V.D. for all!!!

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!  We don't normally do much for V.D. at our house, but I did send Jeff a special Valentine's-themed lunch art:

I didn't think I'd be able to top the sympathy card I sent him last Valentine's Day, but I found the most God-awful giant, sparkly card with some kind of ridiculous sentiment written on it in Spanish that plays an extremely (screeching) loud sappy Latin love song.  That should go over well with the guys at his office when he opens it.  It's so loud that the dogs came running into the room when I was signing it.  Perfect!

In other V.D. related news (not the Valentine's Day kind of V.D.), did I tell you guys that when I was at the emergency room getting my finger stitched up last month there was a girl there who "thought she had caught something"?  And by "something",  I mean down in her Business District.  Her Chamber of Commerce, if you will.  Something was definitely rotten in the state of Denmark.  Gross!  But it certainly begged a question:  Just what kind of rotten crotch symptoms was she experiencing to make her run to the emergency room at 9:00 on a Thursday night for treatment?  Blech!!  As an aside, they should really make those emergency room divider curtains thicker.  I was worried about her squirrel stank getting through!

Anyway, enjoy Valentine's Day.  And if you don't have someone to love...you can always love yourself.  They make toys for that.

The $300 Favor

From the annals of “this could only happen to me”:

I got the most awesome invoice ever at work yesterday.  Ever, ever.

Back in November, an attorney with whom I work very often on various legal matters for my office called me and asked me for a favor (and the operative word here is “favor”).  He was having trouble getting a signature from someone with whom we both sometimes work, and he knew that I knew this person very well and that I worked within walking distance of said signer.  He asked if he could e-mail the document to me and have me run over to the third party, get the signature and return it to him.  I should note that this transaction had absolutely nothing to do with me or my employer.  It was a favor completely outside of my job.  I was doing this guy a “solid”, as it were.

He's a nice guy with whom I really enjoy working (not to mention that he's funny as hell), so naturally I agreed.  It seemed easy enough.  I printed the document, ran across the street, got the signature and sent the document back to the attorney.  It took me all of 10 minutes.  After I was finished I forgot all about it.

Until yesterday.  Included in my regular mail delivery was an invoice from this attorney was a brief description of the above-noted transaction…and a charge of $280 for performing it.  Lawyer-man had charged me close to $300 for doing him a favor.

I know it’s a clerical error – I’m sure he noted the transaction on whatever timekeeping method his firm uses and an accounting person interpreted it as him doing the work for me.  But still.  This is how attorneys get a bad name!  And what if someone in my office had thought we actually owed the amount and paid it?  Actually, that would be even more hilarious. 

There’s nothing better than being able to give a legitimate ration of crap to a highly-educated professional who is so much smarter than me it’s ridiculous.  I’ll be getting mileage out of this for years!

I'm considering sending him my own invoice for services rendered and including a line item for the mileage I walked.  And rental fees for the amount of time the signer borrowed my pen to sign the document.  It was raining that day, so I should probably also include hazardous duty pay (I could have slipped on the walk!).  And an umbrella surcharge.  Sorry, lawyer dude.  You brought this on yourself!

Teenagers: Not as Dumb as You Think They Are

One of the benefits of being married to a "car guy" is that our cars last us forever.  Thanks to Jeff, I drove a 1990 Nissan Stanza until it had 300,000 miles on it and the insurance company told us they'd no longer cover it after a very minor fender-bender.  Awesome car, by the way.

My current ride is a 2000 Toyota convertible which Jeff refers to as my "car for life" (he's not joking).  Jeff keeps it in pristine condition.  It looks & drives like it just came off the showroom floor and the mileages is still relatively low, so it'll be my ride for many years to come. It's in such good shape that the Toyota dealer tries to buy it from us every time we take it in for service.  And while I love my car, sometimes I have visions of something a little...newer.  Sadly, we replace cars on a need-basis only in our family, and my "need" is way off over the horizon.

I had a glimmer of hope when my 15-year-old stepson, Aaron, approached me about the possibility of "inheriting" my car when he turns 16.  Visions of hard-top convertibles danced in my head!  All we had to do was convince Jeff that it was a good idea.

I approached Jeff with the topic, and Jeff replied that we should offer Aaron our spare car (a 1997 Nissan Pathfinder with 250,000 miles on it that we refer to as "Boomer's Car" because it's the only car our Great Dane fits in).  I countered that Aaron needed something more reliable and we'd never be able to get Boomer to the vet without the Pathfinder.  It was a convincing argument, but Jeff said that he thought Aaron would prefer the SUV (which I knew wasn't true) so we should give him a choice.

Woo Frigging Hoo, people!  I was about to hand off my 12-year-old ride for a better, faster, stronger "car for life"!  I started browsing websites for my new (used) car.

The next time Jeff visited Aaron in North Carolina, he made the offer that Aaron could choose from our cars.

Aaron's response?  "Thanks, Dad!  I'll take your Maxima."

DAMMIT.  Car for life, indeed.

Mane Manners

I don't normally do this, but I'm about to get a little political.  Don't get me wrong:  I vote (early & often!) and I have a pretty strong opinion about all things politic, I just don't usually get into it here.

That being said...here we go.  WTF is up with Callista Gingrich's hair?

I'm a proud Southern Girl.  Granted, I'm the kind of Southern Girl that thinks that the problem with Atlanta is that it's surrounded by Georgia, but I did spend 4 years in Auburn, Alabama in college (in the 80's, no less) which gives me a bit of Strand Street Cred. Coiffure Currency, if you will.

Those of you who haven't had much interaction with gently-bred Southern Gals probably don't know this, but there are Tendril Tenets that we learn from a very young age.

The basis of these Ringlet Rules is the law of 2 of 3 (i.e. your hair can feature 2 of the 3 following characteristics, but no more):

• Helmet Head
• Color Not Occurring in Nature
• "The Swoop" (not to be confused with "The Pouf" sported by our sisters up North)

Enter our girl Callista:

photo credit: www.ibtimes.com

I've got to be honest people:  I see a 3 of 3 violation here.  And not in a good way.  Dare I say a Hat Trick? (more like Impervious Platinum Helmet).  We have helmet.  We have unnatural color .  And we have swoopage.

I don't get the "how". And I don't get the "why".  I kind of don't even get the "what".  And in a time when so many people turn to political spouses to soften a candidate's image...I just don't get her at all.  When people are lining up to ask you how you get your hair to "do that", it might be time to reconsider your look.  There are rules for a reason, sister.  It's for all of us!

Bring it , 2012!

This year started out so well.  It really did!  But it didn’t take long for things to take a sharp left turn and spiral quickly toward the gutter. As usual.

I rang in 2012 as the Designated Driver on the way home from watching my beloved Auburn Tigers kick some butt in the Chick-Fil-A Bowl on New Year’s Eve.  That’s right: other people actually entrusted me with the responsibility of getting everyone home safely.  And by "other people", I mean my brother. Who, by the way, was so completely shitfaced that he accused a woman wearing blue flashing novelty glasses of trying to pull him over for "walking under the influence" and then handed his phone to a homeless person and asked him to take a picture of us posing with a stadium trash can.   Haven’t seen the picture yet, but I’ll be sure to share it once I do.  I’m sure it’s quite tasteful.

So how did I go from responsible driver on Jan 1 to recipient of a tetanus shot, two bouts of different antibiotics for unrelated injuries, five stitches, and being the idiot whose friends have to steal her car keys from her purse and then force her into their car Patty Hearst-style to prevent her from driving drunk by Jan 30?  It defies explanation, although the Margarita Machine that Jeff gave me for Christmas is a contributing factor.

In my defense, the car keys situation was an isolated incident - I’m normally very cautious about getting behind the wheel.  I should have realized that it’s none too smart to spend a few hours in a bar immediately after attending the funeral for a high school friend, five days after the anniversary of my Mother’s death and six months after I lost my Dad.  Combine that with a group of high school friends sending drink after drink my way (vodka with a splash of cranberry, anyone?), and it’s the perfect recipe for bad decisions.  And I’ll never live down the fact that FRT was the responsible party in this situation (well, Mrs. FRT, actually).  When FRT tells you you’re too drunk...you’re way past the point of no return.   I should have known better.

The stitches, tetanus shot & antibiotics, however, are all on me (compliments of the aforementioned Margarita Machine).  I make no excuses.

At this rate, 2012 is going to be EPIC!

UPDATE (You're welcome):