UPDATE on It’s Not the Apocalypse, People… Or Is It?

Just as an update to last night's post...

Apparently, my traumatic experience was nothing compared to some other people's.  My boss didn't get home until 1 am.  My... whatever he is didn't get home until 3:45 am.  He spent EIGHT HOURS trying to get home.  OMG.  He said people had just abandoned cars all over the place.  That's INSANE.  Come on, people.  Gotta be smarter than that.

My ex-boyfriend's boss/good friend picked me up as scheduled this morning, and we were delighted to see my car was exactly where I'd left it in that parking lot.  (Ok, so I kind of abandoned my car, too... but I did it in a parking lot, not in the middle of the interstate.  TOTALLY different.)  It took me forever and a day to get in to work because traffic was inexplicably awful, but it was an uneventful drive.  YAY!  A little bit into this drive, I learned the county wasn't opening until noon.  I made it to work 2 hrs and 20 min early.  Whomp whomp.

Also?  The Salters were their typical selves sometime between when I got home last night and when I left my house this morning.  Their stairs, sidewalk, and all around their cars was bone dry, and there was salt everywhere.  It was so dramatically dry that my ex-boyfriend's boss/good friend totally noticed and commented.  I explained that was just how they rolled.  I was a little worried about them after the dusting we had last Saturday because I didn't see one spec of salt.  Good to see they're back to their old ways.

It’s Not the Apocalypse, People… Or Is It?

I had plans after work tonight that I’ve been looking forward to for a few weeks… I was just getting together with a few Nats fans to enjoy life, talk baseball, and have an adult beverage or two.  This morning, I saw that some snow was expected in the area this evening, but from what I read, I really just thought it would be a few flurries and that would be it.

After work, I headed in the direction of my get together, and stopped at Target and Petsmart on the way to grab a few things for the snow this weekend.  I’m horrible, and I generally don’t have food in the house, so when I see that I’ll be trapped and I won’t be able to order anything, I have to go shopping for just a few essentials.

I picked up another box of Sudafed (and got myself one step closer to being on a DEA watch list), then thought peanut butter sandwiches would be a simple quick thing I could throw together this weekend.  I turned down the bread aisle, and BAM: 

Apparently the apocalypse is coming, and I missed the memo.  Really, people??  REALLY?!  Yes, a lot of snow is coming, but we’re all likely to just be trapped in our homes for the weekend.  Snow is supposed to stop Saturday night/Sunday morning, leaving all day Sunday to clean up.  Unless you live in the middle of nowhere (in which case, you’re not shopping at this Target), you should be able to move about on Monday.  There is NO REASON all the bread should be gone.  We’re not having to bunker in some kind of make shift nuclear fallout shelters.  It’s two days.  Come on.

I did manage to find some good bread (it was on sale through cartwheel, too!), and got the rest of my items without any problems.  Then I ran next door and picked up some dog food and a rawhide for Coop for the weekend, and I headed out to my get together.

I noticed after wresting almost 40 lbs of dog food into my car that it had started snowing.  I didn’t think much of it, since I thought it was just going to blow through.  But after about 15 minutes, I saw that it was starting to pile up on the road in between the lanes.  Hmmm.  That seemed… alarmingly fast.  I looked up Capital Weather Gang, who are the only people I read when it comes to snow, and I learned that I was completely wrong about this evening’s “flurries.”  A winter weather advisory was in effect, and shit was potentially going to get real.  Um.  Crap.

I was literally in no man’s land in terms of trying to get home.  I notified my group that I wasn’t going to be able to make it, and headed towards the interstate.  FOUR HOURS LATER, I finally made it home.  I slid all over the road on numerous occasions, almost cried at least three different times, and pretty much thought I was going to die.  Apparently, the apocalypse is happening, and it showed up 2 days early.  Admittedly, I don’t handle snow well, and I definitely don’t drive in it, so this was a horrific experience from start to finish.  The worst part?  I didn’t actually make it all the way home.  Once I got off the interstate near my house, I really started sliding around, and I got too scared to drive anymore.  I ended up having to call my ex-boyfriend’s boss/good friend and asked him to come rescue me.

My ex-boyfriend’s boss/good friend.

Yup.

He’s super nice and lives close to me, so he came and picked me up and took me home.  He’s very sweetly also taking me back to my car in the morning, too.  So, thank God for ex-boyfriend’s bosses/good friends…. However weird it is when you have to call them asking for help.  They’re certainly preferable to calling your ex-boyfriend, which would only be slightly less horrible than dying in a snow related crash.

Knowledge Drop: Netflix and Chill

Wait.  Wait wait wait wait.  “Netflix and chill” doesn’t mean binge watch Netflix and chill?  What?!  How is this possible?  HOW IS THIS BRAND NEW INFORMATION?!

Here I was…. Casually going about my evening, watching UVA try to put out the dumpster fire that was their last two basketball games, and I got a facebook group message from some baseball friends with this article and a twitter message from my favorite (former L ) Nats bullpen guy Drew Storen:

Guessing we won't be able to use the in-laws Netflix password anymore.

— Drew Storen (@DrewStoren) January 13, 2016

The other ladies in the group message were laughing and saying they thought “chill” meant… chill.  I was a late comer to this conversation, so as I was reading everyone’s comments to catch up, I found myself confused, wondering what they were talking about.  Slowly, I began to think wait… does Netflix and chill means something other than…. Netflix and chill?!  Surely not…. Right?

So I read the article, and found myself face to face with the horrifying realization that Netflix and chill really doesn’t mean binge watch tv and chill out.  Omg.  OMG.  I checked with two friends, who just laughed at me and my ridiculous lack of knowledge.

I now find myself feeling both horrified (because I know I’ve used this phrase before, but I can’t think of when or to who), and feeling like I’m about 80 years old, and, honestly? I can’t decide which feeling is worse.

Throwback: That Time I Fell Into the Hidden Lake

Bad luck and crazy "how on earth could this actually be happening" stuff is nothing new, so I figure I'll sprinkle some throwback posts in now and again with past ridiculousness, because... who doesn't love reliving awful, horrible things?

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So, I’m fairly accident prone (understatement).  I’ve sprained both my ankles numerous times, and I’m fairly certain I’m missing ligaments in both of them.  While I couldn’t really walk in heels before, now I can’t even really stand in them.

One day, several years ago, I had one of my most epic falls.  It was pouring rain, and I was at work going to pick up a car from carpool.  Given the heavy rain, and my propensity to melt when I get wet (I am made of sugar…..), I ran from the car into the building.  Unfortunately, the area in front of the door is painted concrete.  For those of yall who are unaware, painted concrete is very very slippery when wet.  So there I am, attempting to dart into the building.  I hit that painted concrete in my flip flops and BAM! down I go.  I quickly got up, as an audience witnessed my horribly embarrassing moment, and I wanted to show them that I was totally fine.

As I got into the building, the wet started to quickly set in.  While I had simply fallen on a flat surface, my jeans were soaked to the pointed where I was fairly sure I’d fallen into a hidden lake that no one could actually see.  All down my left leg, and the left side of my ass were completely saturated, at a level where I began to waddle.  I popped into the bathroom hoping the “green” focus of my employer would mean there was a hand dryer instead of paper towels, figuring I could just sort of stick my ass up under the dryer for a bit.  No such luck.

I waddled downstairs to pick up a car.  The carpool guy could tell something was wrong, so I told him I fell and my pants were soaked.  He politely listened to my story and suggested I go home to change.  Not happening, as I live 25 miles from work, and traffic getting back would take me at least an hour and a half.  As I walked away with a key to an environmentally friendly prius, the carpool guy was able to see the full extent of my situation.  I heard hysterical laughter (the first, but not the only time related to this incident), and turned to see him doubled over as he gestured towards my extremely wet pants.  Glad I could make his day better.

I waddled downstairs into the bowels of the garage to the car.  Thinking of nothing but my strong desire to have dry jeans, an idea popped into my head.  I struck out with the hand dryer in the bathroom, but there is a heater and vents in the car.  DING!  Brilliant!

The cars are located in what can only be described as a terrifying garage, full of tight spaces and not enough room for two cars to pass each other.  This car was tucked away in its own parking spot with some not quite waist high walls around it.  I unlocked the car, took a quick look around, and peeled my wet jeans off.  In the car, I turned on the heater and fan on full blast, and spread my jeans out over the dash in a desperate attempt to dry them.

…….

…………….

What felt like EONS had gone by while I sat sans pants in the car.  They’ve GOT to be better, right?!  They have to be.  This was a brilliant idea.  Right?

I took another look around, and snuck out of the car, as I couldnt shimmy into my jeans while sitting in the tight confines of the driver’s seat of a prius.  I was quickly met with the horrible, cold, sopping wet, clammy feeling of jeans that had in no way dried.  Not so much the brilliant idea.

Now I’m more uncomfortable than I was to begin with… a feeling that only increased as I sat back down in the car.  I drove back to the office, and painstakingly got out of the car to run through the parking lot into the building, as it was still pouring rain.  I’m now covered in old, clammy wet AND fresh, just fell from the sky wet.

I walked into the building looking like a drowned rat – wet hair, wet shirt, SOAKED left side of my jeans, only to be met with the hysterical laughter of my coworkers.  I then told the above story, which they couldn’t get enough of.

To make matters worse?  About 20 minutes after I got back to the office, a well-meaning coworker excitedly told me we had a dryer, so she could fix my pants.  GREAT!  Only, I don’t have any other pants to wear while mine dry.  So…. Yeah.

I swear this kind of stuff only happens to me.

There Seriously Must Be Crack in the Air at Target

I skipped off to Target after work to finally pick up my needed Sudafed (and likely get one step closer to getting on some kind of federal watch list).  This was a simple $4 purchase at the pharmacy and should have been an easy in and out at Target.

But it’s never an easy in and out at Target, is it?

Since shopping is my cardio (legit – my fitbit is always smiling at me when I’m shopping.  This smile is a rare occurrence), I wandered around Target from one side to the other, up and down almost every aisle because, well, it’s Target. I turned a corner and found myself face to face with this:

I was overcome with an immensely strong feeling of I MUST HAVE THIS.  I’m not entirely sure why, but, I mean, look at it.  It’s awesome.  The price, however, seemed slightly high for a porcelain rhino head, so, I very begrudgingly walked away.  It almost killed me, but I did it.

Then I walked past this gem:

If this was Mikey, he totally would have come home with me.  No joke.  Who doesn’t need a giant teenaged mutant ninja turtle?!

I managed to make it to the checkout with just one normal grown up item in my basket, and my already purchased Sudafed.  Borning.  Adulting – it’s seriously no fun.

The woman in front of me pulled four (FOUR!) 10ish lb spiral cut hams out of her cart and plops them on the checkout belt with a few other items.  She became extremely agitated when her hams were rung up:

Crazy Ham Lady:  Um.  No no.  Wait.  Those are supposed to be $6.99.  The entire bar all the way across where they were said $6.99.

[how the hell can a 10lb spiral cut ham only be $6.99?!]

Cashier:  Um. Ok. They’re ringing up for about $20 each. [flips call light on]

Manager:  What’s the problem?  These are $1.99/lb.

CHL:  These were advertised at $6.99.  I’m paying the advertised price.  The whole bar all the way across said they were $6.99.

Manager:  [holding back laughter] I can’t sell you these for $6.99.  He’s going to check on the sign.

CHL:  Oh yes you will sell them for the advertised price.  I’m paying the advertised price.

Manager:  These are $1.99/lb.  I’m going to go look at the sign. [starts walking away]

CHL:  well, I took a picture of it.  Don’t you think you can just go change it now.

They cleared out CHL’s stuff because she said she wasn’t going to buy anything if she wasn’t going to get the advertised price on her 40lbs of ham.  She stood to the side and waited, and I was able to check out.  Truth?  I was a little sad they bypassed her because I kind of wanted to see how this hot mess was going to end.

I bought my rational and sane purchase, and went out to my car.  After sitting for just a minute, curiosity got the best of me and I went back in and wandered over to the grocery section.

There were 3 different price tags on the ‘bar’ CHL spoke of where the ham was.  Only one of the tags was for $6.99, and it was very clearly labeled as the cost of the chicken breast.  WTF.

Since I was back in the store, I had to go look at the rhino head again.  I texted a few friends.  One asked me if it matched my motif at home.  Um.  Could this possibly match anyone’s motif?!  No, of course not.  But, that should have zero bearing on this discussion.  Another friend told me that she felt very strongly that I needed this rhino head in my life.

Now? The more I sit around and think about it, the more I want it.  I am kinda starting to feel like this rhino head is everything I never knew I needed in my life.  I’ve even asked the google what I should name my rhino.  Brutus came up, which is what had first popped into my head.  But then I found the suggestion Luther Francisco.  I kind of really love this.

I feel it’s probably a bad sign that I’m asking the google for name options for a porcelain rhino head…  and I’m wondering if there is a way I can get to this hang on my cube wall at work.

How Long Would It Take To Get On An DEA Watch List?

My asthma has been flared up for a bit, and I’ve been taking handfuls of drugs to try and manage it.  Included in this cocktail is Sudafed.  The good kind from behind the pharmacy counter where you have to show them your ID and get put on the list of Sudafed purchasers.

When I bought my second box exactly 10 days after the first (box of 20, 12 hr pills…), I found myself wondering just how many boxes of Sudafed does one have to buy (one at a time, of course) before red flags come up in the system.  I’m curious on a level where I almost want to purchase a box roughly every 10 days whether I need it or not and just see what happens.  This is probably the worst idea in the history of ever, but…. A life full of good decisions isn’t always particularly fun, is it?

Doctors are Ridiculous

Another day, another bad experience in a doctor's office waiting room.  I seriously don't get why they get to be such delicate geniuses, and the rest of us have to bend to their will.  I get that they went to med school and all, which isn't easy, but I have a life and things I need to accomplish as well.

I took a client to the doctor today, and we were kept in the waiting room for over an hour.  (!!!)  This was the exchange I had with the woman sitting at the front desk:

Me:  hi.  our appointment was an hour ago.
Front Desk Bitch:  yup. [blank stare]
Me:  ....
FDB:  [blank stare]
Me:  .... you're running that far behind?
FDB:  yup.
Me:  ....
FDB:  [blank stare]
Me:  ....do you have an eta?
FDB:  nope. [blank stare]

So.  Yeah.  Great.  THANKS!  No apology for how late they were running.  No half assed guess at when we would maybe be seen by the magical doctor.  Nothing.  Just a blank stare, and an attitude like how dare I bother her with such nonsense.

A friend told me that she will send bills to doctors for her time when this happens.  THAT IS AMAZING!  I wish I could do something like that.  I definitely couldn't get away with it when it's work related, but I'm totally going to have to try that in my own life the next time I'm kept waiting forever and a day past my appointment time.

The good news?  We were called back shortly after the wonderful exchange above happened, and we weren't kept waiting for very long in the exam room.

The bad news?  I had a brand new coworker shadowing me, and the client wasn't comfortable having her come back with us, so she had to sit in the waiting room.  Whomp whomp.

Call Me Heisenberg

My coworker came in this morning and said her plans for the day included going to a client's to do a bed bug check.  This is possibly the worst part of my job.  Because.  Omg.  What if I bring one of those suckers home with me?  THE HORROR.  I'd have to like... rip my house down to the studs and set everything on fire, and just start over.

[I'm not even kidding.]

Because I'm an amazingly nice person (and I wanted to make sure I'd have someone to return this favor if needed in the future... let's be honest, shall we?), I volunteered to go with her.  When she returned from carpool with a vehicle, she was all aflutter because she had been gifted a stack of full body protective suits.  She quickly put one on to model for us, and she seriously couldn't have looked funnier.  Like Walter White, only in all white, not yellow.  I'm going to have to call her Heisenberg from now on.

One coworker wasn't impressed, and didn't feel this getup would in any way assist us in checking someone's apartment while simultaneously protecting ourselves and our homes.  She, however, loved it, and was less fearful when getting all up in things at the client's place.  And me?  Well, I loved that she loved it, because all I had to do was stand back and hold a flashlight.

You owe me one, Heisenberg...

Dreaming of a North Carolina Christmas

I just got back from my first North Carolina Christmas.  And, other than the too long drive in the too small car, it wasn't too shabby.

First, the weather.  Let's talk about the weather.  Mother Nature is clearly drunk, and it was hot as molasses while I was there (although I'm told it was pretty warm here, too), and pretty damn humid.  And it rained.  Like.  Every day.  But, in the brief moments between rain, the warm weather allowed for some unexpected fun.

Beyond that, we can (mostly) sum things up into Highs and Lows

The Highs

• Family time.  Because who doesn't love that?
• Bacon at breakfast at the hotel every day.  Both me and my dog were fans of that.
• The beach.  Took Coop to the beach for the first (and second) time.  He seemed to love it.
• I learned what the shuffles gonzalez is.
• We drove through a blow up decoration and Christmas light display at a trailer park.

The Lows

• Drunk Roger.  Oh, Drunk Roger.  I returned to the hotel one night and Drunk Roger was by the back door smoking.  The smell of booze on him far outweighed the smell of the cigarette.  Somehow, I managed to run into him MULTIPLE times after this.  Often in the early morning, and he was never without beer.
• My step dad had a run-in with some wet ground and slick leaves, and took a spill on his bike.  Ouch.  This derailed plans on Saturday.
• I just missed seeing 4 of my nephews.  They stayed with my parents for a few days, but left the morning that I arrived.  Boo.
• The hotel had a dog walking area out back.  Next to a small pond.  With a sign that said "beware of alligators" that apparently wasn't a joke.  Awesome.

The... Uncategorizable

• I realized that my parents are turning into the Seinfelds.  Quickly.

All in all, a pretty good time.

Cooper Did the Shuffles Gonzalez!

We have a family tradition that I continue to force on my parents because, well, I love it.  I’m not entirely sure how they feel about it, but… I don’t really care (sorry not sorry).  Every year for Christmas, I get them a new game so we can have some family game night fun.  I love playing games (because I’m kind of a dork) and I think I have this hope that as they continue to amass the games that I force on them year after year, Christmas game night will maybe turn into random game nights sprinkled throughout the year.

(This hasn’t really happened yet, but fingers crossed that one day it will….)

To keep with tradition, I got the Urban Dictionary game this year, and we played yesterday.  There were moments where it could have been a slightly awkward thing to be doing with my parents, but overall, it was fun. And, I learned possibly the greatest phrase I’ve ever heard:  Shuffles Gonzalez.  My immediate life goal became to somehow work this phrase into my daily life.

Luckily, I got my first opportunity today.

We took Coop to the beach for a long walk.  This was his second trip ever – we hauled ass to the beach attempting to outrun sunset on Christmas eve.  That trip was pretty short lived, as the sun did set shortly after we arrived, forcing us to leave.  Cooper seemed amazingly happy, so we planned to take him back today because the weather looked like it was actually supposed to be rain free (spoiler – it wasn’t, but it didn’t rain on our walk).

I knew Cooper would have to poop when we got there because that’s just what he does.  He gets so keyed up and excited/anxious about anything new or generally fun that it immediately impacts his GI tract.  His need was evident as soon as we stepped onto the beach.  However, he was so OMGSMELLSANDPEOPLEANDWATERTHATEWICANTDRINKANDOMGALLTHESTUFF that he wouldn’t actually take the 30 sec to stop and just go, so he shuffle Gonzalez-d his way through an hour and a half walk up and down the beach.  How do I know this?  Because he would randomly drop a small piece of poop here and there as he failed at holding it all in.  So I had to go our entire walk carrying a slightly poop-filled bag in my hand.  Awesome.

When we got off the beach and were headed back to the car, I tossed the barely used poop bag in the garbage because I wasn’t sure I’d find another trashcan between there and the car, and I knew I couldn’t just toss the bag into the backseat with me.  I went to the dog cleanup station to grab and new bag and was horrified to discover that all three bag rolls were empty.  Yeah, because it was almost 80 degrees on Christmas, and everyone and their brother was at the beach.  Awesome.

Not 45 seconds after I threw away my bag and discovered that there were no new bags to be had, Cooper gave in and finally squatted to poop.  Of course he did.  Luckily my mom had a bag in the car, but I had to stand guard by the poop and wait for her to get back.  Awesome.

BUT, despite the horror of having to stand guard over poop while a million people walked by, I got to use shuffles Gonzalez.  And Coop had a ton of fun.  Overall?  Big win.

Little Blue Box of Happiness

Why... hello there, Tiffany blue.

It's extremely rare that I ever treat myself to things... like really treat myself.  I don't get mani/pedis... I do that myself at home.  I rarely even get haircuts.  I go to baseball games (ok, a lot of baseball games...), and I got myself a partial season ticket plan last year and this year with birthday/Christmas money from my parents.  But, other than that, I never really go all out and treat myself to things.

Until today (well.... yesterday).

This year, I decided to buy myself something extra awesome.  I took the birthday and Christmas money my grandpa was kind enough send me and added the money I made unpacking items in the kitchen of a $10mil home, and I splurged.

Why?

Because sometimes, a girl just needs a little blue box.

And I couldn't be happier.

Craigslist is Amazing... Sometimes

While watching basketball with a friend, I was perusing craigslist gigs, which, let's be honest, is mostly just a collection of porn jobs.  While wading through the modeling opportunities, an offer to poop on camera (hey, I can hide my face!), and a chance to become friends with Water and Ivy and play with them on their webcam, I found a wonderfully bizarre, non-porn listing.  To unpack a kitchen.

Um... what?

Apparently, these people's unpackers hadn't shown up (that's a thing?), and they were in need of 2 people to help them unpack their kitchen, and maybe another room.  So, I bugged my friend and he eventually caved.  He looked at the area these people were located in, and said $35/hr.  Each.  I laughed and thought there was no way in hell people would pay $70/hr to have people unwrap things from boxes in their kitchen, but I sent the email.  And BAM! about 20 minutes later, we were hired and were headed off to their house.

When we got there, my first thought was holy shit, followed by well, at least the last place I'm ever going to see is freaking AH-MAZE-ING (because, ya know, craigslist... possible death....).  Seriously.  This house was out of control ridiculous.  We joined Paul, the man and cook of the house, in the kitchen, and spent just shy of 2 hrs unwrapping things from boxes and placing them on an island the size of my bed while he organized things.  I think the best part was Paul's feelings about many of the things that we unwrapped.  It was clear that Paul was a newly wed, and they were for the first time combining items in their kitchen in a real, meaningful way.

While unwrapping items, I was asked to put a few things in the sink.  This gave me my first glimpse at the view, and holy.potatoes.  I had to stop for a second to catch my breath.  Amazing view of the Potomac.  People actually get to look at this every day?!  Bananas.

After we left, we grabbed some dinner because traffic back to my friend's place was awful.  We guessed that the house cost about $10mil.  Thanks to the wonderment that is zillow, we were about right.

We stood in the kitchen of a $10mil house and unwrapped items from boxes.  There was an indoor pool on the floor below us (which isn't the bottom floor of the house).  OH.EM.GEE.

It was nice to see how the 1% lives... if even for a few minutes.

Winterfest!

For the first time ever, I decided to go to Nats Winterfest today.  Truth – I’ve never wanted to go before because tickets aren’t the cheapest, and on top of that, you have to pay for autograph session vouchers.  And those sessions are a total crap shoot as to who you are going to get, so, OBVI, you want to buy as many sessions as you can.  So now we’re looking at a pretty expensive day.  No thank you.

So what changed?  This year, I was offered tickets to the free autograph session that was reserved for the fancy season plan holders.  When this past season ended, the season plan holders that sit around me and Lulu made our new found friendship facebook official.  One of these lovely people was unable to go to this particular plan holder event, so he offered me his tickets.  Score!  Since I was going down to Winterfest anyway, I decided to get tickets to the actual even and check it all out with a friend.

This autograph session was ass early at 8:30.  How they got players to agree to this, I’ll never know.  Krissy and I exchanged a few texts about the unknown players we would be up close and personal with in just a few short hours as I was getting ready to leave my house, and I specifically said that as long as it wasn’t Bear, I’d be good.  As we anxiously stood in line for our table (there were 3 total), we saw freaking Bear walk up and sit down.  You’ve GOT to be kidding me.  On either side of him, however, was Zimm and Joe Ross, plus Charlie and Dave from the radio, so, overall, huge score.  We scoped out the other tables, and we think we ended up with the best one.  I managed to be nice to Bear (almost killed me), and enjoyed getting to talk with Zimm about UVA.  I ended up gushing all over Joe Ross, which I apologized for (ha, he told me I was embarrassing him), but I just couldn’t help myself.  I also told him to tell Rizzo that we should trade for his brother.  Because… I think we should trade for his brother.

We got to go into Winterfest itself an hour before the general riff raff (yay! for season plan holder perks!), and we listened to a Nats Q & A with Mark Lerner, Rizzo, the head marketing lady, and Dusty.  We then stood in line to try and get a photo with Espi, because Krissy has been mildly obsessed with him ever since dreaming that he was an endocrinologist.  Unfortunately, his photo time was over before we got to the front of the line, but he got sucked into conversation with two older women as soon as he left the photo booth, so we saddled up and waited for him to finish talking to them.  I was able to ask (translation – BEG) him to bring back his amazing handlebar mustache for photo day at the start of spring training.  He laughed, and told me he was going to go with his full beard.  As awesome as his beard is, it’s so not that amazing handlebar stache, so color me disappointed. 

I was able to get his autograph, and Krissy got a (blurry) picture with him (sorry about that…).  We stalked Clint around and were finally able to catch him without much of a crowd, so we scored his autograph as well, and we watched Anthony and Max square off in a pretty entertaining lip sync battle.  Anthony did an AMAZING ‘bad to the bone’ while Max showed the world that he didn’t know any of the lyrics to ‘livin on a prayer’… he still rocked it, though.  I also got to catch up with in game host Mike Ploger, managed to win a Nats yoga mat, and a chance at PNC diamond club tickets (fingers crossed!), and I got two game used balls in a grab bag for a good price (Anthony vs Teheran and Det (as a Nat) vs someone).  All in all, pretty damn good day.  Exhausting, but fun.

Too Stressed to Even Bake

Normally, I really enjoy baking, especially when I’m stressed.  I find it relaxing and a good escape from whatever is stressing me out.

Last night, however, I learned that there is apparently such a thing as too stressed out for baking.  Who knew?

I was making two double batches of some brownies that I’ve made a million times before, and I tried nine ways from Sunday to screw them up.  First, I started browning the butter and then realized that I should have pre-measured the dry ingredients.  So, while stirring butter to keep it from burning, I started measuring out sugar and cocoa powder.  Then I remembered that I was doubling the recipe, so I had to add more butter.  After getting the full amount of butter browned, I added in the cocoa powder and the sugar.  Thankfully, I decided to taste it at this point, and wow – it wasn’t good.  Why?  Because I didn’t double the sugar.  Oops.  Somehow, the rest of this batch went off without a problem, and I managed to get the brownies into the oven.  They even tasted good when it was all said and done.

Then came batch 2, and this time I had help…. From someone who was…. Compromised.  I browned the butter while telling him how much cocoa powder and sugar to measure.  After getting the butter to the right point, we mixed in the dry ingredients and found that things looked extremely dry.  Um… what?  Oh, right – because I hadn’t doubled the damn butter.  So we had to melt it in the microwave instead of browning it in a pan.  Then we tasted it, and…. There wasn’t much flavor.  Um… what?  Oh, right – because I didn’t double the cocoa powder when telling him how much to measure out.

What.a.mess.

After everything was fixed and the rest of the stuff was added, once again everything tasted good when it was all said and done.  But wow.  I swear I can bake.  Really.  I swear I can.  Apparently last night, however, I needed the supervision of a compromised individual in order to make something I’ve made a million times.  I’m going to choose to blame it on work stress.  Why?  Because that sounds a helluva lot better than I was just too stupid to double a recipe.

Major Warm Fuzzies About my Wahoos

Yesterday, I did my second activity ever with the local UVA alum association, and it was much fun.  With Justin Anderson and the Dallas Mavericks in town, we went to watch them do their thing vs the Wizards, and I did it with a hokie friend (gasp!).  I was pretty angry with Justin last year when he announced that he was leaving UVA early and declared himself eligible for the NBA draft.  I wished him well, but damn I was bitter.  I thought I’d be over it by the time this season started, but nope.  My feelings are much more subdued, but I’m still a little mad at him.  Happy for what he’s got going on, but selfishly mad.

We got to go into Verizon early to watch pre game shoot around, which was kinda cool.  Mark Cuban was front and center, which made me wonder who was managing his empire while he was traveling with his basketball team.  After shoot around, we wandered upstairs to our nosebleed seats.  I got to say hi to my Nats Park usher friend, and we randomly came across a kid’s petting zoo (!!!!).  They had silkie chickens (!!!), the largest rabbit I’ve ever seen, and a tiny adorable pig that I strongly contemplated stealing.

The game itself was …. Ok…. But only because I don’t love NBA basketball.  Justin got in the game in the first quarter, but after running into his teammate and knocking him out of the game with bruised ribs, he sat the rest of the game.  The Mavericks ended up winning, and after the game ended, we went back downstairs for a Q & A with Justin.  This was pretty awesome.  Justin is one of the nicest guys ever, and he gave me a major case of the warm fuzzies for my basketball program.  Justin spoke about how Tony stresses the importance of being good people in addition to good basketball players.  In a world filled with stories of athletes getting into trouble for terrible things, it was heartwarming to hear that Tony puts together a winning basketball program with good guys that I can be proud of both on and off the court.  So much love for him and UVA, and so happy that Justin is contributing to his team as a rookie.  After listening to him talk for a few minutes, it was hard to stay mad at him… although I do miss seeing him in orange and blue.

My First Uber Ride

No joke.  Today was my first solo Uber ride, and only my 2^nd Uber ride ever.  I only know what Uber even is because of a date last year (he's significantly older than I am and had to explain it to me).  And I only took it out of complete necessity because I needed to pick up my car from getting service, and I’m now forced to swing things on my own since my parents moved earlier today.

[Side note, my car is fixed, and it’s exactly what I thought it was.  We went ahead and replaced the ignition coil in the last cylinder, too, so hopefully something like this won’t happen again.  Knock on wood….]

It took me a minute to figure out how to actually get an Uber.  Apparently, I’m technologically impaired.  But I’ve come to accept this, and I’ve moved on.

After finally figuring it out and summoning my car, my random OMG THE WORST THING THAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN WILL DEFINITELY HAPPEN anxiety set it, and I of course instantly believed that I was waiting for the man who was going to kill me to show up.  So, I took a screen shot of the guy who was coming, sent it to Lulu, and asked him to avenge me if he never heard from me again.

My Uber showed up and I reluctantly got in.  I did, after all, need to pick up my car.  About 30 seconds after I sat down and verified our destination…

Driver:  I don’t feel well.  What kind of medicine should I take?
Me:  what the fuck kind of question is that?! Um. What?
Driver:  my stomach is upset.  What kind of medicine should I take?
Me:  um.  Pepto?  Or you could ask the pharmacist for a suggestion.

He then proceeded to tell me that he doesn’t have anyone here that he can ask these kinds of questions to, because he’s from New Delhi, and that’s where his family still is.  Oh, ok.  That makes asking total strangers for medical advice completely legit.

Then, his cell phone rang, and he pulled into a parking lot to answer it.  Um.  Aren’t I paying for distance AND time?  He only parked for a half second before getting back out on the road, but he did carry on quite the conversation with a mystery person in a mystery language.  I shared this with Lulu, and he just said “that’s sketchy.”  This did nothing to alleviate my OMG THE WORST THING THAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN WILL DEFINITELY HAPPEN anxiety, and I immediately began to 100% believe I was going to be sold into some kind of slavery.

After he got off the phone, my Uber driver told me his entire life story, condensed into about 7 minutes.  He moved to American to make money, and he worked as a truck driver and at a gas station before someone told him to go become an electrician.  He took that advice, and 18 months later, he found a really good job.  Now he drives The Uber in the afternoons and evenings just to keep his mind busy.  He lives with 6 other people and detailed the cost of each of his bills (rent, cell phone, food, etc).  He’s saving money so when his citizenship comes through, he can work on bringing his mom over here.  His sister is married, so he’s leaving her in New Delhi.

It was an overwhelming amount of information for what turned out to be a $9 ride.  I did make it safely to my destination, however, and it was free since it was my first ride with The Uber.  All in all, pretty good.  And none of my OMG THE WORST THING THAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN WILL DEFINITELY HAPPEN anxieties came true, so, ya know, bonus.

The Universe is an Evil Bitch Sometimes

My parents are moving essentially 2 states away from me.  Tomorrow.  I’m single and don’t really have anyone else who is obligated to help me in times of need, and I’m not very good at adulting in general, so I’m kinda freaking out about all of this.  As if to drive all of this home, my car once again had engine issues today.  What a lovely way of reminding me YOU’RE ALL ALONE!

I really needed to get out of my house, so I was headed up to see Lulu.  I stopped at 7-11 to get coffee, and as I was pulling out to head toward Lulu I felt a horrible, all too familiar rumble.  It’s like I was suddenly sitting in a nascar… in my tiny car with a 4 cylinder lawn mower engine.  I knew what was coming.  I looked at my dash, and yup.  The check engine light came on and started flashing at me.  Awesome.  I was past the point of no return, so I had to finish pulling out onto the main road and drive down to the next gas station.  Terrifying.  I turned the car off, waited, and turned it back on.  Last time, this magically fixed everything so I could at least drive it.  This time?  Not so much.  Of course not.  Thank God my parents are still around, and thank God they’re not planning on taking my mom’s car with them tomorrow.  They came and picked me up so I could get her car, and then I headed back to the gas station to deal with this mess.

The tow truck cost me $175 to go about 15 minutes up the road.  Are you kidding me?!  The guy told me it was because of bad traffic when he gave me the quote on the phone.  We ended up dealing with no traffic, but the tow truck driver charged me the quote I had been given over the phone anyway.  Note to self – don’t use this tow company again.

At least I currently have a car to drive around and a way to get to work tomorrow.  I guess I’ll figure out how to actually pick up my car when that time comes… hopefully at some point tomorrow.

YAY! for adulting!

:-/

....For fun background information, this is the third time this has happened to me.  The first time, I was in Charlottesville.  On a Sunday. (Although I was headed back from Lynchburg, so it could have been so much worse.)  The second time I was at my house attempting to go to Lulu's.  Turning the car off and back on somehow fixed everything, so I was at least able to drive it to the repair place, but... not awesome.  That was also on a Sunday.  Today is Sunday.  Hmmm.

The last two times, it's been a misfire in one of the cylinders, and they've replaced the ignition coil.  I'm betting its that same issue in one of the two remaining cylinders.  At least that's hopefully what it is.  Not like that's an awesome issue to have, but at least I know what I'm dealing with.  Fingers crossed...

My Parents Have No Idea When My Birthday Is

When planning out my birthday week, which ended up going horribly awry nine different ways from Sunday, I had plans on my actual birthday in the evening with my parents for dinner and birthday cake.  We discussed it the week before, and everything was all set and good to go.

Until

I spoke with my mom Tuesday last week, and she said everything was all set for Thursday. 

Me:  but… my birthday’s on Friday.
Mom:  what?  No, everything is set for Thursday.
Me:  ok… but that’s the day before my birthday.  And I have plans that night.
Mom:  but I told the cake people we’d pick the cake up on Thursday.  We’re going out of town on Friday morning.
Me:  ok.  Well.  Friday is my birthday.  I knew you didn’t know what year I was born in, but really? The day now, too?
Mom:  I know when your birthday is.  I just thought Thursday was the 20^th.

This delayed birthday celebrations until today.  (In an amazing twist of fate, my plans for Thursday fell through, but that’s neither here nor there.)  We went out to dinner, and then returned to my parents’ house for birthday cake.  Birthday cake is by far the best part of the birthday celebration.  Not because cake in general is delicious, but because of a tradition that randomly got started many years ago.  I get a child’s themed birthday cake every year.  The rules are simple.  No repeated themes (this was lost on my mom one year, and she requested the exact same cake 2 yrs in a row), and there must be some kind of keepsake toy (this, too, was not followed one year).  The theme is always a surprise, and I eagerly await learning what it is.  In the past, I’ve had Blues Clues, Care Bears, Cars (technically, Cars 2), Happy Feet, My Little Pony (twice), Barbie (the year of no keepsake toy), and Finding Nemo.  Finding Nemo was last year, and I was a little concerned my mom wouldn’t be able to top that.  Then I saw this year’s.

ANGRY BIRDS.

Amazing.  There was a catapult, a red bird, a yellow bird, and a stand up structure with some pigs.  Too awesome.

So, even though they weren’t sure when my birthday actually was, they got major bonus points for the cake, and it was worth the wait.

Side Story:  I meant what I said to my mom about her not knowing what year I was born.  She legit doesn’t… or at least didn’t for a fairly lengthy period of time.  When I was a senior in high school, she filled out a credit card application for me to get a card in case of emergencies, and to use when I got to UVA.  She put the wrong birth year on that application, which made it difficult for me to communicate with the credit card company, as I always had trouble verifying my birthday when trying to prove I was really me on the phone. Ya know, because I kept telling them my actual year of birth, which didn’t match their records.  She aged me by 2 years.  Not awesome, mom.  This year, when putting candles on the cake, she shorted me some.  This mistake is much more preferred, although still.  Come on.  Really?

I'm Never Living Down This (non) Jersey Sniffing Thing

Yesterday while out wine tasting, a friend called me with the following story:

I was at the gym and ran into someone I haven't seen in a while.  We started talking and he told me he works in marketing with the Nationals.  I asked him if he goes to games, and he said he goes to about 80% of home games.  I started to ask him if he was at the game where a girl won a signed jersey and he interrupted me and said THE GIRL WHO SNIFFED IT?!  DO YOU KNOW HER?!

So.  Yeah.  Apparently I remain famous around Nats Park for looking like I sniffed a jersey, even though I DIDN'T SNIFF IT.  I of course asked my friend if he clarified that I did not, in fact, sniff the jersey, and he responded with "why would I lie? We all know you sniffed it."

Seriously - I DIDN'T SNIFF IT.  I swear.

Wine Tasting is Fun

I went wine tasting today for my birthday with a few friends... and two random Canadians.

[Side note:  don't ever call people from Newfoundland Canadian.  They get very upset.]

We hit up numerous vineyards in Loudoun... some new, some old favorites.  All in all, we went to 5 different places, and I managed to (mostly) keep it together.

We did make a random pit stop at a little store that had alpacas out front.  I was a bit obsessed with the alpacas, and totally wanted to play with them.  Yuro was confused when we stopped and repeatedly asked "is this a vineyard? can you get wine from alpacas?"  The store owner quickly came outside to manage the group of drunkies trying to play with her animals.  Lulu bought something in the store to try and smooth everything over.

At the last vineyard, which is a favorite because they offer a chocolate pairing with their wine tasting (YUM!), the musician that was there for the day noticed my birthday tiara, and led everyone in signing "happy birthday" to me, and then sang "Friends in Low Places."  That was pretty fun.

All in all, great day.  Much wine was had.  Good times with friends.  I got a photo of myself with a bottle of wine and a Loudoun County sheriff vehicle.  Probably not the best photo decision I've ever made, but I love it.