Just like a Boy Scout...but...different

In my recent post about The Most Amazing Birthday Gift Ever, I pointed out #3 on Christine and Bo's "Top 10" List, and promised to elaborate upon it at a later date. Well, today is that later date. If you need a refresher, here's the picture of the list:

#3 states: Thanks to Liz, the next time there is a tornado in the area, we will know how to prepare (bathtub, sneakers, ID in the back pocket, big thick book...).

Allow me, at this time, to defend myself. Once upon a time (early 2008), Christine and I were roommates. Of the 17 roommates I've had since graduating high school (yes, 17), she was the best, hands down. And then Bo came along and fell in love with her and STOLE her, but I'm not bitter or anything.

So one night, I remember it so clearly, there were a multitude of tornadoes in the Charleston area, all barrelling toward apartment 9C at Hibben Ferry, where I was home alone and completely freaking out. The weathermen were promising destruction of epic proportions...record breaking tornadic activity was eminent. So I did what any level-headed, bill-paying, live-valuing adult would do. I got fully dressed in long pants, sneakers and a rain coat (better for digging out of the rubble, you see), put my driver's license in my back pocket (makes it easier for the authorities to identify my lifeless body), got the thickest book I could find (dictionary, I believe - to protect my head from flying debris), and went to the safest room of our 2-bedroom apartment. My bathroom. Just for good measure, I sat in the bathtub. The television in the living room was blaring weather reports (that's right...we never lost power) and I was beside myself.

I believe I had been in the bathtub for about 15-minutes when I heard the front door open and saw Christine and Bo saunter into the living room. They had been SITTING OUTSIDE AT A BASEBALL GAME and decided to come home when it started raining. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Bo's face as he peered down at me while I sat, fully clothed with book in hand, in the bathtub. "What are you doing?" he asked. I clumsily stumbled out of the tub and tried in vain to explain why I was wearing shoes and holding a dictionary.

Maybe my mind does get the best of me sometimes? Hey, at least I was prepared.

And yes, I've had SEVENTEEN roommates.

Pet Peeve Monday

I bet someday, say in like 27 years, I'll look back and be able to laugh about being volunteered to pick up trash in the marsh for two hours this afternoon...a mere 12 days before 90,000 people descend on my workplace to steal my soul and leave me a rumpled mess.

Someday, this same situation will appear on an episode of The Office, provoking uproarious laughter from sea to shining sea. Someday, it will be funny. Someday.

Today? Today, it just plain Peeves.

30 Things

I had lunch with my friend Maggie today (hi, Maggie!). We always have such a good time when we're together and today, I get to include you - the fans of Bits and Wiz - in the fun.

Maggie has helped me extend my birthday celebration EVEN FURTHER, and for that, I salute her. When we arrived at lunch today, she presented me with this sheet of paper, entitled "30 things to try in my 30th year":

Immediately, my mind raced with the possibilities. A list! Of things! To try! This year! Some items came to me right away and I'd love your help in rounding out my list. What should I try this year? I'm up to about 19 ideas...things like "shoot a gun", "spend 2 days in complete silence", "plant a tree", "sing karaoke" (which is something I've always sworn I'd NEVER do)...

I can't wait to fill in the page, present my list to you, and chronicle my adventures on this here blog. If you have an idea, you can leave it in the comments or e-mail me!

What fun! Thanks, Maggie.

Pet Peeve Monday

Imagine this scenario, which is played out daily in grocery stores:

I see a cute baby! I admire the baby by using an insanely high-pitched voice while jabbing my index finger into said baby's tummy. Instead of acting like a normal person and addressing the parent with question, I avoid eye contact with the adult and instead address the baby:

"And what's your name?" Causing the parent to have to answer on the child's behalf, because the child hasn't yet mastered the art of holding up his/her head, much less verbalizing it's name. "What a beautiful name. And how old are you?" Causing the parent to have to give the stats, because the child is more fascinated with the florescent lights overhead than with the calendar.

Once, just ONCE, I'd love for an infant to lock eyes with the buffoon of an adult and say, "Listen lady. My name's Steve, I'm 3 months old and I weigh 13 pounds. Now move along." How AWESOME would that be?

Ummmm...thanks?

When people I haven't seen or talked to since high school find me on Facebook and post, "You haven't changed a bit!" on my wall...


...can you really blame me for feeling slightly offended?

It's my party, I can cry if I want to.

You didn't REALLY think I was all finished blogging about my birthday, did you?

Have you met me?

So I got the biggest shock EVER on Friday (March 5) when Sarah flew in to surprise me for my birthday, and I thought "Wow! Game over. This is the best birthday ever." But if you've ever met my friends...my wonderful, beautiful, amazing friends...you'd know the game was far from over.

Picture it. Saturday, March 6. My 30th birthday. I'm at lunch with Sarah and Tabitha, who present me with an innocent-enough looking gift. Imagine that! A gift, on top of both of them flying in to help me celebrate. What'd I tell you? They're amazing!

I opened said innocent-enough looking gift, and immediately started...CRYING????

Who cries? In public? On their birthday? In front of people? Me! Allow me to present you with my newest prized possession:

My scrapbook. Unannounced to me, Tabitha and Sarah had orchestrated yet another surprise. They stalked me, found my far-flung friends and family, some of whom were actually really long lost, and asked each one to create a page. The results? Breathtaking.

See for yourself:

Jordan Ashley and I then (2002), as interns on the first day of the Family Circle Cup:

And now (2008) at her engagement party in Tampa:

If you ever have the chance to watch TV with Jordan Ashley, do it. It's SO MUCH FUN.

There was a page from my parents, complete with bad hair cuts and tea parties:

And that one time they painted me like a pink flamingo at the Treasure Island 4th of July body painting contest. I won 1st prize and lost my dignity:

A page from dear, sweet Debbie Thrasher, who was kind enough to include this photo of me, cementing my suspicion that I've always been rather delicate and refined:

A poem from Grandma, complete with Prom Queen shout-out:

And a page from the Moore's, who I miss dearly. Thank God for blogs!

And from Brianne, the second half of my longest running friendship.

Ashley, who gave birth just over 2 months ago, took the time to make a page. Ashley? You're amazing!

A certified long-lost friend, Emily Furr made a page. Also speaking of long-lost, thankfully the same can be said for those bathing suits:

The extended Skogmans showed remarkable restraint...I have a feeling there are TONS of blackmail-caliber photos out there. Thankfully, only a few made the book:

And all the way from Albuquerque, Chrissy reminded me of the time in college that she and Gerald-the-neighbor performed a very irreverent burial for my dead goldfish.

Allison Boor, who lives in PA, included this photo of the time us girls went to a wedding in Virginia and spent the whole reception laughing because we were the only ones whose shoes matched our dresses. Good times, good times.

I didn't know it, but Amy is a total poet. I'm not sure if you can read the text in this picture, but it is so funny and full of inside jokes. Amy? I love you to the moon and back, too.

And Kathy, my sister-in-a-former life. We bicker like sisters and make up just as quickly. I feel sure our former parents must have achieved sainthood:

And my only sister in this life...Joni! Such fun pictures of Darrell and me, and of me and "the boys":

Just look at this basketball montage from Christmas 2008. Makes me smile every time:

Christine, the newest mom in the group, undoubtedly sacrificed a nap to create a very clever Top 10 List. At another time, I'll attempt to explain #3.

Susan Moore! Such fun pictures of all sorts of nonsense. In a way, it makes me a little glad that she, Elizabeth Schindler and I don't live closer to one another because I'd surely be rendered a totally unproductive member of society:

Finger paint anyone? This picture of Thomas hits every obsessive compulsive nerve in my entire body, which is exactly why Sarah included it:

Amelia, the little angel in her brother's swimming goggles. How cute is she?!?!

Sarah blew my mind with two pages of "I think...I know." It must've taken days...months even to remember so many jokes, trials, tribulations, memories, and laughs. I've read and reread these two pages many times and still can't get over it. She's got lots of dirt on me, people. Lots of dirt:

And Tabitha. We've shared many a legendary beach vacation and every single detail on her pages made me long for the next one. From a salad in Naples that was so good I actually took a picture of it when I ordered it for the second time in as many days:

To this photo, taken to commemorate my first lobster roll in Boston:

This page screams "VACATION!" to me:

A huge thank-you to Tabitha and Sarah:

and to everyone else who took the time to give me such a tangible walk down memory lane. I can't wait to show you all the book in person, which will be easy to do considering I'm NEVER LETTING IT OUT OF MY SIGHT.

Pet Peeve Monday

I watch Good Morning America in the mornings (Diane Sawyer, if you're reading this, I miss you) and every 30 minutes, they let the local news affiliate talking-heads on the air to repeat verbatim the same exact local news that was reported 27 minutes ago.

The local traffic reporter, Rob Drummond, drives me crazy. Every day he rattles off a litany of crashes, stalls, disabled vehicles, debris in the roadway, flooded streets, protests, mutinies, and other catastrophes and ALWAYS - every SINGLE time - he ends his segment by saying, "Other than that, all the bridges are clear and all major thoroughfares are moving freely." Ummm, Rob? NO THEY AREN'T. You just got finished listing a delay on every single street in the Charleston area. There are no clear bridges. Everyone in a car on a major thoroughfare currently wishes they were never born.

Stop trying to spare our feelings. And stop LYING.

And now, a message from my hamstrings

Call it a midlife crisis, call it a last ditch effort to cling to my youth, call it "oh, my gosh I have to wear shorts in less than a month" panic. Whatever you call it, the fact that I joined the gym Monday night and have gone every MORNING for the past 3 MORNINGS has evoked all sorts of response from my body.

All day Tuesday, I had a headache. Probably from mild dehydration. That, or my brain was trying so hard to process exactly what had just happened that it actually ached.

That screaming sound you heard coming from Charleston on Wednesday? Blame my hip flexors.

Currently, my hamstrings are busy making picket signs and brainstorming catchy picket-line chants. One thing's for sure...they're a profane little group.

I can't wait to see which muscle group will chime in tomorrow. Gluteus Maximus Friday perhaps?

Hey, a girl can dream...

Surprise

It all started out so innocently.

My friend Tabitha (L) was in town last weekend to help me celebrate my 30th birthday. She, Amy (middle) and I went for a fun dinner at Taco Boy. It's the happiest place on earth.


Oh, yeah. Jeremy, the mysterious rose sender, was there, too. He felt VERY lucky to be seen with 3 such beautiful women. Ask him...he'll tell ya.

So dinner was going along normally as dinners normally do. The nachos were so good I almost forgot to breathe and I'm still disappointed that I was only able to eat 1/2 my quesadilla. Mmmmmm.


Just as we were finishing our meal, someone put their hands over my eyes. Not normally something that happens at normal dinners. First, I thought someone was trying to rob me of my last two triangles of quesadilla.


But no! It was Sarah! From Little Rock! Who flew in to surprise me for my birthday! I'll let the pictures talk from here:

And that's when I knew it was going to be the best birthday ever.

Thanks Sarah, Kathy, Tabitha, Amy, and everyone else who was in on the plan and purposely lied to my face for the past month to keep it from me. You guys are seriously the best.

Pet Peeve Monday

Picture it: Thursday night, I'm having dinner at Kickin' Chicken, a local restaurant that serves...well...chicken. At the end of the meal I excuse myself from the table to use the ladies room. I walk down the corridor and see two doors, one labeled "Hens" and the other labeled "Roosters". For a brief moment, my stomach dropped and a wave of panic washed over me. Which was I? A hen? A rooster?

I was, thankfully, able to collect myself after a few milliseconds of terror...OBVIOUSLY I'm a hen. Clearly. But in my humble opinion, a dining experience need not be interrupted by PANIC. The cheesy theme of your restaurant need not spill over into the names you give the restrooms. On second thought, I'm NOT a hen. I don't cluck. I don't lay eggs. I (regrettably) don't have feathers. I'm a woman, a female, a girl, a lady (most of the time). I'm not a HEN.

So you name your restaurant anything your little heart desires. Carry out your theme through decor, entree names, waitress/waiter costumes, drink specials...you knock yourself out. But drop it at the restroom door, ok?

"Men" and "Women" or "Gentlemen" and "Ladies" will do nicely, thank you very much.

I can't even believe I'm doing this.

It must be because THIS is the last Wednesday I'll ever spend in my 20's. I've spent 519 Wednesdays as a 20-something, and next Wednesday will be my first Wednesday as a 30-something. What better way to kiss my 20's good-bye than by doing a terribly embarrassing retrospective of my hair throughout the years. And when I say terribly embarrassing, I do mean TERRIBLY.

Thanks to my mother's meticulous back-of-picture note taking, I can report that this picture is of me at 5.5 months old. August 1980. The beginnings of my hair. It all started out so innocently:

And here I am at 9.5 months old, Christmas 1980. Nice expression. You'll notice my hair is still unremarkable:

Next, in possibly my most favorite picture ever taken, here I am at 13 months old. If you can get past the ultra-sincere smile on my brother's face, you'll notice that I've suddenly become BLONDE! But alas, it was short-lived:

Here I am at 21-months...still a decent cut. Still a dumb expression on Darrell's face. At least SOME things never change.

You've probably begun to wonder to yourself what all the fuss is about. Until age 4, my hair seemed pretty standard, right? Well...fasten your seat belts people, because it's about to get crazy up in here.

Christmas 1984. It starts to get funky:


And a year later (Christmas 1985), it starts to get REAL crazy. Bret Micheal's crazy. Mullet-looking crazy. And so the cycle begins:

Five years later (Christmas 1990). All I want for Christmas is to rewind and rethink that Little Orphan Annie perm: (and yes, Allison, THAT'S YOU)

A few months later in 1991. I think the half-hearted, helpless smile on my face says it all:

While slight progress was made the following year in 1992, girlfriend could seriously use some eye liner:

Fast forward to freshman year of high school. a). Nice socks. b). Nice bangs. c). Ew.


And the final installment in this retrospective is of me on the night I graduated from high school in June 1998. This is the same "do" I took with me to my freshman and sophomore years of college. Eek:


Other, more recent entries in my "hair don't" file are numerous. But those wounds are still a little too fresh. The whole "you'll look back at this and laugh" thing? Not quite yet.