Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Second Fiddle

Note to self: if the bartender at Mafiaoza's makes you take two shots before 5:30, you're going to be in for a rough morning.

But all in all, last night was stupendous. We stayed at Mafiaoza's for a good three hours, swilling beers and swapping snarky stories (love me some alliteration). But one-by-one, our crew slowly started heading for home and their "jammies".

Jenn and I weren't having it. (We'll act 40 when we are 40, thank you.) So we called some friends and headed out to 12th and Porter. The Tuesday night crowd there was...interesting. And the musical lineup even more so. The opening act was some kind of Yiddish band with a flapper girl playing a washboard. Entertaining, to say the least.

I struck up a conversation with a young guy at the bar who is reportedly quite the musical aficionado. He was telling me how he'd recently moved here from the Big Apple and was forced to change his title from "violinist" to "fiddler". And seemed quite baffled by this fact.

I threw my head back and laughed. I couldn't resist adopting my best southern twang and telling him, "Darlin', down here, 'violinist' makes us think of a foreign exchange student vying for first chair. But 'fiddler', now that conjures up pictures of a sexy man sweating in tight jeans on a stage in front of thousands of fans. So...I think you should go with it."

He bought me a drink to show his appreciation.

Proof positive that southern women can teach those New York City boys a thing or two.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Wedding Bliss

I love weddings. Actually, let me rephrase that. I tolerate weddings, I LOVE receptions.

Last weekend, a gaggle of sorority sisters and I were reunited in Birmingham for the nuptials of a friend. It was absolutely great to see everyone (and to stay on the same hotel floor). Especially under such fun circumstances.

The actual wedding ceremony was beautiful. But I tend to get a little fidgety during those kinds of things. Must be the 8th grader in me.

The reception was...freaking amazing (three words: OPEN MARTINI BAR.) There were close to 600 people there. They had great food and an even better live band. A group of us immediately claimed a table, got into a martini line and pretty much took over. Just like the good ole days.

It wasn't too long before my date wanted to hit the dance floor (and my jaw almost hit the floor). I've never experienced a guy wanting to dance before me! For almost 10 minutes, we were the only couple out there. I guess we looked so good doing our thing that the spectators couldn't was packed in no time and we were wishing we were still flying solo.

It was after several more martinis and hours spent on the dance floor that things start to get a little fuzzy. Funny how that happens. Luckily I have plenty of pictures to refresh my memory.

Here's the Ole Miss crew on the dance floor (I'm dead center, martini in hand):
Here I am, another martini in hand, eavesdropping on the groomsmen (I'm sure it was a dare):
Here's my favorite picture of the night, with my favorite person in the world:
And finally, here's one of me and my date (looking like we stepped right out of a magazine). I think this picture was taken to commemorate the fact that we dubbed ourselves "Wedding King and Queen" due to our popularity on the dance floor.
I'm sad that it's over. I wish I could go back and replay the entire weekend (minus the late-night Jager Bombs and pool eviction. But that's definitely another story for another time...)

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Modesty, Schmodesty

I've been feeling a little shitty for several days now. (But just a little. Not enough to keep me from Mafiaoza'sing or Body Sculpting with Daniel.) I just figured that with a little extra sleep last night, I'd be back to my 100% sunny self today.

WRONG. The first thought that ran through my half-awake mind this morning was, "I'm going to track down whoever gave this to me and kick them between the shoulder soon as I muster the energy."

My throat ached, my mouth tasted chalky and my limbs felt heavy. But being the diligent employee that I am, I hauled myself into the shower where I proceeded to lean against the wall and pray for a swift death.

After spending several minutes staring blankly at my computer screen once I got to work, I sucked it up and called my doctor. The receptionist who answered the phone must have taken pity on my croaky voice and promised she'd rush me to the head of the morning wait list.

Upon arrival, she greeted me warmly and told me not to even bother with signing in. Then she asked, "Now when was the last time you've been in?" I sheepishly muttered, "Monday"...but caught myself before adding, "I'm the one that couldn't figure out the gown and flashed Dr. C. I'm sure you probably heard."

A nurse ushered me to an examining room and told me that Dr. C would be with me shortly. Sure enough, it wasn't five minutes before he poked his head in the door and grinned. "Back so soon?"

"Yeah, I figured it was about time I showed you my left boob." (So, I tend to get a little bit snarkier when I don't feel good...)

He threw his head back and laughed. And grinned the entire time he prodded and swabbed me. He then winked at me and chuckled on his way to the lab. (I think I just might have inadvertently rocketed myself to "new favorite patient" status.)

The lab results came back negative for strep, which is good. But I apparently have an ugly throat infection caused by "over exertion." He said the best and quickest thing he could give me was a shot. But at that point, I hardly cared. I just wanted to feel better for this weekend's wedding festivities.

And then he said the dreaded words: "I'll need you to bend over."

So Dr. C has now officially been introduced to both my right boob and right ass cheek.

Hell, at the rate we're going, he'll probably see my full naked self within a week.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Muchas Gracias

I must slow down my constant weeknight revelry. It's gotten a little out of hand. Lately, there's been too many late nights and too many beers consumed. But lawd, has the fun been worth it! (Especially when you now have a story that involves "dough bombs".)

Since today is Tuesday and our regular table for 14 awaits at Mafiaoza' new resolution will have to begin tomorrow. But then Thursday won't count because it's a bachelorette party that can't be missed. So, I guess that leaves Monday then. So sad.

I'm not sure how to go about this, and I don't want to be cheesy, but I just wanted to say a quick thank you for all the "fan" (which is probably not the best word) emails I've received recently about this blog. I'm quite flattered (and very flabbergasted). I really started this as a means for my college friends to keep up with my life, but it seems to have grown from there. I really like to write and it's nice to know that people actually like to read what I've written. Basically, your comments mean a lot...

So keep 'em coming!

Monday, July 17, 2006


Normally, it takes a lot to make me embarrassed. I'm the type that can completely face plant, laugh out loud, and continue on. But strangely, I've had two mortifying moments in the last 24 hours...which might be my all-time record.

1) Yesterday afternoon, I went to the mall in search of the perfect "sexy single girl" dress to wear to a friend's wedding in Birmingham this coming weekend. After stumbling upon THE Dress only 10 minutes into the trip (my date won't know what hit him), I decided to spend some time browsing aimlessly before hitting the gym. I poked around the makeup counters, tried on killer expensive shoes, and on my way out the door, thinking nothing of it, sprayed myself with designer perfume (those "tester" bottles are completely irresistible to me. Free perfume?! Sure!).

After an impromptu gym-change in the car wash (multi-tasking, baby), I arrived at the Green Hills Y completely oblivious to my impending faux pas.

After a solid 10 minutes on the elliptical, I started to REEK. As my skin heated up, my freshly-sprayed perfume literally permeated the air (the only word I can come up with to accurately describe the smell is "cloying"). My eyes literally started to water. And every person within a 10-foot radius started looking around for the culprit--several of them even sneezed. The old man directly next to me figured it out, shot me a dirty look and got off his machine.

Thank goodness my tomato-red face could simply be passed off as "exertion while running".

But it gets worse...

2) I had my first annual physical with my new Nashville doctor this morning (and didn't bother wearing perfume, thank you). It was all going swimmingly--I sailed through the medical history questions, found out I'm actually TALLER than I've been telling people all along--until the nurse told me to change into the flimsy gown. She left me alone in the room with no further instructions...and I struggled. (Which admittedly sounds quite pathetic.)

There were multiple little ties and holes to thread things and it vaguely reminded me of my bathrobe at home. Since no configuration felt quite right, that's ultimately how I decided to put it on.

After 20 more minutes of waiting, the doctor came in and commenced asking more questions. It wasn't long before I noticed that he was a tad flustered. I looked down...and sure enough, my right boob was poking out of the haphazardly-fixed gown.

The next thing out of his mouth was, "Um, yeah...for future reference, we normally recommend that the gown opening is toward the BACK."

Ugh! Now, I know he's a medical professional and has seen thousands of breasts in his lifetime...but I still wanted to crawl under the examining table and die. Because he'd seen MY breast and didn't even HAVE to.

And I'm sure I'll forever be known around the office as "peek-a-boob" or "frontsy" or something equally horrifying.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Summa Summa Summatime

The past week has been an absolute whirlwind of social activity. I guess that's just what summers are like in the big city. There are always things to do, people to see, and patios to drink on.

This week boasted both Mafiaoza's and Thirsty Thursday experiences. Both are quite dear to my heart and to fit them both into a three-day period is ideal. There's nothing quite like being surrounded by friends, sitting outside (possibly yelling) with a beer in your hand. That, my friends, is the quintessential summer experience.

Hopefully the weekend will bring more of the same...

Yesterday, Stella Mae and I met for the first time and I can already tell we're going to be great together.

She lives in a pretty rough neighborhood that I was a little uneasy to drive through (mainly due to the jean short-clad man standing across the street leering at me over his dragon neck tattoo).
But once I found her house and parked my car, my nerves started to settle. As I approached the house, the cutest little blonde girl came flying out of the front door asking if I was her new sister.
Upon confirmation of this fact, her next words were, "You are SO pretty and you have straight hair and I love you already!!"

She had me in the palm of her hand from that moment forward.

Especially when I saw, upon closer inspection, that she'd smeared on pink Bonne Belle lipstick for the occasion.

Her social worker, legal guardian and I went through all the necessary background information (which is quite sad) and signed numerous legal papers...and then I was finally left to visit with Stella Mae by herself. She showed me all her school pictures and oohed over my shoes and asked if I could do her hair like mine. Then she insisted she show me her room (which she's in the process of making more "4th gradish").

At this point, I'd already suspected that we were going to get along famously...when I saw the ultimate sign:

Stella Mae has her very own karaoke machine too.

I think I've found my miniature soulmate.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Sincerest of Apologies

Let me just begin by saying that I sincerely have nothing against Liz Phair glasses-wearing girls. I actually own a pair of said glasses myself. I'm just embarrassed to be seen in them outside the house (or Kroger) because I feel like my face looks monstrously fat. I really have a deep-seeded jealousy for the hip girls (with narrow faces) who rock them proudly.

Sorry to have riled everyone up with my snarkiness. :)

New topic: After an extensive month-long background check process, I've been cleared and finally been assigned a Little Sister...and am THRILLED.

I recently decided that I wanted to do something more with my life than just go to work and hang out with friends. Due to the fact that I absolutely love kids, I decided that getting involved in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program would be the perfect way to give back.

I got the call from the social worker today that they've found my pint-sized "match". Her name is Stella May (freaking cute) and she just turned nine. In her own words, she's "dying to eat buttered popcorn at the movies with me and braid my hair".

I've already compiled a list of fun activities we can do together. Everything from trips to the zoo to skating to movie nights. Maybe even some Dollywood. By the sound of things, she probably has her own personal "to-do" list as well...which means we'll be pretty busy chicas for the next year (so you best get plugged into our social calendars early.)

It's going to be incredible.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Blonde Blogger Extraordinaire

Watch out world, this "blogger" is about to become famous.

Well, sort of.

Yesterday, I got a call from WKRN in Nashville...saying they've read my blog and want to do a TV news story on my "rattlesnake encounter". (Which at first I thought was a huge joke.) I laughed for a bit, then quickly realized the call was legit. They want an on-camera interview at the spot where we found the snake, including all the digital pictures I took that night.

I was so stunned that a) they read my blog and b) they actually wanted to put me on TV that it took me a while to come up with an answer. I finally settled on, "Um...okay..."

I may really regret this. Especially if random people begin stopping me and asking if I'm the "Snake Lady". But it could also be fun and hugely entertaining. It's not every day you get asked to be on TV, after all.

I also got invited to a "Meet & Greet" for a select group of accomplished Nashville bloggers (said in snooty voice) taking place at Wolfy's that very night. Knowing it was probably too much to handle by my lonesome, I drug Godfrey with me.

And it was surprisingly fun. Let's just say it was a very eclectic group of people. Lots of role players, a handful of Elijah Wood look-a-like hipster-writer dudes...and one man in a Darth Vader helmet (I about shot bourbon out of my nose when he arrived).

I couldn't help but feel they were all looking at me like, "Who invited the blonde?" I'm sure a majority of that was in my head...but I definitely stood out like a Tri Delt in a drum line. Which is okay by me. Because at the end of the day, you don't need a pair of Liz Phair glasses and pigtails to write well. Bitches.

First up, TV appearance. Next deal.

Just watch me.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Not for the Faint of Heart

Let me preface this by saying I have mixed feelings about this post. Because I know it'll paint me as a beer chugging, wrasslin' watching redneck (which is the farthest thing from the truth).

With that being said, I killed and skinned a rattlesnake yesterday.

Yes, you read that right. There's nothing like celebrating America's birth with a little wild game hunting.

This activity wasn't exactly planned. I went out to my aunt's farm for an impromptu 4th of July cookout...and stumbled upon this vile creature behind the barn. And had no choice but to smash it with a shovel.
After my panicky, light-headed feeling subsided, my granddad and I took it back to the house to show everybody. Amid screams of revulsion, my aunt proclaimed she wanted to save it's skin (for what purpose, I'm still not sure).

In a complete out-of-body experience, I heard myself say that I'd try my hand at it. Nothing like putting your big girl panties on and facing your fears, right?

Lucky for you, I have pictures of the entire process (and they're quite a cross between Jack Hannah's Wild Kingdom and The Beverly Hillbillies if I do say so myself.)

Here I am, getting prepped for surgery. (Don't let the manic expression on my face fool you. My body is having a hard time deciding whether to hyperventilate or vomit or both.)
Here's what the inside of a snake looks like. (It was about ten seconds after this picture was taken that I hit some kind of nerve and the dead thing reflexively curled up...and I high-tailed it off the porch, screaming at the top of my lungs. Because big girl panties aren't completely scare-proof.)
Here's my precious granddad and me nearing the end of the process. THIS manic look is due sheerly to the fact that we're almost done and I haven't died, wet myself or both.
Ta-da! Here's what a snake's skin looks like sans snake:
Pretty impressive, huh? I'm thinking of getting business cards made to read "Rattlesnake Skinner Extraordinaire" or even "G.R.I.T.S. Badass".

So, okay. I have a streak of pure "neck" in me. I can already feel the jokes forming. Let me also say that I accomplished this task with freshly manicured hands, wearing pearl earrings and J. Crew flip-flops.

Because despite the Ole Miss sorority influence, my East Tennessee roots run DEEP.