Pet Peeve Monday

Today’s peeve is brought to you by the letter “S” and the number 31.

Last week I was running errands during lunch when I stopped to grab a quick bite at Atlanta Bread Company. I ordered my food and took a seat near a middle-aged woman and a small boy.

The boy was in 4 year-old kindergarten and the woman proceeded to try to teach him how to count change. I thought - isn't that a little advanced for a 4 year-old? Coins and the value of coins and how four quarters are the same as one dollar, blah, blah, blah, but whatever maybe the lady was just trying to keep him quiet. I say a chocolate chip cookie would've done the trick, but that's just me.

I couldn't see the boy and woman without being totally obvious (and I'm nothing if not discreet), so I was left only to listen to their voices. Here's my rendition of their conversation:

Lady: "This is a nickel. It's worth five cent. This is a dime. It's worth ten cent. Now, how much is a nickel worth?"
Boy: (pause, pause, pause) "31!"
Lady: "No, a nickel is worth five cent. What's ten plus five?"
Boy: (pause, pause, pause) "31!"
Lady: "No, ten plus five is fifteen. So a nickel and a dime together is worth fifteen cent. This is a quarter. A quarter is worth twenty-five cent. How much is a quarter worth?"
Boy: (pause, pause, pause) "31!"

At this point, I chuckled into my forkful of salad, totally blowing my cover. The boy's voice was so cute. "31!" Which ALMOST made up for the fact that the lady kept saying "cent" instead of "cents." I wasn't sure whether to laugh at the boy or choke the lady. I wanted to put down my fork and pound my fists on the table while shouting “CENTS, CENTS, CENTS!!!!!!!”

I admire the lady for interacting with the boy instead of ignoring him, but come on. How about a little quality control? Cent instead of cents is like fingernails on a blackboard to me.

But that’s just my two cent.

You Gonna Eat That?

After eating peanut butter toast for dinner for the past...oh, I don't know...MONTH, I broke down after work today and went to the grocery store. If the old adage is true and I am what I eat, then I figure my soul mate won't be that hard to spot after all.

He'll be the jar of concord grape Smucker's jelly.

The TALL jar.

Hope for the Socially Awkward

Did you ever stop to think how the spelling and pronunciation of the word "awkward" totally embody the definition of the word itself? Talk amongst yourselves.
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Recently I've noticed something about myself. In social settings, when someone point-blank asks me "so, what do you like to do for fun", I totally draw a blank. My mind goes numb and I can't think of one single thing to say. Instead, I giggle, squirm, hummmmm, uhhhhhhh, welllllll, and I look like a total dummy.

Why does this happen? Could it be that I'm uncomfortable talking about myself? HA! Have you met me? Could it be that I don't actually do anything interesting? I like to think not. Every single time, I'm caught off guard and eventually the inquirer furrows his/her brow and graciously changes the subject.

So Internet, please see below the list of things I like to do for fun:
- I blog.
- I work with the youth at church and I love it.
- I listen to bad music. Loudly.
- I go to the beach. In fact, I'll go so far to say that I enjoy long walks on the beach. At sunset.
- I go to dinner with friends.
- I go to dinner by myself.
- I read books. My favorite authors: David Sedaris, Adriana Trigiani, Doug Fields
- I cook. Not very well, but I can mix it up in the kitchen on occasion (pardon the pun). I especially like to cook while listening to bad music. Loudly.
- I travel. I'm lucky enough to have great friends living throughout our great country, and I like to visit.
- I shop.
- I visit my family in Gainesville/Dahlonega and laugh at my nephews.

These, THESE are the things I do for fun. See? I do fun things! For fun!

I'm seriously considering a tatoo of this list on my forearm so I can refer to it at will. Then, I could add "I get tatoos" to the list!

Sir Baxter Skogman

Confession: I'm a blog stalker. I read blogs of people I don't even know. And blogs of people who I know but don't ever talk to or see. Does that make me creepy? I hope so!

A prime example of the latter group are my friends Doug and Naomi Moore (Hi guys! I read your blog!). Not only are they two of the most amazing people ever, but their girls are SO CUTE. Last week, as I often do, I checked in with the Moore's to see what they had cookin'. Imagine my delight when this picture of Naomi and my nephew, Baxter, appeared:

I haven't spent much time with Baxter in his short, 3 month life but doesn't the expression on his face in this picture just crack you up? Such personality! I imagine him looking off camera at a passerby thinking "Those shoes with that skirt? Seriously?" When I saw the picture, I laughed out loud and shared it with several of my co-workers. I think it was Eleanor who said "Oh, my gosh. He looks just like Winston Churchill." And you know what? HE DOES:

As Sir Winston would say: 'Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.'

And as Sir Baxter would say: 'Get a full length mirror and come to grips with the fact that patent leather is not a summer fabric!'

Pet Peeve Monday (no pun intended)

I had great internal conflict about whether or not to post a peeve today given my outburst on Friday (note to self: never blog when angry). While I hesitate to spew too much negativity, I've reasoned that traditions are made to be kept, in good times and in peeved. Why else would an audience of 3 or more prompt my family to recount how I cried and cried and cried and made everyone's life miserable for the first 2 years of my life? Tradition. That's why.

SO, here's today's peeve. Please watch the following video before proceeding:



Listen. It's no secret that I'm not a huge animal lover, but if I'm eating peanut butter toast and a Diet Coke for dinner...AGAIN...there's no way a CAT who doesn't even pay rent will be eating 'slow grilled wild salmon with crisp garden greens simmered in a fragrant reduction.' Not under my roof.

IT'S CAT FOOD, PEOPLE. Get a grip.

HOW. TO. PEEVE. ME.

In this day and time when all you hear about on the tv, radio, newspaper, Internet, water cooler - EVERYWHERE is how people are defaulting on their mortgages, transfer my home loan to another company, put me on hold for THIRTY-SIX minutes as I try to figure out WHO I SHOULD MAKE MY CHECK OUT TO and WHERE TO MAIL IT SO IT ARRIVES ON TIME, and then when I ask a question you don't know the answer to, cut me off in mid sentence, transfer me to the INSURANCE CLAIMS department (huh?), where they'll not only NOT BE ABLE TO ANSWER MY QUESTION but they'll also BE UNABLE TO TRANSFER ME BACK TO CUSTOMER SERVICE, making it necessary for me to START ALL OVER.

PEEEEEEEEVED on a Friday is not a good place to be.

THAT. IS. ALL.

Feeling Blue

Navy blue, to be exact. As Blanche Devereaux as my witness, this was unplanned. It was total coincidence that every single one of my female co-workers wore navy blue to work today. I know, right?!?!

Even Lauren (far left), who works in our New York office got in on the action! I bet they don't do this sort of thing in Manhattan - take pictures in the lobby when everyone dresses alike. I bet they take the "nose to the grindstone" approach to professionalism. And to that, I say...snore!

All The Single Ladies

Attention: The world is about to explode with all the cuteness packed into this one single blog post. Consider yourself warned.

Since this little blog project began in May, I've dedicated many a post to the men in my life.

And this morning on my drive to work, I thought to myself "self, what about all the ladies? You haven't given them ANY love." I may or may not have been listening to Beyonce belt out "All The Single Ladies" at the time. What can I say? Beyonce inspires me that way.

So here's an overdue ode to all my lady friends. First up:

Amelia "Hell on Wheels" O'Connell. Her lung capacity and general spunk make her well suited to be Thomas's little sister. Girl can preach.

Charlotte "The Flirt" Miller: This one hit the genetic lottery jack-pot. With real life Barbie & Ken as parents, her only option was to be squeezably cute - a fate she accepts with glee.

Caroline "The Professor" Schindler: Ladies and gentlemen, behind these shades sits one of the most formidable minds of the next generation. Speaking of genetic jackpots, Caroline's course load this semester includes Quantum Physics, Ancient Theology, and Name-that-Muppet 101.

And finally, may I present Little Miss "Not So Discreet" Bizzarri. She's set to make her grand entrance (or exit, as the case may be) in December. I will apologize in person for showing her "girl parts" on the Internet without her consent. Jacksonville will never be the same.

If their fathers have anything to do with it none of these girls will be dating until 2032, which gives Jasper, Baxter, William and Thomas just enough time to mentally prepare.

$75 Funny

So, a couple of weeks ago, I had to get my photo taken for the new directory at church. If paying bills, home ownership, or buying new tires doesn't catapult a person into adulthood, surely the church directory photo session does. Ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.

It was a textbook photo session. A photographer who was cheerful if only on the surface, some head tilting, and repeatedly thinking "Did I just blink? I just blinked, didn't I?" Then, the assault by the saleswoman, poor thing trying to convince me to buy $75 worth of pictures OF MYSELF. I think she knew it was a long shot, but she gave it the 'ole college try and asked me about 5 different ways if I was SURE I didn't want any wallet-sized prints. At one point, I was mildly tempted because what would be funnier than getting a greeting card from me, opening it, and having a wallet size print of MY FACE fall out? It would be funny, but not $75 funny.

ANYWAY, last night, my free 8 x 10 arrived (I consider it an apology from the sales lady for coming on too strong and yes, I accept). I giggled as I opened it, thinking of all the funny things I could do with it.

Hang it on my fridge and wait for someone to notice? Take it to work and let people throw darts at it? Put the names of all my friends in a hat, draw one and mail it to them, sans explanation? E-bay it to the highest bidder? All great ideas until one hit me like a bolt of lightning:

My search for the perfect over-the-couch artwork is finally over. What a relief.

Pet Peeve Monday

There's no way to delicately introduce today's peeve, so I'm just gonna come right out with it. 3-pronged forks. Hate 'em.

Somewhere along the way, from one of the 7 roommates I've had in Charleston (by the way, I'm really not THAT difficult to live with), I inherited three 3-pronged forks, shown above. I'm not sure why I can't just take them to Goodwill or throw them away or melt them and fashion them into a fabulous accessory, but I can't. They are in the bottom of the fork slot of my silverware holder. And, much like running out of undies signals that it's time to do laundry, when I reach my hand in the silverware drawer and pull out a 3-pronger, I growl (yes, really) and know that it must be time to run the dishwasher.

It could really go either way...

So, I just got up on the wrong side of the bed. No, literally. I usually roll to my left and get out but for some reason this morning, I rolled to the right and before I knew it, my feet had hit the ground and I was out of bed. ON THE WRONG SIDE!

Here's hoping the old saying doesn't ring true because I'd REALLY like to have a good day. On second thought, it would be a good excuse to air some grievances...

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, yeah.

Like all jobs, mine has its advantages. Once, I unlocked a door for Serena Williams. She looked at me. (!) Once, I presented a giant check to Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh. They were sweaty and sandy and they hugged me (ew). Once, I had the chance to give Andy Roddick a ride from the airport, but I chickened out at the last minute and made someone else go. WHO DOES THAT???

And like all jobs, there are things about mine that are less that glamorous. Take last night, for example. We hosted Darius Rucker and Dierks Bentley for a concert with almost 8,000 of our closest friends. If you're not a country music fan, you might be scratching your head. Who? Darius (from Hootie and the Blowfish) and Dierks (he's one foxy individual. Look him up).

And, to make a long story short, it rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. But people still came. And I, along with several of my colleagues, stood in the rain for hours, scanning tickets at the front gate. We scanned and scanned (isn't technology wonderful!), and once the droves of people were inside, I looked down at my hands. OMG:

I was so pruney it actually hurt. I looked like a zombie. I got home and took a shower and my skin was like "Noooooooo! No more water!!!!!!"

These are the moments that flash through my mind when someone says "Ohhhh, your job sounds so cool." Yes it is cool, and don't forget - glamorous.

ps - Did any of you catch my subtle attempt to incorporate the lyrics to a Fergie song into the title of this post? Yes, I have horrible taste in music. Fergie Ferg's where it's at.

Worth A Thousand Words

I've dedicated several recent posts to my trip to Little Rock. Here's hoping you aren't tired of Little Rock material, because you are currently reading ANOTHER post about the trip.

We've all heard the saying "a picture's worth a thousand words." To prove the truth in that statement, I'd like to leave you with the one photo I've decided sums up the entire trip. Enjoy (because we sure did!):

My Geek Squad

Last weekend, in celebration of tax-free weekend in South Carolina, I convinced my dad to visit and help me buy a lap top. For someone like me who is only mildly tech-savvy, having the help of someone like my dad who practically INVENTED computers was invaluable.

We shopped and compared and considered and debated and finally emerged with my new best friend (who I haven't named...yet). During the whole process, the fine people at Best Buy offered warranties, protection plans, financing, and set-up/installation by "The Geek Squad." And all the while, I found it rather difficult not to laugh in their faces. GEEK SQUAD? Dude, I have my own geek squad. He's right here.

And MY Geek Squad even mows my yard.

Pet Peeve Monday

If there's one thing I've learned from Pet Peeve Monday, it's that there's a peeve waiting around every corner. Today marks the second time I've changed my peeve plan at the last minute because a more compelling peeve cropped up, unannounced.

I usually eat a Nutri-grain Bar for breakfast (strawberry), but today because it's Monday and because they were taunting me, I packed a blueberry muffin in a Ziploc bag. Note to self: don't make a dozen baked goods when you live alone. It's not a good scene. ANYWAY, I packed said muffin (in said Ziploc bag) and, at about 10:00am, I retrieved it from my purse. Expecting to be carted away to blueberry muffin utopia, imagine my dismay when I tasted the faint hint of...PLASTIC ZIPLOC BAG.

ACK! Gross. I HATE THAT. Why does the bag feel the necessity to leave it's legacy on my muffin? And yes, these plastic bags were the name brand Ziploc variety, chosen specifically in hopes of avoiding plastic bag after taste.

This, my friends, is why I don't pack my lunch more often (that and the fact that I can barely catapult myself out of bed and in the shower in the morning, much less take time to PACK something).

And, yes, I did finish the muffin.

That is all.

Cute vs. Slimy

Kids. I think they're funny. They make me laugh because at the end of the day, they just are who they are. They aren't worried about first impressions or being politically correct or how much money you make or what you drive (but if I drove a dump truck, Jasper and Thomas would freak...). Kids are unpretentious, refreshing and funny. Especially Thomas. Hey, Thomas, smile for the camera:

During our visit to Little Rock, Amy, Sarah, Thomas, Amelia and I packed up the car, grabbed some sandwiches at Subway, and headed to Pinnacle Mountain State Park for a picnic and some fresh air. We hit the Kingfisher Trail and thankfully, Thomas remembered his binoculars. Because after all, what's a nature hike without a pair of panda binoculars?

We walked and walked, discussing mud puddles and using the binoculars to spot the nearest informational sign about acorns.

Hey Thomas, do you spy any tall, single men for Bits? No? Typical.

Well, if no men, what do you spy? Anything good? What!?!?! You see what?!?!?

Eek! Thomas spied this snake and almost picked it up, Crocodile Hunter style. I think Amy's shrieking threw him off just long enough for Sarah to intervene and ensure that all admiring took place at a safe distance. And talk about ADMIRING! It was awesome. And, for the rest of our walk, Thomas greeted all the people we passed by yelling "Hey guys! We saw a SNAKE!"

Now if I could just teach Thomas to spy cute boys instead of slimy snakes. Not that he has much to learn. After all, most cute boys ARE slimy snakes.

Once in a Lifetime

Last weekend, my friend Amy and I flew to the booming metropolis of Little Rock, AR to visit our dear friend Sarah. Sarah is Thomas's mom and if you think waaaayyyy back to the beginning of this blog, you'll remember that Thomas is one of The Masterminds. He calls me Bits and it makes me smile. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

ANYWAY, Amy and I went to see Sarah and crew and had a fantastic time exploring the city and generally acting more like our shoe sizes than our ages. More on that later.

Have you ever been in the midst of an experience and thought to yourself "I better enjoy this while it lasts, because it's probably the only time in my entire life I'll be able to do it."? I imagine that must be what it's like to walk down that aisle at your own wedding, or see a volcano erupt, or have some cultural experience in a far off country.

Or, in Amy's case, it could come in the form of throwing caution to the wind and showing total disregard for all FAA regulations. Our flight from Charleston to Atlanta was rather turbulent. And when I say rather, I mean the poor schmuck next to me spilled his glass of water all over himself and me. I think all the turbulence made for a frazzled flight attendant, because next thing you know, we landed in Atlanta and Amy and I looked at one another, wide-eyed. Why? Check it out for yourself. Here's how Amy was allowed to land:

HER TRAY TABLE IS DOWN! And, you can't see it in this picture, but HER SEAT WAS NOT IN IT'S FULL AND UPRIGHT POSITION! (please also note the soggy napkins, used to clean up the mess caused by the spilling schmuck next to me). Shortly after this photo was taken, the national security threat level was elevated to red and Amy was whisked way, never to be seen or heard from again. Or not. Instead, she and I looked at each other, mouths agape, giggled and got rid of the evidence.

And it was at that moment that I knew it was going to be a great vacation.

Pet Peeve Monday

I'd like to propose that the following pet peeve is universal. I've stuck my neck out quite a bit, received long distance eye rolls and even verbal disbelief at some of the pet peeves I've divulged (especially the Chic-fil-a one. That one really pushed some buttons). BUT, I'm almost convinced that the following pet peeve is shared by everyone. Men, women, young, old - I can't imagine a person who's not TOTALLY annoyed by this one. Here goes:

I love to shop. Love, love, love it. I'll shop for anything - for tires, for clothes, for books, for office supplies, for a bargain, for an impulse buy, for fireworks, for just about anything. But there's one sure-fire way to ruin a shopping adventure for me. Why do people insist on shopping in my general vicinity? Don't you just hate it when you're in a store, shopping away, and someone has the NERVE to shop on the same rack as you? OR, to take it a step further, to shop on the same ARM of the same RACK as you?

In my head, I'm saying: 'I'm sorry...perhaps you didn't notice me. I'm 5'11" and wearing a bright yellow shirt, but perhaps you overlooked me. I'm not, in fact, a display mannequin - you can tell because I have a face. I'm a person who is shopping ON THIS ARM OF THIS RACK and you need to BACK OFF. Find your own rack. I was here first.'

Of course, I don't really say that. Instead, my competitive nature surfaces and I dig in. Even if I'm accidentally shopping on the XS arm of the rack, I will continue to pretend that I'm completely absorbed in that arm until the intruder gives up and moves on. Mature, no? Perhaps I should consider taking up an competitive sport again. Clearly, I need an outlet.

If a close-shopper doesn't TOTALLY make your blood boil, please proceed to the nearest Urgent Care Center and have yourself checked for a pulse. If you ARE a close-shopper, please stop.

That is all.