Have you met Doug?

Doug is kinda like my brother...in-law. Except he’s not related...yet. He’s my sister-in-law Julie’s boyfriend. He’s been around the family longer than me—first as a friend and then as a boyfriend. He’s probably the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. Okay, that sounds cliché but I’m sitting here trying to think of a nicer guy and I really can’t.

Stats on Doug:

Age: 24
Birthday: April Fools Day
Likes: Music (is a drummer in a more than one band), sleeping
Loves: Julie, Julie, Julie…this is a man obsessed—but not in a creepy, scary way
Family life: Comes from a big family—is the youngest of five (is that right?)

At my wedding he totally stole my thunder. He did the video and when he went around and asked people what they’d like to say to Frank and me, Frank’s Nana and her sisters all said, “Oh, Doug. I just think you’re so cute.” Doug tried to get them back on track: “But this is for Frank and Elsa. What do you have to say about them?” Aunt Ila Mae said, “We hope YOU join the family, Doug. You’re just so cute.” Giggling ensued.

But ya still can’t hate the guy.

Oh, and he’s a pretty good dancer. Check out our performance at Christmas:













Okay, so we're not always in sync but I blame that on the egg nog. Or maybe Doug should stay behind the drums. Then he won't be as likely to steal my thunder.

Speaking of Clubs

I read a quote from another writer a few weeks ago that I wish I had written. She said something like, “I’m 29 and I’ve figured out that if I want to strike up a conversation with another girl my age all I have to do is mention The Baby-sitters Club.”

So true. I loved, adored and was completely obsessed with these baby-sitting teens: Claudia, Mary Anne, Kristy, Stacey and Dawn. Apparently this girl Mallory joined them later but I was over it by then. I’ll stick with the original five.

The girls from Stoneybrook basically ran a baby-sitting business complete with “kid kits” and weekly meetings. Claudia wore funky clothes, Mary Anne was a nerd, Kristy was a tomboy, Stacey was a Diabetic and Dawn was from California. I remember that Dawn’s mom was a “scatter-brain” and Dawn always had to say things like, “Mom, you can’t leave the house with just one earring.” Looking back, I’m pretty sure your mom was hitting the bottle, Dawn.

I devoured these books and I remember being so excited when I got a big stack of "Super Specials" for Christmas one year. I started reading them right away. And I guess in one of those books they had an offer to join The Baby-Sitter’s Club Fan Club. So I mailed off for the packet. After that I started getting these giant envelopes in the mail once a month with all this Baby-Sitter’s Club paraphernalia: book marks, crossword puzzles, posters, etc.

At first I was psyched. But then as I got older I started moving on to Sweet Valley High (from baby-sitters to trampy twins). I remember not wanting to receive The Baby-Sitters Club Fan Club packages anymore but I didn’t know how to make them stop.

One day (I think it may have been freshman year of high school), my mom picked up me and a group of friends from some school activity (okay, it was a band competition) and she handed me the big Baby-Sitter’s Club Fan Club package:

“Here, Elsa. Here’s your Baby-Sitter’s Club stuff,” she said.
“MOM! Why did you bring this here?”
“Well, I knew you’d be excited to get it so I didn’t want you to have to wait until you got home.”

So while I loved the fab five I had to move on at some point. But if you think I was embarrassed at age 15, just think how humiliated I was when those packages started being forwarded to my college dorm.

Tuesdays with Vino Celebrates Four Years of Literary Lushness

Tonight my book club is celebrating its four year anniversary. That’s got to be some kind of book club record. How do we make it last? Probably because of the girls. Or maybe it’s the vino. Whenever I tell people about my book club I get lots of questions so I thought I’d take this opportunity to respond to some FAQ’s via an imaginary interview:

Why is it called Tuesdays with Vino?
Every girl brings a bottle of wine to share. I only recently discovered that the name may in fact be a take off on the book Tuesdays with Morrie.

Wow. That’s a lot of wine.
Yes. Yes it is.

Do you finish all that wine?
Usually. But if we don’t the hostess keeps the bottles.

So is everybody drunk talking about books?
Enough with the wine!

How many people are in book club?
It varies. When it first started sometimes we’d pack in twenty girls and now we have between 8-12.

How do you get into the book club?
You fill out an application, write a few book reports then there’s a talent competition. Oh, and of course there’s the part where you strip down to your underwear and we circle your fat parts.

Really?
Or you just show up with a friend.

Can men join?
No.

Why not?
I’m not sure. I’ll have to check the handbook. I think gay men may be considered.

Does everybody read the book?
That varies too depending on the book. It’s much better if everybody reads the book.

What kinds of books do you read?
Classics like the Great Gatsby, historical fiction like The Other Boleyn Girl, best-sellers like Running with Scissors and books that later turned into movies like ShopGirl. There’s been almost 50 so they really run the gamut.

What’s a gamut anyway?
Aren’t we talking about my book club?

Right. So do you eat at this book club?
Yes, that’s my favorite part! The girl who hosts that month cooks the food and it’s always something really good. So good that the next day everybody requests the recipe. You know what? We could probably make a book club cook book! I’m going to suggest that tonight.

Hello? I’ve got more questions.
Oh, carry on.

Are the girls hot in this book club?
Of course. Please refer to the pictures.

Do you only talk about the book or do you mainly eat and socialize?
Here’s a breakdown:
42% Socializing
27% Eating and drinking
31% Book Discussion

Is there a leader of the book club?
Yes, Stefanie is the founder and our fearless leader. But tonight she is relinquishing her throne.

Why?
Duh. You can’t lead for more than four years. That would be like a monarchy.

Who will be the new leader?
We’ll find out tonight!

Are you going to run?
No. But I could be the spokesperson for TWV and make myself available for press interviews such as these.

Um, I don’t think there will be anymore interviews.
Well, still. I’ll be available just in case.

Tell the book club girls that I said Happy Four-Year Anniversary!
I will, imaginary interviewer!

Tuesdays with Vino on a field trip to New York City for a book club convention!

Really?

No, it was book club member Lindsay's wedding.

Smoothiegal Does Strawberries

A big apology to our friends the blueberries. On Friday I made my now famous smoothie— you know, Smoothiegal’s Super Banana Blueberry Kashi Surprise? Except I got especially adventurous. I had bought strawberries for my Granbury Girls event last week (to dip in this vanilla yogurt/ginger mix…so good) and I had a bunch left over.

So when I went to make my smoothie, I thought, “Why not add in some strawberries instead of blueberries?” It reminded me of the old strawberry/banana smoothie I used to get at Thirsty’s in the mall. Whatever happened to that place?

I kept every other ingredient the same: milk, ice, banana, flax seed (did I tell you I’ve been adding flax seed now?), a few pieces of Kashi…I even did my smoothie squats (which now have a specific order: ten squats on the “mix” setting, ten squats on the “smooth” setting, five squats on mix, five squats on smooth, done). The only thing I changed was the berry part. And the result was…



Smoothiegal’s Super Strawberry Banana Kashi Flax Seed Surprise!

The only problem is that it looks like a strawberry milkshake. And why is that a problem? Because while it’s good, it ain’t no strawberry milkshake. And I’m not sure I needed the kashi in this one. I’ll keep experimenting and let you know. Oh, and I’m sure you’re wondering if I’m concerned about not reaping all the benefits of blueberries. No way! Not only are strawberries just as good for you as blueberries (antioxidants that fight cancer and heart disease, protect against vision loss AND make you smarter), they’re in season right now.

So even if you don’t make my famous smoothie, grab some strawberries for a snack. And I don’t think drinking a strawberry milkshake counts. But if you do, definitely don't forget your smoothie squats.

Blog Bicentennial

It’s the 200th blog! Can you believe it? It seems like just four-and-a-half months ago we had the 100th blog. Let’s start with some truths:

1. I knew the 200th blog was coming because everyday when I log in it tells me how many posts I’ve done. So I started counting once I hit 180 and it’s not like I’m surprised by this.

2. It’s technically the 202nd blog. But that’s because I put in that extra one the other day because I needed help with an article. And also because when I posted my new picture I had to put it in a decoy blog. Neither counts. THIS, to me, is the 200th blog.

For the 100th blog I asked you to rank your favorites. This time, we need to do something a little more glamorous (read: gimmicky). So I’ve asked some of our favorite celebrities to give their feedback on the blogs 101-200:


“Wassup in the hiz-ouse, g-Writinggal? Check it. That brog…blop…whatever the $*&# it’s called…about my swimmers. That $*^%in’ jammed. Hey, did you hear I knocked up g-Brit again?” -Kevin Federline


“Tom would like to thank you for never mentioning him on your blog and he would like to remind you that just because you are friends with Jacquie who is cousins with Katie, the two of you are not related in any way. Oh, and his favorite blog of the last 100 was the one about why Wham! rocks.”-Tom Cruise's publicist


“I like the one about Halfway Husbands. Jess used to nag at me about little stuff like that too and look where we ended up! Frank, if your wife is gonna give you crap like that then you AT LEAST to marry someone who makes a lot of money…and who has humongous breasts.” -Nick Lachey



“When I saw the blog about Katie, I thought for sure you would mention me. I mean, aren’t I the obvious choice to replace her? Also, I want to thank you for not writing about my haircut and how it looks like a mushroom. Or how I stammer through the news every morning. Hey, did you hear anything about Campbell Brown ousting me? Just checking. "- Ann Curry



“Hi, it’s me again. I represent both Tom Cruise and Neil Diamond and again, despite your claims that having the same birthday and a similar family name constitutes a relationship, you are also not related to Mr. Diamond. He would like to thank you for the tribute to him in Why Neil Diamond Rocks though. I told him it wasn’t in the last 100 and he said then his second favorite is Why Nelson Rocks." -Neil Diamond's publicist.




“I guess I’m supposed to say I like the one about Oprah being president because that would mean I get to be the vice president. Oh, that wasn’t in the last 100? Okay, then I like that girl Liz and her weird language. Does she need a best friend? Because I’m dundees with Oprah!”
-Gayle King



“What’s my favorite WHAT? You know you’ve got to speak up, Elsa. I’m on my way out so I can’t hear so good anymore. You’re talking about that stuff you write on the computer? Well, I don’t even know what a computer looks like. I’m on my way out. I don’t need to know. Eat your grits.” -My Grandma



Okay, so some are pseudo celebrities but wait till the 200,000th blog. Then we’ll bring in the big names. Thanks for reading!

Yes. Yes, I am wearing a "SRS 95" t-shirt. It's my Powder Puff shirt from high school that I recently salvaged from my closet.

Getting Free Stuff? It's a Breeze

In college Thea and I used to ask for the “pretty girl discount.” Can you believe we said that? And what’s more unbelievable? We usually got it.

I haven’t tried it lately but yesterday I got something better than a discount, I got something for free!

I was at the liquor store around 2pm like I am every day. (That was a joke but not sure it comes across that way in the written form. Do I need to add “just joking” to the end? Probably.) Just joking.

But I really was at the liquor store yesterday. That part is true. I needed rum because I was having the “Granbury Girls” (neighborhood ladies) over at my house for some drinks and…oh, no…I can’t spell that word that’s French and starts with a silent h and it means little food…appetizers.

I needed rum so I was scanning the rum section when the Bacardi rep asked if I needed help. I said I was curious to try the Bacardi Island Breeze rum (which I’ve seen Kim Cattrall pushing) because it’s half the calories. He chatted with me about the difference between it and regular Bacardi and what I should mix it with etc. I ended up opting for the Bacardi Island Breeze lime flavor and then the Bacardi dude said, “I tell you what. If you buy the lime flavor I’ll buy you the wild berry flavor too.”

What? I was already going to buy the lime flavor. He didn’t have to do that! But it was a smart move. Because now I’m totally a loyal Bacardi girl and I’m plugging them on my blog which reaches thousands (hundreds? okay, dozens) of people a day!

So I went up to the register with the Bacardi dude and they swiped my credit card for the lime and his credit card for the berry. Two bottles of rum for the price of one! The guy at the register said, “Ya know he wouldn’t have done this if you were a hairy old man.” And I said, “That’s right! The pretty girl discount is back, baby!”

Look at my fun drink! And it's half the calories and half the alcohol of regular Bacardi. That means you can drink twice as many! And if we run out of rum, that's okay. I've got another bottle!

That's me visiting the holy land in 2003

Have you met Nadia?

Nadia’s my gal pal. We’ve been friends since I was like 17-years-old (is that right, Nadia?). Basically it’s one of those dysfunctional friendships where every time I see her I’m trying to be just like her. Well, mainly I just want my hair color to look like hers.

Nadia works for Clairol. But I remember back in the day when they had an older Nadia. I still hung out with her every three months or so but it wasn’t as much fun as the new Nadia. In high school my best friend Amber and I used to share Nadia. Talk about dysfunctional. Then we all looked like her. I think my sister knows her too.

For awhile in college I didn’t hang out with Nadia as much. I was going through this California “the blonder the better” stage and I hung out with Nancy:

She’s cool and all but I never feel very intellectual when I hang out with her. She just wants to talk about shallow things like pop stars and fashion. I’m in a place where I’d prefer to talk about celebrities and reality TV. So I went back to Nadia.

Sometimes I go for months without seeing her. And while she’ll inevitably scold me for that, we’re able to just pick up right where we left off. Like yesterday, I hung out with her for about 35 minutes when she really only expects me to stay for 25. Oops, now I look more like Nancy! So anyway, big shout out to my friends at Clairol. It’s true what they say; we really do have more fun.

Writinggal Needs your Help!

I don't normally use my blog for requests like this but I'm desperate! Could somebody loan me $500? Just kidding.

I'm working on a story about energetic employees--people who have launched health, fitness and/or wellness programs at their office (totally on their own, without a directive/mandate from HR or the higher-ups). I had three great stories: a third grade teacher who holds workout sessions in the school library with fellow teachers, a commercial real estate broker who started a Biggest Loser-style competition among her colleagues and an employee at Verizon who lobbied for a lunch-time exercise class. I completed the story, we shot pictures, it was done.

But today one dropped out (the Biggest Loser one) and I need a replacement. Anybody know of anyone in the DALLAS AREA who has started a program like this? ("Healthy Lunch Day" or "Yoga after work" or "Let's all quit smoking together" are some examples.)

If you do you can email me at elsasimcik@hotmail.com

Thanks, Blog Readers!

Paging Doctors who Don't Lie About my Food!

Yesterday I made some shocking discoveries about two of my fave foods that I originally learned about from doctors (and buy at Costco):

First, let me tell you about my salmon saga:

It’s not new news that salmon is a miracle food. Oprah likes to call it “Sammy” but I’m not into personalizing what I eat. Makes me feel guilty. And I’m already Catholic so I don’t need anymore of that. Oh, but why is it so special? I’m telling you this stuff is better than blueberries! It’s got those elusive Omega 3 fats. It can protect against heart disease, obesity, some forms of cancer (even skin cancer!), Alzheimer’s, Leukemia, Multiple Myeloma, Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma…plus, it can curb depression!

But here’s the “catch:” You gotta eat the wild kind. If you get the farmed kind you could increase your risk of cancer because of the potentially high levels of chemicals called PCBs. Apparently they’re bad news.

Oprah once asked Dr. Oz (who always wears scrubs even when he’s not going to be touching a human heart on the show—perplexing) how we can be sure we’re getting wild salmon. Doc Oz said, “Just get the canned kind; then you’ll know it’s wild.” Schwoo. I get the canned kind from Costco! But still, I kept searching the can to make sure it said “wild” and it didn’t. But I kept on buying dozens of cans at a time and scarfing ‘em down for lunch every day.

Finally, yesterday I decided to look into it on the internet. And you guessed it: I’ve been eating salmon raised on farms! Just gobbling up those PCBs as if they were Kashi crack! So yesterday when I went to Costco I drove my cart down the aisle with the canned salmon and I shouted, “You’re not Sammy! You’re Satan!” and I didn’t put any in my cart. Now I’m gonna have to buy canned salmon at Kroger—one can at a time!

Now the second lie is about Dr. Praeger’s Veggie Burgers but since I got a little heated and long-winded about the salmon, I’ll keep it short:

Love Dr. Praeger (interviewed him for a story). Love his veggie burgers (taste so good and only 100 calories). Suspected they were too good to be true but kept thinking, “They were invented by a doctor!” Our friend Hungry Girl informed us yesterday that his nutritional facts are under investigation when a test revealed they had 20%-30% more calories (still not bad) and a lot more fat (oops). Dr. P had to remove his American Heart Association label from his food. Sad times.

These two revelations will drastically change my lunch but thank goodness dinner and breakfast are still in tact. And if you hear anything sinister about my Kashi crack, don’t even tell me. I don’t think I can handle it right now.

The Early Days of Writinggal

This weekend I went home to Houston because my parents are moving out of the house they’ve lived in for 30 years. That’s right—it’s older than me! So I had to clean out my closet (while Frank kept chanting the Eminem song of the same name).

I cleaned part of it out when I was home for the ten-year high school reunion. On that trip it was all about notes. I had a shoebox for each grade which contained all my super important epistolary essays. My mom could have cleaned it out herself but the boxes clearly said “For Elsa’s Eyes Only” (and “eyes” was drawn out with two eye balls of course).

After reading through about 276 notes I realized something: Writinggal wasn’t always so cool. In fact, I was a big ‘ol dork.

That lesson was solidified this weekend when I found more of my early works. First, there was this letter to the editor of the Friendswood paper that I think I wrote in like 5th grade:

Landolt Student Proud

To the editor:

Texas Public Schools Week is this week and I feel that it is the perfect occasion for me to tell you about my school—C.D. Landolt Elementary in the Clear Creek School District. Landolt probably has the most functional architecture in the whole state. What I mean by this is that we are divided into sections called pods by grade level. The library stands right in the middle. To me, a library in the middle of the school means that the school feels books are an important part of our lives. Landolt has very clean facilities. If there ever is a problem in the bathrooms it is fixed right away. We raise money by holding monthly can drives and have an annual County Fair. Landolt likes to give to others. We are constantly bringing in food to help others (especially at Christmas). Landolt is a growing school and has a large number of students. We have added a new gym and are now building portable buildings to solve this problem. I am proud to be a student at Landolt Elementary.

Ah, those were the days: we cared about the cleanliness of bathrooms more than metal detectors and we could actually write the word "Christmas" and they would print it without changing it to “holidays.”

And if you thought I was dorky in fifth grade, just wait until you see what I wrote in 7th grade. Another letter to the editor but this time I shared my dorkiness with the entire nation in SEVENTEEN Magazine:

Dear Editor-

I was so excited to see Winona Ryder on the cover of this month’s SEVENTEEN (December). You’re the only magazine that gives this talented actress enough credit for all the fabulous movies she’s made. (Heathers was the best movie I’ve ever seen!) I hope Winona will be in the spotlight from now on.

Hey-I didn’t know then that I was supporting a shoplifter!

I have some more of both of these items if anyone would like to request autographed copies. I’ll make it out directly to you by writing that it’s for your eyes only. And I’ll definitely draw out the eye balls.

Have you met the new Chinese girl?

When I was a first-grader I took pride in the fact that I had been a student at Landolt elementary since kindergarten. Our group had been together for a full school year and a half and we didn’t take kindly to newcomers.

So you can imagine my dismay when I asked my red-headed buddy Michael Hobbley which girl he liked and he answered, “I like that new Chinese girl in Mrs. Keith’s class.”

What? Who was this new Chinese girl? And why did Michael think he needed to take his snot-nose outside the inner circle?

I’d find out the next year in second grade when the new Chinese girl, Jaime, sat next to me in class. I think I initially liked her because she hardly spoke. She just laughed at my jokes. “This new Chinese girl is not so bad,” I thought. We became inseparable—giggling in the lunch room (after they put the flowers on the table which signified we could speak), joining girl scouts (she was there for the Jenny Franco copy cat incident) and making countless trips to AstroWorld.

And as it turns out, even though she seemed painfully shy, Jaime was actually really funny. Oh, and she wasn’t Chinese at all. She was Korean. And not even completely—25%. What a disappointment to Michael Hobbley.

Even though Jaime moved to another school district in fifth grade, we still stayed friends—through the rest of elementary, junior high, high school (when she had a major crush on Matt Ryskoski) college (when we both attended UT and Matt Ryskoski finally asked her out), after college, our weddings (when I was her maid of honor when she married Matt Ryskoski)…And when she found out she was pregnant with her first child, here’s how I found out: I received an email with a picture of a positive pregnancy test. The note said to turn up the sound. When I did I heard the sound of someone peeing. See? I told you she was funny!

Now why am I telling you all this?

• Cause Jaime’s cool and you should all meet her.
  
• To show you what a great friend I am—you laugh at one joke and I’ll stick with you for 20+ years.
  
• Matt called last night and asked me to write a letter to Jaime for this retreat she’s at this weekend. So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.

So even though I don’t like change or strangers or disruptions in my life, I’m glad Michael Hobbley gave her a chance. I’ve grown to like that new Chinese girl in Mrs. Keith’s class too.

Matt, Autumn, Santa, Jaime and Lorelai.

Mr. Frank-Fix-It

There’s been so many blogs I can’t remember if I told you about how Frank’s dad used to console him about not being very handy.

Sorry if this anecdote is a repeat:

When Frank was a lad his younger brother David and his father were always building something, fixing something or spackling something. Frank, on the other hand, didn’t appear to inherit this handy ability. Now whenever his dad and brother are rebuilding a car engine or installing hardwood floors or even adding dimmers to a light switch, Frank asks, “Hey, dad, how come I never learned to do stuff like that?”

His dad (a counselor) will say, “When David and I were working on the cars and the house, you were always up in your room, playing your guitar.” Smart move on the elder Frank’s part. It makes young Frank think, “Oh, I’m talented too. I just have a different talent!”

So Frank was okay with his non-handiness until we bought this house. Now he’s determined to fix, install and yes, maybe even spackle some things.

It started with the doorknob on our back door. The original had a handle on it and it kept hitting the blinds. So Frank decided to change it. This was no small matter. He had to find a doorknob that matched the others exactly and he took his cause to about a dozen different hardware stores. He ended up ordering it online. And when Frank gets involved in a project, there’s usually at least one point where he’s done the whole thing wrong, curses himself, and then starts all over. This was true with the doorknob. But you gotta give the guy credit for determination. I would have called Doorknob Dudes Inc. after one try. So here’s the finished product:




Please, if you ever come over, compliment this doorknob.

After the doorknob there was the assembling of the liquor/wine cabinet:


The console table:



And let’s not forget the hanging of the Christmas lights, some repairs to the shower fixture and constant maintenance to my spin shoes.

But this past week he completed a project that united his two worlds: music and home improvement. Frank installed speakers AND a volume control on our deck. Okay, the wiring was already there in the backyard but we didn’t know where the other end was. Luckily, we bumped into the guy who used to live here and he showed us that the wiring was hidden behind what appeared to be a phone jack in the formal living room. Who knew? So after weeks of internet research, hammering and the purchase of his very first drill, we now have a kick ass stereo system on our deck:

We’ve had dinner out there every night since! So while I’m not a fan of the drill, I do like that I have a handy husband who’s good for more than just opening jars and squashing spiders. But watch out, Frank. I hear David’s thinking of taking up the guitar.

Curly Confusion

Curly-haired-women confuse my husband. Why? Because he doesn’t understand how one day they can have curly hair and one day they can have straight hair. We go through this type of conversation on a weekly basis:

Frank: “Who’s that girl on the cover of US?”
Elsa: “It’s Kristin Cavalleri.”
Frank: “But she’s curly-headed. I though she was straight-headed.” (This is what he calls this phenomenon.)
Elsa: “Well she just dried it differently. She probably has naturally curly hair.”
Frank: “I didn’t even recognize her. I don’t get.”

Whether it’s Kelly Ripa, Katie Couric or Katie Holmes, he’s perplexed. He even has to deal with the issue in person:

Sometimes Thea looks like this:

And sometimes she looks like this:



Frank often asks, “How does she do that?” And one time he even went as far as to say, “Just once I’d like to see Thea right after she gets out of the shower…what does it look like then? Is it curly or straight?”

Um, excuse me? Did my husband just try to trick me into letting him see another woman naked? I’m not falling for that one again.

And just when he thought he only had to face the issue outside of the home, I started to forgo the blow dryer. And Little Orphan Annie, I was curly-headed too!


Okay, I'm more “wavy-headed” but still…

Frank doesn’t like it. Probably because my curls are more Tanya than Temple (as in Harding and Shirley, respectively). But maybe I could get some tips on how to maximize them from Kristin Cavalleri. And no, Frank, that doesn’t mean you get to see her naked.

My Mountain Home's Last Hurrah

I know I said I didn’t want a mountain home. But I still thought I’d win $100,000. Or $30,000. $10K? I Ti-fauxed HGTV’s Dream Home special and Frank and I watched it late Saturday night. Every so often Mark L. Walberg (not to be confused with Marky Mark or Chris from The Bachelor) would announce the winners of some cash. I seriously thought he was going to say my name. Then I thought something even more ridiculous:

What if Frank already knows we’re going to win and he’s letting it be a surprise? I mean, he did agree to watch this special with me which is kinda weird. Come to think of it, he insisted that we watch it. Wait. That didn’t happen. It was all my idea. He didn’t even know we had recorded it. Darn. But we could still win!

But we didn’t. Instead, lots of other people won money and one person won the house. It was sort of anticlimactic how they did it. First, they had all three finalists choose a key. Then just to drag it out even more they had to choose a door. Frank cleverly concluded that, “Either all the keys are the same or all the doors are the same so one of those variables doesn’t matter.” Huh? Makes my head spin.

But before the winning key, winning door and winning person was announced, some premature confetti flew out from behind Marky Mark’s head. Then the contestants struggled with the keys and after the two ladies gave up, Donald P. Cook (wheelchair guy) was still messing with it. Marky Mark had to go help him and then he wheeled through the door.

Then, as if it couldn’t get any lamer, MM invited us to the “after-party.” I seriously perked up. Isn’t that sad? Then he said it was at HGTV.com. An after-party on the internet? What's next? A Quinceanera through the fax? I arrived fashionably late this morning and here's what went down:

About fourteen balloons fell from the ceiling. Woo hoo! Then Donald, his wife, Marky Mark and the other peppy hostess toasted with some…sparkling cider! Puh-lease. If I won, I would insist on at least a little boxed wine. I’d even spring for it myself.

Also, if I won I would have invited the girl from Oklahoma and the older lady (the other two finalists) to stay at the Dream Home with me that night. But it looks like I won’t have that opportunity anytime soon. Sure, I could enter 40+ times next year but apparently it’s gonna be in a cold, snowy Colorado location. That means skiing. I’ll have to abstain.

But I still plan on visiting Donald when I go to North Carolina to see my grandma. I’ll stop by and drop off his house-warming gift—a decent-quantity of confetti and balloons which I’ll drop on his head. Oh, and a box of cabernet (which I won’t drop on his head, but maybe on Marky Mark’s).

The Copy Cat Chronicles

I hate plagiarizers, copy cats, word-stealers. But I have to tell you, I tend to believe Kaavya Viswanathan, the Harvard student accused of intentionally plagiarizing passages from Sloppy Firsts for her book How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life.

Sure, several-plus lines are almost identical and that’s a little weird. But the main reason I don’t think she plagiarized is because it would be a stupid thing to do. She would know that she’d get caught. And Kaavya’s no idiot.

As a victim of plagiarism myself, I’m the last one to take her side. Check out what’s happened to me:

-About six months ago a college newspaper published one of my MSN stories with the byline of one of their students.
-About two months ago a man in New Hampshire or Vermont or somewhere took one of my MSN stories and used it as a “letter to the editor” as if he just happened to have all these ideas for places men shouldn’t pick up women.

Both of these wrongs were ultimately…rightened? Unwronged? But once I was the victim of plagiarism in a much more blatant, hurtful way with no consequences to the thief:

It was about 1987 and I was in Girl Scout Troop 114. We had a speaker come talk to us and the troop leaders asked us all to write thank-you notes to her. As an aspiring writer I knew I had to do better than the typical “Thank you for coming to talk to us. We learned a lot. Bye, Elsa.” So I created the most brilliant thank-you note. On the front was a drawing of an Asian girl with some mock Chinese letters. (I didn’t say it was PC.) On the inside it said, “That’s thank you in Chinese!” I proudly showed it to the other scouts who were impressed with my creativity. Then when we all turned it in I noticed Jenny Fargo's card:

The front had the exact same drawing (although maybe a little better) and mock Chinese letters. But on the inside it said, “That’s thank you in Japanese!” Furious, I grabbed her card and brought it to the troop leaders. I shook it in front of them and screamed, “She copied me!! She stole my idea!”

They calmly examined her card and then my card. And do you know what they said? “She didn’t copy you, Elsa. See? Hers says Japanese. Yours says Chinese.”

Can you believe she got away with such a horrific crime? So you can see that after what I’ve been through I am in no way sympathetic to those who can’t come up with their own ideas. But I feel bad for Kaavya. Everybody's ganging up on her. I'm going to send her a note to let her know I've got her back. And I have the best idea for what it should look like. And if you think I'm showing you or Jenny Fargo you can forget it.

Don't Write-Off Waco

Over the past month I've had the privilege to spend some time in Waco, TX (a place I always referred to as "wacko" when I was a kid). And I have to tell you, it’s better than you think. In fact, this place has so much to offer you’ll forget about that little branch davidian mishap from a few years ago. Here’s what they’ve got:


-Shopping: Old Navy, Ann Taylor Loft, Best Buy, Target
-Restaurants: Ninfa’s, some Italian place we ate at last night, a steak house, Elite cafe
-The Arts: a Museum (so what if it’s all about Dr. Pepper?)
-Crazy co-eds: I’m sure they’re around here somewhere
-Scenery: Brazos river…okay, that’s all
-Good folks: Seriously, it’s like everyone works for Waco tourism here and they’re making some kind of commission off of how many visitors they can get.

Really, I would have no problem living in Waco. I could get a lot of house for my money and walk to Ninfa’s every weekend. That’s not a bad life. Even if it is a little bit wacko.

We went running across this bridge yesterday!

The 50 Most Beautiful What in the What?

Sure, they call it the 50 Most Beautiful People in the World but if the list consists of: Julia Roberts. Brad Pitt, Jessica Simpson and Patrick Dempsey how can it be called anything but "The 50 Most Beautiful Celebrities in America?"

Are any of the people regular Matt's? ("Joes" is so overdone). And are any of them from outside of the U.S? Exactly.

So, here's to you, the 50 Most Beautiful Celebrities in America. I have to say that I agree with the choices. I just don't agree with the title. But then again, you don't really care. You're beautiful. And I'm a blogger. Hey, wanna make a "50 Most Beautiful Bloggers in the World" list? And no, People magazine, I don't think Jessica Alba has a blog.

K-Fertile

Sure, Brit's knocked up again but everybody's focusing on the wrong probs: "Oh, no. She's preggers too soon after her first!" OR "She's never gonna have abs like she did in her 'I'm not a girl; not yet a woman' video" AND "Brit can't have more kids; she'll forget to put them in the car seat too."

But the real issue? K-Fed is going to be the father of FOUR children!! I don't have four children. You don't have four children. K-Fed should NOT be allowed to have four children! Can you believe there will be four human beings on this planet who look at that greasy-haired, pot-smoking, bad-rappin', freak-dancing fool and say, "Da-da?"

What's up with this guy? Is he like the most fertile man in America? And why have two women (one of whom I've been compared to) allowed him to impregnate them? I ask you, does he have even ONE redeeming quality?

-Good looking? Hardly.
-Charming? He can't even speak correctly.
-Talented? Have ya heard his latest "song?"
-Rich? Can you say "reposessed?"

I mean, back in the day, Brit had her pick: J.T., Colin Farrell, damn, even her Las Vegas groom was better than this guy! Now she's damaged goods. Make that damaged mommy. I think we need to stage a protest. Come on, chant it with me:

"NO MORE FEDERLINE FETUSES! NO MORE FEDERLINE FETUSES!"

And by the way, I do offer my condolences about her abs.

Tollway Wavers

Yesterday as I drove through a toll plaza I almost knocked over a woman standing in front of the booth, waving. Since I managed to miss her, I went ahead and waved back. Then I glanced down the row of about twelve booths and they were all waving! It was like the Rockettes but instead of kicking they were waving. And instead of being tall and gorgeous they were short and frumpy.

And it's not like they just stepped out of their booths to wave; there were people in the booths too! So who were these wacky wavers? I have some theories:

• One of the other toll plazas was closed for construction and the toll company needed something to do with these extra people for the day.
• The toll company heard that Wal-Mart had greeters and thought they should try it out too.
• They're Fear Factor contestants. I think I'd rather eat a bug.
• The toll company is laughing at us: "You pay us so much to drive on these roads we can hire people to just stand there and wave!"
• They're prisoners--the last one who doesn't get hit by the end of the day gets an extra 10 minutes of recreational time. And macaroni.
• They're toll booth workers in training and they're getting hazed.
• Beauty pageant contestants? Yikes. Have ya seen these wavers?
• Conversation at toll company management:

Toll Pres: We've been getting a lot of emails that our toll booth workers are just not friendly enough.

Toll Associate: We could send them all off to a customer-relations boot camp in Lake Tahoe. I think all associates should attend. It's for a week.

Toll Pres: Nah. Why don't we just issue a mandatory waving rule?

Toll Associate: They'll never do it. They're part of a non-waving union.

Toll Pres: Well then we'd better get some other people to do it for them.

Toll Associate: You mean like scabs?

Toll Pres: No, just some cheap labor in addition to our regular workers.

Toll Associate: Got it, chief. Ill call the homeless shelters and community colleges right away.

Yep, I'm pretty sure that's it. But I'm gonna stop waving back until I get some answers.

While Elsa's Away...

So I hadn’t been home in two weeks and when I walked in on Friday, I was pleasantly surprised: house was in order, bed was made and the toilets had some blue substance in it! I’ve never even used a blue substance! I was very pleased.

But my content soon turned to contempt when I opened the pantry to find…

The return of the poops! What were they doing here? I thought I had rid Frank of his poop-tart habit! When I questioned him he said, “I went to the store to buy those Oatmeal To Go Squares but they were out.” He claims he’s been alternating them with his Smart Start cereal.

I decided I didn’t care if he wanted to ruin his intestines; as long as mine stayed in tact. But then, the next morning as I went to eat my Kashi crack, I found this:

Where was my skim milk? The way I see it, why have 1% when I like skim just as well? I like to put A LOT of milk on my cereal so I just can’t justify anything with a percent in it! Again, I questioned him. His excuse? “They didn’t have any skim milk!” Where is this guy shopping?

So those were the only two issues I uncovered this weekend. Well, that and the fact that I’m missing a Jess Weekly. Now I have no idea who she’s hooking up with this week. But whoever he is, I bet he’s not nice enough to put a blue substance in the toilet.

The Language of Liz

Those of you who know my friend Liz know that her dialect is a little bit wacky. But for some reason it’s also really contagious. Now that I’ve been around her for the last few weeks I’ve started to pick up some of her lingo. In case you ever encounter Liz, I’ll prepare you with a list of definitions and examples.

Dundies: adj. To be done; to be drunk, to feel stupid, to feel sad, to feel frustrated. It means just about anything you want it to mean. “I’m dundies with this project!” or “I got so dundies last night.”

Shite: n. An expression to be used in place of shit. “Oh, shite. I can’t believe I left my cell phone at home. I’m dundies.” (Sometimes they double up).

“Stress me out and call me Thelma:” "I have so much work to do. Stress me out and call me Thelma!" I don't know who Thelma is.

Missee: adj. Miserable “You’re hungover today because you got dundies last night? That’s missee.”

Muffin: adj. Cute, perky, sweet. “You’re such a muffin!”

Frie: n. (pronounced 'free'). It means Friend “Liz is my frie. She talks funny.”

“Which we love:” An expression used in response to something you really love or really hate: “I’m going to have margaritas tonight…which we love” or “I have to go have a root canal…which we love.” This is an expression you really need to hear to understand. Call me and I’ll say it for you.

Dundaleeza Rice: adj. This is like the ultimate dundies:

Dundie Rumsfeld: adj. She likes to involve the whole presidential cabinet when possible.

“UN-BE-LIEVABLE. But totally believable.” An expression meaning “I can’t believe that. But wait. Yes, I can.”

“That’s a sad story.” Okay, this one I made up but she uses it all the time so it’s practically hers. It’s a response to someone complaining about something trivial like “I fell asleep on a lawn chair and got waffle face.” You would say, “That’s a sad story” or perhaps even “That’s the saddest story I ever heard.”

I know there are plenty more where that came from so I’ll let Liz comment with an addendum. Cause right about now I’m Dundaleeza Rice with it!

Another Lesson from my Dad

It’s a busy Writinggal day so you know what that means: Another quote from my dad! Or perhaps you just read the title and came to that conclusion. Either way, here it is:

“Hand me my ski mask”
-my Dad’s response when I would ask for something expensive; he had to go rob the Stop N Go.

A Bed and Breakfast it Ain't

Sure the Extended Stay has a bed and you can eat breakfast here (got my trusty giant box of Kashi from Costco sitting right here) but that’s where the similarities end.

At a B&B, you have a cozy room.
At the Extended Stay, I have a cramped room.

At a B&B they change your bed linens daily.
At the Extended Stay, they pretend to change your bed linens weekly. I know because I hid a crumpled tissue in my sheets and it was still there after “cleaning day.”

At a B&B they provide warm eggs any style
At the Extended Stay they provide pastel-colored lifesavers that are probably leftovers from Easter ‘05

At a B&B when you eat breakfast with your spouse you each get a bowl.
At the Extended Stay when Frank came to visit we had to take turns eating cereal because we only had one bowl. One morning I didn’t want to wait so I ate my Kashi out of a mug. Hey, it was either that or the frying pan.

At a B&B they vacuum your room.
At the Extended Stay they vacuum most of your room except for the Cheetos crumbs under the bed (which would be fine except I haven’t eaten Cheetos the whole time I’ve been here).

At a B&B you may encounter a few of your own stray hairs from your head.
At the Extended Stay you may encounter a few stray hairs. But they’re not your own. And they’re not from anybody’s head.

Maybe I'll go out for breakfast.

How Elsa Got Her Shoes Back

I went to spin class on Friday morning and on Sunday night when I went to set out my spin shoes they were gone. I searched the Extended Stay, my car, the Extended Stay some more (there weren’t that many places they could be) and then I called the gym. Surely, if I had left them there the instructor would have noticed and would have put them in the lost and found. Here’s our conversation:

Gym Employee: “It’s a great day to work out at Lance Armstrong 24 Hour Fitness, my name is Lisa, how may I direct your call?”
WG: “Hi, I think I left my spin shoes there. Did anybody turn them in?”
Gym Employee: “No, I haven’t seen any and there isn’t anything in the lost and found.”
WG: “Oh, okay…Um, bye.”

The more I thought about it the more I was positive I had left them there. I called back:

GE: “It’s a great day to work out at Lance Armstrong 24 Hour Fitness, my name is Lisa, how may I direct your call?”
WG: “Hi, I just called about leaving my spin shoes. I’m sure I left them there. Could you leave a message for the instructor to call me if she found them?”
GE: “Um, I guess so…”
(insert me giving her instructor’s name and my info).
GE: “Okay, have a good day,” (LAUGHING)

So she either was flirting with front desk boy or she thought that me losing my spin shoes was hilarious.

And let me point out two important details:
1, As a spin instructor myself, I’m somewhat of an employee of said gym. Therefore I am not using this girl’s real name nor do I wish to launch any sort of media slander campaign against my semi-employer.
2. Spin shoes are really expensive!!

Yesterday, I went to the gym anyway (despite my lack of appropriate footwear) and asked the front desk girl (different girl) if she had seen any spin shoes. She immediately said, “Oh, yes. I found them on Friday and put them in the lost and found. They’re right there.” She pointed to the top of a file cabinet where my shoes were perched.

Now I ask you, why couldn’t “Lisa” take a little glance that way and realize the same thing? She didn’t even try! And there I was, Sunday night, frantically searching for spin shoes online, emailing other instructors for advice and downright panicking over not getting to say goodbye to my trusty kicks.

So the moral of the story is, don’t trust people when they say they can’t find your spin shoes and they don’t sound like they’ve even looked. You’ve gotta look for your spin shoes yourself.

Or maybe the moral of the story is, “If you set your spin shoes free and they come back, they’re really yours. If they don’t, they never really were.” That was on a poster in my friend Jaime’s room growing up. Except it was about a unicorn. I’m pretty sure it still applies.

But probably the moral is don’t leave expensive things lying around for other people to take.

Nah. I like the unicorn one better.

Plane Puzzlers

I have never once in my life purchased or even drank tomato juice. I don’t know anyone who ever has it in their house. And at restaurants I’ve never heard anyone else at the table say, “Tomato juice for me, please.”

Yet whenever I’m on a plane the person next to me inevitably orders this concoction. What is it about planes that make people want to drink the catsup paste?

And while we’re on the subject, I’ve never been at someone’s house where they said, “Hey, ya want something to drink? How ‘bout a Ginger Ale?” Yet on planes passengers suddenly get a hankering for it.

Here’s another one: Bailey’s and cream. I love the stuff. But again, really just hear about it on the plane.

Oh, wait, Frank has one to add: “What about those warm towels they give to first class? Even in the fanciest restaurants they don’t give you warm towels before you eat. Wassup with that?”

Good point, Frank. Although we'd probably have to go to a fancy restaurant to actually confirm that. And when we do I dare you order the catsup paste. I call the Ginger Ale.

Convertible Confessions

Let me set the scene: yesterday I was driving around in my Bug (not a leisurely drive but a quick trip to downtown Austin to pick up Frank’s wallet which he left in a cab—another blog). So I’m driving around in my Bug and it’s a warm 82 degrees, sun’s shining, etc. That’s when the convertible guilt sets in.

Those of you who drive one know what I mean. If it’s a really nice day and you’re driving around with the top up, you look like a fool. Everyone glares at you just like they would if you had a pool and didn’t use it. Or if you lived next door to a Chick Fila and doesn’t get a chicken sandwich and lemonade every day. Or if you could speak fluent Turkish but never went to Turkey.

So in an effort to avoid being a Turkish-speaking loser, I pulled over and put the top down. It was hot. But I looked cool and people even honked at me so it was worth it. And then, a convertible miracle—a kick-ass song.

Really, almost any song sounds good when the top is down but this song was particular perfection—Toto’s Africa: Gonna take some time to drag me away from you. There’s nothing that 100 men or more could ever do. I caught some rays down in Africa. Gonna take some time to do the things we never could. Mmmm….mmmm…

It’s about that time that I thought, “I really need to write a blog about why Toto rocks.” But then I remembered that the only two songs I know by Toto are this one and Rosanna (which is about Rosanna Arquette—a little fact I tell Frank every time it comes on even though he doesn’t know who she is. I have to say Courteney Cox’s husband’s sister).

But then I experienced another side of convertible guilt. I pulled up to the light and one of my homeless friends was there with a pretty good sign: “Layed off. Single Mom.” Poor gal. With those spelling skills I believe her! There she was standing there in the hot sun begging for money and here I was, jamming out to Toto in my silver bug: I caught some rays down in Africa…”I couldn’t decide if I should give her money or not. Will she spend it on drugs? Or a junior bacon cheeseburger at Wendy’s? (I was just gonna give her a dollar.) Luckily, the light changed and I could move on (and so could my guilt).

By the time my drive was over I had some sweaty legs, the beginnings of a sunburn and some nasty, tangled convertible hair. But I least I didn’t feel guilty. And at least I didn’t waste my Turkish skills. And at least I knew all the words to Courteney Cox’s husband’s sister’s ex-boyfriend’s song.

Thursday Night Lights

Thursday is my favorite day. You probably like Friday. How original. Or Saturay. What a cliché.

I'll take Thursday any day (and it's not just for the Must See TV although that's a big part of it). You see, I like to look forward to things. So on Thursday, the weekend's almost here. But on Friday, it's already here and that means it's on its way to being over. As far as I'm concerned, Friday might as well be Sunday night.

So that's why I like Thursday. And that's why tonight I'm looking forward to watching some Must See TV and popping open one of my mini-bottles of wine from the four-pack Cabernet I bought at HEB. Heck, I might even have two. It's Thursday!!

Home Sweet Extended Stay Home

I thought staying at an extended stay hotel would be glamorous—my own little apartment with a kitchenette, a living room and perhaps some decent detangling conditioner (none of that shampoo-and-conditioner-in-one crap).

I was quite delusional. Let me just say that I would LOVE some of that shampoo-and-conditioner-in-one stuff right about now.

There’s no living room, the carpets are stained, the front-desk people are rude and the halls of my non-smoking floor are, in fact, quite smokey.

Here’s how the conversation went when I called to inquire about this:

WG: Aren’t I supposed to be on a non-smoking floor?
Extended Stay Front Desk Person: Yes, you are.
WG: Well it’s really smokey on this non-smoking floor.
ESFDP: That’s because we’re renovating the fourth floor (which is the smoking floor) and we had to move all of them to the third floor.
WG: So now since smokers are on the third floor I guess it’s not really a non-smoking floor, is it?
ESFDP: It’s still a non-smoking floor. It just has smokers on it.

How do you argue with that Extended Stay logic?

Apparently over the weekend when I was in Dallas they began renovating the third floor too. I was the last to know. I arrived at my quarters to find—in addition to the carpet stains on the hall floor—paint chips everywhere and plastic covering all the doors. Well, all the doors except mine. Ah! I felt so Flatliners, having to stay in this room amidst all the remodeling. Luckily there was a message on my phone telling me to move.

So now I’m on a new floor with not-so-many carpet stains and new, non-smoker neighbors. I think I’m starting to like it here. In fact, I think I’m going to invite my Extended Stay mates over for a little happy hour. I’ve got everything we need: a four-pack of those mini-wine bottles, a giant box of Kashi and a TV with several channels. Okay, fine; I’ll invite the front desk girl too. Maybe she can hook us up with some free shampoo-and-conditioners-in-one.

Subway Switcharoo

I know; I know. I give our friends at Subway a hard time. But that’s just because they have so much potential! They just always seem to screw up a good thing.

Quick update on mayo and then I’ll move on to my latest beef (I love unintended puns that turn out to be intended):

I’ve switched to spicy mustard. I think that’s the same as deli brown. Deli brown is only FIVE calories. Five calories? Hold on. Let me do the African Ant-Eater dance for 30-seconds. Bye-bye, spicy mustard. I would have to do the AAE dance for five minutes to burn off my light mayo (if that is really what it is).

Okay, so now that I’m down with the brown, you’d think all my Subway situations would be under control, right? Nope. Yesterday on my scenic drive from Dallas to Austin I stopped at the Subway in Waco (almost bumped into Dick Cheney who was there for a speech—had to run for cover). Before I got there I started wondering what the daily special would be. I was impressed with myself for knowing Sunday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. (Did I say IMpressed? Make that DEpressed.)

Anyway, I knew about Sunday because Frank and I always get the roasted chicken after spin class. I knew about Wednesday because that’s turkey and that’s my second fave. I knew about Saturday because Frank and I went the other day on a Saturday and it was roast beef and we sang that song about piggies and toes and one going “wee wee wee” all the way home. Don’t worry; we kept our shoes on.

Anyway (again), I gotta tell you how I know about tuna. The other day Frank and I were at a different Subway in Waco (on a Saturday but not the same Saturday that we sang the piggy song). This guy in front of us said to the artist, “Well, I guess I’ll have the tuna,” and then he sighed. He seemed very reluctant to get the tuna and I wondered why he couldn’t find a sandwich to be stoked about (has he not tried the oven roasted chicken breast?) Then he asked, “So what’s the deal with the daily special?” The artist explained that the special of the day is $2.49. I then realized that this dude thought that TODAY was tuna day and that’s why he ordered it. But it was roast beef day! You know, piggies, goin’ to market, staying home, wee wee wee…I struggled with whether or not to tell him but in the end decided to not make more scenes than I was about to make with all my questions and special requests.

Okay, but back to yesterday in Waco: The daily special was turkey and ham. Here’s the conversation between the artist and me:

WG: What’s the difference between the turkey and the turkey and ham?
Artist: The turkey and ham has ham.
WG: But I don’t want ham. I just want turkey. Could I have the turkey and ham without the ham so it can be the daily special?
Artist: No. That would be the turkey special which is on Wednesday.
WG: I know the turkey special is on Wednesday. It’s my second favorite sandwich. I’ll probably come back on Wednesday but to a location in Austin. So I’m definitely a loyal customer. Now what if I order the turkey and ham, pay the $2.49 for the daily special and then take off the ham?
Artist: That’s fine.
WG: So you’re gonna put ham on my sandwich even though you KNOW I’m going to throw it out? Isn’t that a waste of ham?
Artist: Look, the daily special is turkey and ham. Do you want that? Or do you want a regular turkey sandwich?
WG: I’d like the daily special please.

I totally thought I had found a loop hole in the Subway system.

But that artist was too smart for me! When he put my spicy mustard on my soon-to-be-just turkey sandwich, he made sure to put it all on the ham! So basically, I had a turkey sandwich with no dressing. I learned later from some inside sources (advertising friends who work on the Subway account) that because I got the turkey and ham I actually got LESS turkey than if I had gotten the regular turkey sandwich. No wonder I was hungry two hours later! I was so bummed I cried “wee wee wee” all the way home.

Baby Shower Shenanigans

On Sunday Frank and I went to a couples’ baby shower. It’s funny because this was only the second baby shower Frank had ever attended and the first one was just a few weeks ago.

Oh, wait. There was that one in 2000:

Frank and I were invited to a couples’ wedding shower in Austin one Saturday evening. We were driving down the street, looking for the address, when we saw some balloons on a mailbox. We weren’t positive this was the right house until we saw lots of cars. One of those cars was our friends Jason and Eric’s. They drove up beside our car and said, “We’ll be right back. We forgot the card,” and they gestured towards the house with the balloons.

So Frank and I walked up to the house, knocked on the door and nobody answered. Well, it’s a party so we could just walk in, right? So we did. Many smiling faces greeted us and I said, “Hi, I’m Elsa!” to everyone who made eye contact with me. I thought to myself, I don’t recognize anybody here but I guess I really wouldn’t—just the bride and groom (and Jason and Eric who had left their card at home).

I was holding this big present (I know, how rude of Frank to not carry it) so I went to set it down with all the other gifts. As I set it down I noticed something odd. All of the presents were pink. My present was silver. I slowly turned around and everyone was staring at me.

Then one girl confirmed what I had already suspected: “Um, I think you’re at the wrong house."

I froze with the big, silver present. I looked over at Frank and he looked equally surprised as he started to make a run for the door. I thought about how Jason and Eric had pointed at this house. They were so lucky they had forgotten their card and…wait a second.

“Don’t feel bad,” the girl said, “You weren’t the first people to do it. These other guys came in here with a big keg! They carried it through the house and said, ‘Which way to the back yard?’”

So at least we didn’t do that. But after that fiasco it would be six years before we would be invited to another couples’ baby shower.

Hmmm…I’m starting to think Frank may have been in on this after all.

Kick Me, Katie

She brightens our mornings, touches our hearts and even convinces us to let strangers probe our buttocks. She’s Katie. And we’re bummed that she’s leaving Today.

At our house Katie is a morning fixture (like Kashi and poops). In fact, when the alarm sounds the first thing Frank says is, “Is the remote on your side? We gotta watch Katie.” That’s right. We don’t even call it the Today Show. We just call it Katie.

We even discuss what she’s wearing: “Oh, she’s doing that whole Asian thing again,” Frank will say. Or I’ll yell, “Get in here! Katie’s got on fishnet panty hose!”

Once I even got into an argument at a restaurant about the greatness that is Katie. This girl said, “I hate her. She so biased.” I said I liked her and that I thought she was a good journalist and the girl said, “Good journalist? She’s so liberal.” I began ranting about what a great mom she is and how she’s turned the tragedy of her husband’s death into significant progress in colon cancer research, not to mention she knows how to ask the hard questions in interviews. It got pretty heated. I don’t like it when people dis Katie.

I’ll miss her toothy grin, the way she awkwardly flirts with that “where in the world” guy and her story transitions: “Now, on a much lighter note…”

Sure, I could watch her on the CBS Evening News but you know what that means? I’d have to watch the news. Who am I? My parents?

Now the question is, will we still watch the show formerly known as Katie? Will we start calling it Meredith? Nah. And by the way, I can’t believe they picked Meredith Vieira for this gig. She’s older than Katie! This is the same way I felt when Pope Benedict stepped in. Why not get some fresh, young blood in there?

You can imagine Frank’s disappointment when I had to explain to him that it wasn’t “the hot girl from The View.” He was appalled: “What? Why wouldn’t they pick that Survivor girl?” I had to then teach him the difference between a TV personality and an actual journalist. I’m not sure he understood because by the end of the conversation he was lobbying for Kristin Cavallari: “Think about it. She’s got the SAME INITIALS as Katie.”

So Katie, we wish you well. I know it was a good career move for you and as your biggest fans, we’ll always support you. And as Frank says: “Guess we get to sleep in a little later now.”

Anniversary Aftermath

Yesterday was Frank and me’s (Frank and I’s? Frank’s and mine? What is it? Hey, I’m the writer here) anniversary. Yep, three years. And as Seinfeld once said, “Well, three years is a long time to be married.”

But this anniversary we were apart. I’m here in A-town and Frank’s in Big D. So I don’t have any fun Fiesta Trio, TGI Friday Feasts to tell you about. But we’re going out on Friday to celebrate so surely there will be blog-worthy tales. Except now that I think about it, our anniversaries always seem to be ripe with controversy:

On our first anniversary we went to Gruene. We started a tradition of taking a picture and holding up the number of years we’ve been married. Cute, huh?



But then I got this killer tummy ache and Frank ended up touring the town on his own and taking more random feet pictures like this one:



For our second anniversary we went to the Oasis and took this picture.


Excellent dinner. I had a veggie burger. But then a few months later the whole darn place burned down.

And speaking of disasters, even our wedding day included chaos. As we were driving away from the reception in our limo, we stuck our heads out the sun roof long enough to wave when suddenly golf-ball sized (they’re always golf-ball sized, aren’t they?) hail began to pound on us. The limo driver had to pull over under a carport in a random parking lot where we sat for about half an hour, watching Texas lose in the Final Four. The next day Frank’s back car window was completely blown out. Our second day of marital bliss involved taking his car to get the window replaced.

But even though our anniversaries aren't always perfect, at least they're real. I mean, you can have your chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne and dinners with two forks, I'll take a hearty meal at a large chain restaurant and a Vitatop. And that, my friends, is the secret to a good marriage. Well, that and a new bag in the trash can.

Brain Freeze Fact v. Fiction

I got a brain freeze last night--off of a Baby A's margarita. I immediately put my thumb on the roof of my mouth to stop the freezing:

Someone else said you're supposed to put your tongue on the roof of your mouth.

And another claimed you should lick your lips.

When somebody said a cartwheel usually cures it, I knew we needed some clarification.

What works best? And are we just doing these things to distract us from the real problem at hand? (or at brain?)

Writinggal on the Road

It’s me, Writinggal, coming to you live from Austin, Texas. I’ve got a little project I’m working on here in Austin for the next few weeks so I’ll be blogging from the capital city.

People have told me that I won’t like driving back and forth between Austin and Dallas so much but I say, “Are you kidding? Have you seen the sites on I35?” Let me give you a little tour:

First, right out of Dallas you hit Red Oak. I don’t know what it is but I always think of Aunt Honey. That’s Doug Clayton’s aunt and all I remember is that she lives in Red Oak and sometimes they go there for Thanksgiving or Easter. I say “Wassup, Aunt Honey?” when I go through it.

About an hour outside you’ll hit Italy. When I drove through it this weekend I was on the phone with Liz and I said, “We’re in Italy…the city.” Just had to clarify. I should have said, “We’re in Italy, you know the place with the monolithic domes?” One day I’m gonna visit those domes. Who’s in?

Speaking of places I keep meaning to visit, how ‘bout Carl’s Corner? From what I hear it’s like the Four Seasons of truck stops. And Willie Nelson plays there sometimes. But as long as I can get some chocolate zingers, I’m sold.

Once I did the I35 trek with the Womacks (before they were the Womacks) and boy, do they know how to take a road trip. Every time one of us would casually mention something like, “Hey, a Blizzard sounds good,” Scott would immediately pull over and we would get one. Same went for the Czech Bakery in West. Tami said, “I could use a kolache” and bam, we were there. The kolaches were big and cheap, just the way I like ‘em!

If you look down to change the radio station about half an hour outside of Waco, you’ll miss Troy, Texas, hometown of the Loyd’s! And if you miss it, well, that’s probably okay.

Just North of Georgetown you’ve got Salado, an antiquer’s paradise. I’m not into antiques so I think of it more as a clutter-phobic’s worst nightmare.

So as you can see, there’s never a lack of things to see on your trip from Big D to the Live Music Capital of the World. I’m making the trip again on Friday. If I get too tired when I’m almost back to Dallas, I’ll probably just crash at Aunt Honey’s. Word is she’s got a monolithic dome. Yes. Two birds, one stone. I love this state.

Catching up with an Old Friend

In college, no matter what, we had three square meals a day—lunch, dinner and the 2 a.m. run to Taco Cabana. There is nothing like a bean and cheese burrito and a cup of queso in the middle of the night. It just tastes better for some reason. Perhaps that reason has to do with the cocktails that usually precede it.

Some people preferred other late night haunts like Wendy’s or Taco Bell. And others got all fancy with their late night at Kirby Lane. I don’t want a waiter—just a scratchy voice comin’ through that speaker.

Did you ever watch that short-lived show on MTV, Sorority Life? The girls at UC Davis had a weird late-night food addiction: green beans. They’d get home after 2, turn on the burners, pop open a can and feast on vegetables! Candace would be stirring them up while Amanda would whine about her problems. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that these college girls preferred green beans over refried or the fact that I remember that their names were Candace and Amanda. Fine. I know Jordan and Mara too. But that’s all.

For me, I had to squash that habit when I got out of college. I rarely make trips to the Taco C drive-thru anymore. It’s not because I don’t WANT to; believe me, I want to. But I rarely go out until 2 a.m. (when the queso craving kicks in) and Frank is really weird about it. He always says, “I’d just rather go to sleep.” No fun.

This weekend in Austin, however, after a night of wine and ¾ of a Mexican martini—1/4 went to Frank; we were supposed to split it—I gave in. We were with Liz and Daniel and I heard rumblings from them about going to Taco C. We were staying out their house so WE would HAVE to go. We had no choice. Frank couldn’t argue with it! And to my surprise, Frank was all for it.

It was good to see my old friend, bean and cheese burrito. Frank had a chicken burrito and get this: after he ate that he went BACK up to the counter and ordered something else. That is not like him at all. Spending MORE money on something he doesn’t usually want? Who was this guy?

And speaking of out of character, I didn’t order any queso. I just mooched off of Daniel’s. But when I started to scrape the queso off the plastic lid, Liz had to stop me. Thanks, again, Liz. That’s what friends are for. Oh, and friends don’t let friends eat green beans in the middle of the night. It’s just not right.