be just fine, Matt hugged me and said, “Laur, the next time you’re hugging me and I'm about to sneeze, maybe the best strategy would be to just back away very slowly and very calmly, and I'll do the same.”

Write that on a Hallmark card and stick it on your mantle.

Happy weekend.  Time for me to make a grocery list.

 

good to see you, may

Well, I had a fantastic weekend.  On my drive to work this morning I thought about how difficult it is to go back to work on Monday after a particularly great weekend, but that if these past few days were any indication, my summer is going to be a good one.

And then I walked into the office, sat down at my desk, and at 8:05 my desk phone rang.  When I answered, the cheerful voice on the other end of the line said, "Good morning Laura! This is Susan from Chick Fil A!"

I. Am. Not. Kidding.

I am a BIG TIME FAN of Chick Fil A.  Sometimes I have to take a different route home from work because if I drive past the Chick Fil A my car just TURNS INTO THE PARKING LOT and before I know it I'm homeward bound with a large sweet tea and an eight pack of nuggets. 

Recently, and by recently I meant approximately the last three-four days, I've tried to avoid the CFA in the best interest of my wallet and my health.  So naturally my first thought upon answering the phone was that Susan was just calling to check in on me since I haven't been around in the last, oh, 72 hours.

Wrong. 

It turns out that my business card was chosen in the workplace lunch of the week drawing, and so at 11:45 on Friday, assorted platters of Chick Fil A lunch items and accompanying beverages will be delivered straight to my office for me and eight of my closest friends.

Just when I think my life can't get any better.

I was so overcome with excitement when Susan told me the good news that when she asked for my work address to confirm the delivery information, I COULD NOT REMEMBER IT.  I had to dig around in my outgoing mail bin for a piece of letterhead with the address on it.

Monday, you've outdone yourself.

---------------------------

My weekend kicked off on Friday night at a Mexican bar in celebration of Cinco de Mayo.  Or Cuatro de Mayo.  Or just the end of another work week, which in my opinion is reason enough for a celebratory margarita.

On Saturday Matt and I went with some friends to a park for a picnic lunch.  Things got off to a bit of a rocky start because the person in charge of the grill brought a brand new, not yet assembled grill and no tools.  

Which really threw a wrench into things.

Oh, I am hilarious. 

 

Luckily this is the kind of challenge that is right up Matt's alley, so he jumped right in twisting wing nuts and attaching handles and after about twenty minutes, we had a rickety but usable grill.  

What started as a picnic lunch turned into the entire afternoon and dinner and sunset at the park and it was perfect.  We even played a bunch of tailgate games, one of which involved one teammate (Matt) throwing a frisbee to the other from fifty feet away, and that poor second teammate (me) trying to run and hit the frisbee into a barrel.  

And now I will let you in on some shocking news.

Running after a frisbee and guiding it into a barrel?  NOT MY WHEELHOUSE.

After way too many rounds of losing that we started playing washer toss.  I discovered that I can throw a washer with impressive precision and redeemed myself in the lawn game department.

On Sunday I went with Matt to a family party and came home to find Michelle in the living room with two big Ikea boxes.  For some reason I enjoy the challenge associated with Ikea furniture assembly, and so Michelle and I set to work assembling her desk and chair. 

The chair didn't have many pieces, but just when we thought we were finished we matched it up to the picture in the direction booklet, and unfortunately it looked more like the picture with the giant X over it than the one on the cover.  After many, many minutes of trying to figure out where we went wrong, we realized that we put the legs on backwards. 

Whoops.

The desk was much more time consuming and complicated, but luckily we were able to incorporate several puns into the installation process such as "I screwed up!" and we cracked ourselves up the entire time.  

As far as I know Michelle's desk and chair have not yet collapsed, so we must have done something right despite the excessive surplus of screws we had at the end.

I think it's safe to say we nailed it.