Gimme an "H"...

..."A"...

..."R"...

..."P"...

..."O"...


What does it spell?

EMPLOYMENT.*

I am in love with 2010 already.


---------------------------------------------------
*3-month contract work, 40+ hours a week.

Things to look forward to

• Babies and bubbles! (Tomorrow)

• Dinner at Mana. (Soon, because I'm craving it)

• College Roommate's second baby. (February)

• Much-needed haircut (Thinking I'll cave before March)

• Warmer weather. (Uh, May?)

• Beach vacation with both families and lots of booze. (July)

• Dave's graduation and our celebratory trip to Paris. (2011...)

Kind of a big deal

I sent Dave off for his Big Interview this morning and now I think I know what it feels like to be a mom sending her baby off to his first day of school.


"Play well with others."

"Just do your best."

"You're the prettiest. Don't forget that."

"Try not to say the f-word."

"I'm so proud of you."


This Big Interview, by the way, is for an internship at a consulting firm -- it's 4 hours long and includes an important written test. If it were me, I'd be popping Propranolol like nobody's business, but I digress.

Anyway, lots of nerves in the apartment this morning. But he's well-prepared, he looks professional and he doesn't talk like a robot like those other science kids.

If he gets it, he'll take a brief leave from school to work on a 2- to 12-week project with the firm, hopefully in Chicago. If he doesn't get it, he still has other options for internships and various programs. Though, I will probably have to beat him.

Yep, that's me. The epitome of nurturing support.


(Seriously, GO DAVE!!)

I FOUND DAVE'S WEDDING RING

I'm excited. He is confused. Who, cares, WE DID IT!

Looks like Jesus came through!

For the record, I am writing this as I come off yet another bloody mary buzz, so excuse the incoherence. I am also ridiculously excited, so there's that.

Today, I found Dave's fucking wedding ring.

After renting a metal detector, lurking in front of the neighbor's and staring at the ground every single time I walked the dog in daylight, I FINALLY FOUND IT.

Do you know why?

My mom and Jesus.

This is hilarious because my mom is a total Jew. Who is married to an atheist scientist. (Could I be any more like her?) But she was told by her best friend, a Catholic, to say two Our Fathers. So she did. Hey, St. Anthony has helped her find her own lost ring before, so she figured it couldn't hurt.

When I was on my walk today with Rocco, I was also on the phone with my mom. As we walked by the neighbor's, I looked down in the melting snow like I always do. But this time, I saw it. I saw the fucking ring. All because of her and her prayer.

I shouted a string of ecstatic expletives as I snatched that sucker up from the ground. Rocco and I practically ran back to the apartment and burst through the door with a sense of total accomplishment.

Dave was napping -- he rode to INDIANA this morning -- so we threw open the bedroom door and pounced on the bed. Rocco jacked Dave in the groin, so he was a wee bit cranky when we came in. Until I produced THE RING.

I put it on his hand and pranced out of the room to let him finish his nap.

I bet when he wakes up, he'll be all, "Where the hell did this ring come from?"

ME.

And my mom and Jesus.

1 fun facial and many awkward moments

I went and got my first facial ever with Angie yesterday. After a bloody mary brunch, we popped over to the Aveda Institute to indulge in a little pampering. (Is there a better way to spend a Friday afternoon?)

Let me rephrase. I got pampered.

Ang got... awkwardly prodded, I would say.

After checking in, we waited for our facialists (?) to come get us. An adorable, tall, slender gay guy walked over to the waiting area.

"Lisa?"

Woo hoo! I smiled and followed him back to his area.

Ang patiently waited for her person. A cute, petite girl about our age walked up. Angie smiled.

The cute girl did not call Angie's name.

I imagine Angie scowled a bit as she waited some more. A large, white-trashy woman with red hair and no make-up waddled up.

"Angie?" she barked.

Ooof.

So, from the moment we got picked up by our facialists, we had very different experiences.


My guy: Discussed different facial options based on my skin type.
Ang's girl: Didn't.

My guy: Asked about my current skincare routine and made great recommendations.
Ang's girl: Obsessed over Angie's great skin in a creepy, I-want-to-wear-it kind of way.

My guy: Spoke in a soft, soothing voice.
Ang's girl: Spoke like a trucker shouting to a friend across the bar.

My guy: Gently took off my make-up before beginning.
Ang's girl: Was mesmerized by Ang's "purple eyeshadow." Except it wasn't eye shadow. It was the black eye she'd told this chick about 10 min ago.

My guy: Asked me if I was comfortable.
Ang's girl: Asked her if she "HEARD WHAT THAT TEACHER JUST SAID, HAHA."

My guy: Gave great foot, hand, arm, shoulder and neck massages.
Ang's girl: Kneaded her like a loaf of bread.

My guy: Had me fill out a comment card and quickly tossed it into a basket.
Ang's girl: Had her fill out a comment card and then read it.

My guy: Got a good tip.
Ang's girl: Didn't.


I begged Ang to post about the experience on her own blog so you can get the full effect. Trust me, I don't do it justice.

Anyway, this experience has me convinced that I need a facial every 5 weeks. I also just bought some fun stuff on Sephora, thanks to a gift card from my SIL. With all this and a little dedication, I'll be looking like a preteen in no time.


UPDATE: She posted!

Should I submit Rocco?

I mean, one of us should pick up a little side work during the slow month of January. Plus, it's 10 bones/hour. Hardy har har. I wish I were making that up.

The case of the lost wedding ring

It was a dark and stormy snowy night.

Kind of.

Dave was taking the dog out for one last shit before bed. I was in the apartment alone.

The phone rang.

"WTF," I say. It's 10:30 at night!

I look at the caller ID and I see it's Dave, who left the apartment not more than 1 minute ago. This can NOT be good.

"Hey," he says. "I just lost my wedding ring in the snow."

I am silent. Is this a joke? Because I am about to rage.

"Come help me look," he says before hanging up.

I throw on my boots, jacket and gloves, and head out. For the next 30 minutes, we comb through the snow in front of our neighbor's house. With all of the shoveling, the ring has most likely sunk down 8 inches into a snow pile. We, of course, find nothing.

The next night, we drive out to somewhere the trains don't go and rent a metal detector. With a new sense of hope, we bring this bright yellow (why?) device to our neighbor's snow piles. And let me tell you, I've come to realize that there's nothing more suspicious than two hooded 20-somethings lurking around in front of a home at night with a large metal weapon. But whatever. After nearly an hour of searching, still no ring.

The next day, we decide that the missing element in all this is daylight. Dave goes back out to the snow piles to try yet again. This time, a woman comes out to get her mail and looks at Dave quizzically. He tells her that he lost his wedding ring somewhere in the snow.

She says, "Oh noooo. Oh noooo. Oh noooo. Oh shit."

Oh shit is right, lady. Oh shit is right.

Everyone who walked by and heard the story shared the same sentiment. Whether they chuckled or gave the Sad Eyes, they all agreed that the ring was never going to be found. Especially after a few extra days of snowfall and shoveling.

By the end of the afternoon, we were ready to agree.

So, here we are, defeated.

Dave's new plan is to sit out in front of the neighbor's in a lawn chair once 40 degrees hits, in hopes that the snow will melt and the ring will magically appear. Hey, we've tried everything else.

In the meantime, he'll buy a $10 band from Target. And once we're rich, we'll get him a new, real band to replace the lost one. Because, really? That thing is GONE.

Family photos are fun

4 photo attempts
3 generations
6 smiles
1 Drunk Grandma who needs help standing

War

My fuck-off face.

My body and I are in a fight.

When I turned 26, my body declared war on drinking, eating whatever I want, chocolate, popcorn, drinking and more drinking. WHAT THE HELL, BODY? (Also, why must everything I consume go to my stomach and face rather than, ya know, my boobs?)

All of a sudden, I have to watch what I eat and start working out. Gone are the days of flitting around in tight tops while scarfing down five beers and a basket of onion rings dipped in ranch. Nobody told me this was going to happen.

In fact, my mom essentially told me the opposite. She's been teeny tiny her whole life. Didn't weigh 100 pounds until she got married and even now -- in her 50s -- she tops out around 112. And she's had babies. I, on the other hand, just look like I'm having babies. Not cool, stomach. I'm coming after you.

So, this is war, I guess. Stupid body. One thing's for sure: I'm not going down without a fight.

Good riddance

Photo: Optical Illusion

It's finally 2010.

I say "finally" because 2009 brought a whole lot of suck with it.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Bullshit of 2009

• My family dog died.
• My good friend passed away.
• I got laid off.
• My sister relapsed.

Before I tell 2009 to fuck off though, I stop being such a downer and bring your (my) attention to the good things that happened that year.

The Highlights of 2009

• I got laid off.
• My friends had adorable babies.
• I moved to a bigger, cheaper apartment.
• I celebrated 5 years of dating and 1 year of marriage with Dave.
  
• I adopted the best dog in the world.

Eh, that's life. A little crap, a little love. Here's to hoping 2010 brings more of the latter.