party naked

I am in fact alive after the concert-going. I suppose I should have mentioned that I went on vacation with my family last week after I returned from the concert.

Oh, what a stressful life I lead.

So anyway, you want to hear about the concert, right?

Here goes.

Eight hours is a long time to travel, even when there aren’t whining screaming children in-tow to make the trip seem even longer. Seriously, when I have kids, we’ll either fly or we won’t vacation at all. I can’t imagine driving what seems like an eternity all the while hearing “Mommy, are we there yet?” or worse “She’s touching me!”.

Not that Lemons is bad company or anything, quite the contrary. The first 85,ooo,000,000 miles of our trip were filled with interesting conversation about the anticipation of child-birth for her, and how I plan on resisting “the urge” once her bun pops out of the oven. But only so many topics of conversation can be broached before there’s just nothing to talk about. And trust me, there’s no one I’d rather talk about nothing with than her, so you know we covered it all.

After the other 85,000,000,000 miles, we reached our destination, and the only slightly-irritable-because-she’s-pregnant Lemons exclaimed “We’re staying in the ghetto!!” (As an aside, it really wasn’t the ghetto, it just wasn’t as nice as the place that we stayed last year, which may as well have been the Hilton Suite at the Hilton with a prime location just minutes from the concert site. However, as previously mentioned, Lemons is slightly-irritable-because-she’s-pregnant. I love you Lemons, but you know it’s true) We proceeded to go into the not-as-nice-as-last-year lobby and check in with the not-as-nice-as-last-year receptionist, who sent us up the not-as-nice-as-last-year elevator to our rooms that were, well, not as nice as last year. I’m not so sure what we did after that but something about The Real World re-runs enters my mind.

The next day we woke relatively early (“I didn’t sleep so well, last year was better.”) and went off to get our nails did by the local Vietnamese ladies who didn’t do as well as last year’s Vietnamese ladies. Afterwards we went back to our hotel to pretty ourselves up for a man who will never give either of us the time of day.

The concert started at 7:30 and so, we figured (for some strange reason, which in retrospect, doesn’t make much sense) that we would get to the concert at 7:00. We seemed to have forgotten that we had to pick up our tickets from the “will call” window, which of course had a line the length of which rivaled the Mississippi. We didn’t get our tickets until 8:00 and therefore missed the opening act Taylor Swift. (Isn’t she sickeningly adorable? I just love her hair and am positive that mine would never look that good, even with a team of professionals. I think that she’s possibly the only girl I would allow my brother to date simply because she’s not a waste of his pretty.) Anyway we were pretty bummed that we missed her, and by pretty you should read very and by bummed you should read irrate, but you know, take it as you want it.

We were, from that moment on, in lovely moods until security allowed us to go up to the stage to watch Brad perform. I don’t need to be pregnant to be slightly irritable.

When Brad came on, all of my troubles melted away as he pretty much can’t put on a bad show. It’s just not in him.

The highlight of the evening was when some random chick hopped up on the stage and made a bee-line for Brad. Fortunately, his security team appears to be able to hold their own, because one of his guys came out of the middle of nowhere to tackle this woman NFL-style. As soon as he picked her up she started kicking and flailing about like a child. It was quite a site to see, although if she had taken the advice of her shirt- “Party Naked”- I’m not so sure security would have been so quick to take her out. The world may never know.

Not to be over-run by happiness for too long, Brad ended up giving his hat to some rotten little 4 year old whose parents clearly only brought him to use for that purpose. Four-year-olds don’t understand celebrity and music and the like, and if they do, they’re watching too much TV, and you should question the parenting of that child. So, next year Lemons and I have decided to bring one of our nieces to the concert for the exact same purpose.

We want that hat, darnit!

said my husband as he left for work this morning…..

“Have fun fornicating with Brad Paisley this weekend.”

And I certainly intend to.

you so wish you were vip like us

Today starts the whirlwind tour Lemons and I are taking of these United States. Kind of.

Really, we’re just going to see Brad Paisley- Brad Paisley!- in concert down in Charlotte, NC.

Of course we’re part of the fan club, and that means VIP tickets, which if you’d like, you can translate to practically-front-row-but-don’t-be-too-jealous seats. I know, we’re so cool!

You’ll recall that we saw him twice last year, in the span of a month, and the fun that was had at those times. Well, this year we’re seeing him twice in the span of 5 days. After Charlotte, he’ll be coming to our teeny-tiny state and we have VIP tix to that concert too! How exciting, right?

Anyway, Lemons and I are getting an early start driving today. Not like last year where we ended up driving through rush hour traffic in both Baltimore and Washington DC, and in which my leg felt like it was going to fall off because I drive a manual and it was stop and go traffic, ugh!

So wish us luck.

Hey, if nothing else, I’m sure I’ll come back with great things to blog about. The poop fiasco did come about through a conversation in a car you know!

the only thing worse than pooping in front of people

As far as embarrassing moments go, I would have to say that I’ve lucked out.

The only time I can remember being truly embarrassed was when Jordan Sianni pulled my pants down in 10th grade gym class. He did this, of course, in front of all of the guys in the class who just happened to be some of the cutest guys in the school. But I’m over it.

A couple of weeks ago, my Aunt and her family came up to visit for the 4th of July. Since I’m the oldest cousin (and, ok, unemployed) I did alot of running the little cousins to and fro and even had them stay the night at my apartment once. Just the girls anyway, boys are icky. In one of my moments of dropping some off back over to my other Aunt’s house, my cousin Natalie approached me with some panties.

“Here” she says. “When I stayed at your parent’s house the other night, I forgot underwear and Andrea let me borrow a pair of hers. Can you give them back to her?”

“Sure, no problem.”

And then I tossed them into the back of my car and forgot about them.

That Saturday, the husband and I had to pick a family friend up from the airport and drop him off to his friend’s house. At some point before we arrived at the airport, Hubs grabs the panties, smirks a little, and asks me what they’re doing in the back of the car.

“Oh, they’re not mine, they’re Andrea’s.”

“What?! What are they doing in here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, we can’t just leave them sitting in the back seat” he said, “Let’s put them…..here.”

And in they went to the glove box. Never to be seen or heard from again. I certainly wasn’t going to remember them.

Every (ish) Wednesday, DDTM, who you’ve seen comment here now and then I’m sure, hosts a “Hanging out with DDTM and Fancythis” night at his house where we get together with some of our youth kid(s) and just get to know them better. Last night was one of those nights.

I was craving a Rita’s Gelati and so I suggested we make the trek up to our local Rita’s so I could get one. I even offered to pay for DDTM and our youth girl who was there just to get them to go with me.

You see where this is going, right?

I did a preliminary check to the inside of my vehicle making absolutely sure there was nothing scandalous that would forever scar this youth girl.

All clear.

We all pile in and I start the drive out of the neighborhood when out of the corner of my eye, I see DDTM opening my glove box. I am not bothered by this because the memory of the panties is long gone, and to me, it is perfectly normal to inspect the vehicle in which you are riding. Then he says-

“LLA (a nickname he gave me) when we get to this stop sign, I have a question for you.”

“Ok” I chuckle, thinking, why not just ask me now?

Then we stopped, and he opened the glove box and I looked over and immediately turned 3 shades of red. Why? I’m still not sure, they’re not even my panties, but I was embarrassed nonetheless.

“Oh those? They’re Andrea’s. Y’see when my Aunt came up from West Virginia a couple of weeks ago……..”

God likes me better unemployed

This is clear to me now.

I’m not going to try and fight it anymore.

Just call me June Cleaver, ’cause from the looks of it, I’ll be staying home until I get knocked up.

Which, incidentally, is years (do you understand? years) away.

Some of you inquired as to how my job interview went at Lemon’s place of work the other day.

I thought it went ok.

I’ve never actually walked away from a job interview so confused before. Seriously. This is how it went down.

She sat me down and asked me a few question about my work history, what my greatest strengths are, etc. After that, she went on to tell me that should I get turned down for this position I shouldn’t be discouraged because due to the system transition her team is going through right now, she’ll be in the market to hire another 5-10 people and I’m definitely in her top 10 list. She went on to say that in the meantime, I should really look into working for the temp. agency that their company uses because they’re certainly looking for people like me who take their work seriously and they would snatch me up in an instant. She ended the interview with a “You did great, I’ll let you know either way by next Friday!”

Which is 2 days from now, so I won’t have an absolute update until then.

Can you see why I’m so confused?

Most people would walk away from an interview like that figuring that they just didn’t get the job. Part of me thinks that I didn’t.

But the other part of me remembers the environment that I left at Big Monster Company in which they would specifically say things like that to see how you “handle” what can only be assumed is rejection.

So now I don’t know where I stand.

I guess I’ll just have to wait until Friday.

poop and other issues

*warning* This post is kind of, well, gross. Please do not read while eating or if you’re expecting the following story to be ladylike in any way. Thank you. 

Now that Lemons has gotten knocked up, our conversations are much more…..colorful. Well, ok, they were already pretty interesting, (it is us, after all) but now they’re just at a level that was never even heard of before now.

During our drive home from Em’s B-day celebration the other day (which, as a side note, was deliciously fun!) we discussed everything from names, to breastfeeding, to labor and delivery.

And that, my friends, is when the conversation got interesting.

“You know, Mary told me that she pooped on the table when she had her kids. I am more afraid of that than anything. Screw the childbirth, I CAN’T, poop on the table!”

“Well, it happens sometimes you know, you can’t avoid it, your pushing and stuff, it’s bound to come out.”

“I know, but I don’t want to.”

“Well, I know a woman who, as soon as she started having contractions, pooped and showered so she was nice and fresh when she arrived at the hospital. They say not to do that though, ’cause your pushing it out, and you shouldn’t be pushing at all.”

“I’ll probably do that though, ’cause I don’t want to poop on the table. They say you lose all sense of modesty during childbirth anyway.”

“I know, when my mom had the twins, they were so big that there was a team of interns in there observing, and every now and then random doctors and other people would come in to observe as well.”

“Ew, can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to poop in front of all of those people. What if you had the runs or something.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“I know, and like, you pushed so hard that it shot in the doctor’s face, how embarrassing would that be?!”

*Severe, hyperventilating laughter follows*

“This is so gross, I have to blog about this!”

*Mass chuckling follows*

So, here I am blogging about it. There’s not much that doesn’t get said with the three of us in one vehicle. I’m not so certain that any topic of conversation is safe from the likes of us. We can take even the most basic of things and turn it disgusting.

Here’s to best friends.

please?! look at me, i’m pathetic!

This is how I will beg the woman who will interview me today for a job at Lemon’s place of work.

I think that if I don’t get this job I’ll just curl into a ball and cry. Right there. In the office. Seriously.

I need to work.

There’s nothing for me to do here anymore.

The apartment is clean, the laundry is done. I need to get out. of. this. place. I’m going nuts.

I sure hope I can pull it together for the interview. They probably don’t need any more crazies working there than they already have!

hello. hello?!

Generally speaking, when someone calls you, you answer the phone with a simple “hello?”, correct?

It is then the responsibility of the person who called, to either ask for who they wish to speak with or to start chatting it up with you, as you are the person they want to speak with.

This is very simple phone etiquette.

Why then, does it seem that noone gets it?

The following is a phone call from this morning:

Ring, Ring.

Me: Hello?

Silence.

Me: Hello?

More silence.

Me: Hello?

Again, silence.

Me: HELLO?!

Lady: Hello?

Me: (thinking, “are you kidding me?”) Hello?

Lady: Hello?

Me: (I am not playing this stupid game) Silence.

Lady: (after about 30 seconds of my silence) mumble mumble, wrong cell phone number. Click.

I don’t even have the words to describe my astonishment at the stupidity of some people. If you don’t know how to use a phone, don’t.

It’ll save the rest of us from having to deal with you.

i know you all want to know

So, you all want to find out what I was talking about in this post?

Why don’t you let Lemons give you the update. You won’t be disappointed.

the waiting room

Sometimes, when we pray, God doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no either.

He tells us to wait.

It almost would be better to hear no at those times. “No” provides closure, the end of the issue.

The waiting room is a tough place to be, where it’s hard to trust, hard to have faith.

You weren’t in the waiting room alone.

We were all there with you, praying, sobbing, misunderstanding.

Sometimes, God pulls us out of the waiting room and gives us an answer.

Sometimes its no.

Sometimes, its yes.

For you, it was yes, for you, the wait is over.

And you know what?

In some small way, I feel like God has said yes to me too.