Just a Quickie

January 16, 2009

I have approximately thirteen minutes to write a post today, and I'm just not sure that I can be funny in that little window of time.

We'll see....

I had a one on one meeting with the President of a local bank today. We sat in some really cushy chairs in the sun room of his office. No seriously, his office has its very own sun room. My house barely even has its own bathroom.

What a showoff.

So there we were, using each other's first names as often as we possibly could--because that's the way successful schmoozers do it--when his personal assistant walked in.

I stood up from my seat to shake Heather's hand (and use her name while I did it) when I noticed a funny look in her eye. She wasn't looking at my nose, so I knew it wasn't a booger seeking freedom that caught her attention. Obviously, that girl just had a problem.

When Heather left, I talked with the President a little bit more--asked about his kids and such. After all, that's what you've gotta do when you're looking for a five year donation that's large enough to fund your own salary.

He introduced me to a few other bankers--all three times my age, income, and importance level. And I'll tell you what, they were giving me that same damn look.

"They're all doing drugs," I told myself. "It's got to be cocaine."

Then, finally, when I had schmoozed, and begged, and asked if I might be able to make a presentation to the entire Board of Directors, it hit me like a cinder block from the sky.

I was still wearing my winter pom-pom hat. And I had been the entire time.

Pumps, a power suit, and a lime green pom pom hat...now that's a recipe for success.

Cr. Ap.

Some Things Never Change

January 15, 2009

Check out the picture of yours truly that appeared on facebook last night:
The kid next to me doesn't even have a plate in front of her!

And what the hell, Mom? Her mini crown was way cooler than my lame-o cone hat.

Being Mary J.

January 14, 2009

If there's one thing that I simply cannot resist, it's Mary J. Blige and Bono wrapped into one sizzlin' hot package. No no, I can only wish that they were having a baby together--but if it were to happen, they should name her Shebang. Don't you think?

So no, as far as I know, Shebang Blige will not grace the cover of People Magazine any time soon, but Mary J. and Bono have still managed to produce something ragingly fabulous--a duet of the old U2 song "One."

Now I'm not sure if you're a music fan like me, but the combination of her sexalicious voice and his sexalicious voice makes me cough up my chocolate milk and mess my pants every single time.

Really. It's that good.

Now I've had this song on my iPod for six or seven months, but somehow it never ever seems to get old. On the contrary, it almost seems to gain an element of greatness as it ages--like fancy wine, or expensive cheese, or a roll of Smarties in the chest pocket of my winter coat.

Last night, as I was chugging along on my stationary bike, I was really happy when my song came on. After all, I was twenty-seven minutes into my workout and it was starting to seem more than a little monotonous--you can only convince yourself that you're Lance Armstrong for so many minutes, ya know?

So now I could be Mary J.

As soon as I heard the intro music, I sat up straight, cleared my throat, and told myself what I tell myself everyday: Amy, you are smooth and sultry and attitudy. Amy, it doesn't matter what they say, you can sing. (and you don't deserve to be fired, either).

I picked up the pace considerably--because a good song will do that--and turned my workout into something of a voice lesson. I'd listen to Mary J. sing a line (like an angel with some snap), then I'd pause my iPod and try to copy her exactly. Then I'd rewind and try the whole thing over again. And then I'd do it again.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of this exercise in vocal precision, I decided to sing the whole song one time through. So I went for it. I closed my eyes and belted out as much as I could muster in the midst of a spinning session--and I was pushing it hard.

I sang, I huffed, and I wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt three or four times.

When the song finally ended, I opened up my eyes to downshift, and you'll never guess what I saw planted firmly in front of me.

Seriously, you'll never guess.

I saw that Mormon missionary--who's really growing on me, I just can't help it--standing in my den, smiling his big old Utah smile, giving me the double thumbs up.

Apparently the dynamic duo was feeling a little bit cold and a little bit hungry, so they landed on our doorstep looking for some heat and leftovers. I was too busy, too 'caught up in the moment' if you will, to hear the knock on the door, so my husband answered it on my behalf.

The missionaries were like, "Hi Brother Lawson."

And Jared was like, "Dude, come stand here and stare at my wife until she opens her eyes. She'll think it's funny."

Yes. Truly hilarious.

And on that note, I hope Jared thinks it's funny when I send the IRS into his office later this afternoon.

She Could Teach You a Thing or Two...

January 13, 2009

My sister is the coolest. She was a complete troll in junior high, but these days I swear I could go on and on about what makes her so stinkin' fabulous.

For example, my sister makes approximately one gajillion dollars an hour running her own part-time business as a book group facilitator for kids. Seriously, who can pull that off? Who else can turn to a parent and say, "Congratulations, your child has now completed the entire Oprah-endorsed series and discussed it in detail among friends. That will be one gajillion dollars."

She can. And they all love her for it.

Another example lies in the fact that my sister has two children who are sixteen months apart in age--her son just turned two, and her daughter is 9 months--and she is cool as a cucumber about the whole dang thing. Now me? I would be running around the neighborhood with my hair on fire--just as an excuse to get some alone time. But my sister? You can find the woman whistling children's songs about Jesus as she tosses another load of cloth diapers and homemade wipes into her water saver washing machine.

And finally, my sister has impeccable (and expensive) taste. She wears a kickin' pair of hundred-dollar boots, she only wore the expensive maternity jeans when she was knocked up, and come spring, you'll see her pushing her mucho-chic Phil n' Teds stroller all over the city of Boston.

How does she do it?

Coupons. I shiz you not, the woman uses coupons.

She's the type of girl who pays seven bucks for a cartload of groceries--and seriously, seriously, CVS pays her to take things like toothpaste and shampoo out of the store. Last month I did some shopping with my sister I'm not exaggerating here--I somehow left the premises with a ten dollar bottle of cover-up, a six dollar gift card, and paid three dollars for it.

I'm really not sure how it happened--my head's still spinning.

If you're interested in learning her ways--you know, so you can save on toothpaste and use your extra cash to buy a giant TV--then you should check out her fun new blog.

Katy will hold your virtual hand and gently walk you through the steps of saving some cash. Trust me, she makes it straightforward and easy, and completely takes the dork-laden-douchebaggery out of couponing (even though that's a super-dorky and slightly douchebaggish verb).

Now seriously, why pay even a penny for your dental floss? Go check her out.

Caught in the Act

January 13, 2009

I just signed into Facebook and noticed that I'd been tagged in the following picture:
Can you find me? Yup, there I am on the bottom left, blatantly ignoring the cue to smile--you know, just in case my ice cream bowl sprouted some legs and decided to scamper away.

I hate Facebook.

And please, don't send me a friend request unless I actually know who you are. I prefer to limit the views of my flabby forearms to my most loving inner circle.