The Hardware is Officially Installed!

Since our last rendezvous, some exciting events have occurred. That's right, kids- B-ry and I are officially engaged! He did some excellent work regarding the hardware (my finger has always longed for an Asscher cut diamond and it is not disappointed). The wedding planning phase is in full swing and I am hopefully avoiding any latent bridezilla-esque tendencies. I'm going to really try not to turn this into a hardcore wedding blog, but I don't see how I can completely avoid posting about it. So, consider this my first full-fledged wedding post!

The only sad part about being engaged is that my herd has thinned considerably over the last few years so many of my loved ones aren't here to enjoy this kick-ass time. I lost three of my grandparents and my dad in the past 10 years, so some of the planning is bittersweet. I'm trying to incorporate little pieces of them here and there so that I'll feel like they are with me. While digging through some old stuff at my mom's house I came across a small typewritten post card that looked like an overdue bill notice (not that I, erm, have any idea what one of those looks like personally..hey look over there! A pony!!!) As soon as my mom glanced at it she started laughing uncontrollably. She explained that it was something my dad had created and mailed to my grandmother (my mom's mom) with this note:

"Just wanted to let you know I sent one of these to every person who didn't send us a gift. Cheap bastards. Have a great day!"

My dad was a raging smart ass (no idea where I got it from) and lived to irritate his mother-in-law, so naturally this little stunt elicited exactly the reaction he was hoping for- something along the lines of "OHMYGOD!!!!! Oh. My. God. What did you do?!?!!?" Once she discovered she was the only recipient of the special delivery, she laughed harder than anyone. I'm thinking of updating it...juuuust in case:

SECOND NOTICE

We wish to call to your attention the apparent oversight in the delivery of your shower gift. All gifts were due on the 3 of June 1972, in the amount of not under $10.

You may deliver your gift on or before June 10, 1972, at 2130 Curtis Drive, Waco, Texas or for prompt pick up service at your home, simply call 772-5292.

We regret this notice is necessary, and are sure that this unforgivable negligence was merely an oversight on your part.

However, this is your second and final notice. If delivery is not made on or before June 10, 1972, this matter will be turned over to our collection agency.

Thank you,
Betty and Winston

Can you imagine if the Late, Great Winstonio had only used his powers for good instead of evil?!

Painted Lady (Or Not)

As much of a girly-girl as I am, lately I have fallen off the makeup wagon. Don't get me wrong, I still loooooove make-up. Nothing makes me happier than a turn through Sephora (or even a quick stroll up and down the makeup aisle in Walgreens- I'll take it any way I can get it thankyouverymuch). Neiman's? Nordstrom? Just the thought of their cosmetics departments is enough to launch me into a happy-coma. It just seems to me that unless I know I have an appointment, there's not much point in "putting my face on" when The Mace is the only one who's going to see me. And maybe the UPS guy. But, hey, that's his problem. He's on my turf.

During high school and college, I would go out frequently with no makeup. I've always been blessed with good skin and was told often that I didn't look my age. This is genetic. No one- and I mean no one- in my family looks his or her age (it's like a Dorian Grey convention up in this piece). For that reason, I hadn't thought much about venturing out to run a few errands au naturel. Until today. In the interest of full-disclosure, I woke up feeling pretty crappy this morning. My guess is I probably look about like I feel (I base this on the reaction I received from the bubbly girls in our leasing office when I ran over there earlier). Henceforth, I should probably put in just a little more effort. Nothing drastic- concealer, mascara, maybe some gloss if I'm feeling especially saucy. Because instead of the fresh-faced young un I imagine myself to be, I'm guessing I'm a little closer to this:



And I don't think anyone wants to run into that while picking up some Diet Coke and pita chips, am I right?

Adventures in Postal Jackassery

Checking the mail is always an adventure when you live in an apartment complex. Are you going to get the neighbors' mail? Is the last resident of your unit still getting mail at your place? And judging by the aforementioned forgotten mail, just exactly what kinds of freaky shit are they into, anyway? It's also entertaining when your postal worker clearly has no interest in walking all the way to the leasing office with something because, yeah, it's a little too big to fit in that teeny wittle mailbox and, meh, I'm here so let the crammin' commence! The best example of this came day before yesterday. I innocently turned my key and opened our mailbox, expecting to find the usual: coupon booklets, circulars, a few bills, and maybe a catalog or two. What I was not expecting, however, was the ginormous, placemat-sized beast from Emporio Armani. I have no doubt that, in the time it took her to fold that s.o.b up into fourths and make it fit, she could have gone to the leasing office and back several times and coordinated all the photo shoots to make her own damn catalog. Lest you think I'm exaggerating about the size of The Beast, I took pictures of it with various stuff around my apartment:


Doesn't seem so bad, right? Wrong. So very, very wrong....



"Oh noes, Mommy! The giant lady is gonna eats meeeee!"



Next it moved on to our kegerator and drained an entire keg in 15.2 seconds. Then it began sobbing and asking if I thought it was pretty. Things got rather uncomfortable.



Then it spied one of my last boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. As it attacked them, we got into a heated argument about the name of said cookies (I'm sorry, but once a Samoa, always a Samoa. So there.)

The last time I saw it, it was stumbling into the guest room covered in a thin film of Samoa crumbs. I haven't had the courage to go in there. Please send help.

Chickens, Angel Food Cake, Cats, Etc.

I'm sure all two of you out there have been wondering, 'sup with the lack of updates? Well, the answer is, there weren't any. So there's that.

I will say that in the last week I did three things I didn't think I had the guts to ever do: roasted a whole chicken (It pretty much rocked!) (Seriously just ask my mom- she's around here somewhere because she's one of my aforementioned two readers), quit my job, and ate my weight in angel food cake. And, if it's even possible, I love B-ry even more than I did this time last week. Just because he's awesome.

Now, let's all sit back and let ourselves be entertained by this:

That's Not What Your Girlfriend Said!

Was it just me or were the Superbowl ads this year kind of, um, sucky? Some too long-winded (*cough, cough DODGE*), some were repetitive (E*trade, anyone?), some repetitive and stupid (Go Daddy! I'm looking at you!). Others, like the Bridgestone one where the guys are driving the whale around, brought the LOLs while the Budweiser spot starring the horsey and the calf who were bff's elicited multiple awwwwwws from me and B.

The clear favorite of the night, however, aired at the top of the broadcast. Seeing Betty White and Abe Vigoda in that Snickers commercial was the highlight of my night. It was the best, Jerry- the best!



Oh, and the Saints won! Methinks Mardi Gras is going to be sick(er than usual) this year...

Tax Season, It's a Tax Service Commercial (I think)...I'm Reaching

No matter where you live, I'm sure there's no shortage of entertaining local commercials. Houston is no exception (in fact, I'm convinced we have more than our fair share). Anyhoodle, please enjoy this local, homemade, uh....it's....to be honest I'm not really sure what it is I'm looking at:

No Need for an Amber Alert

...I'm here! Working on some other stuff to put on here but until then please enjoy this shot 'o awesome from '90. I refuse to be held responsible for anyone climbing into some overalls and snapping on a fannypack after watching.

BNkfskbvas,f! qwu;'[iqbked6 efklawe/t84!

Apparently last night at the Palm Springs Film Festival, Mariah Carey was honored for her work in the movie, Precious. I have no idea which is more awesome: the fact that she is completely shit-faced out of her gourd or the fact that Mariah Carey now possesses an award for acting (Glitter, anyone?)

Pour yourself a Big Gulp o' tequila, sit back, and enjoy!

Fortnights, Etc.

Well, it's been over a fortnight since my last post. Festivus, Christmas, Boxing Day, and the New Year have all been celebrated and since I don't do resolutions (recipes for failure, I always say) I think I have a pretty good grasp on my goals for 2010. Top of the list? Using "fortnight" more frequently. (Yay! Accomplishing things is FUN!)

I had time to look back over some things I had jotted down previously and found something that I thought I'd share. Obviously, this is from a time long ago when it was much warmer around here (aka summer). Enjoy.

An open letter to the 50-something-year-old woman I see jogging around our complex:
Hi! Listen, I really admire your commitment to fitness but that sports bra? Could you perhaps throw a shirt on over it? Also, I have several water bottles and I will totally let you borrow one. Or five. Hydration is a good thing but I worry about you trying to jog and balance an open Styrofoam cup of water in each hand. So remember: shirt, water bottle. Kthnksbai!

Obviously, if this is my biggest worry in our (relatively) new neighborhood, then things are sweet. After the last place we lived, I will absolutely take sports-bra clad AARP members creating hazardous driving conditions any day. More on that later.