Embarrassing is:

Going to dinner and a movie with your friend but finishing dinner right as a Texas thunderstorm barrels through leaving you with no other option than to wrap your blue-booted foot in a grocery bag to prevent it from getting wet for fear of getting an infectious disease that requires amputation, and then having to walk through the very crowded restaurant and to the car making a crinkling sound with each limping step.

We laughed so hard the entire time that I would have peed my pants had logical thinking not reminded me that pee getting into my boot would be much worse than regular Texas rainwater.

Home is where the truth is

There's just something about the way your family tells you things that can really catch you off guard. Your friends can tell you things, and by things I mean the truth, and it's an easier pill to swallow, kind of like a Flinstone's vitamin. But if your family even gets near the truth telling it's more painful, more shot of Nyquil than fruit flavored chewiness. Since I have been home my mom, who has always been the most honest of the clan, has been on her game, offering truths where truths have not been asked for. She means well, I know this. Everyone means well. I am without argument in a rut. Moving forward is not so much the result of the day as staying put in the same place trying not to drown in the quicksand. Kicking around all survivor like knowng that if I just keep my mouth and nose out of the goo I'll be okay.

This afternnoon I received an unexpected phone call from my uncle, the small-town barbershop owner who appears in the newspaper more frequently than should be allowed. He knows people you see. He's like the local bartender who knows everyone's lifestory and secret affairs. He told me of a client of his who works at the community college up the highway and offered some insight into job possibilities. It was a much appreciated lead, one that I know I need. But the best part, the part all full of yucky medicine aftertaste is what followed towards the end of our conversation:

Me: Thanks so much for the lead, I'll definitely look into it.

Uncle: Well, you know, we just want you to do well. But you know, if you do get to go to one of these things for an interview you should be sure to dress, well, grown up. You need to be proffesional and have an adult look.

Me: I know, I clean up pretty well when I need to.

Uncle: Well, I know but you need to take the time to get your look together. And me and you aunt were talking about it last night and she said not to say anything because it would hurt your feelings but I just needed to say it and be honest. You still look like a college student and you need to be sure and make yourself look like and adult, like and executive.

Me: I understand, I know how to look professional when I need to. But thank you.

I swear he was channeling my mother. The truth, it runs in the family.

I'm back! Well, sort of...

I am no longer under the influence of the Vicadin, which is both a blessing and a curse, but since my foot-growth was "enormous" to quote my doctor, I have a pretty big slash on my foot and will have to wear the fashionable post-op blue shoe for at least another week. I have another appointment next week to make sure all is well and should be healed just in time for my birthday trip to the Big Easy. Had I mentioned that? I don't think so, but now you know, me and a few of my closest gal pals are heading to New Orleans for my birthday--the big 25-- in a couple of weeks, should be fun.

Anyway, while I was away, Rachel came for a much needed but all too short visit. I swear, if I'm not married in ten years I'm just going to move in with her and then her husband and beautiful, well-mannered children will just have to deal with the moody colored woman their mom keeps in the guest house. (I won't clean but I'll cook and we'll all get along...promise!) While she was here we attended a very grown-up evening at our friend BullOdegard's house. The wine was delish as was the food. Sarah made mushrooms stuffed with freshly grated Pecorino Romano and no bacon, Rachel brought smelly cheese covered in a warm mango chutney, Linds did a tasty platter of fresh fruit with God's gift to all chocolate-hazelnut lovers for dipping and I picked fresh figs from the neighbor lady's tree and stuffed them with blue cheese and wrapped them in proscuito then warmed them in olive oil until they got all crispy and the cheese melted. It was, as I said, very grown up and very divine. Until, of course, the 80's music came into play and the wine (and pre-party happy hour Lemon Drop martini's started to show through) and what started out as a lovely evening began to unravel as side ponytails took over and Molly Ringwald dancing began and well, the pictures--or portraits as some seem to be--are living proof that grown women are really little girls with driver's license and a better sense of what tastes good to drink. Phoographic proof follows:

A group photo


An action shot: Babs was on the drill team in high school, just an FYI


And Rach was a ballerina, just don't be fooled by that look of innocence on her angelic face, I do belive she danced on a table with me once at a pub in London

I have to be at the hospital tomorrow morning by 6:45 AM for surgery number two on my foot. For a person that is so utterly grossed out by feet, the irony of me having to go to a foot doctor and have people I don't know touch my foot for hours is just painful to think about. Luckily I got a good dose of funny tonight with all of the girls at happy hour and then a happy hour continuation full of good food and side pony tails. Don't worry, there are pictures. And once I emerge from the vicadin haze and am once again allowed to walk they will be proudly posted on this here blog for all of the internet to enjoy. See you a couple of days, I know that the anticipation of the photos will be great...

Sometimes trying to make plans is useless. I met up with a life-long friend last night to grab some coffee and then go see a movie. We sat and talked and before long we had closed down the coffee shop and missed three separate showtimes for the movie we had initially set out to see. It didn't matter one bit though because sometimes there is nothing better in life than to sit with someone you care about and talk. Talk about the things that matter and the things that don't. But mostly about the things that have connected you for nearly twenty years and will continue to connect you for twice as many more. It feels good and my heart is happy. Those are the types of moments I will remember forever.

My friend Sarah never reads my blog. I know this because she has told me so on more than one occasion. I also know this because anytime my friends and I are talking about our lives Sarah is usually clueless. Since most of have fallen victim to sharing our lives with the world via the internet we are all caught up on each other's major life moments at all times. Except Sarah of course.

Saturday was Sarah's 25th birthday. She made us all fondue (like a good birthday girl) and we had snow cones laced with rum. The girls sat on her bed and rumaged through her old photos and laughed out loud at how we all looked seven years ago while the boys watched boobies on television in the other room and then claimed that they were bored (I will never understand the male brain). The party was low-key and laid back, just like Sarah.

So in honor of the birthday girl I am posting her photo on my blog, since she'll never know I did it anyway. (And as a half-assed shameless ploy to get her to read it!)


That candle totally played Happy Birthday..only the best for Sarah!

Just some tidbits...
The second wedding of the summer was fabulous. I think it may just have been the funnest wedding that I have been to. The bride and I managed to cut quite a rug doing the electric slide and everyone had a blast during the accurately dubbed "Innocent Remix" of our favorite Michael Jackson hits. Seriously, anytime a DJ anywhere plays some old MJ music the party always kicks into overdrive, I'm sure that means something but I dare not speculate. If anyone wants to see pictures let me know...I'm too lazy to post the link here for the photo album but it does exist.

I received a pretty interesting e-mail yesterday. It seems that I have been tapped to be the featured alumni speaker at the matriculation ceremony for the incoming freshman class at my college alma mater in August. Not one to pass up the spotlight, of course I said yes. So now I have to prepare a five-minute speech to be given to a few hundred new students and their parents about my experience in college and some other stuff for which I will be receiving information on in the very near future. I'm kind of honored and flattered that important people think that I am an important enough alumna to give a speech about siezing the moment and enjoying college and the limitlessness of the future, blah, blah, blah. Although, I'm not sure if they realize that I haven't actually finished graduate school yet, I think I just won't mention that part to anyone.

My horoscope today reads as follows: "You are the most important person in your life right now and you should treat yourself as such. Spend some money on that special item. Money may not buy your happiness, but it will certainly make you feel better."
I couldn't agree more...

They Were Robbed
Once again, the damn red states snuck in and stole my happiness. I neglected to use my God given right as an American citizen and television viewer and each week let my belief in the good of the American people decide my fate. Until tonight my faith had never wavered. But alas, the people let me down. John and Charlotte were not crowned King and Queen of the dance despite being the best couple since the beginning of the competition. But I don't care what the final outcome was. John and Charlotte were definitely the best couple on Dancing With the Stars. That soap opera girl that won only did because of her General Hospital groupies. If the Seinfeld groupies had come out in full force then John, aka "Peterman," and his partner would have been crowned the true and ultimate winners. Next time, it's a grass roots by the people push and I'll register the voters myself if I have to and I won't sleep until justice is served. I have the ability to decide who the best celebrity ballroom dancer is and no one, not even ABC soap watchers, are going to steal that from again.

On Second Thought
The next time I decide that a standing room only, outdoor concert in the middle of July in Texas is a good idea, remind me that no outfit looks good when the sweat from your back causes your shirt to cling to you in an extremely unflattering display. Don't be alarmed, John Legend lived up to his name in the greatest of ways, but there are few artists that I am willing to suffer heat exhaustion for and well, she isn't so much touring these days. I swear, if it weren't for the chocolatey skin and the light finger dancing on the piano keys and that voice, oh that voice, I would have left after my first beer...

I was fourteen that summer. I remember it because I wasn't old enough to drive, none of us were, only Lexi. We spent the summer cramming into the bed of her red pick-up truck driving through the neighborhoods between the high school gym and the gymnastics gym where we were all taking tumbling classes. We made frequent stops at Sonic grabbing cherry limeades and cheese tater tots and ate them sitting on the cement in the back of the high school eyeing the boys at football practice pretending that we had out t-shirts tied up around our bosoms because we were actually hot in the Texas sun. We painted thirty-foot tall run-through signs with her truck pulled up next to us on the grass with the windows down and the radio blaring. We were tan and cute, insecure and unsure, but a group of ten that couldn't be separated.

The nostalgia of that summer all came rushing back to me just a bit ago as I watched an Alanis Morrisette concert on VH1. It's the tenth anniversary of Jagged Little Pill. That's right, ten years! I remember the first time I heard the lyric "will she go down on you in a theater" flying out of the CD player at cheerleading camp that June and being both shocked that she would say something like that and unsure if I really even knew what that meant! Ten years ago this summer the hard edge that was Alanis, the curly-haired-wild-child-feminist anthem singer, took over all of my friends and we would sing out loud and dance around everytime the You Oughta Know video came on MTV. And every subsequent video got just as much respect (especially the one where she plays four differnt people in the car!) Alanis could do no wrong. Even the unplugged verion she did on the MTV awards with the orchestra behind her...man, even though I had never been in love, I felt all of her pain. I still do.

So it seems fitting that ten years later, ten years older, we'd get the offical acoustic version of the CD full of young girl anthems all retooled for the grown-up women who remember it best. I think I'll grab myself a copy and relive the summer of my youth. This time with a little less anger, a little less revealed tummy, but a definite refill of the cherry limeade.

If being unmotivated were an Olympic sport, I would have the gold medal all wrapped up. It is two thirty in the afternoon and I am still in my pajamas watching bad daytime programming on the television. My sinuses are still not my own and the sheer boredom of life in small town Texas sans a car is going to be the end of me. Thank goodness for a long weekend coming up, a few days harassing my family should be entertaining. And tomorrow night is BBQ and a sultry R&B music concert featuring the bottom slice of my make-out sandwich. The top slice, well, he's taken, but there's no harm in looking.

Here's to making lemonade out of your lemons...or some other uplifting food analogy like that.