Bon Anniversaire!

My sister E over at the heyday diaries is singing that title to herself right now.  (You're welcome!)

Today's entry in the gratitude journal:  my favorite pic of us.  My friend A caught it on the sly on a double date night.  Who knew she had such a photographer's eye?!

Happy first anniversary, J.  *smooooch!*

Like high school English, but with more drinking and less reading.

Okay, so:  Book Club.

I do a lot of cool things, but BC is by far one of my favorites.  Easily in the Top 5.  It started out innocently enough, when my awesome friend A back in the hometown got tired of waiting months and months between girls' nights out.  She had always wanted to be in a book club, so she figured she'd start one herself, cajole some girlfriends into "joining" and see where it took them.

Problem is, we're all busy chicks.  Jobs and boyfriends and husbands and kids and tons of other demands on our time... who the hell has time to read?

So A compromised and said all right, we'll just read the trashy celebrity gossip rags.  It's stuff we'd be reading anyway, she thought; why don't we trade the magazines around and boom, now I've just saved you all about ten bucks in grocery store checkout line.

That was August of 2008.  I think we stuck to the original "format" once.

After that, it just sort of evolved into the awesomeness that it is today.  We meet once a month (usually on the third Thursday, but we're flexible) and a different girl hosts each time.  It's been as simple as drinks and dinner, but we've also done Saturday morning brunch (with an intense Bloody Mary bar) and sex toy parties and purse parties and trips to the winery and all kinds of fun stuff.

One of our best moments was "Book Club Gives Back" in November:  we gathered up enough stuff to make two dozen "care packages" for the Battered Women's Shelter, with toiletries and some pampering items, and some packages for their children as well.  A has a 16-month-old daughter, Little C, and she suggested adding the kids to the project because "as a mom, [she] couldn't imagine not being able to give [them] a Christmas."  (A is about to be honored as Volunteer of the Year through an organization she helps; easy to see why, huh?)

The December meeting is everyone's favorite.  We pack ourselves into a couple cars and take a Christmas shopping road trip, complete with slumber party in a hotel suite, pedicures and cupcakes and a LOT of champagne.

The dynamic nature is what makes it so cool.  There are a handful of "regulars" who never miss a month, but you can always bring new girls with you - they're only newbies for about half an hour anyway!

What's more important is the fact that we commit to getting together once a month, no matter what.  It's easy to say "I'm busy, I'm tired, I have too much else going on," and we'll grant you a pass when you really need one.  The truth is, though, we need each other just as much as we need the boyfriends/husbands/kids/jobs/etc.  Sometimes the only thing that will keep you off the ledge is a bottle of red (each) and a fantastic session of venting and giggling!

Then why even call it a book club?

Ahhh, the name is one of the key elements!  Because this way, we can talk about it in front of the guys or in front of our non-cool coworkers and acquaintances and they say "yeeuuuughhhhh, no thanks, have fun with that one." 

Oh, and because it gives us justification for drinking in the morning (I love you, brunch!). 

When I moved, I knew I'd miss my little group more than I could tell them... so I've started an annex here.  Our second meeting is next week; I'm sure the Columbus chapter will be featured here more often as time goes by!

I snooze, you lose

There is something SO satisfying about getting to sleep in on a weekday.  

Weekends too, yeah, but everybody gets to do that.  I'm talking about a random day in the middle of the week where you, just you, get to lounge around for a little bit longer than the rest of the worker bees. 

My office hours are usually the typical 8-to-5 buzz, but twice a week I get to come in late, and those two days are the highlights of my work week.  Wednesdays start at 9, and Thursdays - glorious Thursdays! - don't start until 11.  I've thought about running errands during that time:  the bank, the post office, dare I say a trip to the gym?  But I always end up snuggling down into the covers while J shuffles around, grumbling at his alarm clock.  

...and I'm not even sorry.

 You and me both, sister.

One girl's resolution*

I've been a card-carrying member of Weight Watchers for longer than I care to admit, and yet I've still never quite made it to "Lifetime Member" status (WW code for "free").  During the holidays, with the stress of moving added onto an already-busy social season, counting calories - Points, to those of us in the know - was the last thing on my mind.

One of the first things I did after unpacking my overnight bag was to recommit to getting there "for real this time."  I make my New Year's resolutions in September, with the start of the school year, but there's no denying that something about this approach smacks of resolutionary status.

Somehow, though, this time feels different.  I don't have a major life event that I'm using as a deadline for dropping the pounds; sure, my ten-year college reunion is this summer, but I'm more or less the same size now that I was back then.

Side note:  "back then??"  That's odd.  Surely, I can't have been out of undergrad for a decade already, as I haven't aged a day!

It just... means more.  Maybe it's that I want it more now; maybe it's that I'm finally ready to see it through.  Whatever.  Time for a little more of this: 

 

and a little less of this:

So I've spent the past week resurrecting my personal weight management site.  (WOW, does that sound lame.)  It's my way of holding myself accountable and of preparing to meet my goal of eventually leading Weight Watchers meetings. It's also a way to keep it off my blog and in its own separate, distinguishable place.

So what's on it?  

My master shopping list, where I name product brands and don't just call it "reduced fat popcorn" or whatever.  Specifics!

Some bits of wisdom I've picked up through the course of my Battle of the Bulge.

A cheat sheet list of favorite easy and low-cal snacks.

And RECIPES!  A ton of them, with more to come... and all them have been tested, usually on an unsuspecting J.  Best part?  The people I've cooked for have had no idea they've been eating WW-sanctioned recipes.

Feel free to check me out over at On The Weigh.... 

*With apologies to Superchick.

Why Rachel should seek help: Exhibit C.

"Well, the end table is wrong, the couch looks bizarre and don't even get me started on the refrigerator magnets."

"If I want something done right, I have to do it myself.  Other people just wreck stuff! ...I really think I might kill someone tonight."

 - Courteney Cox as Monica Geller, Friends, "The One Where Phoebe Runs"

So, the move this weekend.  

First of all, I'm going on record to say that I will never, ever again attempt to move on my own.  The movers met me at the condo at 8:30 Saturday morning, gratefully accepted the proffered Krispy Kremes, loaded up all my furniture and hit the road.

A brief 90 minutes later, I was signing the "job complete" contract and sending them along their merry way.  You can't put a price on that kind of speed.

But lifting and hauling a king-size bed, dressers and a full living room set?  That was the easy part compared to what lies before me now.

Dude:  I HATE moving.  I'm seriously contemplating burning all my stuff and just buying new the next time I have to uproot myself.  It would be a lot more expensive, for sure, but what I'd spend on kitchen items and linens would save me a bundle in OTC sedatives.

The boxes are beating me.  

I had to put myself in time-out on Saturday afternoon for a nap, after the project of reattaching feet to the couch almost had me in tears.  J sweetly suggested that I wait for him to help me but NO I CAN DO IT MYSELF AND I WANT IT DONE NOW AND I JUST... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
 

I love you, naptime.

I'm sure you can tell that I'm exaggerating just a tiny bit.  The nap did wonders for my morale; I only had to rearrange the living room four times to get it exactly the way I want it, and now that I'm almost completely settled in, the place is starting to look and feel like home.  Which was really the whole idea to begin with, so... point Cbus. 

Well played.

Rach on the move

It's finally upon us (well, me):  the movers are coming tomorrow.  There is snow in the forecast, but not until Sunday night, so I'm go for launch to have all my shit under one roof again. 

FINALLY.

After driving a 14-foot U-Haul truck up and down I-71 in the snow on New Year's weekend, there was no way in hell I was going to put myself (and J, and my friends) through that again.  Not this soon, anyway.  I like J and I want him to keep liking me.  Ditto my friends, who were sweet enough to help me load and unload, with only a few beers and some wings and ribs for payment.  

 

Just kidding J, I love you AND your video games.

All the manageable boxes are accounted for; I've been moving a bit at a time for the last ten days so the kitchen is complete and my closet is neatly organized (with clothes hanging first in category and then in color order).  I just don't have the physical strength to move a king bed, a dresser and cedar chest, and my entire living room set on my own... to say nothing of the emotional fortitude it would require.  The last effort?  Nearly broke my spirit.

But not a moment too soon, since next week I'm hosting the February meeting of my book club!

...which is a whole new post in itself.  Cliffhanger!  Stay warm this weekend, kids; cross your fingers for another snow day for me on Monday so I can stay home, unpack and get to that spring cleaning!

 

Board game FAIL.

A slightly un-American post.

I kind of hate the Olympics.

I mean, sure:  Rah rah!  U.S.A!  America, F*** Yeah!  

But also:  quit hogging my TV, dude.

I know part of it is that I'm just sick to death of the snow.  Sorry athletes, but I am just completely. burnt. out. on winter right now.  Come back in four years.  (Heh.) 

Ironic, isn't it, that February is the shortest month, and yet somehow these 16 days feel like an eternity?  I can't remember the last time I turned on the TV and wasn't blinded by the glare of sun on snow... or is it the strobe light-like effect of a zillion camera flashes aimed at Johnny Weir's costume?

Then there's pairs figure skating.  I caught some of it over the weekend and I swear to you, at least one person in every. last. couple. TOTALLY BIT IT.  

Can you imagine?  Train your ass off, fall a whole lot, skate skate skate, sweat sweat sweat, skate some more, fall some more, skate AGAIN... and then your D.B. (Sweeney!) partner falls?

HELL no.  He'd be staring down the barrel of a tantrum of epic proportions.  The whole world just watched you biff it for me... it's going to be a long flight home, sweetie.

 

"I swear, you let me down and it'll take them a month to count the blade marks up your back." 

(FYI, that's one of my favorite movies.  "Yes, Doug can read."  Classic snark!)

Really, I think I just have a hard time getting all fired up over how fast people can slide down a hill on their stomachs in this kind of weather ON PURPOSE.  Sure, those guys do it and it's monumental!  Hooray!  Here's a medal! 

 

But then I do it, and people think I'm drunk again.

Hrmph.  

P.S. don't report me as a terror threat.  And for the love of relationship harmony, please don't tell J.  Actually that's probably more important.

 *EDITED TO ADD:  I must admit to a slight weird crush-like fascination with Shaun White.  That dude just looks... snuggly.

Unoriginal sin.

It never fails:  every year in mid-February, when a bunch of us are out walking around with sooty thumbprints on our foreheads, someone will go all Helpy Helperson on us.

"Dude?  You got something on your face."

I KNOW.  Thirteen years of Catholic school wouldn't let me NOT get smudged today.

But then it made me think of the epic battle of dirt vs. clean... and then BOOM, there you have it, this week's little indulgence.

Is it weird that I like to clean?  Spring cleaning is one of my guilty pleasures FOR.SURE.  When I moved to this fair city, I brought an entire carload* of cleaning supplies:  Windex and Clorox wipes and a Swiffer WetJet and a vacuum cleaner and two kinds of Pledge and countertop cleaner from Williams-Sonoma and those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and more, so much more.  J was like "um, OCD much?"

Well, not officially, no, but man, do I love me some clean.  The scent of a gleaming kitchen, and the way sunlight shines on a polished-smooth coffee table?  Awesome.  

Maybe I can combine my newfound magic power and my love for the smell of Cinch and see if we can get rid of some of this snow...

 To the face!  Take THAT dirt and snow!

*a 2000 Honda CR-V EX, to be precise... or "the sweet sweet Curve" as it is more commonly known

Every little thing I do is magic!

WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?

It totally worked.  Half a dozen ice cubes, flushed right down, plus one long-sleeved Cleveland Browns t-shirt worn backwards equals a free day off work, bitches!

My university has that text-alert system that lets subscribers know of any special developments:  parking bans, bomb threats... snow days...

I woke up to my alarm at 5:30 this morning and checked my phone immediately:  no text.  I'll let you imagine the grumbling and crankiness that ensued.  Six minutes later, I got the all-clear to go back to bed in the form of a text message telling me they'd decided to open at noon.  Good enough for that early in the morning!

Got up four hours later and shuffled around the apartment, pouting about having to get "work dressed" and drive in the cold to the office for a half day of nothing to do... and just as I was about to stop with the pouting and start getting ready, the beautiful tones of the little bing-bong text message alert sounded, telling me to take a load off and stay put for the day.

Apparently I have magic powers.  Anything you want me to work on for you?

Eat it, winter.

The university closed early again today.  I got sent home at 2... and I pulled into the parking lot at J's place at 4.  

They're 15 miles apart.

Much like the rest of the Midwest and the Eastern seaboard, our fair state's capital has been getting hosed with snow this year.  My life is about one log cabin and a pot of beans away from turning into Little House on the Freakin' Prairie.  (Book six, The Long Winter, is my second favorite in the series, but damn it, I don't want to BE Laura Ingalls!)

This chapter in our snow story may be the worst yet this winter, but the silver lining is that it might lead to a snow day tomorrow.  They told us to wrap up our Monday itineraries before we left... and to reschedule any Tuesday meetings or appointments... you know, just in case.  

Well, hell.  Don't dangle a carrot like that unless you mean it!

With the prospect of a snow day looming, I have to confess that the two hour drive home was complicated by a stop at the only Whole Foods in Columbus.  In my defense, though, it's walking distance from J's place, and if this keeps up and we get snowed in, we're going to need supplies!  

I went into the store, and it was snowing.  

I came out 20 minutes later (and X dollars poorer), had to scrape ice off my windows, and it was snowing.

J and I sat down to watch a marathon of Pawn Stars on The History Channel almost three hours ago, fortified with adult beverages and some bacon-cheese popcorn, and it was snowing.  

A pot of my awesome "patate del paesano" has been simmering for about two episodes.  The house smells incredible, J just poured me a second glass of shiraz... and it's still snowing.

Fingers crossed!  I'm going to invoke the third-grade prescription for getting a snow day tonight:  flushing ice cubes down the toilet and wearing my jammies backwards.  Stay tuned to see if it works!

Putting it out there

Heh.

Nah, not that kind of putting out.  (I mean, it's Valentine's Day and all, but come on.)  I mean the kind where I get all brave and resume the website I created a few years back, about fitness, health, weight loss and my Weight Watchers chronicles.

There's a lot of clean-up to be done, but I'll have some time this weekend to work on it.  Watch this space for the grand unveiling!

Have a great weekend, kids!  Hope you get something lovely for Valentine's Day!  (We had a double date at Chili's tonight... it was like being in high school all over again, and it was awesome.)

A Day in the Life of Love.

That's the tagline for the movie Valentine's Day, opening tomorrow.  

Good, isn't it.  Makes me wish I'd thought of it.

Anyway.  The weekend is upon us:  time for roses and heart-shaped EVERYTHINGS and champagne (who are we kidding, it's always time for that).  Also time for the inevitable whining and complaining and bitter diatribes from the recently dumped and the perpetually single.

I have a friend who always says that she won the husband lottery; I LOVE that metaphor!  I have totally won the lottery with J - he's the best valentine ever.  But that's not the point.  I have loved this holiday for as long as I can remember, and not because of a boyfriend or a Whitman's Sampler or a big ol' carnival-style white teddy bear.  I didn't really start dating till I hit college (although that didn't stop me from going to four senior proms, HEY-OHHHH!) so it's not like I'm building my perceptions of the day on a game of M.A.S.H.  

The thing is, if you're lucky enough to have love in your life, celebrate it.  It could be your parents.  Or your "significant other."  Or your best friend.  Or your dog, for God's sake.  The shape it takes isn't important.  What is important is that you know what it is to care about another creature, and that you get that same in return.   

Yes, in a perfect world, we'd all celebrate it every day, and we wouldn't need a day set aside to remind us to appreciate what we have.  Absolutely.  No argument here.

But how nice that the day does exist.  I don't know about you, but when J is playing video games until two in the morning for the fourth time in a week, a little reminder that I love the guy doesn't hurt. 

This Valentine's Day, ignore the ones who gnash their teeth and rail against the "Hallmark holiday"... and delight in the fact that you know what it is to love. 

"Later that day I got to thinking about relationships.  There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back.  But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. 

"And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."

- Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), Sex and the City

 

mmmm...Sampler.

P.S.  A very special birthday wish to one of the stars of Valentine's Day:  Taylor Lautner turned 18 today, which means I am no longer a creeper, I'm just a cougar.  Meeee-yow, bitches!

Coffee and a hurts-donut* please.

Donut shop coffee is like my personal Kryptonite.  I can't say no to it.  I'm not even in it for the donuts as much as I am the little paper cup with the pop-top plastic lid.

 

Oh Krispy Kreme.  I love you too.

Not all fast food coffee is created equal.  McDonald's is always a little too oily for my taste; Burger King's offering tastes burnt; Starbucks is just OKAY, given that it's overpriced and way too full of itself.  But a cup from Dunkin' Donuts, or Tim Hortons, or (my holy grail) Krispy Kreme?  Yum.

Most of the time I don't even want the donut; I think the coffee just tastes better because it comes with that deliciously yeasty, glazey smell.  Thank God smells don't have calories or I'd be a hundred pounds heavier.

Judgment-free indulgence, right this way!

*(punch) Hurts, don't it? 

Give it a rest, Rach.

I got another snow day today!  The university held out till 3:00, but the roads were getting worse and the snow just kept falling, so The Powers That Be convened an emergency meeting and decided to let us all go home.

It wasn't really a surprise.  My 15-mile commute took 90 minutes this morning, and I was one of the ones who had it easy.

The point is, though, that my first thought wasn't "freebie long evening, ahhhhhh!"  It was "holy crap!  Two extra hours to get a ton of stuff done tonight!"

Commute forgotten, Level 1 Snow Emergency be damned, I'm going to get some moving and unpacking done!  Watch out, new apartment; you don't even know what's coming!  

And then J was my reality check.  

"Rach:  the roads are ten times worse than they were this morning.  The boxes will still be there this weekend."

What my car would have looked like if I had had to work a full day.

Hrmph.  That guy is right, like, all the time.  

So I left the office, picked up a bottle of Shiraz (for me), a six-pack of Conway's Irish Ale (for J and his brother who's visiting), a little pot of broccoli cheddar soup and a loaf of crusty bread... and I've been sitting on the couch since 4:37.

What's cool is that today goes right along with yesterday's entry.  I make lists, an average of two or three a day.  My day planner might as well be my bible.  It stands to reason, then, that sometimes I need a little help shutting off that part of my life and just... being.  I'm writing this from J's couch (because I haven't moved mine yet, duh!) in a sweatshirt and yoga pants; he just got up to pour me a second glass.  He and his brother S and I are plotting out the evening's TV selections and trying to decide between Xbox or PS3 in the meantime.

I know exactly what's going in the gratitude journal tonight.  

You're so pretty when you're quiet.

I used to write a lot.  A lot.  I was in creative writing competitions in middle school; in high school, I kept a journal on a 3.5" disk that I carried everywhere; I created a website one of my first college classes.  I even hounded my favorite professor to let me into his classes when they were overbooked.  One was a reviewing class for budding theater and film critics.  

Movies and telling people what I think?  I like both those things!

Somehow, though, I let it get away from me.  I was too busy, or there were reruns of Friends on (again), or I just couldn't think of anything "good" to write about.  I have dozens of blank notebooks and journals with just five or six pages filled.

This blog is part of a renewed effort to get back into it.  I'm tickled that you're reading! ...but even if I were out here on the interwebs alone, I'd still delight in each entry.  

The second part of that effort is something called a gratitude journal.  Oprah has talked about the concept on several occasions.  Sarah Ban Breathnach, author of Simple Abundance, places great emphasis on using gratitude to find your "authentic self."  

I love that word:  authentic.  Real, true, genuine.  

So I've started one.  I bought a pretty blank book (#417, I think) and I have it sitting right out on my nightstand with the clock and my glasses and the omnipresent water glass, where I can see it every night before I go to bed.

It started out simple enough; I just wanted to keep some quick daily notes on the things that make my life more beautiful.  In the short time I've been logging them, though, I've discovered that it's given me one more thing to savor:  five minutes of quiet every day! 

Just making myself sit still for a hot minute is something worth noting.  I'm one of those morning people who is go-go-go from the moment my feet hit the floor... but at night, when I'm clocking out on the day, that split second of quiet is priceless.

(And yes, today's title is something J says every now and then... right before he ducks the punch I throw at him.)

Drive me to drink, indeed.

So, there's a big ol' storm ragin'.  Specifically, central Ohio is expected to get 8-10 inches (...heh) of snow overnight, and a total closer to 14-18 inches (..heh, again) by lunchtime Sunday. 

I'm fine with it.  I'm from northeast Ohio, damn it:  the buckle of the Snow Belt!  We love this shit!  I went to Target the other night in a hoodie sweatshirt and a pair of running shorts and got that look from the other shoppers.  

Oh yeah, other shoppers?  It's 40 degrees out, not 15 below, and it's not currently snowing/sleeting/wintry-mixing (note to Sarah, "wintry mix" is proof that God wants to test humanity), and anyway it takes 92 seconds to walk from the car into the store, so relax. 

 

But it's not the shoppers that get under my skin.

It's the drivers.  

Or, as I am about to experience again, the drivers who live in perpetual fear of winter weather. 

For some illogical, unexplainable reason, the good people of Columbus, Ohio, just cannot seem to get their heads around winter driving.  We're stationed close to the center of a Midwestern state, and yet, judging by the reaction of 90% of the driving population in the area, you would think this was Key West.  

Hey, folks?  We do this every year.  That crazy white stuff you see falling from the sky is just really cold water.  You know what this month is?  That's right, February.  It's part of winter.  You may have heard of winter; it's the stretch of the year from around Halloween to Easter-ish (or Passover, for our token Jewish friends. Shalom).  You know how we're always touting Midwestern living, saying how we couldn't move anywhere else because we'd miss the change of all four seasons?  Yeah.  Winter is one of those.   

The silver lining to the impending city-wide freakout is that the university I work for has decided to close at 3 p.m.  T-minus 13 minutes to the weekend, y'all!

(I figure if we're going to act like this is the Deep South, I'm gonna play my southern family ties card and drop a y'all here and there.)

Now, THIS is worth a freakout of epic proportions.

Baaaaa!!

OK.  MODG started something here.  Sarah jumped on it and Jenni was right behind her... not since my days at an all-girls' high school have I so keenly felt the effects of peer pressure.  (Don't worry, kids:  high school is a post for another day.)

Here we go:

 

Paula Deen!?

*deep breath*

OK.  Let's give it one more shot.

I hate you Internet.


FYI:  I just said that out loud and J said "YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW." 

Although it IS kind of cool to be associated with DJ Tanner.  Remember the one when she starved herself and worked out like a maniac because Kathy Santoni was "sooooo pretty"!?  

Yeah.  I went there.

The one thing that sort of redeems this whole project is this one...

 

Ha haaa!! J, you look like Ross!  And Dawson!  What a buncha d-bags.

Shut up ladies, he's MY d-bag.

Wanna try it?  Upload a pic and go nuts.

Guilty as charged, bitches!

Humpity hump hump hump!!  *snort*

Shhhh... hear that?  It's the weekly test of the emergency alert siren!  The one in my hometown only fires up on the first Wednesday of every month, but the one in this fair city is EVERY WEDNESDAY BY GOD, lest we all be caught unawares...

I'm all right with it, if only because it means lunch hour on the third day of the work week = exactly halfway to the weekend!

So it's time once again for Guilty Pleasure Wednesday:  the safe space for airing those things you refuse to be sorry for!

Last week I copped to loving reality TV; this week is a variation on the same. 

J and I looooove us some Biggest Loser... but what I love most about it is that Tuesday night means takeout or Ben & Jerry's on the couch while we watch it.  Sometimes both. I spend the rest of my week trying to watch what goes into my mouth, trying to work out (and usually failing), all that healthy skinny jazz.  But then our Tuesday date night rolls around, and HELL YEAH, J and I are sitting side by side on the couch, talking with our mouths full and feeling better about ourselves by the minute.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Time to admit to those shameless little indulgences....

Neverending Story III: Rachel vs. the Baby

Remember this little nugget?

Falcor:  I like children.

Atreyu:  ...for breakfast??

Falcor:  BWAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA

Mmmmm... tastes like chicken.

The world welcomed another little peanut yesterday morning:  new little baby cousin L is finally here, almost two weeks late to his own birth and weighing in at ten-plus pounds.  Aw!!  Just like his cousin Rachel... almost 32 whole years ago.  (Seriously kid, I'm the oldest of the grandchildren.  I am the original "been there, done that" in this family.)

Just kidding (well, sort of).  He is, of course, amazing!  So sweet and cuddly-looking and with tons of personality already; not that I expected anything less.  I won't get to see him till this weekend, but you better believe I have a bunch of fun little baby gifts all lined up already; this one is my favorite.  Also briefly considered this one one for my aunt and uncle, until I realized they are way too mature for such a gift.  

I might get it for myself, though.  Can't hurt to be prepared. 

I've entered that life phase now where bachelorette parties and drunk dials have been replaced with baby showers and calls home to the sitter.  Tons of my friends have kids already, and the ones that don't are starting to think about it.  If you're one of them:  congratulations (and for the love of God, don't ever use the phrase "we're trying" in conversation with me)!

I looooooove being Aunt Rach to my girlfriends' babies and Fun Cousin Rach to the family munchkins.  Perfect example:  A has a 15-month-old daughter who is a RIOT.  Before I moved, one of my absolute favorite things to do was to fake a sick day to have a playdate with the two of them.  Yes, really!  We'd spend a few hours playing with her toys and reading books, and when Little C crashed for a nap, A and I would park ourselves on her big squashy couch to catch up over lunchtime martinis and terrible daytime TV.  (A is also the founder of our fabulous book club, which is a future blog entry in itself.  Just writing this makes me miss her!)

But I also love going home afterward, mixing a Bloody Mary and eating a balanced dinner of Cheez-Its and gummi worms. 

Plus, I think I should probably get married first.  Call me a traditionalist, but somehow I think my Irish/German Catholic grandmas would frown on a white dress if I provided my own ring bearer. 

There's the actual pregnancy and labor to consider.  Sure, TV and movies dramatize it, but if it weren't really going to include growling like a wild animal, they probably wouldn't call it childbearing.  

And then we have the genetic wild cards I'm going to be holding.  I'm not exactly an Amazon, but I'm tallish for a girl, and J, God love him, is a wee bit on the furry side.  Cute as we both may be, there is a distinct possibility that we could end up with a sasquatch for a child.  

 

"Mamaaa!!"

Honestly, I'm a tad relieved that there's a new baby in the family... takes any heat off my sister and me.  I'll get there eventually, but for now I'm perfectly content to be the aunt that Mommy and Daddy warn their kids about.  

"Aunt Rachel was kidding when she said you were adopted...

and for God's sake, don't drink out of her 'water bottle.'"

Should this blog entry be unable to fulfill its duties, the runner-up entry will take its place.

Actual conversation that happened this weekend:

Me: OMG Miss DC looks like Heidi Montag!!
J:  Before or after the plastic surgeries?
Me: ...between.

A and C and I started a tradition when we were roomies back in 2006:  we watch the Miss America pageant in cocktail dresses and tiaras; we make each other sashes with snarky little titles on them (I'm still the reigning Miss Rubber City); we drink champagne and reveal hidden talents. 

Sadly, we only lived together that one year, and the pageant party went dormant for a while. 

It was resurrected in 2009 and we had such a kickass time that I vowed to make it an annual event!  Unfortunately, the fete was sidelined again this year by my move to the big city.  Between the move and starting the new job and a number of other distractions, I simply didn't have the time to do it justice.  Instead of drinking champagne in my LBD, I'm drinking a Miller Lite in my Snuggie.
 

From this:

To this:

To maintain some semblance of tradition, then, I kept track of some of the things that ran through my head tonight.  Enjoy...
 

• I want Clinton Kelly to be my boy-friend.  (Read Bright Lights, Big Ass by the charming, disarming Jen Lancaster for a detailed description of the difference that one little hyphen can make.)
• Miss New Mexico looks like my friend Angela!!
• Shawn Johnson is absolutely poured into that dress.
• Rush Limbaugh?  For realsies?
• Want Katie Harman's necklace.  WANT.  
• Hey, remember when Brooke White was relevant?  No?  Me neither.
• On adding a 15th finalist based on the votes of the remaining 39 girls:  what. The. Crap.  Good idea in theory... not so much with the execution.  Did you see the deer in headlights look on the one girl's face?  Which one?  YES.  
• Digging the soundtrack this year.  Black Eyed Peas, Stevie Wonder, V Factory, Pat Monahan, a little Gaga fo' yo'self... nice work, pageant people.  *EDITED TO ADD:  ah, you lost me at Katy Perry.  
• Note to self for the swimsuit shopping this year:  black bikinis look too much like underwear from far away.  
• HA HAA:  the peanut gallery is standing out of order... yay, Miss Nebarska!!  *snort*
• I-ro-ny (n., ahy-ruh-nee):  a pageant contestant telling me that looks aren't important and that what matters is what's on the inside.
• What's with the bicycle bell between each of the evening dresses?
• She tripped!  Dear God, MISS TEXAS TRIPPED!
• Was it just me, or could you totally see RIGHT UP Ericka Dunlap's (2004 winner) dress?  Let's do our best not to tarnish the crown, sweetie.  
• I love how the talents are the "Pop-Up Video" portion of the show.  She's a ballerina... and her goal is to become a pediatric heart surgeon!  She performed at the Apollo Theater in NYC... and at Obama's inauguration festivities!  She's an opera singer... and she wants to get her motorcycle license!

Second actual conversation of the evening:

Me:  Miss Hawaii is doing the hula for her talent!?

J:  ...she would.

Aw.  Love that guy.

• Miss Kentucky may or may not be a python.  Wouldja look at the mouth on that girl!  
• Am I drunk again, or do they really have Joe-on-the-street characters asking the final questions?
• Her?  Really!?

So there you have it.  Polish your tiara and practice your tap dancing and baton twirling, because next year's competition is going to be a doozy!