Graber

That bitch Graber moved to Omaha. (I know, right?)


We met up for drinks on the beach 10 days ago (well, Sopko and I did. Graber is eleventy months preggars and couldn't partake). We said goodbye on the boardwalk.

I cried, surprising everyone. I'm not a crier, not in my own home and definitely not in a public place. Most people think I don't have feelings.

But I do, and I expressed them, and it was okay, because it was sad.

I met Graber almost eight years ago, the day I stepped foot onto the campus of WMS. She was the resident expert on all things speech and language, and I was the resident expert on all things tequila. We became fast friends.

Graber became a regular hiking/stepping/walking buddy. We would go on long walks at least once a week where we would talk about everything girls talk about (read: gossip).

Then she had to go and get hitched to a Navy officer, who got transferred to Nebraska. They bought a house by a cornfield and got pregnant, because I guess that's what you do in Nebraska.

The thing I will miss the most about Graber is how she would always tell it to me straight. She was not one to mince words, even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. (Coincidentally, this is also the thing I miss the least about Graber).

She has not been gone long, but the void she left is big. She was my responsible friend, the one who started planning her wedding the day she got engaged (I didn't start planning mine...well, ever. My sister did it all for me). She changed her name at the DMV right away (yeah, don't ask me about that, either). She had return address labels made for her new address in Omaha before she even moved (I still have mail sent to the house I lived in a year ago).

Who will I turn to for guidance? Who will I ask to pray for me (she's fiercely Catholic and I'm almost positive she has a direct line to God)?

And, most importantly, who will walk the lake with me and tell me all the things I don't want to hear but need, anyway?

Graber, I miss you, bitch. Troy (husband of Graber), you are dead to me until you bring her back.

Life Sucks and You Deal With It. Or Do Drugs.

Let's talk about the ways in which I'm not loving life right now.

1. Not loving the sinusitis that has settled in. WTF, I thought I was over that period of my life.

2. Not loving that work is sucking the life out of me, leaving me with very little energy when I get home in the evening. I even skipped Paco Tuesday last night, so you know it's serious.

3. Not loving that my beloved Chargers have a losing record this year. Seriously?

4. Not loving that the SD real estate market is not producing my dream house in the neighborhood I want for the price I want.

I guess I need a The Secret intervention. Normally I would turn to Graber at a time like this, but that bitch is far too wrapped up in her man and his immanent deployment to Iraq.

So, anyway......here, I'm going to turn these into positive statements.

1. Being sick means I can take Nyquil at night. It's like crack to me, which, loosely translated, means my house is sickeningly clean and my pants are getting looser. Whoever said crack is whack had obviously never tried it.

2. Work sucking the life out of me just gives me an excuse to be lazy at night, and Scott feels bad so he makes me dinner and cleans. Some might call this manipulation, I call it wisdom.

3. The good news is, should I ever fall off the Charger bandwagon, I've got a new team picked out. I've chosen the Baltimore Ravens purely because I think the QB, Joe Flacco, and I would make pretty babies. Kurt Warner is sooo last year.

4. The San Diego real estate market WILL produce the house I want, or it will be dead to me. Which may or may not mean I'd consider moving back to Utah.

Anyway. Settling into my routine of life is kind of an issue for me right now. If anyone knows of any tricks to help me get through this (read: know a good dealer?), please let me know ASAP.

Suddenly, I Give a What

Graber.  That bitch must die.

I thought she was all innocent with her sweet little "Hey, Kel, I'm going (wedding) dress shopping this Saturday.  Do you want to come with me?  I really want your opinion."

I rolled my eyes but agreed to go, mostly so she'd shut up, but also because she offered to buy me lunch.  

Now, in case you don't know, I already bought a cheap wedding dress online.  It's casual, you know, for that casual beach wedding that I haven't been planning.

Turns out, Graber had an evil agenda.  That bitch got me to care.

Now, instead of laughing and waving off questions about when/where my wedding will take place, I HAVE ANSWERS.

This is disturbing.

I've become that girl.  I now have visions of myself in the most perfect dress ever known to mankind (now if you all could send me, like a million bucks so I can pay for it, that would be swell).  I have visions of getting married in the mountains of Utah during the fall.  I've even decided on what champagne I'll be drinking.

I'm as good as doomed.

And it's all because that bitch forced me to try on dresses with her.  And, suddenly, I want the fairy tale.  I want to be all princessy and shit for a night.

But....can someone please tell my fairy godmother that I need help?  Because I'm not sure she got the memo, and ain't no way this bitch is doing it on her own.

Also, if you see Graber on the street, don't be afraid to cut her. I'm pretty sure that'll teach her to make me care about my life.  AND ensure that I'm the prettier out of the two of us on our wedding day.  

K, thanks.  Bye.

Bride Wards Part Deux

Obviously I can't really steal Graber's identity.  Sure, she has a nicer house, her legs are much less cellulite-y and she has that great car, but I would miss my clothes too much.  And maybe Scott, depending on the day.   So now, I have a new plan.

To win the lottery.

Then I can hire someone to take care of all the wedding crap for me.

Because the fact is, I need to start figuring it all out. Call it my competitive nature or whatever, but Graber is a catalyst for making me realize I have to take the bull by the balls and plan a GD wedding.

Um, she's already emailing people and making phone calls. This bitch has no life (obvs).

I've been thinking really hard about what I want my wedding to look like. And everyone knows that thinking is the first step. Since I'm already on step one and, really, how many steps can there be, I'm practically done planning and should probably just relax for a while. You know, unwind from the stress of it all.

Now who's bringing the margaritas?

Bride Wars

Since I've returned to San Diego, I've come up with an evil plot to destroy the world. Or at least the life of one of my friends.

That bitch Graber is engaged, and I volunteered myself to cruise around with her to look at different venues for her wedding.

Let's review for a second: she's been engaged since Friday, has already set a date, reserved a church, and is looking for a reception venue.

I've been engaged since 1985 and am pretty sure I forgot to tell my parents.

I would feel like a failure, but I'm too busy feeling like a genius.

Because I'm not really venue shopping with Graber to be a supportive friend. I'm venue shopping with her to ensure that she has everything in place for her wedding.

And then I'm going to steal her identity.

This way, I don't have to pay for or plan shit. She'll do it all.

And the best part of all is she's too gaga in love and blinded by the blingiest ring known to mankind (whore!) to suspect anything.

I win.

Whether You Want It Or Not, Once A Year It Comes, Anyway....

My birthday. Despite fervent wishing to the contrary, it happened this year. And I'm over it. I don't want to officially be "in my 30's", but I am. Life just keeps on going, like it or not.

I did, however, have a fantastic birthweek. Which started on Saturday with Scott's gift to me. The gift was the computer, not Twitter. I already have one of those.



Scott also took me to a romantical seafood dinner, after which we were too stuffed to be romantic. But crab legs are a close second. So the night was not a complete failure.

Then, there was the barbeque Sunday night. Of which I took no pictures, because, let's face it, no one wants to see me after I've downed a Margarita. Or five.

Anyway, Graber came over and gave me this:



A gift certificate. Just in time to sucker me into the "Semi-Annual Sale." "Sale" being code for "You'll be able to buy at least 2 bra and panty sets with only half (as opposed to 3/4) of your monthly paycheck."

Bastards. Rich bastards. Who the hell is Victoria, anyway? And, let's face it. That bitch exposed all of her "secrets" long, long ago.

Anyway. Then, as though downing a gajillion margaritas and eating homemade blackberry pie with ice cream (Thanks, Neighbors!) on Sunday night weren't enough, Graber brought cupcakes to 5th period on Monday.

This is what I like to call the crazy teacher look:



Oh yeah, I'm hot.

Sopko, of course, pulled through with a fabulous gift:



The state of California (represent!) even weighed in, granting me the first day of state testing, which is code for complete, blissful silence in my classroom for the first 3 hours of the day. My only responsibility is making sure the bubbles are filled in completely. Which is a lot harder than it seems.

At least if you had a few too many margaritas the night before......

After a long parent meeting and receiving word of a colleague's passing, I finally arrived home, spent.

If being in my 30's has taught be anything, it's that I can't roll like I used to. A weekend of drinking and sinful eating took it's toll.

Nonetheless, on my birthday, I feel as though there are no consequences, so there was no need to go to the gym. Additionally, there was no need for feeling guilt at having this for dinner:



Yes, that's homemade fry sauce. And yes, I really ate McDonald's for my birthday dinner. I NEVER eat fast food, so this was a once-in-a-year treat. Because sometimes you just need to eat something completely disgusting.

And sometimes, you just need to pretend that you can still down 2 cheeseburgers, fries, and a beer without having your ass automatically grow 4.5 inches.

30-something-year-old metabolism can suck it.

I'm off to the gym. For, like the next 5 hours. Hope my sweat pants still fit.

Peace.

Fashion Friday--The Trivia Edition

Even though Memorial Day has not passed and technically it's still Spring, I think I already have a favorite outfit for this summer:

That's my friend, Graber. We unknowingly wore the same color to a barbeque. And I promise I'm not that much shorter than she is. It's just the angle...and her heels....and the fact that I'm short.

Anyway.

A group of my friends do a weekly Friday trivia bit, and I volunteered to make up the quiz this week. Mostly because I am usually the loser every week and I wanted to prove that I do, indeed, know some random, useless facts.

So, feel free to try your answers in the comments section!

This is all about farming:

1. The Egyptians believed that this God, the God of agriculture, taught humans how to make beer.

2. Name the three plant species that account for most of the world's caloric intake

3. What percent of the U.S. domestic product comes from agriculture?

4. This farm animal's orgasm lasts 30 minutes.

5. Other than fruit, what is the only other natural food that is made without destroying any kind of life?

6. When a female horse and a male donkey mate, the offspring is called a ______________. When a male horse and female donkey mate, ithe offspring is called a ________________

7. The sound this animal makes cannot echo, and no one knows why.

8. The placement of a donkey's eyes in its head allows it to what?

9. Name as many types of farm equipment you can think of, as well as their function.

10. Name as many manufacturors of farm equipement:

Love of My Life

Dude.

I'm in love.

With eggplant.

I don't know what eggplant really is (vegetable?) except delicious. This has been my dinner for the past 3 nights:



So my evil plan to just jump back into my workout routine didn't really work. Apparently, my injury was a little more serious that I realized. Apparently, I can't just up and run 5 miles anymore. Nor can I do the rigorous weight-training I did.

I'm already heartbroken about the push-ups thing.

And now my feet can't hit the pavement like they want to.

It's very sad.

Thank God I'm going on a mountain-biking camping trip this weekend.

Let's hope I can relax enough from this stressful week and the one coming up to enjoy it.

Not to mention my turning officially "into" my 30's.

Normally at a time like this I'd be anxiety-central. Now, however, I'm trying this whole Positive Thinking as my God thing. Aided, of course, my my own The Secret guru, Graber.

Peace be with me.

I need it.....