Congrats to My Friend Katie

Baby Luke Daniel is here! Isn't he adorable?! I get to hold him tomorrow because Brooke and I are the only ones allowed to visit. Well, I kind of made that up, but it makes me feel special. Thanks to Katie's sister, Natalie, of Bo's blog (see link below). I stole the photo from her. And I'm hoping that because I just thanked her, she won't sue me for taking it without permission.

Look Closely

Brooke and I went to Cantina (surprise!) for lunch on Friday. I had enough stamps on my card for free quesadillas. Plus we got paid yesterday. Awesome day. So everything looks normal in the first photo, huh?


Look closer. Brooke's decided it would be cool for her to get a nose ring. Just a teeny tiny stud. Louis thinks she's too, ahem, old to pull it off. So I gave her a rhinestone sticker for a test run. It's very subtle. And a few people at work actually thought it was real. I thought I was being edgy with my new hair, but I'm no match for Brooke and her "stud"ly nose.

Three No More

Sigh. Today was the last day that Brooke, Katie, and I will ever be at work together. I was embarrassingly emotional about this, but I kept myself in check and teared up only at my desk. I'm out of the office Monday and Tuesday; Katie is going on maternity leave after Tuesday; and Brooke's last day is July 31. The only positives I see in this are the fact that I'll probably be an incredibly efficient employee now, and my bank account will probably see a little boost without my regular lunch partners. I'll probably lose weight, too, because I'll be too upset to eat.

Oh, who am I kidding?

New BLONDE 'Do

Thursday night my stylist gave me an asymetrical, textured bob that's trendy now. I'm happy with it. Bold new hair just before I hit the last year of my twenties. I know I look kind of silly in this picture, but I was in the car with my camera phone, trying to get a good shot to send to my mom and sister. I didn't really want to smile because I was afraid I'd look really vain if someone saw me. Although the fact that I was taking pictures of myself probably gave that away, especially combined with the pursed lips a la robotic Posh.

Do your business, Mind your business

Know what bugs more than anything? Well, maybe not anything, but this is a top five pet peeve. Stall talk. People at work who insist on talking to me over the bathroom stalls. Ew. Why do you do this? Sometimes it’s okay if it’s, like, my sister or something, but people at work, people I know only through work—nah uh. This is wrong. And weird.

Plus, when all the flushing starts, it’s impossible to hear, and that just makes the whole thing awkward. Talk. Tinkle. Talk. Flush. Pause. Repeat.

Gross.

I mean, if you want to catch up or talk shop, just stop by my desk. That’s cool, I’ll take a little break. But do not talk to me while you do your business. Especially if you ate beans for lunch, okay? Because, yes, I’m 12 years old and I’ll start to giggle. I think you get my drift.

Quest for the Perfect T

Bummer. My $3.50 T-shirt doesn't fit like the ones I had tried on before. (This really shouldn't surprise me. The perfect shirt is probably hidden in the racks at Saks, and they probably cost $49.50 each.) I have to take all of them back. The others were $5, but apparently pink wasn't a hot color, so it got marked down. Anyway. Why is it so hard to find a good T-shirt just to work out in? I like the Danskin ones, but the arms are kinda tight, and I look like a body builder when I wear them. I need help. Please, someone, where can I get a good T-shirt: a little fitted, somewhat stretchy, not super long, no cap sleeves. Help me!

No Drama

Well I haven't posted in a few days because nothing very interesting is going on in my life! I was going to make up something really exciting but even my creative juices aren't flowing. Maybe that's because I went to work at 7 this morning. Yep, those of you who know me well definitely read that right! Getting somewhere half-dressed and fairly alert that early is quite a feat for me. Hmm...what else? I got some new workout T-shirts at Walmart tonight, and one of them rang up for only $3.50. Just to show you how lame I am, let me tell you, that made my night. See? As Fergie sings, "No drama. No no drama."

I Don't Like...

Vanessa Minnillo. I don't really have a reason. And I just thought I'd share. It's my blog, so I can be ugly if I want to. Something about this girl just rubs me the wrong way. But I do love some Nick Lachey. Maybe my problem is raging jealousy?

I Want a Do-Over

So I'm off work this entire week, but we aren't going out of town till Wednesday. I had a good plan for Monday and Tuesday. Our pool is closed for maintenance on Mondays, so, even though it was super sunny and there was a light breeze, I followed the rules and chose to clean/clean out yesterday. I organized, mopped, scrubbed, etc., all before 11am. And then the power went out. And it stayed out. It got so hot inside. Not sure if that was the air or just my blood boiling. For some reason, I just couldn't focus. And even with the blinds open, it's too dark to continue organizing closets. I finally called AL Power. "Yes," the too-cheery automated voice tells me. "It looks like there's a problem in your area that may be affecting you." Yeah? Seems a tree has fallen on some lines. For some reason, this just infuriates me. She promises the power will be back on by 7pm. SEVEN! Meanwhile, I see loads of people heading up to the pool, and staying there. I guess they ignored the "pool closed" sign. And of course the office staff locked up when the power went out, so no one was there to send them away. I just stuck to my original plan of going to the pool all day today. But, as I type, it's gray and cloudy. Not even a hint of sun. I'd like to trade these vacation days for a couple different ones, maybe early August. You hear that, AL Power? Rain god?

First Time for Everything

This weekend at Brooke's cookout, I touched my friend Katie's belly for the first time. I've never reached out and touched her at random, never even asked. I think this freaks out pregnant women, but really, a lot of people feel like they have free rein to touch the belly. It's weird. I mean, if someone is just, ahem, plump, people do not walk around going, "Oh, let me touch your fat belly." No? So, until last Friday night, I resisted. I'm not THAT curious, but there just came a point where I thought, "Everyone else has, why should I miss out?" I did ask and receive permission first. And I know Katie. She really would have told me no if she wanted to. Anyway, Brooke (to whom I owe photography fees) snapped a shot of the occasion. Hey, it was a big deal!

Pay Your Debts, Kim!

Know what's more annoying than collection agency calls (not that, uh, I've ever had one, personally)? Collection agency calls for someone else...for more than four years! That's right. Shortly after I moved into an apartment in 2003, I began to get phone calls for a Kim Conway. Evidently Kim likes to ignore bills and pass bad checks, and I was lucky enough to have scored her old phone number. The messages were standard at first, firm but polite. But the operators got increasingly frustrated. Being totally naive, I thought I'd just return the calls, explain in my own firm but polite tone that, while I appreciated their efforts to collect a debt, Lil' Kim didn't have this number anymore. I used my best you-must-believe-me-I'm-an-honest-girl voice, and I really thought this would be the end of it. But Kim followed me. "Hello, Domino's? I'd like to place an order for delivery." "Yes, ma'am, Conway?" NO! For the love. Gradually the calls stopped, and I figured Kim must've paid up. But they've started again. Just last Tuesday we came home to a message that said, in part, "By not responding to this question, you are affirming that you are Kim Conway..." What? I missed my chance to say, "No! I am Stephanie! I pay my bills! I don't order pizza with extra-thick crust and ham! No Kim here!" The madness starts again.

A Subtle Hint?

Sean and I attend a weekly small group on Tuesday nights. It's a lot of young couples, and during the summer we're working through a DVD/study guide about marriage. The focus of the first two sessions has been about the desires that individuals bring into marriage, and how resentment can build up when these desires turn into expectations that aren't met. We were discussing this last night when the subject came up of thanking your spouse for things he or she does that you don't even think about. Sean spoke up about his laundry, how he never really gives much thought to it, he just always has clean clothes and fresh towels--neatly folded too. This isn't something he expects, it just happens, but he doesn't necessarily wake up each morning and say, "Wow, Steph, thanks for folding my T-shirts." While everyone is nodding in approval, no doubt thinking how sweet Sean is to call out my laundry efficiency, my only thought is of the mountain of clean clothes that has taken up permanent residence on the spare bed. Is this a hint? He swears no.

Thinking Back

This post is going to be a little long. Get some coffee.

Something reminded me about football today, and I took a trip down memory lane. Ever since I graduated from college, I've attended home games at Georgia with my dad. He and I have a very specific routine. Drive to Athens. Eat at the Taco Stand. Visit bookstore, rub my name (for luck) on the plaque listing the 2000 graduates. (Well, the ones who paid $25 to have their names printed anyway.) Go to game, eat pizza at Peppino's. Drive home listening to the Fifth Quarter show till it's nothing but static. Sometimes it's just the two of us, other times my mom and my sister or Sean and my brother come along. This is my favorite part of fall.

It always makes me a little sad that I'm not in college anymore, but reliving the memories is good too. I always think back to the first game I can remember going to with my dad. We drove up with my Aunt Robin and Uncle Ken (my dad's brother). I remember we were playing Baylor, and my mom sent us with a pink paper bag full of boiled peanuts. It was a long time ago--the end of the stadium closest to the Tate Center wasn't even closed in yet. I don't remember the score, but we beat Baylor good. At some point, my dad tried to talk me into leaving early (maybe 5 minutes). I don't much hurry for anyone; the only thing I do fast is talk, and my dad foresaw a long walk back to the car. He got me to the top of the steps, but I wouldn't leave till the game was over. I know I was little, but it's one of my favorite memories. I think that's the day I decided I was going to college at UGA.

In the photo above: My dad and brother, Zach, with UGA football coach Mark Richt. I couldn't go to this function because I was in the ATL airport for seven hours that day trying to get to Arkansas. Long story.

Viva la Cantina!

Sean and I went to Cantina with our friends Brooke and Louis tonight. Brooke got me hooked and I got Sean. We had a great dinner--tasty food, weird conversation. It was a little sad that Brooke's boyfriend, Alex, wasn't working tonight. He likes to give Brooke free food. I don't have any pictures to post because we forgot to take any. Brooke even had her camera out at one point, and we still forgot. I even put on extra eye makeup so I'd get a good photo of myself. (Kidding, really.) Guess we'll try again another time. On a different note, during dinner we tried to determine the top five episodes of Saved By the Bell. We went back and forth and I'm really not sure we ever came up with a solid list. But we all agreed that number one is definitely the episode where Jessie gets whacked out on caffeine pills. Anyone?

Grown-up Friday Night

I don't have a problem with getting older, I just kind of forget that I'm almost 29. (I do, however, have a problem with crow's feet, but I'm watching closely in my 10x magnification mirror. And when they show up, I'm heading in for a little Botox. I can get past the needle. Don't judge me.) It's hard for me to believe I started college ELEVEN years ago, and I've been out for seven. My 10-year high school reunion has come and gone--a year ago! Anyway, Friday night really reminded me that I'm an adult. Brooke invited a bunch of people over to grill and hang out. She and Louis are living at his parents' house until they move to CA in August, and the 'rents are out of town for a couple weeks, so they have the place to themselves. So here are my observations about why this party was so different from the house party you throw when you're in high school and your parents go away for the weekend.
1. I arrived at a grown-up house in the suburbs with a homemade cake.
2. Instead of wine coolers there was red wine in stemless glasses.
3. More than half of the girls weren't drinking red wine because they are pregnant. (At least I hope this wasn't your high school experience!)
4. Instead of chips and Oreos we ate grilled chicken, salad, tomato tart, and fruit salsa.
5. There was a 3-week-old baby there.
6. The baby's diaper leaked all over my shirt. (Anytime, Scarlett, it was worth it!)
7. We talked about makeup...concealer, not lip gloss.
8. I felt my friend's pregnant tummy and asked what it feels like when the baby kicks.
9. We traded recipe tips.
10. At 9:30 everyone started to leave. Because it was getting late.
But you know what? It was an awesome night with friends and zero boyfriend drama. And I learned the trick for making perfect omelettes. Who wants to be 18 again? Please.

Sweet Validation

I don't think you ever really lose that need for approval. At least I haven't. I was rather concerned about being labeled a blogosphere dork. But I didn't consider the fact that I have great friends. And my great friends told a few others about the blog, and now I have some very nice comments about my posts. This is fun. Thanks, guys! And even if you truly don't enjoy the blog or find it all that funny, you're awesome liars, and that's all that really matters.

Fire Safety

Recently our company has drafted a fire evacuation plan, and they are taking it very seriously. (Which they should; we have three buildings, 1,000 employees, and pregnant women everywhere.) Anyway, my friend Cindy and I are "searchers" for our department, and a few of the guys are responsible for helping out the ones who are preggers. We had a drill on Thursday. I don't think a June fire drill is the best idea, but we didn't have a choice. It was all very dramatic with alarms and strobes and real fire trucks. I think we did pretty well evacuating, although one of the aides (Christopher!) took my friend Katie to the wrong area and we were all briefly distressed because we couldn't find her. We got ice cream on the way back into the building. It was kind of like being in elementary school again.

The highlight of this whole experience is the fantastically flattering orange vests we get to wear. Sweet. I'm so VIP. (I wore an orange bracelet to coordinate, but you can't see it in the photo.)

Disclaimer: Certain people aren't happy with the posting of this picture. Someone even threatened me. I just wanted to get this down in a public place in case something happens to me...


(l to r): Julia, her aide Ryan, me, Chris (aide to Libby), Libby

PS: In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that in the case of a REAL fire, I'm not gathering everyone together to make an orderly exit from the building. I'm outta there!

Two of a Kind

People think my sister and I are twins. This baffles me. I don't think we look that much alike. But in the last year or so, we get lots of stares, murmurs, and then the "Are you two twins?" question. And it isn't like people think we just look like sisters. They think we are identical twins...and sometimes they don't believe us when we say no. It's gotten to the point now where we can anticipate the question, see it in their eyes. And, really, twins aren't that uncommon anymore. But maybe they hide or something because people sure seem intrigued when they see us. Like we're aliens. It used to be funny. Now it's a little creepy.

What do you think?

PS: These aren't our clothes. We are at a PJ party for the outgoing Miss Georgia in this picture, so, we're in pajamas.

Poor Larry

I was talking to my dad last night, and he told me he'd read in the paper that Larry Munson might be retiring this year. Larry is the Voice of the Bulldogs. He's been calling UGA games as far back as I can remember. But his health is failing, and, to be honest, he's been a little off for the past couple of seasons. This makes me want to cry. Some of you will find this silly, but I can't imagine not hearing him yell, "Touchdown, Georgia!" ever again. I'm kind of sad.

UPDATE: Larry Munson will call home games this season, but he won't be traveling to away games. At least it's something.

Slow Down

I'm a pretty fast talker. I think there's a misconception that Southerners talk slowly. (And that they don't pronounce the "r" on ends of words...but moving on...) Not me. I talk fast. I slur my words. And I talk a lot. My mother can understand me. My dad usually can't. He doesn't have patience for my stories either. (Admittedly, they can get rather long.) My dad thinks it's fun (and necessary) to caution me, before I launch into a story, "Thirty words or less." It's exasperating (in a humorous way), because, as I tell him every time, there is background info he needs to know. The story isn't the same without it. And, when he tries to rush me, I only talk faster. Sean finds it "endearing," though he interrupts with this gem when I get going too fast: "And period. Pause." With my friends, well, I know I've lost them when they start nodding robotically, eyes glazed over. But my thought on the situation is this: I'm such a fast thinker, my poor mouth can't keep up with my brain. It's a curse, really.