I got friends in low places...

I learned something today. Something that shocked me. Something that I feel a burden to share with you all, because without this knowledge, something terrible could befall you. This lesson came from the man I call the Office Sage. He is full of useful information, and is willing to share his wisdom at any given time. Like today. Office Sage is a big fan of Singer. Office Sage has been listening to Singer at an unreasonable volume in the office for several weeks now. He’s also had Singer come in to the office a few times for meetings. Office Sage thinks he is going to sign Singer to a publishing deal. Do we work for a publishing company? No, we do not. Does Office Sage do any kind of publishing on the side? No, he does not. But I digress. So Office Sage and Mrs. Office Sage went to see Singer perform in a club over the weekend. Apparently, it’s been a while since the Sages have been to a club. Or a bar. Or, you know, out in public. Office and Mrs. Sage were shocked, just SHOCKED, by what was going on in this establishment. For example, did you know that people DRINK in bars? Like, real actual alcohol. Beer and maybe even hard liquor. Who knew? This is shocking information. It’s even possible that some people might have been DRUNK. Did you know that sometimes, out in public in front of Office Sage and everyone, that people use CUSS WORDS? Not just the little ones, either. Big ones. And they same them loud enough for other people to hear. People they aren’t even talking to! Just alcohol and cuss words everywhere you look. Another shock - Singer was drinking. ON THE STAGE. Straight out of a Jack Daniels bottle. Office Sage was quite concerned about this. Did we think he was really drinking right out of that bottle? How was he able to continue his set? How could he get those songs out? Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe he filled the bottle with tea or something to make people think he was drinking. Did we think that was a possibility? (No, we did not.) But the real travesty – Singer has a song with the f-word in the title. Now I, personally, am not a fan of the f-word. I don’t use it. But am I shocked when someone else does? No. I hear it hundreds of times a day right here in this very office. You know, where Office Sage works. In the interest of google-proofing this entry, I won’t name the song. But Office Sage would like us all to know that, in his and Mrs. Office Sage’s minds, the f-word means one thing: fornication. But apparently, the crazy kids these days use it to mean something else! All kinds of things! Shocking! Don’t worry, though. Office Sage has plans to sit Singer down and discuss both the onstage drinking and the use of fornication in his songs. We all know you can’t be a successful artist if you drink on stage. No one, anywhere, especially in country music, drinks on stage. Once Singer understands that, he’ll be able to sign a deal with our nonexistent publishing company. Maybe he’ll censor himself. I, personally, am partial to “feck.” “What’s the difference?” “The letter ‘U’.”

Doggie sneezes.

Miles has a new “trick”. I don’t love this one nearly as much as I love the other one. It goes something like this. Brandi: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Aaron: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Miles: Hey guys! GUYSGUYSGUYS! It’s morning! There is sunshine! Yay! Morning! Aaron: *rolls over* Brandi *rolls over* Miles: *bounce bounce bounce* Getupgetupgetup! Morning! Sun! Yay! Miles: And also, I need to pee. GET. UP. Aaron: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Brandi: *kind of awake, rolls back over* Miles: MOM’S AWAKE MOM’S AWAKE! Yay! Sunshinemorningpeetimeawakeyay! KISSES! Miles: *runs up to my face and licks it one time* Miles: *doggie sneezes in my face* A doggie sneeze to the face is not pleasant. It is, in fact, gross. Especially first thing in the morning.

... or get off the dryer!

Holy moly, people. I am so bored. It’s been a long time since I’ve been bored at work. 2006 thus far has been really busy, and I’ve been working on some creative projects, so things have been good. I got past my one-year mark at this place with only a minor what-am-I-doing-with-my-life freakout. That is big, y’all. But today, wow. Bored. We turned in a huge project yesterday afternoon, and I think we’re all just exhausted from the effort of getting it out the door. I even came in on a SUNDAY to get that bad boy finished up. And can I just say? It is fabulous. The best thing we’ve done so far. Two thumbs up. I had lunch earlier than usual today, too, which is adding to the extreme length of the afternoon. I feel like it’s time to go, but it’s only 3:00. The idea that I have at least 2-1/2 hours to go is not a happy one. So, because I have the time, I’m going to tell you a completely random story about my brother-in-law that his wife told us the other day. It had me doubled over in laughter, but somehow I’m thinking you won’t find it as funny. But I’m telling it anyway. One night last week, BIL was having a dream. This dream involved, in some way, doing laundry. (I KNOW. Laundry. Who dreams about laundry?) At some point in the middle of the night, and apparently during the laundry dream, BIL got up to use the bathroom. So he gets up and kind of stumbles toward what he believes to be the bathroom. Both SIL and BIL confirm that he was TOTALLY ASLEEP when this was going down. As I’m sure you can guess, he does not find the bathroom door. At all. Instead, he finds the bedroom door and heads out into the hallway, then opens another door that he thinks is the bathroom. And begins to relieve himself. Into the dryer. The DRYER, y’all. It was then that my SIL woke up and saw what was going on. She, understandably, flipped out. (She did not, however, burn the dryer. Which is what I would have done.) She woke him up, led him to the actual bathroom, made him clean up, and they went back to bed. At this point in SIL’s telling of the story, Aaron interrupted her with a question only a guy would think of: How did he get it in there? I, being completely unfamiliar with using the bathroom while standing up, did not really understand the question. (And this is way more than I have ever talked about pee in my LIFE.) It turns out he had to sit down in the hallway to make the process more easy. Much more practical than, say, using a toilet. To recap: BIL, in the midst of a laundry dream, woke up in the middle of the night to PEE IN THE DRYER. SIL did not destroy the dryer. (That part’s not really relevant, just gross.) In the same conversation, BIL and Aaron discussed the recent breakup of the other brother and his girlfriend, who we all met and loved over the holidays. Girlfriend, apparently, was ready for the serious, and OB was not. BIL, in passing, said he’d had a “sh*t or get off the pot” moment. To which SIL yelled out, “OR THE DRYER!” I thought it was funny.

The disappearing nature of the people we have been...

I am, as a general rule, a social person. I love other people. If you invite me to a party, I’m there, and I’m bringing the wine. And I love, Love, LOVE having people over. Even though it stresses me out that my house isn’t big enough and we don’t have enough chairs and why do I invite people over for dinner when we all know I can’t cook what if I poison all of our friends then WHO WILL COME OVER FOR DINNER????? But it works out, every time, including the part where everyone doesn’t die. But as of late I have not been feeling very social. As in, not social at all. As we speak, I’m trying to figure out how to get out of seeing a movie with a couple of people tonight. Aaron’s got a thing tonight, so I’m on my own. We’re supposed to meet for dinner and see a movie afterward, and I am just not interested. I’m in for dinner, but I am currently working through a list of excuses as to why I’ll be bailing afterward. I think being social is a lot like everything else – the more you do it, the more you want to do it. With the change in churches and the dissolution of our bible study this past summer, our weekly activities have dwindled down to almost nothing. We used to be out three or four times a week, and now we’re at home most evenings. When we were gone so much, spending time with people, we were making lots of weekend plans and keeping ourselves really busy. But now that the bulk of our time is spent just the three of us at home, I’m getting used to that. I prefer time at home. Except I don’t really think I do. I miss being busy. I miss having a full schedule and being around people all the time. But the things in our lives that kept us busy are gone, and our current situation hasn’t really provided a new social circle. And so, we’re at home. A lot. I think I’m getting bored. But I clearly haven’t reached my breaking point, as I am still trying to figure out how to be less social and spend more time at home this very evening.

A day of looooooooooooooove...

Aaron and I started a new Valentine’s Day tradition this year. Can something be a tradition if you’ve only done it once? Or do we only have the intention of starting a tradition at this point? Anyway, here’s what we do. We get takeout from Pei Wei (lettuce wraps, honey chicken and ginger beef and broccoli). Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (plain for Aaron, tiramisu for me). And then we buy presents. We go to Target. We each get $10 and 20 minutes to find a gift for the other. Rules: Nothing Valentines-y. Nothing from the dollar section. No gift cards. GO! I admit, I thought the whole thing might end up being kind of lame, even though it was my idea. But it wasn’t! It was So. Fun. Like being on a secret mission. You have to be on the lookout for the other person… you can’t have them seeing your surprise! Really, really fun. I got Aaron Forrest Gump on DVD and a bag of peanut M&Ms.

He got me a book journal and notebook, Reece’s Pieces and Airheads. And, of course, Captain Badass, overlord of the shady Tennessee sequin mining racket and uncle (by marriage) to the reeb. (Please note how Miles the Wonder Dog, who will never let me take his picture, is in every shot. Attention whore.) So then we sat and ate, and the food was of course fabulous. I. Love. Pei Wei. We ordered way too much food, so we saved the cheesecake for tonight. Woo-hoo! And Miles, of course, was desperately interested in what was happening on the table, and did everything in his power to be involved somehow. (Sorry for the scary eyes! That's just what he looks like. I don't know what to tell you.)

Then, today, I got a package in the mail from my parents. My dad found what is possibly the greatest card of all time, especially coming from him. In fact, I think Hallmark might of ripped him off a bit. He needs to buy this card in bulk and send it out for every occasion, always. I also got a poem from my mom, a two-line piece of awesomness, that reads: Roses are red, Violets are blue This is all Mom sent – woo hoo Happy Valentine’s Day!

Climbed a mountain and I turned around...

I don’t think I’ve ever written about my coworker with the bad taste in music and the loud stereo and the Creed loving. And I don’t really want to ruin today, the day of love and chocolate and little paper valentines that I totally printed out from The Office site and put into all my coworkers mailboxes ANONOMOUSLY, with a story about this guy and his bad singing. But I will. Because right now he is in his office, which is not far enough away from mine, and he is singing. He is always singing. Every time he passes by my office, and I mean every time, and that is a lot of times because did I mention his office is very close to mine? EVERY TIME, he sings, “Brandi/ You’re a fine girl/ what a good wife you would be”. Now that song is not only a fabulous hit of the 70’s by the iconic one-hit wonders Looking Glass, but also the song for which I was named. It is very special to me. Yes, my parents are crazy. Yes, this guy is ruining my special song for me. But today, he is singing Landslide. LANDSLIDE. Landslide is one of my very favorite songs. The first time I heard the song, it was performed by the Smashing Pumpkins on the B-sides album I totally bought because the guy I had a crush on was always talking about Smashing Pumpkins and I wanted to have something to say about them. I was sitting at the kitchen table one day, singing that song to myself while doing my homework, when my dad said, “Why are you singing Fleetwood Mac?” I, of course, was not singing the Mac, and was quick to let him know that was a SMASHING PUMPKINS song, GAH. He proceeded to give me a loooooooooooooooooong (long) lesson in Fleetwood Mac and the joys of Stevie Nicks, complete with album covers and samples played on the turntable. It was a valuable lesson in music that I treasure to this day. For real. All that to say that Landslide is not only one of my favorite songs that has been done by no less than three of my favorite groups (The Pumpkins, The Mac, and the Chicks of Dixie, and also Kidz Bop Kids, YIKES) but it started an appreciation for the music of my parents that continues to this day. It is an important song in my life. And my Scott-Stapp-loving coworker is RUINING IT FOR ME. I am totally taking back his valentine.

I live in my own mind...

I came in to work on a Sunday. I kind of hate that. But I got some stuff done that will make my weeks run much more smoothly, so yay. Anyway, I’ve got the TV on and I’m trying to find VH1 so I can watch Top 100 Teen Stars or Heartthrobs or Celebrity Kid Birthday Parties, and I pass by CMT. Now, CMT is always running downstairs in the lobby, and I try to tune it out as best I can. But as I pass it today, something caught my eye. Bonnie Raitt. Y’all, I LOVE Bonnie Raitt. Freaking love her. I want to BE Bonnie Raitt. She is the coolest person on the earth. I want her to live at my house and sing to me all the livelong day. So I stop, because Bonnie Raitt is singing and I can’t not watch. Then the camera pans over, and Lyle Lovett is onstage with her. LYLE LOVETT. Do you know who else I love, besides Bonnie Raitt? The Lylester. Bonnie Raitt and Lyle Lovett are singing together. It is such a parade of awesomeness that it literally makes me want to cry. They’re doing her songs. They’re doing his songs. They’re doing Aretha Franklin songs. They are killing me with all the fabulous. Thankfully, CMT is just like every other music station. They replay the same shows over and over and over again. So when it comes on again on Wednesday at 5, I’ll be ready with my high-tech cutting edge VHS tape. I will own this performance. And watch it and learn it and love it. Because Bonnie and Lyle, man. It doesn’t get better than that.

Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feeeeeeeeeeeeel you...

Have I ever told you how much I hate it when we get in the car in the morning after I've driven it last and Aaron cranks up the engine and the radio is blaring, and I mean blaring, Celine Dion on the easy listening station, and Aaron give me a look that says WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY WIFE BECAUSE THAT GIRL HAS TASTE AND YOU, CLEARLY, DO NOT and despite my protests that last night they were playing the Verve and I was totally having a high school flashback moment and did I ever tell you about that time we went to regionals in track that was really cool and the Verve totally reminds me of that and I swear I WAS NOT LISTENING TO CELINE he does not believe me and looks at me with a mix of pity and disgust as he changes the dial to the much more hip and cool triple A station?

Because I really hate that.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

It’s supposed to snow tonight. Big snow for Nashville, meaning a few inches might accumulate. I like snow. A lot. But only when I’m at home. The last time Nashville got a significant amount of snow was January of 2003. I had only lived here a few months, and having moved from Texas, was not at all accustomed to driving in the snow. Aaron and I were living downtown and only had one car, so I dropped him off on my way to work and picked him up on the way home. It started in the morning, about an hour after I arrived at work. By 10am, it was more snow than I’d seen in my entire life. I, not knowing what to do, waited too long to leave. The snow was starting to stick. I asked a coworker if it would be better to take the highway or the side roads home, and he said the side roads. He was wrong. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a fabulous driver. I’m fine in the everyday activities, but throw in bad weather and I’m out. I’ve had a couple of wrecks due to slick roads and spinning out, and I lose my confidence quickly when the conditions get bad. I hadn’t gotten very far when I started to skid. I found myself half in the lane, half on the shoulder, facing sideways, stuck. The wheels weren’t turning. (On the car or in my head.) I had no idea what to do. A few minutes later, a car parked next to me and a middle-aged man got out. He walked to my window and tried to give me instructions to get my car unstuck. I was grateful for the help, but still a little freaked, and nothing was working. Finally he said, “I promise not to steal your car. Would you like me to get in and get you straightened out?” I told him he was welcome to steal my car, that I had no idea what I was doing and anything would be better than the current situation. He got in, I stood in the snow, and he got my car back on the road. He then told me he was headed to a church up the road to pick up his kids, and if I wanted he would follow me there and I could come inside and use the phone. Excellent. A BILLION HOURS LATER, we made it the mile and a half up the road to the church. I went inside, where I could finally use a landline to call Aaron’s office and tell him what was going on. Basically that I had driven two miles in two hours and I was staying put at that church and I don’t care how you get here just get here because I am not getting behind the wheel and on the road again unless the temperature miraculously goes up 30 degrees and this entire mess melts away. Which, you know, probably isn’t happening. So Aaron tells a guy that if he will let him come and get me first, he’ll drive him home in his car. (This guy was apparently a big weenie like me.) They get in the truck, spin around a bit, fill the bed of the truck with snow, and FIVE HOURS LATER, arrive at the church. It’s a three-mile drive. And then we inch our way home. All in all, it took me nine hours to get home from work that day. What had begun as a pretty snow day with the promise of an afternoon hanging out at home turned into a long, frazzled nightmare of skids and spins. Not fun. Thankfully, this snow is scheduled to arrive on a Friday night, when I’ll be safe and warm at home with my dog and my hot chocolate and my Real Simple and the opening cermonies. And that is the best thing for everyone.

Woke up, got outta bed, dragged a comb across my head...

My hair looks exceptionally good today. This is not something I normally say. In fact, I have spent a good portion of my life lamenting my hair. Too brown. Too heavy. Too blah. In fact again, I posted pictures from our weekend only after endless deliberation. Why? Hair. With the shaggy and the stringy and the WHAT IS GOING ON WITH MY NOSE DO I REALLY LOOK LIKE THAT OH MY WORD. Ever since I got my new haircut (that is probably due for a trim by now, but I’m kind of scared to go back to the shiny funky salon), I have spent every morning debating with myself (and sometimes with Miles) if I made a good decision. Do I have an answer? No I do not. I look different, and I like different, but is it better? No idea. But today? It looks good. And even though I have doubts about my shirt/pants/boots combo today (the different shades of brown are throwing me, but you can’t see me so why I am telling you this?), I’m rockin’ the confident appearance today. Which means I’m probably about to notice a big stain on my jacket or knot in the back of my hair. If you see it, don’t tell me.

Honey I'll live with you for the rest of my life...

Ahhh… vacation. We haven’t taken a real one since we’ve been married. But we did take a mini-vacation this weekend with friends, and it was fabulous. We planned it back in July – a weekend at a Gatlinburg cabin to watch the Super Bowl. Booked the cabin, a three-story, three-bedroom house of awesome with a hot tub, six balconies, a pool table, foosball table, air hockey table, Ms. Pacman machine, and my personal favorite, a jukebox. I won’t tell you how many times I played Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands To Yourself.” Just know that it was a lot. And involved the use of a pool cue as a microphone.

We arrived late Friday night, and most of the group went to bed. Not us, though. We are stay-up-laters! It’s vacation, people! You play pool until 3am and sleep till 11! So we did, except for the sleep till 11 part. We heard everyone up and moving around 9, and felt like bums so we got up. We’re not rebels, we just play them on vacation.

Saturday was spent reading, napping, hottubbing, playing pool (and Georgia Satellites) and watching TV. And eating. Did I mention the eating? There was a Lot. Of. Eating. At one point Aaron went outside and someone from a neighboring cabin yelled, “What it is, ho!” I don’t know what that means, but I’ve said it no less than 400 times in the past three days. Saturday night we grilled steaks on the teeny-tiny grill and had a wonderful dinner, followed by… sleep. For most of the crowd. Again – not us! This time we took advantage of the giant sheet-turned-screen that was set up with the projector our friends brought. We watched a movie and a few episodes of Entourage before finally turning in. REBELS. Don’t mess with us.

Sunday – football time! I wasn’t nearly as excited as I sound. I like football, and the more I understand about the game the more I enjoy watching it. But, truth be told, if the Cowboys aren’t involved I’m not terribly interested. I was, however, the only one in the cabin pulling for the Seahawks. And with good reason – a few years ago I decided I needed my own, non-Cowboy team. I picked Seattle because I hear it’s a cool city but I’ve never been. Four years later? SUPER BOWL. I rule at football picking.

The commercials were alright… I laughed at the Bud commercials, and the ones with the “Don’t Judge Too Quickly” tagline. I, of course, was really there for the food. Burgers, queso with sausage, pretzels and beer. These are the joys of my life. That, and Grey’s Anatomy. Holy pajamas. (Did we stay up late? Oh yes we did. There’s not much cooler than being in a hot tub at night while it’s snowing.) We packed up Monday morning and headed home, with a quick stop into downtown G-burg for a kissing fish for my mom. I miraculously remembered the exact location of the store that sells the kissing fish, fought road construction to get there, and… the store was closed. Sorry mom. Overall, it was a nice long relaxing weekend. For having planned it six months ago, it couldn’t have come at a better time for us. We desperately needed the break. And the jukebox.

I was cryin' when I met you...

I’ve never been a big Oprah fan. I remember watching a “My Favorite Things” episode with my dad one day, and his comment that Oprah must be the antichrist, because “no one should make people react like that.” I hear what he’s saying. I’m down with that. Every now and then, I’ll flip it on in the afternoon to see what she’s talking about. I do love a good celebrity guest, or makeover show, or favorite things episode. (Sorry dad.) Overall, though? Meh. I feel like she brings on celebrity guests just to tell them what she thinks of them and by the way did you know she used to be poor? But y’all, when she pulls an unexpecting audience member onstage to read the teleprompter introducing Mary J. Blige, and said audience member can barely get the words out because Mary J. is her all-time favorite singer and an inspiration to her life and then she comes on stage and the girl is FLIPPING OUT with excitement so much that is makes Mary J. and Oprah cry? That’s good stuff. Even though Oprah’s tears are probably fake. Because mine? Aren’t.