Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Budget Cuts

So Ubes and I had The Budget Talk this weekend. I hate that talk, don't you? And really it was mostly him talking and me listening and nodding and saying things like "I know, you're right." and "I guess I don't need to buy both chocolate milk and white milk for the kids." and "Oh no! I would rather do without electricity than limit the amount of texts I can send or receive."

Sigh. So yeah. Good times.

So The Budget Talk has resulted in me skipping my morning trip to Sonic. For two whole entire days in a row. Oh diet coke with vanilla, how I miss you.... I have also been taking my lunch to work. Which I don't enjoy. For several reasons. First, food from your house just doesn't taste as good as food from somewhere else. Right? I don't know why but my sandwiches just don't have the same level of deliciousness as those at Paradise Bakery. And they don't come with a warm and gooey fresh baked cookie either.

Secondly, (which is kind of moot because I think I just made the most valid point in the paragraph above, ie, fresh baked cookie) eating lunch at work means not leaving the building. Which means you are still in the building. Which means if someone needs you for anything . . . they can still find you.

Exhibit A

"Where's April?"
"She's at lunch."


"Where's April?"
"She's in the break room eating a lean cuisine."

See what's happening here? I am still accessible. Which means, I AM NOT REALLY TAKING A LUNCH. And before I know it I am no longer alone in the break room reading my book and choking down formerly frozen fettuccine, but I am surrounded by coworkers asking about my weekend and where I got my super cute shoes and what's the grace period for CD rollovers and crap like that. I mean I know I am totally fun and live this super awesome exciting life, but come on! Let me enjoy my sodium filled, definitely lean but not even close to cuisine ALONE!!

(And I know what you are thinking, but I don't want to be that weird girl who eats lunch in her car. I'm afraid of that girl. I mean, what is she doing in there? Plus it's no longer in the budget for me to waste gas idling for a half hour with the A/C on.)

Third, the microwave at work makes weird noises. What kind of weird? Well, I fully expected my food to be green and glowing from unhealthy levels of radiation, that kind of weird. And don't even get me started on how dirty the inside of it is. And we all know how I feel about that.

So the only thing enjoyable about taking my lunch to work is my adorable Vera Bradley lunch tote. It doesn't make the food taste better, but it looks so cute swinging from my hand as I walk in the building.

Oh and the saving money thing is good too. Because I would rather stick needles in my eye than keep having The Budget Talk. The Budget Talk is never cute. No matter how you package it.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Little o' this, little o' that

  • Yesterday was Take Your Kid to Work Day. I brought Junior. And can I just tell you how awesome my kid is? I mean really super awesome. We also had an open house sort of thing in the office yesterday, so by the end of the day my Junior was mixing with clients, asking if they were enjoying themselves, if he could get them anything else, and how comfortable did they feel with their financial portfolios in these difficult economic times. He rocked the house. And I am pretty sure he is getting promoted over me.

  • Last night Ubes and I watched The Reader. Oh people. My girl Kate Winslet was so supremely fabulous in this film. I heart her. And the movie was so good. I read the book many years ago, so I was thankful it was not fresh in my brain and allowed me to appreciate the movie as a separate entity. I'll be honest with you, when I read the book I am not sure why it didn't gross me out that a thirty something year old woman was having an affair with a fifteen year old boy. And it only briefly creeped me out in the movie. But I could have done without the full on shlonger shots of the dude. Ick. Sidenote: I was relaying this bit of opinion to my awesome coworker and she laughed at me. "The male anatomy grosses you out and you are a married woman? Really?" And so I had to clarify, it is not the male anatomy. It was this male's anatomy. Hello young German kid, it's called "manscaping." Look into it.

  • Tried something totally new and yummy this week. Jalapeno lemonade. I know, sounds disgusting. But it was dee-lish. It's a home made concoction made up by my coworker The Boy. And if there was any left I would mail it to each and every one of you.

  • I've been in a funk about my wardrobe lately. But this week I was searching my disgusting pig sty of a closet for some different shoes to wear to work and I found the cutest pair I completely forgot I had. I love how shoes make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I was so happy I actually Twittered about it. Now if I could just find that million dollars I forgot about...

  • And finally, I am asking for advice. I need a new book to read. Any ideas or suggestions? And please, nothing with vampires! (I'm lookin' at you Stacey!)

Hope you are enjoying your weekend!!

Monday, April 20, 2009


Things are bugging me. A lot. And I am not sure if it's a nasty bout of PMS or exhaustion or being overwhelmed or what, but Oh. My. God. I feel like I could sit here and complain for two hours. About STUPID crap. Maybe it's just me? But maybe, just maybe . . . it isn't. Maybe I have some legit gripes here.

How about I tell you what's pissing me off and you tell me if I'm being too sensitive?

No. Wait. That will probably piss me off. I'm pretty sure. Yeah. It definitely will. So how about if I complain to you and you just sit there and listen? Yeah? Sounds good.

So today at work this woman comes in and she's asking me questions and talking to me, and the whole entire time she is chewing on this massive wad of gum. And I don't mean just chewing the gum. She was going to town on this gum. And it was loud gum. Sounded like she was chewing a wet balloon. And there were all these popping and snapping noises and every few seconds she would swallow and I basically just wanted to kick her in the face.

But I didn't.

But as soon as she left I was all "Oh. My. God. Did you hear the way that woman was chewing her gum?" and then everyone else was all "Or what about when they're eating a piece of candy and it's clicking around in their teeth?" And then I was all "Whoa, dudes. I have the floor here. This is about me and my pet peeves about people chewing their gum. It's not about people and their Jolly Ranchers. Mmmmkay?"

And that's another thing that bugs me. When you are trying to tell a story and someone else jumps in and talks about them and what they are doing, thinking, hating, whatever. Some people are so self absorbed.

So what was I saying??

You know what else is really bugging me? All the construction going on around here. I swear to you people, every road I drive on to get to work has some form of construction going on. I am so sick of sitting in traffic waiting for that guy who holds the stop sign in the middle of the road and therefore thinks he is God to decide it is okay for me to proceed. I hate that guy. And I am pretty sure he waits for me every morning. "Oh there she is. That chick in the black Yukon. She thinks she is so cool with those tinted windows and awesome rims. I think I'll pretend like a cement truck needs to get through and make her wait for 15 minutes when I know she is in a hurry. Yeah. That will show her."

Don't look at me like that. I know that is what he is thinking. I can see it all over his face. It just goes to show that you give a guy in a hard hat a portable stop sign and he will start to abuse that power.

So you can imagine my rage this morning when I went out to my car and I see freaking ORANGE CONES lined up and down the middle of my street. Chip sealing? Is that really necessary? The roads looked perfectly fine to me last week. And of course every other road is blocked off and my neighborhood has been turned into some kind of lab rat maze and I am driving all over trying to get to the exit and I started feeling claustrophobic because I keep getting directed in circles and I was so frustrated I may or may not have run over a couple of their stupid orange cones. Possibly even on purpose. But for the love of PETE! Give me an EXIT that does not involve 85 turns. I am getting car sick here!

And speaking of sick. I am SICK of living in the heat. It was 98 today. Yes, 98 degrees. Without Nick Lachey. Tomorrow it's supposed to hit 100. I am not ready for this. I hate the summer. I hate my summer electric bill. I have been in this state long enough now to realize sunshine and good weather are waaaaayyyy OVER RATED. And the most irritating thing about living in this God forsaken state of dirt and cactus and dryness is that once it gets hot, it's like we have nothing else to talk about. It's so hot, hot enough for ya, did you see how hot it got yesterday, but it's a dry heat ha ha ha, blah blah blah. I can't take it anymore. If I hear one more person tell the story of surviving the summer we hit 123 degrees, I am going to stab myself in the neck with my letter opener.

And I am not sure you are aware of this, but the heat makes people irritable. Not me, but most people.

But on a positive note, tonight I finally figured out how to use Twitter with my cell phone. So yay!

Hey, I never claimed to be a genius.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Should I Be Worried?

I walked into a slightly disturbing scene this morning. My two boys, ages 11 and 9, in the family room, carefully rearranging furniture . . . in Boo's dollhouse.

Me: Uuuuuummmm..... Whatchya doin?
They: Nothin'.
Me: Wellllll, it looks like you're playing with your sister's dollhouse.
Mac (shaking his head, looking at me like I'm crazy): We're not playing with it.
Me: Yeah? Then what are you doing?
They: (Look at each other and then look back at me)
Junior: We're, um, remodeling it.

Freaking Ty Pennington.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


I can't believe it's been a whole week since my last post. I seriously think I am running out of things to talk about.

I never thought in a million billion years I would ever ever run out of things to talk about.

I'm a procrastinator. To the enth degree. In the past year this habit has developed from procrastination to avoidance. And I think it is what I hate most about myself right now.

Although I am not too in love with my thighs at the moment either.

But I do think I have gorgeous feet. Like I should do carpet commercials gorgeous.

On the way to work this morning I sang along loudly to Toto's Africa. It's on my iPod. Whatever. You know you love it, too.

If I had not cheated on my final in College Algebra, I would not have passed.

I recently ran into someone I believe betrayed a member of my family. She smiled at me and was about to say hello but I narrowed my eyes and glared at her. She looked away and moved on. I know it's not what Jesus would have done, but I can't walk on water either.

Sometimes I hold a grudge.

I am uber competitive. So much so that I get pissed when I lose. Especially if it's to a really good friend.

I am the John McEnroe of Facebook's Lexulous.

When I found out our school district was keeping free all day kindergarten next year, I was so happy I wanted to jump up and click my heels together. Except I can't do that. Because I am uncoordinated. And not a very high jumper.

I made something for Gigglepotamus' new baby. Who was born in JANUARY. And I still haven't sent it.

I can be lazy. (Hello, procrastinator!)

A few days ago I was about to tell a customer and his wife to have a good weekend, but I couldn't remember his name and I stumbled over my words. What ended up coming out was "You people have a great weekend." They were Asian. So now I think they think I am a racist.

Sometimes I say inappropriate things.

And I care too much about what other people think.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

... And That's Why I'll Never Be a Ballerina.

I am not one to brag (shut up, just go with it), but my outfit today was all kinds of adorable. Chocolate brown trousers topped off with a pinkish/orange-ish/terra cotta-ish linen blouse. And my favorite, to die for gold beaded sandals with a kitten heel. I even had on the cutest set of bracelets in browns, corals and rusty reds. Elegance? Check. Sophistication? Check. Victoria Beckham red carpet walk? Check, check and check.

But God forbid if I get a little too confident. A little too aware of my fabulocity. Totally a word. Is too.

I had the afternoon off today, since I will be working Saturday morning. I met my fabulous MIL for lunch (and also to pick up my baby Boo) at a new deli/bakery near her home. The place was packed and I had trouble finding a parking space. And when I walked in I could see why. The restaurant is adorable, lots of warm colors and rich wood floors, the smell of home made breads and pastries filling the air. Naturally I had to make a huge entrance, right?

My gorgeous beaded sandals did not play nice with the polished wood floor. One leg went forward while the other slid back. And in order to avoid straining a muscle in a delicate area, I allowed my knee to break my fall. So there I was on the floor, posed like a knight bowing to his queen. I looked up quickly to see if anyone noticed. Of course, half the restaurant was staring at me. I jumped up, acting all cool, laughing and waving off their questions of concern.

"I'm fine, ha ha ha. Just humiliated. Nothing new."

I turned around to look for MIL, spotted her across the room and proceeded two steps. Before finding myself once again in the middle of a stumble, a slip, and then . . . airborne. No I am not kidding. It was like one of those cartoon pictures of someone slipping on a banana peel. Both my feet flew out from beneath me and I was looking at my toes and how adorable they looked in my gold, beaded sandals.

And then boom. I was flat on my back staring up at the ceiling. The light fixtures were amazing. And then there were faces hovering above me.

Concerned Man #1: Ma'am??? Are you okay??
Me: I want to die.
Wife (I assume): Don't move! Let's get some help!!
Me: I'm fine. Really. I'm just hoping the floor will open and swallow me up.
Man #2: Is the floor wet?
Me: Not unless I wet my pants on the way down.
Man #1: You could be really injured.
Me: Oh believe me, the only injury here is my pride.
Wife: I think there is something wrong with the floor.
Me: It's not the floor. Trust me. But seriously, how cute are these shoes?

I got up, red faced and laughing, and hobbled over to my MIL, who missed the whole show.

Me: Hi. I just fell. On my ass. Twice.
She: What? Where?
Me: Over there. Where all those people are pointing and staring. Waive at the people. (Waiving)
She: How did you fall? (Waives at the people and laughs, rolling her eyes at me.) I can't take her anywhere!
Me: Yeah. So what are we gonna eat?
She: They have a great chicken salad. Your shoes are cute.
Me: I know. Did you see the light fixtures in this place? Adorable.

Oh yes. Grace. I haz it.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Sick Day

I woke up this morning feeling icky. My legs felt shaky and I was fighting the urge to puke as I brushed my teeth. No I am not pregnant. Just had a bit of a bug I think. And because I am so responsible, I could not call in sick to work. We have someone that calls in sick a lot and I think that person is a loser. I don't wanna be a loser, you know? So unless I am dying, I am NOT calling in sick.

So I dragged myself to work, looking like crap. My eyes were reddish and puffy, and I just didn't put in as much effort to poof my hair and make myself sparkle. I just didn't have it in me this morning. And I dreaded going in and being fake nice to people all day. Telling them to have a good day and stuff. When really I couldn't give a shit. I just wanted to lay down and die.

But I plugged on. I smiled. I good day'd. I faked a faint sparkle. I did the best I could. And by the early afternoon I was feeling better and no longer wanted to curl up into the fetal position on the disgusting bathroom floor and allow God to take me home.

I had ginger ale and toast for dinner. And I didn't gag when I took some tylenol. My legs were still a little shaky and my glands felt sore. But I started to think I just might make it.

And then I went to put my baby Boo to bed. And she informed me she didn't want me to put her in bed. So I told her Daddy was in the shower and he couldn't put her to bed, she was stuck with me.

And that's when she ripped the floor right out from underneath me.

"I want to put myself to bed."

So now I am back to thinking about how comforting it is to curl up in the fetal position on the floor. And I am wishing like crazy I had just called in sick today and spent the day laying in my bed watching movies with my little Boo. Who wants to put herself to bed.

And now I don't know if my stomach is upset because I have a little bit of the flu, or because I have taken all those nights tucking her in for granted. And I'll never get them back.

But I'll plug on. I'll smile. I'll say good night. I'll fake a faint sparkle. I'll do the best I can. And in a few years when she is ready to go to college, I'll feel better. And I won't want to lay down on her bedroom floor in the fetal position and pray for her to come home. Because I'll be ready.

And I know I will make it.

Friday, April 3, 2009

The Big Oh-Nine

So yesterday was Mac's birthday. And the kid totally got ripped off this year.

First of all his birthday fell during a very busy time. We had to plan his party with his friends for later this month.

Then, this week happened to be the week of standardized testing at school. Remember those fill in the bubble tests? Yes, that is what I am talking about. It took up the whole week. And at first the school wasn't going to allow me to bring in cupcakes or whatever to his class. But after some begging, pleading, and possible threatening, they reluctantly agreed to allow me to bring something during lunch.

"Is it possible to bring something without sugar?" his teacher asked.

"No." I replied. I mean come on! Birthday crackers? Birthday pretzels? Birthday trail mix? I don't think so. Mac chose donuts. So I made sure they were covered in frosting and sprinkles, too. Because that's how awesome I am.

And then when I got to the school with three dozen donuts, the skinny little school secretary was not going to allow me to take them to the cafeteria. "We can't have you on campus during testing," she said shaking her head. "Wanna donut?" I asked. Two minutes later I was in the cafeteria and Mac was the coolest kid in the room. Oh yeah, baby. I'm not above bribing former anorexics with food. Not when it comes to the happiness of my babies. No siree.

The final bummer in Mac's big 9th birthday was his baseball game scheduled for that evening. Which meant no family celebration at his favorite Mexican food restaurant. Granny and Grandpa agreed to take him to his pre-game practice, since Ubes and I couldn't make it until the game started at 5:30. At 5:15 as I was leaving work, Grandpa called. "Meet us at the house," he said. "Your kid's on the DL."

Turns out, during the practice the coach was tossing him pop flies. Mac caught one in the eye. So one of his gifts was a shiner. And it's a good one. But if anyone can pull that look off, it's this kid.

And with the injury he was excused from the game, which meant dinner at Ajo Als after all. Last night as he got ready for bed I gave him a kiss and asked him if he had a good birthday.

"Yep," he said. "I think being 9 is going to be awesome."

I think so too.