No shit!

Laura has made it BIG time, ya'll.

First, there was winning that $40,000 fellowship from L'Oreal after being knighted one of the Top 5 Women in Science.

That was huge.

But, this. This was completely unexpected.

Seriously.

Who knew that the potty-mouthed freshman who liked to draw all over our dorm room walls in between sips of Vodka and bites of raw cookie dough would one day be the poster child for Florida State University?



You are the shit, LuLu. On the freakin' home page!

And yes, Laura, before you leave me a nasty voice mail, I will go ahead and divulge that you weren't alone in the vodka/cookie dough consumption.

Suzi was there too.

Procrastination SUCKS when you can't do it anymore

This is the face of someone who is only 10 pages into editing a 56 page report that is due tomorrow at 8:00am.

It's 2:38am.

Ripping my toe nails off would be more fun. It would also keep me awake.

Why I kid myself and play the "you have LOADS of time and it won't take you that long" game, I don't know.

Yes I do.

I play it because I know I'll buy it.

Every. Single. Time.

Sunday Funday

How is it possible that Monday morning is already poised to knock on our eyelids again?

I remember my mom telling my teenage self that "time flies faster and faster as you age."

She said it "flies." Not "it gives you whip lash."

Where's my neck brace?

The weekend started with a sleep over. Heidi and Teri came over and we did all kinds of wild and crazy things.

Like, rent a couple of movies and order the "college special" from a local Chinese takeout place. I feel guilty every time I order and lie about being a student. Not guilty enough to refrain from doing it, but guilty enough to confirm I still have a sense of right and wrong. That's somehow comforting.

After stuffing our faces, we made up the pull out couch and all took our spots.

After claiming their section of the lumpy sofa bed, Heidi and Teri set about trying to make me jealous by calling my dog Rosie over to them.

I've admitted to having what some might consider an unhealthy attachment to Rosie. I kiss her on the teeth. I sleep spooning her. I kiss the socket where her left eye used to be. I profess my love for her regularly.

I love all three of my dogs more than my own life, but Rosie...Rosie and I have a special connection.

Whenever Heidi and Teri come over, they do everything in their power to steal my dog - or her affection. I swear those bitches line their pockets with steak.

She actually jumped out of my lap to join them at the start of the movie:


My pout face and threat to never feed her again brought Rosie to her senses and she returned to my lap.

Saturday found us fighting blistering temperatures, making our neighbor's pool the place to be.



This is what I look like when I catch April taking a picture from an angle I know will make me want to jump off a high building (note: I was right. This photo has been WAY cropped):


Heidi and Teri, devouring any and all information about pregnancy. When they tell their kid "I know you inside and out" - they'll be telling the truth. They know when cells divide, how big the fetus is in relation to fruit seeds, etc.


These are the days:


No doubt. These two are sporting that "motherhood glow":


You may be wondering where Apes was this weekend. She was with us. Behind the camera.



Yes. Those are April's bird legs. Burnt to a crisp.

She was at the river on Friday and swore she put on SPF 30. Said she did it twice.

I told her there was no way she'd be that burned.

She did not waver.

I retrieved the SPF out of her bag.

SPF 30.

Expiration date: 2004.

Durh.

Random Update

You know how I love me a list....

1) I just finished mowing the yard. In my flip flops.

It occurred to me, as I was mowing, that while I don't often consider the overall contribution my toes make to my body, I should probably keep them. Suddenly I became very careful and toe/lawn-mower-blade conscious.

I'm happy to report I still have eleven toes.

I wish that were true. That would have been really funny.

Sadly, I'm a conformist and only have ten toes.

2) I have this kick ass little book that Lisa gave to me. As soon as I laid eyes upon it, I knew exactly what I was going to do with it.



Yep. This is my little black blog book (only, it's not black. It's rainbow colored. Of course. Actually, the color was completely unintentional and I never even noticed until now, but it did lend itself nicely to the whole "black" book comparison, no? Damn rainbow sneaks up on us even when we're not looking for it!)

Most people do not want their name in this here book. Just ask my Aunt Jodi. She'll tell you. I show no mercy to anyone. Not even myself.



I carry it with me everywhere I go, jotting down ideas and notes. If nothing is going on, I feel completely justified in creating a distraction or diversion in order to provide myself with material. It's a thankless job, being a blogger.

3) I'm a new addict. As of last night. Blame it on Netflix.

Just got season one of Weeds and I'm sure this will say a lot about my twisted sense of humor, but I LOVE it.

And by love, I mean, I stayed up all night watching it. Cackling. Wheezing.

All my attempts to wake Apes up to watch it with me were met with grunts. She'd hate it anyway. As a therapist she'd think the show is all kinds of wrong. Which explains exactly why I fell in love with it.

I've always been a big fan of Elizabeth Perkins and she is a riot playing the role of Celia Hodes.



I'm just sorry to be so far behind the curve ball on this show.

4) Lately, every time I call my parents, I have trouble hearing them because they are with friends - in a bar.

If this continues, an intervention may be necessary.

I swear. Two people get rid of their kids and all the sudden they forget their responsibilities and act all kinds of carefree.

That's about it. Exciting, I know. I could go on forever, but I SWORE to Apes that I would have my suitcase unpacked and off the floor before she got home from work today.

It's been there for a week and a half.

She muttered something about being "MORE than patient" as she tripped over it this morning, so fine. I'll pick it up.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

The up side of being: Down to One

For those of you where were at DAR Constitution Hall last night, I know you'll agree with me that Melissa Etheridge was abso-freaking-lutely AMAZING in concert.

I bought our tickets a month ago and surprised Apes with them - earning major brownie points that I intend on collecting in the form of an "okay to be a slob for the day" pass.

There's not a bad seat in this venue - and Apes and I should know - ours were located in the VERY top row, at the opposite end of the stage. That being said, we managed to worm our way closer to the action.

We couldn't let Heidi and Teri, who were sitting like princesses in a box seat, show us up completely.

Happy with our newly acquired seats, we settled in for what turned out to be THREE full hours of magical Melissa goodness.

Three hours. No break.

No over the top stage presentation.

No videos.

Just Melissa, her guitar, her band, and her inspirational take on life and how she's choosing to live it.

While I love her new music too, I have to say the lyrics of her older tunes are powerful and comforting for anyone who's ever found themselves in the deep, dark, world of a break-up.

The moment she started playing the first few notes of her song "Down to One," I found myself immediately transported back to my condo in Charlotte, NC.

Five or six years ago.

I was sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor in the dining room, the batteries of my phone scattered across the room, the result of throwing my phone after hearing Her hang up on our relationship.

She was my first love. I'd given every bit of everything I had.

I wanted it to work so much that even my teeth hurt when she told me she didn't love me and never had.

I remember throwing the phone and then searching through my CDs, blinded by tears, fumbling around until I found Melissa's SKIN album. I skipped songs until I heard "Down to One." I cranked it up as loud as I thought I could get away with and then sank into that cross-legged position on my dining room floor.

To this day, I remember singing the lyrics to that song, wiping away a flood of tears and staring so intently at the grasscloth wallpaper I'd painted brick red that I felt like I'd entered the chamber of my broken heart.

Those lyrics conveyed every single emotion I was feeling.

What went right
What went wrong
Doesn't really matter much
When it's gone

Was it too hard to try
Was it too hard to lie
Did you just grow tired of hello and goodbye
Was it the naked truth that made you run
Where do I go now
That I'm down to one

Sooner or later
We all end up walking alone
I'm down to one
My heart is a traitor
It led me down this road
Now it's done
I'm down to one

I want to know where I failed
I want to know where I sinned
Cause I don't want to ever feel this way again
Was the wanting too deep
Did it block your sun
Where do I go now
That I'm down to one

What am I supposed to think
What am I gonna say
What did I ever know
About this love anyway


I must have kept my neighbors up for weeks with that song.

Finding the person I lost in that relationship (I considered it one, even if she didn't), took me a very long time.

I repeat, a very long time.

But I'm grateful for having had those painful experiences because without them, I would not know to cherish what I have with April every single day.

To be in a relationship with someone who is truly a partner in every sense of the word is a phenomenal feeling. Someone who doesn't play games or feel the need to establish control. A person not afraid to love and be loved.

I get just how important that is.

And as I sat in my seat last night, listening to Melissa sing "Down to One," I held April's hand a little bit tighter and marveled at how far I've come since losing myself on that floor in North Carolina.

Apes and I found ourselves shaking our heads in agreement as Melissa explained her philosophy on life. Truth is what you'll get if truth is what you seek. We all have choices and we're all in control - if we choose to take it.





April's first attempt at taking our photo:


And her second (how she escaped this pic without a serious neck injury, I have no clue):


Nope. No good here either. Contrary to how it appears, I had not helped myself to an entire bottle of whiskey:


You know the phrase, if you want something done right...do it yourself? I concur. :)


Thankfully what we share is beautiful, even if all of our pictures aren't.

I love you, Apes.

PS: Kim, it was so great to run into you last night. Thank you for stopping April and I. It was truly a highlight of the evening for us!

Mow Trouble, Mow Trouble

I've not had time to accurately capture this embarrassing moment until now, which explains why you're just now hearing about it.

'Member when Apes and I made the trip to Bristol, TN, to help throw a surprise birthday party for her grandmother - Mamaw Erma?

Well, the day after the big event, April and I decided to make the short drive to the country and mow the farm.

I knew April's mom, Ginny, would want to go. She did. Mamaw Erma wanted to come along too.

Not necessarily a surprise. Mamaw just turned 86 and still thinks she's ten feet tall and bulletproof.

Which, of course, I love.

In order to haul the riding mower to the farm, we had to take the pick up truck. April always drives, which meant Ginny and I had to squeeze into the t-tiny cab in the back that was designed to hold a box of Kleenex and not two grown women.

Mamaw Erma always rides in the front passenger seat. She doesn't much care for the truck anymore, though. It's a big one and she recently started having difficulty getting into her seat. It usually takes two of us to hoist her up.

Which is exactly what we did on this particular day.

In a warbly voice, she said: "Mercy. I don't know why they make trucks so hard to get into. Seems stupid to me."

I agreed. Stupid. Someone absolutely needs to consider Mamaws and trucks.

We arrived at the farm without issue.

We piled out of the truck. Mowed. Took loads of pictures.

I drank what I thought would be enough liquid.

But instead of water, I was drinking really sweet tea.

Sweet tea + 100 heat + physical labor = not my brightest idea.

I started to feel a bit nauseous.

Here's where I should mention that as a child, I got car sick just looking at a vehicle in motion. We never left home without my mother checking to make sure my "barf bag" was under the seat.

Ready to head home, Ginny and I folded up in the back of the truck and watched as April hoisted Mamaw into her seat.

We started to head down the mountain, mower in tow, the twists and turns doing nothing to help my queasy stomach.

I even said, OUT LOUD: "Hey, guys. I'm feeling really nauseas. I'm just going to shut my eyes for a second."

Everyone but Mamaw (who can't hear well) looked appropriately concerned.

I shut my eyes.

It was helping until April and her mom started talking about their favorite breakfast foods.

Eggs. Ham. Bacon. But without the grease.

On and on and on. And on.

I kept thinking they'd stop. Thinking turned to praying.

I thought about asking them to stop, but was afraid more than words would come out of my mouth.

In my head, I kept repeating: "We're just a few miles from home. A few miles from home."

I was swallowing hard, trying my best not to throw up all over Mamaw Erma's newly set hair.

I'm sure she'd qualify that as stupid, too.

I realized I wasn't going to make it home.

My eyes jumped open, I clasped my hand over my mouth and I shook Ginny's shoulder.

Wide eyed, I began motioning for her to tell April to pull the truck over.

She had no earthly idea what I was trying to communicate.

I pointed, very aggressively, to my hand over my mouth and then pointed to April before pointing to the side of the road.

Nothing. It was like a bad game of charades.

She was going to make me do it. I had to uncover my mouth and speak.

I kept my lips as tightly together as I could and uttered: "PULL OVER! I'm going to THROW UP!"

"OH! My God!" April said, jerking the truck (and trailer) off the road. "Wait! Wait!!"

That's right. Can't be getting the truck all dirty.

Here's where the real hilarity comes in.

April pulled over, but couldn't open her door because of all the cars zooming by.

Ginny was sitting behind April.

I was beside Ginny.

MAMAW was in front of me.

I couldn't get out until Mamaw did.

MAMAW can't hear. She had no idea what was happening. She kept asking "why in the world are we pulled over when home is just over yonder?"

My eyes were bugging out of my head.

I kept hitting Mamaw's seat with the hand that wasn't covering my mouth.

April screamed: "MAMAW! YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE TRUCK! HEATHER IS GOING TO THROW UP!"

Mamaw finally got it - but then she couldn't figure out how to unlock the car door. Old school truck = no power locks.

I couldn't believe it.

"Pull up on the thing, Mamaw! Pull up on the thing!"

Sweet Jesus.

It was painful watching her get out of the truck. She finally managed to climb down and I was out of the car in two seconds.

Just in time.

I threw up every bit of the sweet tea I'd consumed that afternoon.

I could hear April laughing from her perch in the truck.

If Mamaw hadn't been standing right there, and if my mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied....

When I finally lifted my head, I saw exactly where we were.

In front of the cemetery.

That's right.

Nothing like showing my respect for the deceased.

April assured me her Aunt Lisa, who is buried there, probably got a huge kick out of the whole thing.

As for the other hundreds of people who consider that cemetery their final resting place...my apologies.

Scientifically speaking, my best friend is HOT and a little SMART

How Laura and I became the best of friends in college, I'll never know.

She was the girl who actually understood how to balance her checkbook and read a periodic table while I was the chick who periodically bounced checks.

Seriously.

I often had to interrupt her scientific study time. If she didn't cooperate, I'd start a marker fight. I normally won:


There was ONE thing that could easily distract her from her books - FSU football. We remain die hard fans (this picture was taken in 1996 - we'd stormed the field because we were going to the National Championship Game. I love that Suzi is the only person who notices some random guy hopped in our photo):


When she wasn't studying, she could be totally lazy. This is the face she'd make when she wanted me to get her a glass of Diet Coke. She was relentless:


I remember one time, years after we graduated, she was visiting and I suggested we hang out by the river and read "for fun" stuff. By "for fun" I meant the National Enquirer (not 10 pounds of completely confusing scientific research). I pretended my choice of reading material also had a significant importance in academia, assuming one considered the importance of studying all types of journalistic approaches.

I was (am) uber outgoing and could (and did) talk to walls. Laura could be shy and find herself tongue-tied ordering a pizza. Her older brothers used to tease her when she'd get flustered, saying "Why don't you write it down first!"

That quickly became one of my favorite phrases and I've used it against her more times than I can count over the last 15 years. My comment is usually met with her middle finger, but that doesn't erase the glee I feel when I get to say it.

Laura and I were (and still are) opposites on so many levels, yet we get each other completely. We've logged countless hours laughing, crying and problem solving. No matter what is going right or wrong in my life, I know she'll be there in whatever way I need her to be.

I've always had a suspicion that Laura would change the world. Sounds like a big statement, but it's the truth.

She's already started.

For one, we now have to call her Dr. Laura, seeing as though she earned her doctorate from UNC last year. I've attempted, several times, to understand exactly what it is she's researching (I never make it past the words "methane hydrates") - but I know it's relevant.

And not just because she's studying it - but because Laurent Attal, President and CEO of L'Oreal (USA) just said so. Last month he honored Laura as one of the FIVE 2008 recipients of the esteemed L'Oreal USA Fellowships For Women in Science in New York City. More than 200 post-doctoral researchers applied.

According to their press release, the prestigious L'Oreal USA Fellowships For Women in Science, now in their fifth year, provide support to postdoctoral women scientists who are undertaking cutting-edge research with practical applications in today's society.

"Women scientists are making amazing progress, forging ahead and overcoming obstacles as they dispel the gender stereotype that women are not equipped to excel in the sciences," said Laurent Attal. "L'Oreal USA is proud to help foster and recognize the success of women scientists at all levels. We believe the world needs science, and science needs women."

A huge honor to be named a Fellow, but there's more:

Awardees each receive $40,000 to be used toward independent scientific research.

HOLLER!

Here's the bio L'Oreal provides for Laura (written much more intelligently than my explanation that "she researches stuff she finds in the water..."):

Dr. Laura Lapham -- Florida State University, Tallahassee, Florida --
chemical oceanographer, conducting research that may lead to new
discoveries around the use of methane hydrates as a potential energy
source. Dr. Lapham is working to determine how much methane is
entrained as a hydrate, how stable these reservoirs are and how to
harvest these deposits for fuel. The primary focus of her research is
the development of instrumentation to regularly measure methane that
has dissolved in sediments around the hydrates over time, which will
allow researchers to better understand the role of hydrates in an
abrupt climate change situation.

I may not know what the Hell she's doing, but I do know that I couldn't be more proud of her.

With the help of L'Oreal, she's making it cool for girls to be scientists. Glamorous, even.

Yes, glamorous.

Here are a few pictures from Laura's trip to NYC to receive the Fellowship award:

Laura and other Fellows getting a tour of L'Oreal's lipstick lab:


Giving her speech to the audience (which included a Nobel Peace Prize winner):


Posing with Mr. Attal (L'Oreal President) and Dr. Cicerone (super duper scientist guy):


And then it was time for her L'Oreal makeover. Laura doesn't do makeup very often. Our freshman year in college, she owned three pieces of makeup - the same three she owned as a freshman in high school. Her lack of beauty supply knowledge explains this look on the makeup artist's face (my favorite picture!):




A girl's gotta have her face on if she is to star in her very own photo shoot!


Science never looked this good:


Laura, I may not know what all the methane gas stuff is about, but I do know what you're about: hard work, integrity and now...well, now you have to embrace your status as a science sex symbol.

I have several great ideas for a 2009 calendar. Think strategically placed lab equipment....

I love you.

Bras are the Best When it Comes to Thanks!

I love surprises.

Especially when they come in the mail.

Let's face it - hardly anything comes in the mail anymore unless it's a bill, a catalog crammed full of everything I can't afford to buy, or a magazine wrapped in black plastic that should have been delivered to the college drop outs living next door.

My friends Kristen, Heidi and Teri send handwritten notes via snail mail regularly and I'm always surprised at how surprised I am when I get them.

It's like the fact someone took the time to actually find a pen and a piece of paper and THEN wrote something down before going through all the trouble of addressing it and putting a stamp on it is mind blowing.

It is mind blowing given today's world of computers and phones with text messaging capabilities. We are much more accustomed to CTL ALT DLT than we are to write, stamp, post.

Ya'll know how much I loved getting my personalized art piece from my pal Feisty Charlie. It's hanging on my office wall and I wear a goofy grin every time I pass it.

Well, I received another snail mail surprise a few weeks ago and I gotta tell you, I'm enjoying the Hell out of it.

Ya'll remember Olga the Traveling Bra?

Apparently she has been taught impeccable manners (from her lovely blog mistress, of course) - and she sent a lovely thank you gift to April and I for inviting her along on our London/Paris excursion.

My cup runneth over when I opened up the unexpected package to find THIS:







How much do you love this? It's my new favorite cup. Diet Coke never tasted so good.

Thanks, Olga!

Two Pink Lines!!!

Congratulations to two new baby mammas!

Heidi and Teri are pregnant and here's the proof:



And yeah, they are carrying around the pee stick in their pocket. You would too if you'd tried several times to get knocked up.

If you look a little closer, it wasn't EXACTLY two pink lines just yet. More like 1 1/2 pink lines. But we were confident there was a little baby Heather or Heath growing in Heidi's tummy.



A visit to the doctor confirmed it this past Monday.

It probably had something to do with the little talk I had with him or her:



I'm clearly going to be the boss in this family....

My Waitress Clearly Hated Me.

I have no idea what it is about me that encourages people to say whatever they are thinking.

Last I checked, I don't have any sort of tattoo on my forehead that reads:

Please, insult me. I like it and I can take it.

Tonight, Apes and I went out for dinner.

I thought I was really going to like our waitress.

No. I thought I was going to love our waitress.

Because, after she brought me my first itty bitty glass of diet coke, she noticed how quickly I drained it.

She said: "Are you going to drink them all that fast?"

"Yup," I replied.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

This is what she returned with:



I have a special place in my heart for smart waitresses.

Not smart ass waitresses.

April and I were starving. So we ordered a bunch of food (an appetizer and two meals. Heavy meals...eggplant parmesan and lasagna).

We split everything and at the end of the meal, the waitress (who I still adored at this point) was trying to sell us on dessert.

April said: "Are you kidding? We just stuffed ourselves. Well, I stuffed myself. She didn't eat nearly as much as I did."

Just as I started to do my whole demure "oh, stop it" act, the waitress said (with a nod of her head toward me):

"I have a hard time believing SHE didn't eat her share..."

and then she just walked away.

UM, HELLO. I WAS SITTING RIGHT THERE.

April attempted to make some small talk and I wouldn't let her.

"What the Hell was that supposed to mean?! DUDE!"

April couldn't tell me. Not because she didn't know, but because she was laughing so hard she was spitting lasagna everywhere.

Whatever.

I mean, I still like my waitress because she clearly respects the diet coke drinker in me, but damn....

Bed time is the best time.

Been going non stop for the past three days.

My summer consulting gig started on Sunday - with a three day conference in DC.

I'm so tired I want to curl up in my eyelids.

A BIT of Humor.

Co-ed softball is in full swing again and while I still suck at batting, my skills as a catcher have improved some.

And by some, I mean that I catch the ball more in my glove now than with my chest or stomach.

Baby steps.

If you'll recall, Apes and I had some pretty funny (read: awkward) AGM moments (awkward gay moments) last year because the coach's 7 or 8 year old daughter was mesmerized by the fact that we were a couple.

This year, she could care less and isn't going around yelling: "April and Heather LOOOOOOOOVE each othhhhhhher!"

Good times, good times.

Truth be told, she's way fun and a really great kid. She's totally going to be an Olympic soccer stud. Trust me on this. She's already turning heads for her athletic ability.

What I love about her most is that she's quick witted and a pretty worthy sparring partner for me.

At last week's game, I was sitting on the bench (I do my best playing from there), and she danced by me. I stuck my hand out to tousle her hair and said: "Hey, lil' bit."

She stopped mid-pose, rolled her eyes and said: "I'm not a LIL' bit. I'm a big bit."

I gave it right back to her.

"Well, excuse me, Big Bit. My bad."

To which she replied:

"And that would make YOU, a huge bit."

She danced off, leaving me speechless.

Huge bit?

I mean, if you follow the logic we'd already established, I guess that's accurate.

But, huge bit?

It sounds so, so, like something I would totally say at her age.

My reality. My friend. My art. My thanks.

Ya'll know I love me some art.

So much so that before I'll even befriend someone, they have to:

A) prove they can make something

and

B) prove they can make something they will give to me for my birthday or Christmas

It may sound shallow, but I'm very upfront about it, so no harm done, far as I'm concerned.

Well, Christmas came early for me yesterday!

My friend Feisty Charlie has been working on a piece just for moi and it finally arrived!

I was so excited. And yes, I used tweezers to try and open the box because I was too lazy to find some scissors. Why Apes doesn't have a "mandatory scissor drawer," I'll never know...


Sister was NOT playing when she taped this box up...


hey hey hey hey...


This piece was packaged for days. I'm telling you. However, it did arrive without a scratch, so I will save my smack talk for another time.


Damn nosy dogs. I love it! I love it!


Everything on this piece has a special meaning. Incredibly thoughtful and I love you for it!




Here, in the artists own words, is a description of the items on the piece:

The "paper grass" on the left is actually a collection of fortune cookie treasures, representing the way advice is like grass - abundant and free for us to enjoy or walk all over.

The swirl in the upper right is a multicolored string that represents the continuation of life.

The stone below the swirl has an owl on it. It represents wisdom.

There is a purple heart and a pink triangle. They represent the love between women.

There are raised patches of paint, in the rainbow colors. The rainbow of life. Rainbows don't exist unless there is sunshine and rain.

The entire top is outlined with colored string. It represents the way our lives are like puzzle pieces.

The stones outlining the bottom of the piece represent the "rocks" in our lives, those who support you.

There are ledges all along the side. They represent the need we have to sit and be still for a bit.

The stone with the dolphin symbolizes fertility.

The guitar pick speaks for itself. Heather and Guitar Hero.

The base color is blue like the ocean, deep and ever changing the shape of our shores.

Zigzags on the piece...Life is like that sometimes.

Fireman's Four Beer tops...Just because I like beer, especially drinking it with Heather while we play pool.

Be Nice Or Leave sign...makes me think about how damn nice Heather and April are to everyone they meet...it's a good way to live life.

-end

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this piece.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE the time, thought and effort you put into making it symbolic of my life.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE you.

Thank you Feisty.

RIP Tim Russert

So sad.

Tim Russert, NBC News’ Washington bureau chief and the moderator of “Meet the Press,” died Friday after collapsing, NBC News said. He was 58.

Full story here.

I didn't get picked last...or at all, dammit.

Jury duty is way over rated.

I did nothing but sit on my butt at the county courthouse and stare at people who look NOTHING like Mariska Hargitay from Law and Order: SVU.

Television has a responsibility to its viewers. If you are going to produce a popular program, you should steer away from anything that smells of false advertising.

There were no hot detectives in my court house.

Hell, after all that waiting, I didn't even get to answer any questions.

I came prepared!

I was robbed.

For those of you who are remembering to vote for Lindsay so she can win a $1000 scholarship for college, thank you! For those of you who have forgotten or don't know anything about this, you don't have to sign up for anything, just VOTE! by clicking HERE.

Reporting for duty. Jury Duty.

I watched extra episodes of Law and Order last night.

I'm ready.

My night: Trees and Chain Saws.

Question: When a big, fat, humongous tree at the end of a road gets zapped by lightening and comes crashing down into the middle of a car lined street (taking the power line with it), how many firefighters does it take to chop it up and clear the road?

Funny you should ask.

Answer: It takes three very hard working firemen.

Just before 10pm last night, Apes and I thought the world might truly be coming to an end. Rain blew sideways, the wind howled and screamed and the green sky was just plain freaky.

I ran to the office and had just logged on to check the local weather when we heard a huge CRACK.

Then and immediate bzzzp.

Lights out.

"DAMN IT!"

I fumbled through the house, found Apes (well, I found her shoulder as she rounded the corner the same time I did) and we checked to make sure all our neighbors were going to be as inconvenienced as we were and without power.

They were. We were one big happy street of no power.

The storm had come and gone in less than 10 minutes.

We were standing in our front doorway when we saw this beacon of bright, white light turn the corner at the end of our street.

"What the...."

"Is that a firetruck?" Apes asked.

We joined all 25 of our neighbors and paraded down the street to see what was going on.

Then I saw it.

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains it," I said.

Our gaze fell upon a massive tree blocking the roadway. The lightening split it and amazingly, the tree fell directly in the middle of the road, missing the cars parked along either side of it. It did not miss the power line.

The three firemen went to work. One with a chainsaw and two with shovels. The guy with the chainsaw would cut small pieces off the downed tree trunk and the other two fellas would throw them off to the side of the road.

I, of course, ran back into the house to get the camera.

I'd taken two steps into the living room and thought: "How in the Hell am I going to find the damn camera?! It's pitch black in here!"

The thought left my mind as quickly as it entered.

I smiled.

Of course I'd find it.

It'd be right where April always puts it.

In the "technology drawer" in the desk right by the front door.

Duh.

I have to admit, in that moment, I begrudgingly praised her for what she calls her "flavors" of OCD.

I located the camera with no problem and felt compelled to share my gratitude with her when I rejoined her at the firetruck. She immediately began pointing at me and said: "You HAVE to put that in your blog! You have to put that my putting stuff away is HELPFUL."

blah blah.

Anyway, this is what we were looking at last night:

Hiya, number 30k!

Don't be scared.

That picture is just my way of saying YAY! THANKS! to my 30,000th visitor!

The visit occurred at 12:37:49am on Monday, June 9th.

Said visitor hails from the city of lights, casinos and show girls (and, at least for a little while, Bette Midler, who I am DYING to see perform).

Hello, Las Vegas!

Lisa, is that you? Were you online a bit after midnight?

Whoever it was, thanks for visiting and being my milestone visitor! My next benchmark is 50,000.

Unfortunately, there are no prizes or awards for being the 30,000 visitor.

However, I am saving you from having to pay a gift tax.

You're welcome :)

Thank You from the Bottom of my Bloggin' Heart

Right now, this very second, I am absolutely giddy.

A little more than a year ago, I decided to create this blog for two reasons. The first was so that my friends and family could keep up with all the ridiculousness that is my life. The second was because I wanted a forum where I could practice my writing and delivery. It was a way for me to hone my style, find my voice. I set a goal to write something every day, even if I didn't feel like it.

I haven't always written every day, but I have succeeded in finding a style that works for me. Reading my blog is like talking to me in person. I write exactly as I speak.

Blogging has opened up so many doors for me:

- I have an amazing circle of friends who inspire me with their writing every day. Several have worked very hard to promote my blog and continue to help me in my quest to get published. A special thank you to Lisa, Feisty Charlie and Lori.

- I was invited by Paula to become a writer for Lesbiatopia, one of the fastest growing sites on the web for women looking to read about lesbian culture, politics, families, entertainment and news. I'm very proud of the site and of all the women that contribute to make it so informative.

- I was a top five finalist for the 2008 Bloggies, something that astounds me even now. I lost out to Perez Hilton, but was honored to have made the cut alongside some really incredible bloggers.

- I receive emails from people who trust me enough to share their stories and ask my advice. This humbles me and reminds me that the more I share, the more other people may start to feel comfortable sharing. That's incredibly powerful.

- One of my blogs, about my Granny, was published in the Washington Post. What a rush!

- I'm about 50 readers away from reaching my 30,000th visitor (I know the counter at the bottom reads more, but I added SiteMeter a few months after I started my blog and I'm using that as my official count)

Today marks a huge first for me and I want the person responsible to picture me falling all over myself in an effort to thank him appropriately.

Today I received my first PayPal donation from someone I don't know and don't think I've ever interacted with before. He wanted to make a contribution to my writing and it absolutely moved me.

I got the email and stared at it for a good while.

It'll make me sound sappy, but I don't care - I got a bit tearful.

I put the Pay Pal link on my site ages ago, but had forgotten all about it. I get so much out of just knowing people are reading and commenting on my blog. That alone fills me up.

This was very special and I want to thank him for giving me an extra boost of confidence. Apes and I celebrated with a big breakfast of chocolate chip waffles :)

I'm so excited I'm considering doing a series of cartwheels in the front yard. Pictures will, of course, be taken to document what I'm sure will include a pulled muscle and an emergency room visit.

Thank you to everyone who reads my blog, links to my blog, promotes my blog during contests and who take the time to comment on my blog.

Ya'll have no idea what it means to me.

I Made Myself A Target. Dammit.

It's only fair to tell you guys when I make a total Ape of myself.

*hangs head*

Tonight, one of my friends was having a birthday party for her daughter.

Thirteen.

It was a social experiment, watching all the teeny boppers take photos for MySpace and huddle in groups to whisper about God knows what and parade around in their skimpy outfits.

Ten of them were going to spend the night, so my pal needed some adult reinforcement - at least for a portion of the evening.

I was more than happy to oblige. April is working an overnight shift for the police department and I'm always up for a good party - especially if it includes snow cones and cotton candy machines.

As we adults (hahahahaha) sat and watched the girls interact, I felt all kinds of uncomfortable. When did I become the grown up drinking a beer and sitting at the kid party? Seriously. When did that happen?

That thought, of course, led me to recall being 13 myself. I had a few friends over...and so did my parents. The ten o'clock hour found them in a Congo line screeching Row Row Row Your Boat.

I swear.

I had THOSE parents.

We were much more tame tonight...we had to sign contracts promising we wouldn't embarrass the hostess.

Here's where I make a complete fool out of myself.

We walked into the garage to get some drinks and my friend pointed out the paper targets hanging on the wall.



She said her husband hangs them there just in case a burgalar tries to come in through the garage. He figures the theif will see the targets, know he has a gun and how to use it.

Before I think it through (obviously), I say (out loud): "I'm confused. He hangs the targets in your garage?! Wow. That's really dangerous. Where do the bullets go?"

I EVEN LIFTED THE EDGE OF THE PAPER TO LOOK BEHIND IT.

Help me.

My ever supportive friends immediately began happy dancing all over the garage, taking immeasurable glee in my idiotic moment.

"Um, he fires at the SHOOTING RANGE and then hangs his targets in the garage."

Of course he does.

I just sounded stupid.

For a second.