Fresh Baked

Monday, August 30, 2004

Happy Monday!!

I got rear-ended this morning on my way to work. My back is now screaming in the shrillest of sopranos. Glasses nationwide are breaking at the sound. The person who hit me pulled up next to me to ask how I was doing, and then drove away. Never actually stopped and gave me information so now I have to go file a claim with the CHP. And I'm pretty sure Ponch and Jon won't be around to help me.

But when I was telling this story to my mom I said, "Isn't that just so rude?" to which she replied, "No, B. It's not rude. Its illegal."

Oh, right...

Friday, August 27, 2004


I was 4 when I joined soccer and swim teams. This was also how old I was when I started Irish step-dancing, but that didn't go so well. I, it has been told, walked out to the car after that first lesson and told my mom, "It's a waste of my time and your money." Heh. I like that kid. But for the others, I loved every minute of all the years I was in them.

I stopped swimming first, at 11, although it was long before I was ready to move on. My event was the butterfly and, pardon my ego, I was damn good at it. I had record tags hanging on the board at the pool for fast times, trophies at home lauding my efforts, and my coach often asked me to demonstrate for other swimmers. Very Hot Shit. I even got threatened once by an older swimmer that she would kick my ass... but that was probably more for calling her little sister a bitch (deservedly). Most of my memories circulate around the food we ate, though-- Otter Pops and Knox Blox on meet days, Whatchamacallits and Abba-Zabbas on every other Friday, when were allowed a treat from Mom. I haven't really swum since then and I miss it, but only on occasion... like when I eat a Whatchamacallit or that time my college art teacher told us that he was the guy who created all the Otter Pop otter illustrations.

Soccer, however, I miss a lot, and often. I played for 14 years, though, so that was bound to happen. There is this feeling of invincibility I get when I step onto a pitch-- I feel strong and right; energized and totally concentrated on the game at hand. It doesn't matter if there is chaos outside the field-- it doesn't exist; I can hardly spell chaos at that point because I am so singularly focused. Even when I beat a dead horse, its like I don't even know he's dead and I keep pounding away.

I don't get that sports feeling any more. As a patch, I took up watching the World Cup and the Olympics; over the years, the women on the US team became my team-- to their successes and defeats I have had a visceral response. I will sincerely miss the retiring players and will, most likely, cry. But, in watching them, I have been reminded of how much I have given up and each time I think I'm going to do something about it this time. And this year, I did. I signed up to join a women's league that plays soccer in the area. But in finishing the on-line forms I noticed the 'click me, please! I give out prizes!' buttons and, eager to learn more about my new/old habit, I clicked. Damn, I wish I hadn't. Because on the page, bright as your mama, was the picture of US team and the headline 'Golden Girls' or some equally blanched announcement. Fuuuuuuuuuuudge [only I didn't say fudge... (10 points up for grabs there)].

I really wish I hadn't seen that. All Olympics long, I have successfully avoided not seeing such headlines. If I happened to hear a volleyball score or about the gymnastics or swimming, eh... I'll live. So long as I didn't learn anything about the soccer. And this, the gold medal match-- the 91ers final game, was no exception. Although I knew how it ended, I didn't know how they got to that point or the final score so I watched the game last night. But at 89:19, when it was a 90 minute regulation, going the 30 minute overtime? The tape stopped. Just cut out. Premature ejectulation. Over, finished, done.

So disappointing.

Thursday, August 26, 2004


My brother has decided to infiltrate the English Language. And unlike the defunct 'fetch' of Mean Girls, I think this one might take. His goal is to get squared brought into life and out of the poorly-lit math classrooms where they're just wasting away to... wait, they're actually multiplying, but you understand my point. In this sense-- Oliver's sense-- squared means to agree with someone, or to second their opinion largely. We kicked cubed around for a while, but that was just silly.

I would like to take some of the credit for putting it out as a possible use, since I was present at it's inception, but Oliver is bigger and stronger than I and would pummel me for doing so. Also-- he single-handedly took the squared and ran with it. Most notably, our cousin's funeral 3 months ago-- walking past the family, her newly-widowed husband looks up at him and says, "Shit." Oliver's response? "Squared." Which was good, actually, because it meant, yeah, you're right: shit. And a lot of it. But also? Squared? Just odd enough to lightened the moment a bit.

But do you know who else uses it? Howard Stern. I received the most enthusiastic message from Oliver on Tuesday because big How used the squared in his show: Dude! My plan! It's woooorking! Howard Stern used squared! Driving by your office now-- turn right and say Hi! Seacrest, Out.

Okay, so that last bit needs some dying (he started using it as a joke and it stuck). But the squared? It's just getting started. Use it, know it, love it-- but remember, you heard it here first.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

DTP... the August Album

So Long Sweet Summer / Dashboard Confessional
Accidentally In Love / Counting Crows
Feelin' Way Too Damn Good / Nickelback
Ticket to Heaven / 3 Doors Down
One Thing / Finger Eleven
1985 / Bowling for Soup
Life Less Ordinary / Carbon Leaf
Ordinary Day / Great Big Sea
Breathe / Melissa Etheridge
I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You / Colin Hay
Light In Your Eyes / Sheryl Crow
Day After Day / Ben Taylor Band
It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I feel fine) / Great Big Sea
Breakaway/ Kelly Clarkson
Heaven / Los Lonely Boys
Take Your Mama / Scissor Sisters
Bright Spring Morning / Suburban Legends
I'm Shakin' / Rooney
Know Your Onion! / The Shins

Call now to order yours; operators are standing by...

World's Largest Pink Ribbon

3M, the maker of Post-it® Super Sticky Notes, will donate $1 to City of Hope Cancer Center for each of the first 75,000 people who sign up to show that they are "sticking up for breast cancer."

Monday, August 23, 2004

Rad. Then Less Rad. Also: Link-fest, 2004

Bowling for Soup's new album is due out in September. Get yo'sels ready for some awesome rockin'. And, really, there site is so clever. I love me some BFS. And, seriously-- clever? I'm the new [Phyllis].

But the title of their new album what I really want to comment on: A Hangover You Don't Deserve. Which is precisely what I had on Sunday. A hangover that I didn't deserve. See, we went out on Saturday night for Bean's birthday and consumed various amounts of alcohol (mostly Amber Bock and one (1, really) Dirty Girl Scout). But at no point in the evening was I drunk. Not absolutely sober? To that I will admit, but drunk? No. No, no, and nope. And the night stayed pretty mellow with pool (which I kicked so much ass in, despite the fact that I'm horrible) and the aforementioned surgery video, brought to us by Kevin. So why is it that I woke up on Sunday morning (after driving my ass home at 4am) with a nasty headache? Why is it that less than an hour, a slice of pizza, and 2 aspirin later I should happen to throw up, in front of my mother, the minute we walk into the house we're there to paint? And why, after going home to sleep for 5 hours, did I still not feel well? The answer to all these questions reside in one answer: A hangover I DID NOT deserve, damnit.

Its 3 am, I must be lonely

There are few things as spectacularly odd and as strangely comforting as sitting at 3am-- after the last bar has closed-- in a house of guys you rarely see, watching a video of the partial meniscectomy one of them had in Nepal... that he video taped himself while being operated on, natch.

Friday, August 20, 2004

Tips for a Happy Friday

- While walking into the office, notice the lady in front of you is flashing you a great deal of her sassy red thong. Shudder at the thought that it'll be so much worse when she sits down and be grateful that you won't be there to witness it.

- Have someone ask you for a new key because his just doesn't work. Just doesn't work, after 3 years of working... mysterious, no? Find out the real reason it doesn't work is because the jackass bent the key all to hell and now can't fit it in the lock. Call him on it and make him stutter an apology.

-Most especially, if you are interested in a Happy Friday! you must begin with a Happy Thursday Night!! This could include any of the following:
  • Celeb sighting (Norm MacDonald) while talking about celeb sightings.
  • Delivery on 'promise delicious food and delightful conversation'
  • Have your friend (yeah, that one) ask you to be in her bridal party. Am officially a BM. Ms. Hankey, if your nasty.
Or, if you're as lucky as I? All of the above. Envy me kids, for I am having a Happy Friday.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I'm A Big Kid Now

So, the whole tooth thing...

I have self-diagnosed myself out of a wisdom tooth and into some type of premature gum-malfunction. Regardless of my own no-doubt accurate assumptions, I think need a second opinion. And perhaps some treatment. Rather than asking everyone in the great wide world about this until it goes away, I called my dentist.

Dr. King is the first and only dentist I have ever been to. We have a beautiful relationship. He has caused me more pain than I believe anyone else has and I have told him all the dumb, bad jokes I know, which is perhaps cause for the pain. But I always get a toy at the end, for he is a Pediatric Dentist, meant for the express help of the wee ones in dental need. A set to which I, sadly, have not belonged in a number of years.

But when I called, I was told that the time has come to move to the dentist next door; Dr. King is no longer seeing adults. When his receptionist told me this, my reaction was two-fold. On one hand, shit-- I'm 25, you're damn right I need an adult dentist. Why did I call this fool? But on the other hand, I huuuuuurt. I don't want anyone but him poking in my mouth. I want to stamp my foot and huff out of the office and behave like the petulant 7 year-old I truly am inside and, when doing this, have him look up from some poor kid in a face contraption, nod knowingly, and say, "Take some press on tattoos and army men on your way out."

Sadly, it is not to be. I have to accept that I am an Adult now and move on. I got the number for Dr. NotKing and asked that my records be sent over to him. And was then
told that since my records are SO OLD, they've been deleted. Haaaaaa.

The Rest of the Trip

You have no idea the restraint I had to use to limit these pictures to 29. 29. When I had OVER 300 pictures to choose from. I may have been SOL with my cameras, but it turns out that Oliver was more than well-equipped to help a sistah out.

Monday, August 16, 2004

An Elegant Entry

Before I left for Canadia-town, I set up a meeting that should have been held the week previous. When I got back today, I had a very frustrating phone call with someone about that meeting, but here's how that conversation started:

"Oh, good, you're back. Thank you for so elegantly arranging that meeting for us last week. It was so nice to meet with him and him and him and her and him and blah, blah, blah."

First of all: I elegantly arranging that meeting? Well, that right there is straight bullshit because I have never done anything elegantly in my life. What I did was send an email that basically said-- 'hey, this looks like a good time... whaddaya think? If it doesn't work out? Well, I'm not going to be here, so take it up with someone else.' Also, who says anything is elegant that isn't a napkin or a bride?
Secondly: If I arranged it, do you really think I don't know who was there? This type of thing annoys me to no end. Please do not waste my time telling me information I already know. I have perfected time-wasting and right now, you're messing up my schedule.
C: I am 10,000 times glad I wasn't here to attend that meeting myself because the hour-long meeting that started at 9:30? Didn't end until 12:20. Wah-wah-waaaaaaaah.

And that is just the first 8 seconds of this conversation.

Don't Call it A Comeback


I am back from my week of hammock lounging, lighthouse staying, and ice cream eating. It was tough work, I tell you.

A mighty, mighty thank you to the Bloggers of Guest for their entries in my stead and a plea for y'all to start your own so I can read more without having to go out of town again. You 3 are Niiiiiiice and Lovely.

I'm starting the recap with pictures because they're the most handy and require less thinking on my part. As planning goes, I thought I had it down:

8 days;
7 rolls of film;
2 cameras (1 digital, 1 SLR);
2 extra batteries, just in case;
1 oversized bag that is great for camera protection and film haulage, but really inconvenient for packing.

But here's the thing-- all the batteries? Were duds. I got one shot off with the SLR and about 30 with my digital before I had to store everything in that pain in the ass bag and use Oliver's camera. Do you know how long it took for me to take all those pictures? About 2 hours.


But, in case you want to see those two hours? Try this... Cape d'Or Lighthouse

I've decided to go this route as a quick fix because I don't have the Hello software installed on all the computers I use... and hopefully this makes the page easier to load in case you're working on a Computersaurus (Eia). Let me know if you like it.

(and why doesn't the blogger spell check acknowledge blogger as a word? Fellas? You might want to check that out.)

Thursday, August 12, 2004

The Alchemy of Doritos

Would you believe that there was a time when I really didn't like bmh at all? It's true. See, bmh started out, from my perspective, as my best friend's Annoying Little Sister. (hi Eia). And bmh was pretty much a master in the Annoying Little Sister arena, prone to such transgressions as COPYING US and EATING ALL THE CAKE. There was also the Desitin-smearing incident of '83, but it's lunch time, so we won't reminisce too deeply on that one.
Thankfully, time passed. The annoying tendencies waned with the years, clearing the way for bmh's awesomeness to shine through. But the pivotal moment of change took place in the h family kitchen, like so many key moments before and since. It was after a big graduation party, and most of the other guests had left. bmh and I found ourselves standing at the kitchen counter, making our way through a bowl of leftover Doritos. These particular Doritos were of the nacho-cheese variety. bmh and I, having reached only a fledgling level of friendship, observed formal Dorito etiquette, politely alternating turns as we reached into the bowl. Presently, bmh excavated some superficial chip, revealing what I have since come to think of as the Philosopher's Stone. You know, that magical, mythical rock that alchemists dreamed would transmute base metals into gold? Anyway, this was the mother of all Doritos. Laden with so much nacho cheese powder as to appear to be crafted of the plushest velvet. And Fortune had seen fit to unveil this chip just as it became my turn to choose. There was no doubt that I was going for the mother chip. As my teeth first breached the luscious Dorito, my eyes locked with bmh's. She nodded slowly, her eyes shining with the type of pride usually seen only in the eyes of a new grandparent, and said to me, somberly, "Excellent call." The empathy, the joy, the connection of the moment was exquisite. We cracked up like a couple of motherfuckers, and have been BFFs ever since.
The Dorito was really delicious, too.
dem i am.

Guest Bloggers = Lame-o

You've heard it here first, folks. Guest bloggers are lazy bitches. We get all this power and we sit on our hands for days on end. Well, dammit, this must end.

So I saw Garden State the other day. GREAT movie. One of the best I've seen in a long time. Funny, insightful. The perfect movie for the 26-year-old who has moved away from home and rarely visits. Because it's still in limited release, the theaters are mighty crowded. But it's worth the fight over the armrest. You know when you're watching a movie and it fades to black and you really hope that the movie isn't over yet? That's some good stuff.


Monday, August 09, 2004

Old to ya'll but new to me

The 909 will get you all! Starting with Reality TV morons. Wow the 909 did something good!


Slow to start but now we roll!

OK so I just returned from one of my camping trips. It was a good time. Ok so I attended the wonderfull Duct Tape Party then I left at midnight to begin the 6 hour drive up to the campground. Now on this trip I went with my pops and my buddy, George. We have been going to the same spot for quite a few years now and usually my Pops does all the driving but this time I volunteered for the first leg. So I stopped drinking early at the party and left it about 10PM then headed home to relax for a little bit and to finish packing. We finally got on the road at 12:22 AM. I was behind the wheel, George was shotgunning/naviguessing and Pops sacked out in back. So I at one point had mentioned that I would drive till I got tired. Everyone should know that i am renowned for my ability to fall asleep in car. I think I was 17 the first time I made it the 15 minute trip to my Grandparents house without falling asleep. Claps for Jack on that one! Ok so back to the story. So I am buzzing along the 405N to the 5N over what everyone calls The Grapevine which is really Ft. Tejon pass. Grapevine being a little pissant town(no offense to the 3 people that live there) I am still feeling pretty good. George and I are joking around being typical OC brats making fun of hickvilles and the like. Good Times. Oh yeah pops is still out cold in the back seat. I get on the 99N and zoom along. We get into Bakersfield which is a real actual city and I bet they even have a starbucks and a dentist there. Anyways this is when pops decided to wake up and start freaking me out. His first words in 2+ hours are "Where the F*(# are we?" I start to panic and I answer "Bakersfield" hoping that is the right answer since its the only one I have. He responds with a "WTF are we doing in Bakersfield?" I go with "Driving on the 99" as my answer. I start trying to convince my sleep addled pops to realize all is kosher and I didnt screw up again. He starts yelling "this isnt Bakersfield its Northridge" (1.5 hours beind us is Northridge) I am like "no its Bakersfield its developed they have stuff here now". So he starts to come out of it and explains his theory. He woke up without his glass and saw a Cal State next exit sign. He assumed we hadnt gone that far and were in Northridge but hes been to Northridge and know that there are no Big Oleanderlike tree/shrubs in center median in Northridge so he was freaking. Anyways George reports that when he started F-bombing me and freaking me out my face went to Oh Shiite! mode and I had the look of deer in headlights meets dem I am with no chappy.(not pretty) So while we were at the campsite "sippin pabst" as I am prone to doing we were randomly shout out "WTF are we doing in Bakersfield?" That my friends is what campin' is all about.


Toe in the water

Are we the worst fugging guestbloggers in history? I mean, here bmh hooks us up with this stylin' forum, and we don't even have the decency to throw down an entry for two goddamn days? Look, it's not that we aren't thrilled. Because we totally are. And, yeah, we're real busy at work, but you all don't seem to let that rain on the blog parade. It's more that we're chickenshit. I mean, there's a supremely high level of humor in these parts. It's like, if I don't make people shoot champagne out their noses, the attempt is futile. So for now, I'm just saying howdy. I'll save the quest for ha-has for next time.

dem i am

p.s. Did you notice that I linked like I was born to it? YEAH

Friday, August 06, 2004

Meet Your Guest Bloggers

And, now... Live from California-- its your Gggguuuuuueeeeessssst Bloggers!

DEM I AM is a recently engaged asskicker who is up to date on all Martha Stewart's good things. She is also a loving mother to Ginger and, of course, she is not inappropriate!

LEO is a successful esquire by day and up and coming, but starving, Van Gogh by night. He makes a mean civil liberties punch and enjoys ass & radishes.

JACK is a freelance historian. In his spare time, he often finds himself on a campsite sippin' Pabst, Trapped in a Purple Haze, and more often than not: Medium Pimpin'

That's it from me, folks. I'll be back in a week to check on how things are going. Enjoy the veal, tip your waiters.

Fam-damn Vay-cay

That's the fam on vacation last year after the six of us decided to hike Half Dome. Oh, Half Dome, you beautiful siren... you lured us in with your promise of a sunny hike and beautiful scenery and family togetherness. You dirty, dirty bitch. The Cliffs notes (oh, I kill me): 17 hours. On a rock. In the woods. In the dark. In pain. (And I am seriously rockin' some unfortunate hair in that picture. I'm going to pretend it was post-nap, post-wind tunnel, post-hallucinogenic. You do the same.)

Tomorrow we're going to Canada to spend a week with Eia who is working on Prince Edward Island for the summer. We're staying in a lighthouse! Take bets now on how often I'll Be Your Candle On the Water and other Passamaquoddy-inspired songs will be sung. (Hint: Over a Gazillion.)

But, Hark! Who will blog for me in my absence? Fear not, for I have recruited some very awesome non-bloggers to handle this super-sized task. Jack, Leo, and dem i am have all agreed to put their individually giant minds into a collective effort to regale you with tales both large and small.

We'll work on introductions later. Its CYA-time right now.

He Said, She Said

He Said: Welcome to the Coffee Bean, what can I get for you?
She Said: I'd like a large Moroccan Mint Latte and a lemon poppy-seed muffin. Heated, please.
He said: Sure thing. Here's your total. Have a great day!

But what really happened:

He Said: Welcome to the Coffee Bean, what can I get for you?
She Said: I'd like a large Moroccan Mint Latte and a lemon poppy-seed muffin. Heated, please.
He Heard: Moroccan Mint Latte. Muffin of some description.
(Long pause, staring at the bakery shelf)
He Said: What kind of muffin?
She Said: Lemon poppy-seed. Heated, please.
He Heard: Lemon poppy-seed. Something done with it.
(Long pause, staring at the muffin in hand)
She Said: Heated... please.
He Heard: Put it in the microwave until it is only slightly warmer than room temperature.
He said: Sure thing. Here's your total.
She: Held out CB card for payment.
He: Got the almost-but-not-quite warm muffin out of the microwave.
(Long pause, staring at the muffin in hand)
He Said: Here's your muffin. Total is the same.
She: Was still holding out CB card for payment.
(Long pause, staring at the card before swiping it)
He Said: Have a great day!

And then, a few minutes later:
Barista Said: Who ordered the Moroccan Mint Latte?
She said: I did.
Barista Said: We're out of Moroccan Mint. Can I get something else for you?
She said: You have got to be kidding me.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

Chipmunk Cheeks

It was the summer of '97 and I was just a youngster, getting ready to go off to college and flash my pearly whites, fresh from their trials with braces and those God-awful rubber bands. I was back on gum! Corn on the cob! Soda out of the can and not the straw! And then... the wisdom tooth conversation. They had to go. My teeth were too pretty and expensive to risk the possibility of future jacking. I put up a minor protest, consisting of a lot of stuttering 'but, but, but...' and in the end, knowing it was a wasted effort, I reconciled myself to the operation.

At the consultation, I was told that only one side of my mouth had any incoming teeth for the operation. One side. Lefty McWisdom. And one of the teeth hadn't actually fallen, so they were going to take a hammer and crack it, then vacuum up the pieces. Uhh... 'scuzi? Hammers and vacuums in my MOUTH? What the hell was going on here?

The operation was suupah fast and when I woke up, the first thing I did was ask for my teeth. I slept a lot, watched bad movies, and was instructed to drink a lot of ensure like any good 80-year-old should. ("For your health, dear. No, for our health." Gah!! I still remember that shit?!) After a day or so I was back up and running and since my cousin was in town I got to go to Disneyland and Hollywood and Sea World... on drugs. Yay!!

It was on the trip to Hollywood that I pulled a seriously boneheaded move. For whatever reason, we had gotten into a conversation on the best ways to flip someone off. You have your standard out-of-the-pocket "Hey I got something for you" but I preferred to be a bit more creative-- I wanted the Thinking Man's bird. So I demonstrated 'the balloon.' Here's what you do: make a fist; put the knuckle of your thumb up to your lips; as you make huffy-puffy noises, slowly open your hand until your middle finger is all the way up and you're flipping the person off. Super funny to do, especially when you over-exaggerate the blowing as I did. Which is always a good idea when you have STITCHES HOLDING THE BACK OF YOUR MOUTH TOGETHER. I busted a stitch. Which actually could have been damn funny if it weren't for the screaming pain that had clawed its way through the Vicodin and was then throwing a tantrum in my face. Yeah. I'll take OOOOOOOWWWWWW, The Paaaaaiiiiiiin for $1200, Alex.

And the point of me telling you all of this is for me to say that I think I'm cutting a new tooth. If that's even possible. Yesterday, I started feeling some pain in the wisdom-toothal area of my mouth and got a sinking suspicion that it was the beginnings of a new adventure in dentistry-- my favorite!! Don't you worry, though-- I'll be sure to let you know what develops and how I was able to cause myself more pain by being stupid. You can hardly contain yourselves, I know.

Game Over

We didn't suck. Well, we lost in 2 and we lost pretty hard, but we didn't get annihilated. The scores might have been 25-13, 25-16 but I can't really be sure because nobody recorded it. So the first game is over and done with and we have... well, nobody seems to know the schedule. A few more? One more? Its like a well-oiled machine, this volleyball tournament.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Game Time

We have our first volleyball game in 45 minutes. I was sitting here at my desk not worrying (or doing much of anything) and then Hudson had to go and remind me that we're gonna take a stomping soon. So now I'm sitting here giving my knees a pep talk and she's in the back, trying not to puke like she's Doug Dorsey. Toooooee piiiick!!

Also-- we decided yesterday that we weren't so much a 'uniform' team, yet when I came in today, I was told I needed a white shirt. Which I didn't have with me. Oliver, to the rescue! Dude is rad-- he brought me two shirts (in case I didn't like one), my bandana, a towel, the bracelet I dropped on my way out this morning, and half a donut. Ha!!

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Babysitter Syndrome

My parents are out of town. This can only lead to one thing for Oliver and me: babysitter syndrome. Ladies and Gentlemen-- Authority has left the building!

Remember when you were a kid and your parents left for a night out and you could just run around doing whatever it was that you wanted to do? Perhaps it was because I am the youngest and my 'babysitters' happened to also be siblings and they, too, were able to get away with spending all that time on the phone or smoking in the backyard, but I don't remember being too closely watched. Want to eat crayons? Go ahead! Homework? Don't do it! Your sister is bothering you? Punch her! Harder!! It was like you were allotted 5 hours to try to get away with everything you're not allowed to do otherwise. I have never grown out of that mentality. So now that they're gone for the next 3 weeks, its like we're living in Neverland... without the illegal touching.

Our response to their leaving was immediate-- Oliver dropped them off at the airport and then took off in their car for hours and hours. I sat my ass down on the couch and ate ice cream. And while we have trays upon trays of enchiladas that have to be eaten and that were cooked with love (and even a few tears), we just want to go out and eat fast-food and everything else we never get. I stopped at 7-11 on my way home from practice yesterday because I could walk into the house with the bag and not get hassled. We have a pile of Whatchamacallits and Rolos on the kitchen counter and two pints of B&Js Oatmeal Cookie Crunch in the freezer. Because we're 8.

I have yet to vacuum since the party. I took yesterday off to do some post-part cleaning (not that I needed an entire day to get this task done) and vacuuming fell by the wayside when I got the idea for a nap. Oliver and I did have a grown-up moment yesterday, though-- we emptied the dishwasher together while watching The Bourne Identity. This is impressive only because about ten years ago it would have ended in my wet-towel-snapping death for not drying things fast enough. And about 5 years ago it wouldn't have been emptied at all.

Of course, this also leads to moments of Where's Mom Now? Like when I see Oliver drinking Non-Fat milk instead of his usual 2% because neither of us has gone to the grocery. Or when I couldn't get a stain out of (oops) borrowed clothing. But mostly, I'm enjoying the babysitter feeling.

Post-Party Recap

I am Exhausted. Ex-to the-Haus-to the-Ted. Seriously. And I even took yesterday off because of the much-needed sleep.

To recap, briefly:

- I left work early on Friday to kick-start the weekend of Crazy. And it helped, too. I got a lot of last-minute 'oh, crap! I forgot chhheeeeeeesssseeeeeeeee!' things done. Then A called and turned into a knight on a stallion, offering to make my cake and roll enchiladas for me. Looooove. HUGE load off my mind and I was able to pick up meggy d from the airport with a few less weights on my shoulders. (and, hello?! she started a blog when she was here-- how cool is she?)

- Saturday: D(T)-day, started about 5 hours too soon. But was, ultimately, I think, a success. The keg went dry a little too soon, but a beer run was made in good time, and there was more food than you can ever imagine. I think I used about 2 1/2 trays of food out of the 7 I made. Leftovers, anyone? And, the duct tape!! OH, the DUCT TAPE!! There is no way I can explain how great everyone was to play nice-nice to the birthday girl by dressing up in non-breathable, super-sticky materials in the middle of a summer's afternoon. They are, without reservation, the GREATEST friends a girl could have.

- Sunday: Again, waaay too early with the 1 o'clock baseball game. And with the US Open in town, downtown HB would have been a mess to get into the Sugar Shack for breakfast. Which is a damn shame, because the Sugar Shack is some good eats. But anyway, the hometown Angels won the game and I personally think its because they love me. Really. Thanks, guys.

-There is no way this post is complete with out pictures. Stay tuned, kiddos. And thanks for all the love.