Stumbling Towards Perfect

Oy Vay! (Oy Vey!) 1: Used when frustrated. 2: Used when anoyed by other people fighting or arguing and it becomes a big mess. I organized a surprise 30th birthday party for Big V this past Wednesday. Like an uber-insecure psycho girlfriend I ganked his phone while he was in the shower and wrote down as many names and numbers as I could. (This took several times, since he has 300 contacts but only takes five minute showers.) Awkwardly, I called each one of his friends and invited them to the big shindig. I thought maybe, just maybe, if we were lucky, we'd have close to twenty people in attendance. We had over forty! Trust me when I say it was AWESOME to see V's expression when he saw so many of his friends there to help him celebrate. He's one of those guys who has friends of all types and in all different circles, so it was an excellent, if not eclectic, mix of personalities. Later, V's mom would find out he had a wonderful surprise party with his friends. To th

Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy. What have I done? Tonight I have planned a surprise birthday gathering for Big V. Let the anxieties begin: Will there be enough people? Will there not be enough people? Will the food be okay? Will there be enough food? What if there's not enough food? Will people drink too much? I don't need a bar fight... Will they think the location is lame? Should I explain this is the bar that sponsers his plethora of sports leagues throughout the year? Will the cake be there? Why did I even let that lady talk me into getting a cake? We don't eat cake. V rarely eats cake. He won't care if there's a cake. What if no one eats the cake and we're forced to take the darn thing home? What if I can't get my hair done? What if I look frumpy? I feel incredibly frumpy lately. What if I get really tired? I'm sleep deprived, you know. It's not going to look cool if I'm yawning in the corner. Why am I spending money on

Voicemail message to me from the Bean: "Hi, this is your daughter. Uh, I just wanted to call you and remind you to get toilet paper because, uh, I just urinated and there is no toilet paper so I had to wipe my butt with cotton balls. Yeah. So, uh, please pick up some toilet paper. Thank you."

This morning, the lady at Starbucks kindof, sortof recognized me! I can feel it... in no time at all I will officially become a "Regular." Being kindof, sortof recognized made my morning trip to the office just THAT much better! I've always wanted to be a Regular. To be known as "you know... the lady that comes in and..." ever since I worked at the bank right out of highschool. Of course, it was easy to figure out the names, but we still referred to our fondest customers in terms like "the lady with the smelly money" and "the guy who insists on signing in red" and "the idiot who is always waiting in the parking lot on Saturday morning before we open." Then I got a job at Subway. There was "double meat cold cut combo" guy and "the chick who has to have her sub cut in thirds," not to mention "the Tuesday lady that pays in silver dollars." The problem has always been that although I am a creature of habit

I got dressed in the dark today. Not really. The light was on. In fact, it was an annoyingly bright light. But it was 5:30 in the morning. And it makes me feel better if I say it was dark. Honestly, I thought I looked good at the time. But now, my black pants with brown shoes just really ain't cutting it. What the hell was I thinking? And now, I'm leaving work to go to not one, but TWO doctor's appointments. There is no time to stop at home and switch shoes. Oh, no. I am about to feel the natural consequences of my decision. I shall be forced to get out of my car, walk across the parking lot, into the clinic, ride the elevator and wait in the waiting room for everyone to see... not once, but twice. At two different clinics. Am I worried about infectious diseases? Am I scared I'll succumb to the horrors of the dreaded swine flu? Heck no! I'm terrified of "the look." You know, that one the pretty, put together mom gives that says, "Oh, that's too b

It's official. I have re-entered the workforce after my lovely (if not extremely painful) Maternity Leave. Let me tell you, c-sections are NOT for the faint of heart. It wouldn't have been too bad if I could have gone without the raging infection and incredible acid-like rash covering the majority of my body. Weeks of intense antibiotics later I'm work ready. I came back to the office expecting complete mass chaos. Nothing of the sort. It's relatively painless. (Although I am comparing to the weeks of hell I endured recently... anything was better than that.) I did, however, walk into what has been defined as a "Spending Freeze." Budgets are a funny thing: they only work on paper... unless the people in charge are determined to actually follow it. Trust me, I know this because I use budgets in my personal life. If I budget $172 for groceries I must remain disciplined to not exceed $172 in order for the budget to work. If I spend, oh, let's say $514 I may f