Seriously. I never liked ice cream after I was, maybe, 6. Gram used to take me and I’d get pistachio and we’d race to eat our cones without letting a drip drop. I was a pro. But then it was too sweet. I let it go.
When I got to Austin I want to say every (don’t tell my husband) guy that ever took me on a date would end up at an Amy’s Ice Cream. At least before I could sneak in go to bars. They would be all impressed showing the girl new to town the crazy fanfare of a guy mashing stuff into ice cream as though it’d never been done. I tried to be polite and often would fake surprise, or a “No, this is my first trip for ice cream! Wow!”
That kind of sounded like a dirty euphemism…
Anyway, so way back when Brother came to visit he suggests ice cream. We’re all, why not? We never. I got a REDUCED fat some kind of raspberry-graham-cracker-cheesecake. It was amazingly delicious.
Then Cousin comes to visit. And what do we have? Perhaps five or twelve rounds of cheesecake ice cream, in all different places, with all different fruits. And it’s so good. I could live on it.
Except – needless to say, when company comes my gym time declines. So now that I’ve stepped it up to running and weights daily, which I call my “two-a-days”, my question is this:
Ice Cream, anyone?
With posts like this it’s not had to understand why this blog is hitting all time traffic highs.
All this politics and Olympics watching got me for a second. It made me wonder, am I a grown up?
There are certain facts beyond my ability to vote that I consider are features of being a grown up. I am married. I’m finished college. I’m a legal driver and drinker. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut better. I feel compassion. I put others first.
Then I get stuck. There are far more things that don’t get me in that category, in my opinion. I don’t own a home, have a mortgage. I don’t have any kids. I mean, I don’t even have a job. I play around all day. I wear neon colors. We play video games a lot. We take naps. We go out for ice cream when we’re good. If I don’t get my way I whine.
We’ve all got our little things. And for the most part I’m trying to make you laugh. But seriously; my parents had three kids by the time they were our age. We don’t even think we’re ready for a cat. Are we running late? What makes you a grown up? Do you just decide?
I just felt my first earthquake. We’re pretty far away. But that was crazy.
This past weekend was number two for Mr. Sailor Pants. I am doing awesome at sailing. And by that of course I mean sending MK off sailing. This weekend MK had to go to Long Beach. The classes were 9-5 Saturday and Sunday. I got to do whatever! I! wanted!
So what did I do? Well, Saturday I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway to Huntington Beach and ran on the boardwalk. I think I got about 6 miles in. I went to our hotel to shower up and headed back via the inland highway to check out the two malls, the main street, a local lunch spot, and headed back to the beach. Saturday was unseasonably hot hot hot and the beach was a good kind of full. There was a classic car show and a bunch of other things to see. I headed back to pick up MK and sat out by the water reading a book until he was done.
Sunday I did LA. I saw almost everything. But it was so hot, I ended up only stopping by Century City, Rodeo Drive, and Santa Monica. LA on the pavement is no fun in unseasonably hot weather, unless you do it from the car. I saw the La Brea Tar Pits, drove up and down Sunset, checked out the homes in Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and the scene on Crescent and Wilshire.
It was a great long weekend for MK, who didn’t burn too badly and passed his test with flying colors. And for me, being all! by! myself! left to explore was a blast. We spend a lot of time together, and it was a giant adventure to be all touristy and wander-y on my own.
Here’s another girl blog for you. I’m girly this month. Every once in a while is fine, right?
One of the most exciting moments that I look forward to all spring is when I get that base tan just right. Then it’s time for my dark makeup. Know what I’m talking about? Your skin has been ‘fair’ all winter, and your makeup looks mortician like. Or you try to get some color in there and just come out pink.
But after some sun, you’re naturally glowing. I just picked up this year’s shade, and I’m so excited it’s hard not to overdo it. I’m tan. Everyone looks better tan. As they say, “Tan fat looks better than pale fat.”
Living in 100 degree weather for 8 years had some effect on me. In Seattle it was fine to wear jeans and a sweater all summer, but here in San Diego you’re on the beach! You want to wear a swim suit! Maybe a sundress! The weather living on the water is very inconsistent. There’s these ocean breezes and hot inland systems and something something something meteorology something so sometimes it can be quite cool and quite warm in the same day. Then if you’re driving inland… well, pack a couple outfits.
I have learned about myself from this. I have the world’s smallest range of comfortable temperature. And I think it’s 80 degrees. Maybe 80.1 to 80.2. One ocean breeze and I need a winter coat over that little sundress. Brr. In Texas I just needed a sweater for the AC certain places would blast. Here you have to position yourself out of the breeze. Those plexi/glass retainer type walls aren’t for decoration – you can’t lay out without them. It might be sunny, but it can feel like the temperature changes in the shade by 30 degrees or something.
I am imagining menopause. Since my body is already insane, it will either have no effect on me at all (sweet!) OR I will be able to make ice cubes for your drink in one hand and light your cigarette with the other.
It is unreal to me that this song is over 10 years old. It was on a CD that SB bought/made me in college and I never ever have been able to stop listening to it. The new remix is only made better by the video keeping the all time important ‘running man’ alive. You know if you’ve been out with me that to embarrass my husband, nothing works like breaking out the old dance moves. He’s really sick of me showing him this video. I’ve been watching it for a month now, and just wanted to share “in case you missed it”.
The last time that I put forth a true conundrum, our discussion was pretty interesting (read here). So here’s the latest situation that we found ourselves in. I need your advice.
This past weekend, MK was in a wedding. We had to go to the mall (no choice) to get his suit. As we were dropping it back off, it was prom or whatever, and the place was packed. With ME IN THE CAR, he pulled into one of the 7 available handicapped spots while he ran in and dropped the suit off. It maybe took a minute.
Mall security approached us as we were reversing. Apparently the big fat guy in the orange shirt behind us had mall security on speed dial, could see from our front dash that 100 yards away that there wasn’t a handicapped tag, and made the call. The nice gentleman mall employee let us off after we apologized.
I would never, on my own, steal a single handicapped spot. But MK leaving me in the car was to show that, were the other 6 spots filled, I would drive around until I found MK, but since he had been driving, we stopped instead of switching spots. Internet, is this the same as murder? I felt pretty huffy about it. And the orange shirt guy glaring and looking mad we didn’t get some sort of penalty or ticket or whatever the mall has the authority to give.
To top it all off, I saw another person (17 year old) park his car and go in, obviously using his gram’s handicapped pass. Isn’t that far more wrong??? Someone, please let me know the rule breaking etiquette.
The brother has taught me the very simple term that programmers and internet lovers everywhere make jokes with when someone messes up. “Fail.” That’s it.
There are quite a few things I’ve been failing lately (the usual) , and some I can even forecast:
- This Blog. I know. Not as quality as it used to be. The no comments is a sign. My less frequent posting is a problem. I’m trying, but life is so random these days.
- Working Out. Haven’t been in the gym since NYE, and the weights at home aren’t cutting it. The vacations are slowing down my running, since I’m so tired when we get home.
- Dieting. I have been eating nothing but crap since January too. I don’t even enjoy it. I blame the company and vacations again.
- Writing. I should do some.
- Upcoming: No partying until SXSW. We are going skiing again the whole week before I get to Austin. And my drinking buddy and I aren’t going to be able to turn that switch off, not what with the Stella’s calling our names and all.
- Upcoming: A schedule. We still haven’t made any plans further than one month from now about what to do with ourselves come our next lease being up. Here’s to being spontaneous.
- Ongoing: Family. As much as I like to talk, I haven’t done any with relations that aren’t visiting me. Shame on me.
Someone needs some help turning this ship around. It’s getting old. Well, on the other hand I’m having the time of my life going out and partying and making friends. I kind of like being lazy. And I AM good at it. Hmm.
We’ve been a lot lately. In the airport. Traveling. Picking up visitors. Getting rid of those visitors. A lot = over twenty times in the last few months and likely another twenty coming up.
I have to tell you what I like the least. It would be the TSA. I’m not sure that I’m allowed to say that in this medium without getting in trouble, so let’s pretend “TSA” stands for “Tacky-Sweatered-Accountants”…
One place there was a lady in a chair. She was pregnant. That much was obvious. But she felt the need to sit far away from the line and announce to everyone that she couldn’t BEND to lean in and check your things. You had to almost lean over the divider and into the podium thing she wasn’t using. “There’s a BABY in there,” she would announce, in case you thought she was just eating beach balls while she ‘worked’.
One place there were many workers. Maybe 12. In one spot. STANDING. I’ve never seen anyone not work so hard. Wait, that’s not true. I saw one lady READING AN US WEEKLY.
After that, I considered applying. I would totally read Us Weekly for a living. It makes me think of what my Dad would say. “Don’t work too hard,” he’d tell her, and she just wouldn’t get it.
I mentioned to my husband what an insane amount of these people we’ve seen, and he provided me with more fodder for annoyance: the 9/11 bad guys had proper IDs. So what do they solve? And, 6 months after the creation of the “Tacky-Sweatered-Accountants”, they gave out lifetime achievement awards. At expensive parties. The more I think of this, I really need to apply. What am I complaining about? I must just be jealous.
Wait, where’s his sweater?…