He should've known better

To warm up before our kickball game last night, we were practicing catching pop flies. K and a couple of our other stronger kickers took turns firing balls toward us in the outfield.

I felt like we were in The Replacements or something. Most of us were dropping them and just generally seeming pretty "off."

That is, except for our newlywed teammates who just got back from their honeymoon on Sunday. When they both managed to make pretty good catches right in a row, K called out to our team, "THAT's how it's done! That's it, everyone go on a honeymoon now."

I screamed out from center field -- with perhaps a bit too much fire -- "I'D LOVE TO!"

Oops ... dude moment

May 23, 2009: It was a day that was in the works for over two years -- our "I Do, Part 2" ceremony. It was the day K and I had our "real" wedding -- in a church, with a reception, and almost all our friends and family there.

It was a beautiful, special, long-awaited day ...

... that turned into one hell of a party ...

... that I completely forgot about today ...

... That is, until I got an email from K's aunt wishing me a "Happy Dallas anniversary."

Whoops!

At least someone remembered, right?

For the record ('cause we get asked this a lot), we celebrate the September wedding -- the one where we actually became legally married -- as our wedding anniversary. Although we didn't live in the same state for almost two years after (heck, we didn't live on the same continent for 14 months of it!), it was a tough time in our relationship that I definitely want credit for!

It's funny because it's true

Saw this preview last night before Bridesmaids. The last part of it (starting at 2:20) had me laughing so hard I was crying. For several minutes.


The Change-Up Trailer by teasertrailer

*For the record, I make K leave the bathroom if I have to really go. I related to this because once we moved to VA together, K had no qualms about doing anything in the bathroom when I was in there. Just wanted to clear the air there.  

A different kind of productivity than I'd hoped for

Things I need to do tonight:

• Fold laundry
• Go to Target and/or ULTA
• Go grocery shopping so friend staying at our house this weekend has food to eat
• Go to the gym and/or run
• Cook something of nutritional value for dinner
• Pack for North Carolina
• Figure out what I'm wearing to this weekend's concert
• Paint fingernails
• Go to bed early

Things I will actually be doing tonight (with K's help): 

• Get groceries for tonight's dinner
• Make rush dinner of no nutritional value (enchilada casserole & tacos) for unknown number of people
• Hurriedly tidy up (vacuum, clear off mail from dining room table)
• Host unknown number of people for spontaneous kickball Cinco de Mayo party at our house
• Stuff my face (again) with unhealthy garbage and wash it all down with beer 

I'm going to remember this one for later!

I've asked K probably 10 times to schedule an appointment to have our taxes filed. I'd call them myself, but I think K has to do it. Plus, he has the number. How long can a phone call take?

K will be out all next week, meaning we could find ourselves in "oh shit!" territory with eleventy billion procrastinators if we don't schedule an appointment soon.

I texted K a reminder about it this morning. He was in a meeting, he said, and hadn't scheduled "...yet."

Just a few minutes ago, I texted him:
If you call today, I'll wear my black lacy thong tonight ... and let you take it off. If you *don't call today, I'll wear period panties.


Not 5 minutes later, K texted me back:
30 March at 10:30. Boom! 


His last line said it all:
Nice motivation BTW!


Guess I should've tried that in February (when I first started bugging him about this).

I get busy ... You get 6 posts in 1!

Time Flies. That's It

How the hell does my life go by so quickly? The last time I posted, I had just gotten home from Orlando. I spent two nights in my own bed before heading north for a conference for work. Got back on Thursday, just in time to get ready for a massive party at our house on Saturday night, which brings me to ...

Mardi Gras -- Let's Not Do That Again

We had our kickball team over to the house on Saturday to celebrate Mardi Gras. We've hosted lots of parties at our place, since we're the only ones who live in a house (everyone else is single & in an apartment), and I worried that this one might blend in with all the others. Considering K spent 5 years in Louisiana and I felt like a semi-resident for about 4 years, we wanted to show everyone what Bourbon Street is all about.

So we found a recipe for hurricanes as close to the authentic Pat O'Brien's flavor as possible (we didn't think ahead enough to just order the mix. Four liters of liquor, and some grenadine, pineapple juice, and OJ later, we had our lethal potion. It was delicious, but it was destructive. As were the Jello shots made with 100-proof vodka.

Two beers, two hurricanes, and two Jello shots later, I woke up on the bathroom floor at 6 a.m. Not pretty. The last thing I remember is stepping into the garage (evidently somewhere around midnight) to watch people playing beer pong. I did make it upstairs to the comfort of my bathroom before getting sick, and K checked on me in between enjoying the rest of the party.

I kid you not, I did not feel right again until Tuesday. I have never been like that, EVER, and I've only even gotten sick from drinking a couple of times (OK, 3).

I never want another hurricane or (100-proof) Jello shot again.

Runnin', runnin' and runnin', runnin'

My little running group is going so well! We're in week 6 of the Couch-to-5k program, and these people who weren't comfortable jogging at all can now jog for 8 straight minutes! This program is great because it goes in intervals, which is a lot easier for someone just getting started. This week, we ran for 18 minutes total, but it was broken up with 3-minute walks (jog 5, walk 3, jog 8, walk 3, jog 5). Much easier mentally.

They're just 3 weeks out from running a full 5k, which is awesome. The group is loving it and is really please with themselves (as am I!) for their progress. One of the girls said on Monday, "These intervals are so much easier! Why didn't my gym teacher have us doing this? I could've been running this way instead of huffing and puffing and having to stop all those years."

I can't take credit for the training program, but I'm glad they've got the motivation to get moving. Amazing!

Staying in VA

We're officially staying in VA another year. We announced the exciting news to our kickball team at the Mardi Gras party on Saturday (just after the first Jello shot). I'm hoping the people we're renting our house from let us stay in it another year. Fingers crossed!

Job Prospect

Last week, kickball friend sent me a link to a job opening at her place of work. I think I'm about half-qualified, but she assures me I'll be just fine and an amazing applicant. I wasn't sure about applying, since making a move toward getting out of a job (no matter how frustrating the job is) is really scary. But the friend met my coworker/friend at our Mardi Gras party. Coworker knows how frustrated I am, and I guess that came up. Kickballer told her about this opportunity after I'd exited the party. Coworker brought it up with me this week and said she thinks I should apply.

That same night, I talked to Heather, who told me the same thing. "What's the harm in applying?" she asked. Touche.

So apply I did. Last night. Half-heartedly. Very scaredly.

I have no clue what I want.

That Last Sentence Isn't Entirely True

What I want is to stay at home. Sleep in my own bed. My soft, fluffy, cozy, super comfortable bed. Wash my face at my own sink. Dry off with my own towels. Lounge on my own couch, watching my own TV. Gaze out at my own back yard (which has daffodils and hyacinth in full bloom in the flowerbeds!).

But not tonight. Or tomorrow night.

We're headed to PA this afternoon to party with K's friends for St. Patty's Day.

Turns out my shiny newly aversion to Jello shots and hurricanes applies also to large quantities of beer, which are what is in the cards for this weekend.

Especially when we're driving 6+ hours to consume such large quantities of beer.

When gas is $3.45 a gallon.

When, because of conditions in PA, we'll be traveling in K's gas-guzzling SUV instead of my little coupe.

When daylight savings time is really going to make Sunday that much more brutal.

My head hurts already.

This is already getting old (also, TMI THROUGHOUT)

Can someone tell me what ISN'T a symptom of pregnancy?!!

When I had thought about how I'd share parts of this story before, I was going to be a little less informative, but now I think that's out the window.

So last Thursday, K and I flew to Orlando for a wedding (more on all this later. I promise). Because of circumstances I will explain later, I wound up having a 2-hour old Chik-fil-A meal for lunch. I ate a brownie that afternoon. K had all of these things.

Flash forward a few hours, when we're about to touch down in Orlando. That's when my stomach starting going downhill. I thought it was motion sickness, even though I've never had problems on planes before. I just felt a little sick, a little headache ... nothing crazy. I figured I was just ready to be done flying.

We land. Go to dinner. I eat chips & salsa. By the time my dinner gets in front of me, I have no appetite (I didn't eat that much chips & salsa). I force some down to avoid wasting it. Take the rest to the hotel.

That night, diarrhea. Ew.

The next morning? More diarrhea. And then vomiting. Like, ohmygoshwilliteverstop vomiting. (For the record, Chili's is disgusting the second time around.)

More diarrhea. Chills. Then getting really sweaty.

Luckily, all that drama took place between 8 p.m. Thursday and 8:30 a.m. Friday. After I threw up, my stomach felt better ... but the diarrhea stayed. Which meant in the hotel I stayed, instead of going to Disney World.

I forced down some Sprite and crackers. Drank some water. Still had diarrhea.

I thought it was food poisoning. Just knew it was food poisoning. I took Immodium and, like a real trooper, still went to the gathering the bride & groom were hosting Friday night. I drank ginger ale (that stuff is amazing and magical! How did I never try it before?), and I ate 6 whole (tiny triangular) pieces of pita bread.

I got so excited that it was all over when I got back to the hotel and only had to pee ... and then I remembered I still had the stupid Immodium in my system.

Saturday, I woke up and only had a little diarrhea. I thought maybe it was the reserves the Immodium had prevented from leaving (yes, I know that's disgusting. I'm sorry). I still felt fine. I cautiously ate a little Mickey Mouse waffle (with syrup on the side). The rest of the day, I stuck to Sprite and crackers.

At the wedding late Saturday afternoon, I thought I felt the first tiny tinges of hunger I'd felt since Thursday. It was over. Thank God, it was over!

I ate hors d'oeuvres at the cocktail hour. Even drank a beer! With dinner, another beer (the food poisoning is over! Celebrate!) along with a few bites of the not-so-good food. I ate just a couple small bites of cake (do you know how hard that is to do with red velvet? Thank God it was fondant icing, or I might not have been able to control myself).

I didn't push it any further, but I did have a Coke at the bar after (being sick means you get to play DD all weekend). I was still on Immodium (just in case), but the night was drama-free for my stomach.

That Sunday, we went with friends for lunch. Since my food poisoning was over, I was excited that they settled on a pizza place. I still hadn't felt hungry, really, but if anything would make me want to eat, it would be pizza.

We ate cheesy garlic bread. I drank a Coke (no more Sprite!!!). I ate a piece of pizza. But I didn't really enjoy it like I'd hoped. I could hardly put down one slice. I'm a pretty big eater for a girl -- especially when it comes to pizza.

Soon after lunch, though, I realized what I had was still there, so it definitely wasn't food poisoning. More diarrhea.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Sunday night, it was back to crackers and Sprite. F'ing crackers and Sprite.

Yesterday, I braved it with a granola bar for breakfast. Soup for lunch (I hate soup. It's so boring and always feels like punishment food.). Pasta for dinner. I had to force it down again, and even then, it was only a fraction of what I'd normally eat.

Today? Still no appetite. But still no diarrhea.

I posted on FB about it:  
Sad story: I can name everything I have eaten since Thursday (the list isn't long). I don't know what this bug is, but I'm definitely ready for it to leave my system.

In true "Hey, you're of child-bearing age!", I got this from a mommy friend: "And you're sure it's a stomach bug?!? Nothing else....."

Just for the hell of it, I googled. 

Lack of appetite and diarrhea are both symptoms of pregnancy. Obviously vomiting is (though that only happened Friday morning). 


But do you know what else is a fucking sign of fucking pregnancy?!!! Increased appetite and constipation. 


Ev.ry.thing. is a sign of pregnancy. 


Guess I better go buy a freakin' box of tests on my lunch break. 


At least I know where the cheap ones are now.

Hi, have we met?

I just got a note from K's cousin to add a purple ribbon to my FB profile to show my support for PETA.

My dad is a butcher.

My favorite shoes are my cowboy boots.

Sorry, PETA. I love animals, but I'll be damned if I let those cows die in vain!

A sign you've been watching a little too much Harry Potter

K and I recently bought the boxed set of Harry Potter movies (we even decided they were worth getting on Blu-Ray!). K and I both had seen snippets of a couple movies over the years. K saw the entire sixth movie and decided he wanted to watch them all in order.

We started with movie one a week ago Sunday. By Friday night, we had finished the fifth movie.

We spent Saturday afternoon picking up the entire yard of leaves that had built up in our backyard after neglecting them all season.

"This is what sucks about being a muggle," K said. "If we were wizards, we could just do this all with a magic wand!"

NYE: The Aftermath Edition

 When the party goes 'til 6 a.m., the next morning is not gonna be pretty.

The only reason this table is so uncluttered is because the night owls decided to play a game of A$$hole ... sometime after 2 a.m.

Our neighbors noticed their melting snowman looked spot-on for the first morning of the New Year, so they added this sign. (K and I were glad we didn't wake up feeling like this guy looks!)

Why K and I will never be in a jewelry commercial

Have you seen that chocolate diamonds commercial -- the one for K@y? I swear, every time I see it, it makes me laugh because that couple is nothing like K and I.

For starters, no matter why or how long I've been up, I do not look like that at 2 a.m.

And then, when the husband explains he's up at 2 a.m. because it's 2 a.m. on Christmas ... for their first Christmas as a family, I'd definitely have to make fake vomiting noises.

He hands her a chocolate diamond ring. The practical side of me would immediately wonder just how much overboard that ring was for a Christmas gift. And I'd feel like a loser for just getting him a Blu-Ray, a stupid sweater, and whatever gadget I could get him to admit he was slightly interested in.

As if that weren't enough, as the commercial closes, the husband asks if his wife thinks their baby will remember that first Christmas. She gives the sugary sweet, cheesy answer, "I know I will."

My sarcastic response would be something along the lines of: "No, dumbass! She's 6 months old!"

No, we're definitely no jewelry store commercial couple.

We're way cooler than that.

Damn hormones!

Obviously I have a lot of things to catch you guys up on, like actually telling about my marathon, and sharing pictures from a camping trip a few weeks ago, when I slept outside for the first time in my life. 

But there’s something a bit more pressing to share. It’s more pressing because it’s been kind of sudden. Or I’m guessing that it’s becoming that way. 

In the past, I’ve actually started a post a couple times about my thoughts on children (I never published them because I was afraid they'd come out the wrong way). About how once I got Piper and realized how badly I wanted people to like her and how protective I felt about a freakin’ dog, I also realized there’s no telling how ridiculous I’d be with a child. Not to mention when you consider how protective I am over my perfectly capable little brother, who I still refer to as my “little” brother despite the fact he’s 6’2” and 26 years old. 

I decided I wanted nothing to do with having a child. Maybe ever. Because the world doesn’t need that level of sanity, and ohmygosh do they ever stop crying? 

I heard them all around me. Crying. Begging. Demanding attention. I saw exhausted parents and parents who seemed to make their lives revolve around their kids. I saw dirty fingers. I saw minivans.

I realized I could see myself being ready for a family in 10, maybe 15 years (with an SUV, of course). Only I’d be 35 or 40 by that point (remember, this was a couple years ago). Plenty of people have started families at that age, but surely I’d want to start one before that. 

Thankfully, K was just as opposed to the idea of kids anytime soon as I was. 

Only he’s actually good with them. Kids love K. I’m the awkward one. I overthink the entire interaction. Oh my God, this kid’s handing me a Crayon. What am I supposed to do? Tell him thanks, or give it back? Am I supposed to hide it so he doesn’t color on the walls? Am I supposed to ask him what color it is? Shitshitshitshit!

And then ER had a baby. 

And then Danielle got pregnant.

Along with everyone I'm friends with on FB.

And I read blogs written by amazing mothers who have beautiful children who occasionally misbehave (like everyone) and sometimes have dirty fingers. But it’s great to see the moms' whole perspective, especially since I’ve watched these babies’ entire lives! Not to mention the fact that these moms manage to live for their kids (as it should be), but still hold onto themselves and do all the things they loved before the baby.

I had wondered if maybe I was missing the "mom gene," which would be crazy since I’d been labeled the mom in a group of friends a couple times. Maybe my aversion was to babies. I was relieved to talk to friends who said that the “switch” had flipped quickly for them. Or the ones who said they felt awkward around kids too, until they had their own. That it all came naturally. 

Lately, as I’ve been taking advantage of holiday sales (whoops!) for my professional winter wardrobe, I’ve thought to myself, Should I be buying clothes right now? Not because I feel guilty for taking advantage of Christmas sales for myself, but because I worry if I’ll be fitting into them much longer. *ahem ahem*

Then, last weekend, while hanging out with K’s family and his cousin’s 2-year-old son, I heard this weird voice in the back of my mind: I want one. 

Only I don't. I don't feel like I want one.

Not just yet. So where did that come from? Is my brain just preparing me for that time? Or am I in extreme effing denial? I've considered before that my ridiculous preoccupation with not wanting a child was a little suspicious.

I’ve thought about this dozens of times. It used to go like this: We could have a kid. I could handle that. It's just the responsibility of raising it that I don't want. I still want to be selfish and spontaneous.

Now, it’s a bit more detailed: We could do this. K and I could have a kid … Only we don’t really have room for one. We still need a guest room, so we’d have to use the office. Dang it! I like the office how it is. Maybe we could just throw a crib in there. It’s not like we’ll be here that much longer anyway. ... (Don't worry, I wouldn't just throw a kid in the office.)

And money. I mean, we're financially stable, but bring-a-kid-into-the-picture financially stable? 

I’ve told K (hesitantly) the things I’ve been thinking, and he's seemed pretty unphased. I haven't brought it up to anyone else yet, but I already know what ER will say. She'll tell me what her doctor told her: that most people don't ever feel like they're perfectly ready to have a child. They just make room for it.

Is that what's happening here?

Is this how it starts? Or am I just getting less vehemently opposed and more comfortable with the possibility? 

What kickball SHOULD be

Written 6/17. Posted 7/01. Because I took forever to edit (read: majorly trim down) what I originally wrote. Sorry! 

K and I had a kickball game last night (two, actually, but more on that later). One of the guys on the opposing team is quite a character.

Abs spends a lot of time working out. The reason I know this is because he takes off his shirt so many times in the course of a game that it's become a league joke to keep a tally of how many times it happens. As if that's not enough, he also enjoys busting out with random pushups, pullups (on nearby soccer goals), handstands, etc. It's bizarre. It's cocky.

When we played Abs's team, we were both tied for first in our league. Talk about a big game.

We made some mistakes in the first inning. We were a little nervous, and it was obvious. Abs's team capitalized on that, and they were able to score 4 runs. There were 3 questionable calls (2 of which involved refs' conflicting opinions), and all went to Abs's team, since my team takes the classy route and doesn't argue with refs.

Our nerves settled down after that inning. It became very clear that Abs's team was just as nervous about playing us as we were. Possibly even worse. Where missed catches, wild throws or bobbles on my team are met with, "That's OK! Shake it off!", Abs's teammates were more of the "C'mon! You gotta GET THAT!" It was tense. It was intense. It was not fun.

It became clear that Abs's team had actually scouted and studied our lineup. The coach would shout to the entire team, "Justin's kicking! Then Mike! Then Liz!"

They were playing only their 12 best players; the rest of the team sat in plain clothes on the sidelines. We had our entire team of 20 suited up and playing. And every one of us got field time.

Somewhere in the 3rd inning, we realized we weren't going to win this game. When Abs removed his shirt again, one of our girls started yelling and joking about nipples. Our pitcher, who loves kickball and gets pretty nervous about games like this one, was laughing so hard that he actually had to pause for a minute to gather himself before throwing the ball.

It was all downhill from there. We decided all the guys should take their shirts off at the start of the 5th inning. K liked the idea so much that he ripped his shirt off as soon as we told him. Another guy followed.

It was our turn to kick. One of our teammates had a blast with his at-bat. It was clear he was going to get tagged out on first, but for the fun of it, he dove for it. I swear, he flew 3 ft. We were cracking up on the sidelines! To add to the fun, as soon as he jumped up, he ripped his shirt off as he ran back over to us.

It was then that the team decided if we made it to first base, we would take off our shirt.

Fast-forward an inning, and it was my turn to kick. Abs had just dropped into a random set of pushups. My teammates joked that we should each do pushups before we kicked. Sounded like a good idea to me.

I stepped up to home plate. The pitcher and infield players were just settling in to their places again.

I marched right up to the plate. Dropped down to the ground. I set myself into pushup position. 

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Five pushups. Real pushups -- not chick ones. Just the right amount to get my point across. Just the right amount to deliver confidently, correctly, and without expending any energy I'd need for my next task. 

Far in the background, I heard my teammates screaming. Cheering. Clapping. People were going crazy. 

From the infield, I heard Abs say he could admit when he'd been stood up by a girl--just before I saw him bust out a handstand from the corner of my eye. (Seriously, what is UP with that guy?!)

I vaguely heard and saw all of these things. But I was already focused on my next task at hand: kicking the ball. A task I'd managed to suck at quite a bit this season. I hoped my initial "in your face" display wouldn't be met with a sheepish strikeout. 

The pitcher chunked the first ball at me. It was far left of the plate. 

Ball!

Then another. 

Ball!

"Yes!" I thought. "Maybe he'll walk me." 

But the next pitch went screaming right over homeplate. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my right knee, and the ball connected with the inside of my right foot and headed toward third base. It looked fair, so I took off. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abs go running for it. 

"Shit! He's going to beat me!" 

He was headed toward first, ready to throw the ball at the baseman. I was determined to beat him. 

I ran as fast as I could. Just before I reached the base, I saw Abs's wild throw get away from the first baseman. I was safe. By a longshot. 

I slammed my foot into first base, and I immediately began celebrating. 

I might have remembered the deal myself, or I might have heard one of my teammates screaming about it from the sidelines. But somehow, as soon as the "reach the base, take off your shirt" rule clicked in my mind, I ripped my shirt over my head as quickly as I could. 

I was screaming and jumping up and down. 

Of all the times to get on base--and of all the ways to do it--this was the best. 

I ignored the wayward ball. 

Like hell was I about to risk getting out by getting cocky with base running. Like hell did I think twice about taking off my shirt. Like hell were we going to get upset about losing a kickball game.

Seriously, my favorite moment of the entire kickball season.

When the game was all said & done, we lost 6-0. But anyone watching us leave the field would never have known. Our team was laughing, smiling, and carrying on. Abs's team walked off little by little, looking more like they'd lost, and asking the coach why they couldn't have more fun like us.

Maybe I had an influence on her?

I was talking to my boss this morning when something caught my attention: Her nails were painted purple!

When I complimented her on the color, she told me she'd decided to treat herself to a manicure, and she wanted to do something other than the standard pink or red.

Even though last week was my first week of work, I had braved it and wore my purple polish all week. Since she's a member of the Purple Polish Fan Club, I told my boss how I'd repainted mine twice for the callbacks because I was worried they'd give the wrong impression in my interviews.

My boss, who is probably in her 40s, told me she'd actually worn hot pink tights and black boots to her interview! She said she realized it was inappropriate when she arrived, but it was too late to change (I guess her interview was last-minute?).

Anyway, I really think I'm going to like this job. I had a really busy day today, and tomorrow promises to be the same, but I'm excited about the projects I've got coming up. It's still early, obviously, but I really think this is going to be a really great fit! 

Holy crap, I'M playing an organized sport!

I've never been an athletic person. Sure, I run and even cycle from time to time, but I always go for distance rather than speed. I lift weights at the gym, but that's not quite the same.

When it comes to playing sports, I'm as awkward, clumsy and useless as they come. I wasn't the kid who got picked last in gym class (we had some REALLY unathletic people in my class), but I was almost always in the last few picked. My only attempt at organized sports was in the 6th grade, when I tried softball. I managed to break and jam my finger catching a grounder during a scrimmage, so my mom made me quit so I wouldn't ruin my "music career" (I took piano lessons and was in my first year of band).

I hated playing sports. It was nerve wracking, and I felt like the Spotlight of Suckage was on me the entire time. When I was at OU, the ultimate frisbee team actually tried to recruit me, but I steered clear (They only wanted me for my hair anyway. I'm pretty sure it was a prerequisite to have long, curly hair to be on the team.)

So imagine how unlikely it would be for me to try a team sport. My new friend (still need a name for her!) plays on a kickball team along with a couple of her other friends I've met. They invited K and I to join their team.

We did. Our first practice was Wednesday night.

As soon as we got to the practice field, that old gym class feeling swept over me again:
Oh God, what am I doing? Why did I sign up for this? This is a terrible idea. I'm going to suck, and everyone's going to know. I'm never going to get on base. I'm going to look like an idiot. I hope they don't put me on the field; I'll never catch that ball. And if I have to throw it? WHY AM I HERE?!!!


I tried to calm my nerves with a little self-deprecating humor as I talked to K. He kept giving me weird looks; he hadn't seen this side of me before. (The only "sports" we've attempted together are a goofy bowling game and miniature golf once with just the two of us. I'm fine making an ass of myself with him. It's the strangers I'm worried about. And yes, I know that doesn't make sense.)

Eventually, I had to take my turn to kick. We were supposed to bunt the ball. Not that I had any clue how to do that. When the pitcher released the ball in my direction, the world turned over to torturous slow-motion. I connected my toes to the ball, and it went straight into the air. The catcher ran forward and waited for it to fall straight into his arms.

Yup, sure enough, I suck. Faaaantastic. Bet the coach is happy he made room for me on the team now.


I took my place at the end of the batting line. My next kick went the same way, only this time, the shortstop caught it (yay for going farther?). K gave me a few tips. On my next bunting attempt, I actually made it to first base! After three more people kicked, I made it safely home (barely!).

When it was my turn to try a field position, the coach sent me to second base. I stayed there for a few plays -- thankfully none that involved work on my part. The coach told me to move to third base. I took my position and continued praying quietly that no plays would come my way. Of course that couldn't happen.

We had a player on first and second base when someone else went up to kick. The pitcher recovered the ball. "Throw to third!" the coach yelled.

Oh God! 

It was slow-motion again.

Please catch it, please catch it, pleasecatchit pleasecatchit pleasecatchit!!!

I took a deep breath, winced, and awkwardly stretched my arms in front of me. The ball sank right into them.

"YES!" I squealed involuntarily.

My teammates laughed. K cheered for me from the batter's box.

A few plays later, someone kicked the ball into the air right toward me. The pressure was on again, and I somehow managed to catch the ball.

Oh my gosh! Maybe I don't suck royally at this game!

Of course, I did manage after those two feats to miss a throw that would've allowed me to take a runner out. Like the song says, though, two out of three ain't bad.

The coach told K I was doing well at third, so they're going to keep me there. I'm happy with that decision! It's a nice position that sees a little action from time to time, but it's not too much pressure. (K, on the other hand, is a rockstar who will be playing catcher. He can handle the job and the pressure.)

Our first game is next week!

The low-down on interview #4

I had my fourth interview with the potential job last Friday. This time, I met with the director. I think it went well, but not as well as the previous three interviews. After all, I'd pretty much answered all the same questions three times before in the previous interviews. My answers were starting to feel canned.

The woman who had given me the phone interview has actually been through every single interview with me so far. I found myself saying more and more, "I've already told [woman] this, but ..." I really think she could just do the interview FOR me by this point!

When it was all finished (this one only lasted about 20 or 30 minutes), my interview buddy told me she thought it had gone well. We'll see.

I had lunch with her and the man I'd had the second interview with. It was nice and relaxed. They asked me if I had any questions about the job.

Of course I do: What's the salary? How many vacation days do you get? Is telecommuting OK from time to time? Are there still others in the running at this point?

I wasn't sure if either of them was the appropriate person to ask, and if so, whether it would be a bad idea to ask in front of the other person. I stuttered around for a minute about how I had questions, but I wasn't sure if they mattered yet (or something like that). I said I felt I had a good grasp of what the expectations and responsibilities of the position are. They were pleased with that response.

When lunch was over and we parted ways, they said they'd be in touch early this week. We'll see what that means. I haven't met the janitor yet, so maybe interview #5 is in my near future. :)

This isn't the first time I've had 3 callbacks to get a job

Today's the day of the big 3rd interview for the potential job. I'm surprised it's taking this many interactions for them to make a decision, but it's not the first time I've been in this situation.

My junior year in college, I had an evening class. One of my friends and classmates came in and took her usual seat beside me. We talked about our days, and she told me She'd had a test run late earlier in the day, and it caused her to be late. She had gotten the "crappy section" at work, so she was annoyed. "Oh well," she said, "I still made $100."

What?!

I whipped my head toward her. "Where on earth do you work that -- on a Thursday afternoon -- you make $100 waiting tables in the crappy section?!!"

Clarece was smart, professional, put together. She was classy. She was always dressed up in nice, trendy boots or heels for class. She was nice. Sophisticated.

So I was shocked when she answered my question: "Oh, I work at Hooters."

She told me she'd worked there since she was in high school. She said the chain was trying to become more family friendly. She told me I should apply.

I thought about it. Why not, right? I told my roommates about it when I got home, and Rachel decided to apply with me. We laughed and joked about it.

We went the next week. Rachel had no waitressing experience, while I had a whole 3 months under my belt from my first summer back home after freshman year. Rachel was cute, and she had a fun personality. Surely they could train her.

The manager told Rachel they weren't hiring, and they (there were two on duty when we were there) asked me to come back the next day so I could meet another manager. When I returned the next day, Manager 3 looked over my application and asked me about my waiting experience. He asked me to come back one more time. I can't remember if Manager 3 was the summer hiring manager, or if the one I had to go back and meet was, but for whatever reason, I was going to have to come back a third time, the following Tuesday at 4:00.

In the meantime, my brother and dad were getting excited about my potential summer job. They were planning visits up to "see me" at work. My mom actually said to me, "You do know the reason people go to that restaurant?" (My response: "Sure! The chicken wings!") She told me she didn't care either way, as long as I knew people weren't really going for the wings. (Duh!)

My boyfriend at the time had a different take on it. He wasn't too crazy about the possibility of having a girlfriend who worked at Hooters. He'd talked about it with some of his friends, and a lot of people (girls especially) said it was one step above stripping.

But I had waited tables before. I had worked as a cashier for several years. I had dealt with flirting or come-ons in both. Sometimes guys are just guys. I knew Hooters had rules about touching the wait staff, so even though it's a much more laid-back environment than your average restaurant, it wasn't like customers would be allowed to be disrespectful or inappropriate.

So I found myself at the restaurant the following Tuesday just before my 4:00 appointment. I found Manager 4 (the final manager) leaning against the counter on the phone. "Oh, no!" he said. "They were supposed to call you." He had a conference call at that time, and he couldn't meet with me.

This restaurant was a good 20 minutes or so from my apartment, and gas was a ridiculous $1.75 a gallon. It was finals week, and I'd had to take off work just to drive up that day to meet the manager.

"Should I come back?" I asked him. "I'll just walk around the mall for a little bit or something. It's no big deal." The manager seemed reluctant, like he had a lot on his plate even after the call. But he started to agree. Me being me (and never wanting to inconvenience anyone), I said to him, "If another day is better for you, I can come back if I need to."

"Yeah ..." he said. "It's just really not a good day. As long as you come back by Saturday, we can start you on Monday."

Gah!

When I got to my car, I immediately called Clarece. "What's the deal?" I asked her. "How many times do I have to go for them to decide if my personality and looks make up for my lack of boobs?!"

It sounded like all I had to do was go back one more time, and I'd be ready to go. But I was tired of making the drive. Why did it take four times? Plus, Brad was against it, and all those "one step above stripping" comments were getting to me.

I didn't go back. Instead, I wound up doing a small stint at On the Border before leaving to become a carhop at Sonic (much less stress, and much better money!).

Who knows what would have happened if I'd gone back to Hooters a fourth time. I always get a kick out of the looks on people's faces when I tell them that story. What's most funny is that the only time -- well, times -- I've been to Hooters were those three times I was there to speak to managers about a job.

It's probably better that way. Besides, I've heard their wings aren't that great.

My little reminders

See these? Know what they are?

That's right. They're gray hairs.

Know where they came from? My head. My 26-year-old head.

These are the longest ones I've ever found. I've been finding them for a while.

I remember the first time I gazed into the mirror and found these little intruders making their way into my brown, curly locks. I was 24. I was in Dallas, in my bathroom. My husband was on the other side of the world, saving the planet. I was doing everything I could to stay as busy as I could. I was planning our Dallas wedding, even though I had already planned one wedding.

There were only one or two grays, and they were short. Hardly noticeable. I was surprisingly nonchalant about them. It wasn't like I didn't expect them to come someday, you know? Plus, if when they start to take over my brown, curly locks, I'll just start dying my hair.

The thing is, I went through a lot to get these grays. The fact they showed up when they did makes me almost have an appreciation for them. Every time I find one, it's a reminder of how stressful that time was for me, how hard I worked to get through it, and how happy I am with the way things have turned out. Planning two weddings and watching the love of your life head off to war twice before you turn 25 isn't easy, but I did it. And we made it. Instead of a trophy, live gave me grays.

So every time I find a gray hair in my head, I smile to myself ... right before I pull it out. Just because I see them as a nice reminder doesn't mean I want the rest of the world seeing them too!

Since you asked

L asked me after my final Colorado post if I'm excited to ski again.

Believe it or not, yes!

We're actually going to try to go somewhere nearby on Sunday. The part that makes me most excited is that I'm pretty sure the mountains here won't be as steep as in Colorado. They might just be right up my alley!

We're supposed to get 6 inches of snow tonight and tomorrow. If the weather allows us to make a drive on Sunday, I just might have a few exciting new stories to tell about how I've become a rockstar skier.

Stranger things have happened!

The father-in-law

K's dad is a special guy. They don't make many like him anymore. He's not Italian (it's K's mom's side that's Italian), but K commented this week that his dad is probably more Italian than his mom was. He loves to talk to you like he's got some kind of contraband that he wants to share with you: "Hey, come here a sec." He motions with his head, then says quietly, "Do you like corn? They had it down at the market for 30 cents a pound. I bought a ton. You want some?"

Don't forget that my FIL is actually a year older than my grandparents. Either K's selective hearing is genetic (quite possible), my FIL is a terrible listener, or he just plain can't hear a word we're saying (maybe it's a combo of all three), but many times when I'm in the middle of a sentence, he'll interrupt me with that old man version of, "Huh?" which somehow winds up sounding more like, "Haaah?"

The man gets up every day at 4:30. What he does in that time is beyond me. But that early rise causes him to want to eat dinner at 5:00 every night. And he also wants to cook for us. We convince him to wait until 5:30, but I always wind up hungry again at 8:00.

He buys things in bulk, and he likes to label things with a special lettering code so he knows when he bought things. Why it's important that he's the only one who knows that he started using that country-sized roll of foil back in 2003, I don't know. He buys five jars of peanut butter at a time. He buys two of everything else as well. When he opens something at home, he buys a new one so there's a replacement ready and waiting for when the open container is used up in 3 months. (I, too, hate running out of things, but I just buy another when there's about a third left. That seems to work for me.)

As much as my FIL likes to buy things in bulk, he really doesn't like replacing things before he has to. So the shower curtain liner, while completely intact, is a bit moldy at the bottom. And the "fitted" sheet on the bed in K's room (where we've slept this past week) is probably older than me, so the elastic was probably shot at least 10 years ago. Now, it's just nonexistent. Every morning -- and even sometimes in the night -- we wind up having to fix the sheet so it covers the mattress again.

What's funny is that K's dad has gotten into trying to pare down some of the things in the house. And he needs to. He could have the garage sale of the century! He's got sleds (yes, that's plural), a humidifier, a microwave, a refrigerator, ski gear, books, books, an encyclopedia set (I didn't even know people had those anymore!), and many jars of peanut butter. He's got an entire enclosed porch full of who knows what. What I do know is there is a small path in the items that allows you to get to the back door; otherwise, it would be a complete war zone (which my FIL would probably be able to survive thanks to everything inside the room).

My FIL's method of getting rid of the excess items is by adding to everyone else's clutter. At random times of the day, he'll ask us, "Hey, do you guys need dishes? How 'bout pots and pans? I got a leaf blower. Ya need a leaf blower? Haaah?"