Of Insignificant Importance

So Long

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Thu, 14 Dec 2006 21:42:00 +0000

I'm getting rid of my blog for several reasons, but I'll just say it's because no one reads it anymore and I don't have the energy or want to write anymore. So, if anyone does wander by, so long and Merry Christmas.

Travel

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 01 Dec 2006 16:40:00 +0000

When I was younger, I never really had the strong desire to travel. While my fellow classmates were ooohing and ahhhing over places like Africa, France, and Spain, I was quite cozy in my small town home, able to walk the streets of my humble city blindfolded and still find my way home. I had no reason to travel really. All of my family lives in Texas, none more than 1 hour away from me on. I had no friends that lived in exotic places, and even if I did, I would probably have convinced myself that it was too much trouble to visit them anyway. The first time I stepped foot on an airplane, I was 18 years old.

As I got older, though, I had more of an itch to go somewhere. Maybe not anywhere out of country, but somewhere—away! The opportunity came when I found out about a camp counselor position in New York at a place called Camp Pontiac. This search was a result of my new-found desire to want to pursue counseling as a career (and eventually led to me getting my Master’s in such a field). I felt like going was the right thing to do, and even though it scared the piss out of me, I was determined to break the roots that held me in one place and experience life for 3 months in a foreign state, all alone. My parents weren’t too keen on the idea (they had the same mentality as me: why travel when there’s no immediate need to?), but after a temper tantrum and some silent treatment, they gave in and I found myself packed and on a plane to New York.

Even though that experience wasn’t the best due to a bad case of bronchitis and homesickness, I did meet some very interesting and fun people, learned a lot about myself as a care-taker and leader, and even had my first real experience with people from Australia, Canada, and England. So, it began.

I started with a thirst for travel to more distant lands, and this thirst could only be satiated with a 13 hour plane ride and some exhausting jet lag. But why and how would I do this? I started making a list of my “Top 5 Places to Visit Before I Die”. They are as follows:

1. England
2. Italy
3. Australia
4. Ireland
5. Scotland

I became very interested in other cultures, and felt like I’d rather live in them for a few weeks than research them to get my information. I was, however, a newly graduated novice in a job that, while rich in experience, didn’t provide me the amount of money that such extravagant travel would necessitate. I was also crawling out of my skin at home and decided that moving out on my own would be Move #1. It seemed as though my plans for world-wide travel would have to be put on hold for, oh, say 50 more years.

Then came Huw. A strange series of events brought us together, and through sheer interest and, dare I say, attraction, we became a force to be reckoned with! Only, as you know, he was in London, and I in the Lone Star State. Honestly, the idea of me visiting over there popped in my head once or twice before we proposed it ourselves, but due to the circumstances under which we met, it seemed more appropriate for him to visit me first. And that’s exactly what he did. However, about 4 months later, I was on my 13 hour plane ride and was able to experience such jet lag that I could literally NOT keep my eyes open on the drive (on the wrong side of the road, mind you) back to Huw’s flat.

My experience in that single two week trip were indescribable. If I never am able to travel again, I will still be happy with the memories I made and things I saw with him. London was intimidating and extremely large, and even though I could never see myself living in such a city, I was overwhelmed by its ability to go from shady in one area, to exhibiting beautifully architecture in another. I loved Picadilly Circus, and that place we walked around when we were attempting to see The Lady in Black (I forgot what was called). The icebar, the Chicken Balls Chinese place, and our Duck Tour were also some of my favorite memories.

But it didn’t end there! Huw was kind enough to take me to Paris for my birthday, where we spent a day touring and eating and site-seeing. Then, if London and Paris weren’t enough, we visited Wales and its beautiful country and sea-side. In Wales, not only did we get to visit some beautiful places like Rhosilli Beach, but I also got to meet some quite enchanting characters (Curly and Tom the Swan).

Traveling through three countries in two weeks was amazing. Tiring, and I complained a lot of sore feet, but amazing. Since then, I have been experiencing that itch to travel again.

Today I found out at my work that they may want to send me to Quebec City, Quebec for a Drug Dependence conference. I would be most inclined to attend this conference because I have always heard that Canada is beautiful. It would be in the summertime (June), so I would be able to experience Canada and not freeze my hoo-haas off. Even though this would be a work-related travel, I really think I could get some good site-seeing in. Any suggestions as to where to go around that area?

So...

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Wed, 01 Nov 2006 14:56:00 +0000

How was everyone's Halloween? I was a pirate. Narrrrrrrhhhh.

Pictures to come from the party last night (hopefully). Here were a few characters in attendance:

Rain, rain

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Wed, 25 Oct 2006 13:40:00 +0000

There’s nothing I love more than a very rainy day.

I know this might sound weird, as people usually love bright, sunny, warm days, but not me. Here in the Lone Star State, we have ENOUGH bright, sunny, extremely hot days to last us forever, so a nice, cool rainy day is a rarity here (or so I think). I especially love when it’s like it is now: dark, raining, and me sitting at my desk at work with the blinds to the window next to me wide open. I even keep my office lights off so all that glows is the computer monitor. I can turn my head to the left and stare out my window at the rain coming down, and wish all I want that I was cuddling up with Bella in my apartment, with a blanket wrapped around me with a cup of hot chocolate (or tea, just for Huw).

I think many people would say I appreciate rainy days like this when I’m at work simply because I CAN’T be outside frolicking around and doing “things”. I disagree. I love rainy days whenever I can get them. When Huw was here in December of last year, we had an incredibly mild winter, so our days were close to what his summer days appeared to be. He can attest to the fact that I was complaining about this; I wanted dark, cooler, winterier (it’s a word) weather (although he was enjoying a break from that very weather in Merry Old England). And the craziest thing about this is that I’m a SUMMER girl! I love hot weather and the lake and the beach and wakeboarding and walking around barefoot and all that jazz. But I suppose I’m getting to the age where I would like to see more seasons here. I would love to see the leaves turn all those beautiful colors you’d see somewhere like Boston. Instead, here you see them one day, green and swaying in the breeze on the trees, then the next they’re dead, brown, and crumbling before your eyes on the ground. I would love to know what it was like to properly “bundle up” in December, to wear scarves and buy really bulky sweaters, instead of wearing a t-shirt and taking a sweater in case the nighttime gets chilly. I guess it’s give and take when you live in a place like this.

Anyway, it’s raining. Me likey. That is all.

She's the Runt, but She's Bossy!

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 20:00:00 +0000

I truly think your pet reflects the kind of person you are.

For example, I had an ex-boyfriend who really liked cats. One of his cats, his favorite in fact, was lazy, snobby when you first met her, but then pretty sweet and affectionate once she got to know you. He was much the same. He also liked to stretch a lot.

I think my puppy reflects the “true” me as well, but I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing! She’s very much all about herself. She wants constant attention and gets extremely jealous when you pay attention to someone else (so much so that she’ll barge in on any activity so she can be the main event). She’s mean at first, but when she realizes she’s hurt someone, she’s immediately remorseful. She disobeys everyone and barely knows the word “NO!”, and certainly doesn’t listen to her mother, even if her mom knows what’s best for her. She cries when she’s left alone, but is incredibly excited when she’s reunited with someone. She’s very ready to give out love, but only when it’s convenient for her. She loves to have her ears rubbed and can eat like a maniac.

Aside from her constant need to chew on clothes, shoes, and furniture, my dog is ME. My mom told me that she was happy I picked Bella because she said she could tell straight away that Bella matched my personality. I guess she and I will get along just fine. As long as she stops chewing up my good shoes and puncturing my hands, that is.

I'm a New Mommy!

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 14:14:00 +0000

Okay, before y'all freak out and think i'm preggers or something, here's what I mean:

I got a puppy this past Saturday. Her name is Bella (which, apparently, is the name of every other dog in the world, GAH). She's a toy poodle, apricot/cream color, 8 weeks old, and the fiestiest 3 pound ball of fur you'll ever meet. I never knew how much of a "mommy" I'd feel like until I got her. See, my family had a poodle from when I was about 5 until I was about 19. She then passed away, but we had gotten another poodle in the meantime, so I've never really been without a doggie. However, these dogs have always been primarily my mom's dogs, as she was the one who took care of them the most. Having my own puppy, having something that looks at you and you alone for their well-being, is HUGE and scary. When I had to leave her at home for the first time on Monday, I couldn't eat and was sick the whole time because I missed her, I felt guilty for leaving her because I knew she was scared, and I was scared that she'd get into something that would hurt her. She survived her first day of me being at work, and hopefully with time, she'll realize that although I have to go, I'll always come back.

She's a little ankle biter, always chewing on something (mostly my toes) and let me tell you--those puppy teeth are SHARP! She is wonderful, though, very smart, and I can tell she's going to be a wonderful companion for me for a very long time. I'm already spoiling her and being *that* dog owner (with the car seat and the carrying purse...), but I wouldn't have it any other way. After all, to me, she's not a dog. She's my child!

So, here are a few more pictures for your enjoyment! Feel free to "oooh" and "ahhh" as you please.

Him Over Here

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 13:56:00 +0000

As we speak, Huw is on an airplane, bound for over here, to spend time with me. I am super excited but also very tired, as I spend last night cleaning and putting fresh sheets on my bed and taking out the MOUNDS of trash I found as I was cleaning. Also, on Sunday, I vacuumed out my car and pull something in my back, and it's hurting like crazy. So, I'm not in the BEST shape for his arrival, but I'm sure all my aches and fatigue will disappear when I see him walking down that airport walkway.

Y'all should know, too, that this will mean for about 2 and a half weeks I won't be posting anything, unless, you know, I get a small window. Most of my time will be spend kissing and cuddling up to Huw; don't worry Curly, I won't post any pictures of the kissing ;)

So, I leave you with excitement and anticipation of his arrival, and hope he makes it through immigration with no problems. Fingers crossed!!

Holy Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 18 Aug 2006 13:42:00 +0000

Huw will be here in 3 DAYS! (Okay, excluding today and the day he arrives.) I have SO much left to do!!!

I'm really excited to lay my peepers on him, in case you were wondering. Although it hasn't been AS long to wait as it was before I went to London, I certainly haven't been missing him any less. Long distance relationships are H-A-R-D, and it's not like this is domestic long-distance. We're talking International Love here, folks.

I think, however, for two people so far apart, we make long-distance-relationship-having look GOOOOD. Sure, there are times where we miss each other more or we get frustrated because the other is not there to soothe a troubled heart, but we work with what we have and I think we do a damn fine job, if I do say so myself.

Huw is a terrific guy. He's patient, understanding, supportive, loving, hilarious, incredibly intelligent, knowledgeable, witty, mature, caring, nurturing, a great son, a great cook, and all around perfect. I'm not quite sure how I managed to land him, and am still waiting for him to realize that he could do better, but for right now, I'll keep him in the dark because I'm enjoying being his girlfriend very much.

Anyway, that was my Ode to my Boyfriend. I'm happy it's Friday, I'm happy he's arriving in 3 days, and I'll be incredibly ecstatic for the 2 and a half weeks he's playing house husband. Life was sucking, but I always have him to look forward to.

Happy Friday!

Yep.

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Mon, 14 Aug 2006 22:16:00 +0000

Right now, I am Life's bitch.

Life is just getting a kick out of screwing me over and over again. Life is pointing and laughing at me, like how I would if one of my friends tripped and fell over a curb, only Life isn't helping me back up. It's got it's foot on my back.

Life needs to just back off. Before I kung-fu its ass.

Huw's here in 7 days. Let's hope and pray the airways are safe for him, and that we can be happily and safely reunited for two and a half weeks of happiness and kisses (which, of course, will be posted on here because I'm MUSHY like that).

In other news, here's a picture of me and my best gal pal Nic at a wedding we attended this past weekend. Also, me and my 3 co-workers/friends. A little blurry, I know, but we's still beautiful!

Breakin' tha Law, Breakin' tha Law...dah dah dah dah!

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Mon, 07 Aug 2006 16:38:00 +0000

So, question:

Is it illegal to stick a letter in someone's mailbox? Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that it is? Did I hear it on the news? Because that means it's true, as opposed to me hearing it on one of those "let's blow up every building in site and man-scream a lot" action movies that I watch...in which case I doubt my sneaking suspicion's validity. Anyone know? Reason being: I have a letter that I want to mail to someone, but I don't want them to know it came from me. I wouldn't have a problem not including a return address, except that I can't afford to have the contents inside the letter be thrown away should the address be flawed for some reason. A return address would give me away as the sender, but simply sticking the letter in the recipient's mailbox would ensure they safely receive the letter. But, I don't want to be mid-stick when the 5-0 shows up and arrests me for mail fraud or something of the sort. Again, anyone know? Illegal? Mail sticking? That's the technical term, by the way. Look it up if you don't believe me.

In other news:

14 ITTY BITTY DAYS UNTIL HUW IS HERE!!!!!!! I'm super excited, and am anxious for him to arrive for obvious reasons, but for the not-so-obvious reason of me getting to spend all this money I'm hoarding until he gets here. I have to save up for those tricks I have up my sleeve...

We have lots to do when he arrives. Last time he visited the Lone Star State, I did a poor job playing "Hostess" (not the cream-filled snack cake, unfortunately) and pretty much kept him to myself as opposed to sharing him with the sites of the city. Boy, did I feel a bit inadequate as hostess when I visited him in London and we did just about everything we could do, in 2 countries, in 2 weeks. I need to step it up. So, I have planned things. Wonderful things. Active things. Things that include actually LEAVING my apartment. Crazy, I know, but after his showmanship in London, I need to equalize.

One of our planned trips is a journey to South Padre Island. Now, my fear is a torrential downpour of rain on the days we are planning to be camped out in a hotel room and lying on the beach. I can remember one time my ex-boyfriend and I drove down for a weekend in SPI, and as soon as we got there, the rain began. When the news stated that they would be shutting down the bridge that separated the island from the rest of civilization in an hour, we had a tough decision to make: wait it out and hope the rain passes but chance getting flooded out, or high-tail it home and chalk this trip up to a loss. We did the latter. So, in a day we drove 10 hours, with only about 3 hours in between trips to "rest" (see: freak out about getting our money back for the hotel we had booked). That was a horrible trip, very disappointing and exhausting, and I hope the same doesn't happen to me and Huw when we go down there. I've been very nervous about this, you see, since we've been going SO FREAKING LONG without any rain, but a glimmer of hope revealed itself in the shape of very large and persistent raindrops yesterday evening. We got a pretty substantial shower, so I'm hoping that we're dry until AFTER Huw leaves. I guess we'll see. But you know, even if we DO get rained out, I wouldn't mind a back-to-back 5 hour roadtrip with him. He's just that great.

So, that's about it. I'm going to a wedding of a former co-worker in Austin this weekend, and have just been informed that one of my best friends found her wedding dress this weekend. I'm incredibly happy for both of them, but damn those wedding bells! So it begins...

Claim to Fame

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 01 Aug 2006 21:38:00 +0000

My mom has been told that she looks like Reba McEntire.

My daddy has been told he looks like a mixture of The Fonz and Elvis.

My sister (sadly) has been told she looks like Tonya Harding.

My brother-in-law bears a striking resemblence to Troy Aikman.

I have a cousin that looks like Elizabeth Shue, and she is married to a guy that looks like Ben Affleck.

I think my boyfriend looks like Guillaume Canet. Sigh.

I've been likened to Martina McBride, Larisa Oleynik, Katie Holmes (save me, Tom Cruise, with your witchcraft!) and most often, Avril Lavigne...lots.

And lots.
I'm telling you...
I get it all the time.
Which I take as a compliment because I think she's pretty.

And I'm not saying this to gloat, if that's what it seems like. I can remember sitting on my coffee table watching this video for this new artist, Avril Lavigne, thinking "Gosh, she looks a lot like someone I know...hey wait, she looks like ME!" And then it started. I'd get it in restaurants, clothing stores, school...my ex-boyfriend even took me to a concert of hers and I got mistaken for her SO many times!! I thought about sneaking into her trailer to get to her guitarist because I thought he was SUPER hot, but figured that'd be a bad idea as soon as I got found out. Since she went blonde, I get it less and less, but lo and behold, someone made a comment on a picture I have somewhere saying I had a striking resemblence to her. Go figure.

Hey, I'm stoked about it.

So, dear readers, who do YOU look like?

Nagging and Butterflies*

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 04:02:00 +0000

I'd like to say I'm writing this to convey some important self-discovery, but really, this is just to get Curly off my back**.

Things have been really crazy in my life lately, stories could formulate very easily about what I'm facing now, but I'm not sure if A.) I want to get that personal on a blog and B.) If I do, whether it's the right time or not.

All I've really got is this observation. Freaking. Butterflies. Everywhere. Seriously, they should be on that Discovery Channel show "Swarms". I've never seen so many. But it's not like they're these beautiful Monarch butterflies or exotic species, no. They're like the unimpressive, daytime moth.

I know that this may be their "hatching" time, but it's crazy. Is anyone else experiencing this in any other part of the US? I was driving the other day with my mom, and I seriously was about to cry because there was no way I could avoid them on the highway. Mom just laughed at me as I screamed at them "STOP HITTING MY WINDSHIELD, FLY AWAY FROM IT, GEEEEZ!" By the time we got to our destination, it was like someone shot my windshield with grey painball pellets. And my windshield wiper fluid dispenser hasn't worked for quite some time. Very sad and a little bit traumatic. I felt like a butterfly murderer. PETA would have a field day.

Anyway, these butterflies are EVERYWHERE. They hide in bushes and amBUSH (ha!) you when you walk by. They fly into your car when you open your door and you nearly fender-bender it trying to get the damn thing out of your window. Somehow, I bet, it's tied into global warming. Everything is nowadays.

So, that was my observation.

*Yes, I edited. I can because it's my blog.
**You know I love when you nag me, Curly, just like you love when I threaten you.

It's That Time Again

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 11 Jul 2006 14:23:00 +0000

This is a hard time of year for me. It's that time where I completely love the scorching heat and frolicking around on the beach and at the lake, but I hate, hate, HATE finding a bathing suit.

This is not a problem for guys. They throw on a ratty pair of board shorts and look as though they have walked out of a fashion magazine because, let's face it, old is the new new. Hell, they can even strip off their pants and down to their undies for an impromptu swim. Not so much with me.

Every year I vow that I will start working out hard core in like, February to be in shape for the season of Trying On Bathing Suits and Not Feeling Like a Huge Cow in the Crappy Store Mirrors and Poor Lighting. I think some of you girls know what I'm talking about. It's like, no matter how skinny you are, that lighting in those dressing rooms--Good Lord! There are angles I didn't even know existed...

Anyway, the past couple of years I haven't been too bothered by this seasonal slump I usually fall into, mostly because I haven't had anyone to impress. This year, however, is different. Huw is coming to stay with me for two and a half weeks in August (YAY!!) and I have planned for us to go down to South Padre Island for a weekend. This, of course, calls for a new bathing suit. I mean, I have my old trusty one...the one I've had since I was about 19 that I love and have completely broken in so it now fits the contours of my body no matter how much my weight fluxuates. However, when the white part has turned to a dull shade of yellow for no apparent reason, even after having been washed numerous times, you know it's time to retire it.

One day Huw mentioned that he thinks I look nice in red. Well, this stuck in my head and was brought to the forefront of my mind while shopping one day before I went to visit him in London. I found a really cute red triangle-top bikini (I can hear the guys just yawning) at a store and I really wanted to buy it, but due to constraints on my purse strings, I was going to have to wait. Turns out, upon calling a few days ago, they have sold out. But here comes Sissy to the rescue. Her husband had bought her a bathing suit very similar to the one I wanted when they were on their honeymoon, but because he had bought her a size "small", she was no longer able to wear it. She has graciously loaned it to me for our SPI trip, but man...when it says "small", it means "tiny in the ass and you're kidding yourself if you think both cheeks are going to fit into this".

Due to this recent discovery, I have vowed (and this time not just in vain) to get my rear-end into shape and shave off some of those love-handles that were squeezing oh-so-sexily out of the bottom portion of the suit. Yesterday was my first successful day, so I hope to carry on this way at least 5 days a week. At least I have that "back up bathing suit" in case my efforts yield little to no results.

So, wish me luck. I might be sore and cursing everyday, but dammit, I'm going to fit into that itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny red and shiny small bikini.

The Dreaded Return

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Thu, 15 Jun 2006 20:26:00 +0000

Okay, so I'm back and have been for almost a week now. However, for now, this is all I have to say:

I took 10 rolls of film, so obviously this isn't all there is. Special thanks to The Swan and Curly.

T Minus Hours

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Wed, 24 May 2006 17:37:00 +0000

Look at that countdown counter. Go on. Look at it. See that lovely round thing? That's a "zero". Do you know what that means? Sure you do.

Tomorrow is my last day of work before I head off to Merry Old England. Check out Huw's cartoon. Good stuff.

Today I have to work late to make sure I get all the work stuff taken care of before I leave this place for 2 weeks. Then I have to leech off of my parents and use their washing machine so I can have all sorts of clothes to pack (thanks to the weather...make up your damn mind), then I have to clean my apartment. Tomorrow will then be my bon voyage day at work and the monsterous task of packing.

I'm getting more and more nervous about my flight, but I at least have Harry Potter and my iPod to keep me company. Planes don't NORMALLY crash, right? Eeek.

Of course, the thing I'm most looking forward to is seeing and spending time with Huw, but added perks are getting to see and spend time with Curly, Chris, Tom, and Huw's family and other friends. Getting to know your significant other's, um, others, is always fun (if not a bit scary...I'm petrified of meeting his parents!).

So, that's it for now. I suppose I'll say "cheerio" until either I'm in London or (sniff, sniff) back home to sunny Texas. Cheers!

A Lot More Candles Than Before

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 19 May 2006 13:49:00 +0000

Yesterday was my birthday. Although I *do* believe at times that the world does revolve around me, I couldn't bring myself to post about my special day yesterday.

I've never really been shaken by a birthday before, I actually really look foward to them. However, yesterday I was hit with the fact that the 18-24 age demographic that is referenced so much in daily consumer life no longer applies to me. And I felt old.

This feeling was overshadowed though, by this sense of excitement that has been hovering over me for a while. I really feel like this is the year where so many life-changing events are going to happen. I can't wait to see what unfolds, and where I am in my life a year from now.

I guess there's no better way to kick of my quarter-century birthday than by taking a trip to London. Remember what I said about those life-changing events? Well, they're beginning already! I leave a week from today. Around this time in a week, I will be sitting in my hair dresser's chair, chatting to her about how I'm going to spend the best two weeks of my life with the best guy I've ever known as she wraps my incredibly long hair into little foil folds. And my heart will be beating quickly, palms sweaty, and body shaking with anticipation.

I have *so* many things to do before I go, and really not enough time to do them in. I'm very much the kind of person that doesn't like to prepare things too far in advance, just to wait around for whatever it is I've gotten ready for to come. This was often the cause of my parent's grief with me when it came time for holidays and events--I was always the one making them a few minutes late because I refused to sit around in my nice clothes, hair and makeup done. I apparently have not defeated this habit, and have chosen to do my last-minute shopping at the very. last. minute.

To complicate things, I have decided to throw in a "weekend before I leave/birthday weekend" trip to Dallas to visit Nic. Now, when I thought about this 2 and a half weeks ago, it seemed like a GREAT idea; after all, I'd be getting one more weekend out of the way before I got to leave for London, it would be a smart and fun way to pass the time. However, as I sit here now and thing about all the undone bits and pieces I have yet to take care of, I'm thinking to myself "EEEk, was scheduling this trip the WEEKEND BEFORE I leave for London the most intelligent idea?" (Now, Nic, I *do* want to go, don't get me wrong. Just don't let me freak out about how unprepared I am for this trip).

So, there you have it. I'm not sure if I'll get to post before I go, so if not, either look for a "Hey, I'm posting from LONDON" entry, or one upon my arrival back to the States.

Happy Birthday to me!

Checklist

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Thu, 11 May 2006 22:15:00 +0000

Because my visit to London is now 2 weeks away (holy crap), I have decided to let all of y'all in on my secret checklist. Okay, so it's not that secret, but I needed to make this post sound mysterious and interesting, seeing as how it's been forever since my last entry.

Ahem.

Things To Do To Prepare for London in May:

Track the weather pattern/changes in London and Wales. Because these places are not two-climate countries like Texas is (yes, Texas is its own country) it has varying temperature levels that shift. It's not just "Hot" and "Hotter".
Based on the information collected in Bullet 1, plan wardrobe accordingly.
Oh crap. I have to figure out what I'm going to wear! This, for me, is a catch 22. You see, I feel like a fool if I pack too much (I never wanted to be one of those girls that had 28 suitcases following her on a trip that was not made for 28 suitcases), but I want to make sure I pack well enough for our travels, weather, and to occasionally look cute for my boyfriend. Gah.
Go to local WalMart and stock up on Benadryl for the plane ride there. I've never experienced jet lag before, so I might as well get a head start on getting my sleep patterns in sync on the plane ride over.
Whilst at Walmart, purchase cuter pajamas than just a ratty old t-shirt.
Must remember passport, must remember passport, must remember passport (etc.)
Build up a higher tolerance for alcohol. I hear those Brits and Welshmen can drink.
Make sure all work stuff is settled before I go. [bursts out in laughter]...who the hell am I kidding, I've got tunnel vision!
Make sure I get to the airport on time. Because I'm sometimes a "girly girl", I decided to make a hair appointment THE DAY that I leave, so that when I get to Britland and see Huw for the first time (other than on a webcam) in over 4 months, I can look halfway decent. However, I'm pushing it with time, as my hair appointments take nearly 3 hours. Must...budget...time...wisely!
And finally, make sure I come back. That plane home will be the LAST thing I want to see, so I will need the encouragement from a certain Brit. Else I'll stay where I am for as long as I can.

So, fair people of Blogland, there you have it. My "to-do" list for London in May 2006. The more I check off, the closer I am to being in Britland with my Britman (teehee, Oh, it was funny!). Posts may be lacking up until I leave because, as you can very well see, I have a ton to do.

Suggestions, tips, hints, and general comments for overseas/Britland travel are welcomed and encouraged. So get to it.

Three Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Mon, 01 May 2006 04:15:00 +0000

If I can just make it through three insignificant weeks, then I'll be alright. That's what I keep telling myself.

With Huw on tour this weekend, I was left with a few emails here and there and some nice phone calls which, I'm sure, will cost him a pretty penny*. Although I love the fact that we haven't let one day pass since we've been together in which we don't communicate with each other in some way, it's always tough when I can't "see" or "talk" to him like I'm used to.

I'm not sure if any of you have noticed recently (why would you with the huge gap in my postings), but we're down to LESS THAN 30 DAYS before I'm on my London in May adventure. And knowing that Huw hasn't broken any bones from his Barcelona Adventures** relieves me a bit, so it's all downhill from here.

The only thing is, even though I know I have a mere 3 weeks to go before I get to see him, I know that these are going to be the 3 most stressful weeks I've had in a while. Since I manage a project, I have to make sure that everything is right with it, along with the 2 other projects I'm on, before I can breathe easy when I step on that airplane. I guess the only thing that really keeps me going is the fact that my ticket is non-refundable, that I've already been approved for the vacation request, and that no matter what, I'm getting on that airplane. Data submission be damned.

Being a real grown up has its perks, but sometimes it can be a real pain in the ass. I understand that in the times we live in now, money makes the world go round and there's nothing I can really do about that. But I am so scared that I am becoming one of those people that works constantly--in the shower, on the weekend, just before I fall asleep at night--I keep myself awake thinking "Did I remember to..." and "What if I need to...". I sometimes feel like there just isn't enough room in my head to remember all the things I need to. Whilst I'm jamming my brain with work-related bits and pieces, I feel like I'm forgetting important activities in my personal life (i.e. did I pay my rent, when is that doctor's appointment, have I changed my contacts yet this month, etc.). I never thought I'd say this, but I feel totally overworked.

Anyway, blah. I have tunnel vision right now, and the light at the end of this tunnel is really the only thing that will get me through these 3 weeks. Now, I just have to make sure not to bury myself beneath the piles of paperwork on my desk and get to the airport in time...

*Don't worry, I'm going to help pay!
**Hope that didn't ruin any of your homecoming posting, Huw!

I Blame It On My Boyfriend*

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 14 Apr 2006 04:17:00 +0000

I made my very first impulse buy. I got a new computer.

I don't even want to go into the frustration and confusion that went along with the purchase, but let's just say the day this one dies, I'm leaving it up to someone else to get me a new one.

I know many of you could hands-down admit "I couldn't live without a computer in my home", and I understand that. I, however, used to be quite the opposite. Sure, I liked to check my email and do an occasional surfing**, but other than that, I was happy watching a movie or playing with my doggie.

That is, of course, until I met Huw.

My main form of communication with him is via the Internet. We chat and get to see each other everday through webcams--we can even talk for free because of our (sometimes stubborn and feedback-producing) microphones. So, when my last computer called it quits ever so abruptly, I was at a loss***. How do I adjust from waking up and going to sleep with him there everyday, to semi-planned phone calls**** at my work desk, where I have to walk that fine line of letting him know I'm absolutely crazy about him and still maintaining professionalism? After about a week, I couldn't take it anymore, so I sucked it up, went to a store that I'm sure ripped me off, and bought a ridiculously expensive crappy computer that will probably break in a year anyway. And it was one hundred percent worth it. In fact, I would have paid double if it meant I could go back to seeing and talking to him every day and night.

So, what I told y'all before is no longer true. Uncle Sam isn't paying for my trip to London in May; instead, he's footing the bill for my new facking computer.

What was your biggest impulse buy?

Oh, and Happy Easter to all!

* Not really.
**I got bored after 10 minutes. Really, what's there to surf?
***Fantastically huge understatement
****Which, for the record, I loved.

Busy and Broken

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Thu, 06 Apr 2006 14:22:00 +0000

You might be asking yourself, "Why MOH, why are you blogging at work when you obviously have a mountain of work to sift through?" Well, good people, I'll tell you.

My at-home computer broke. Kaput. No more.

Now, if this is a fixable problem, then good deal. Obstacle with that is...I know CRAP about computers, so would have to take it to Computer Person for them to tell me, for about $100 I'm guessing, that my computer is broke, kaput, no more. And frankly, I haven't had the time.

So, with no computer at home, and with my days increasing in overworking my wittle booty off, I really REALLY don't have time to blog. What's worse is, that's my main line of communication with Huw, and even though (check the countdown) I have fewer and fewer days to go now until I see him, going those few days without communicating with him like I'm used to is very, very tough. So if any of you want to donate a computer to me (in the name of love, of course), want to offer your services for fixing said computer, or can give me any information on a BIOS old-school DOS screen that wouldn't bypass when my computer booted up, well then you might just be my second best friend.

Oh, and I got to see Nanners last night, which was in and of itself, the one of the best parts of my day. She's wonderful...remind me to tell you about the business we're going to start.

Cardio for Men

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 31 Mar 2006 05:50:00 +0000

I bought a Pilates DVD not too long ago with the hopes that I would magically become motivated enough to get my ass into shape (literally) before London in May (which, if you look at my countdown counter, is nearing). As great as toning my powerhouse is, all the stretching in the world isn't going to reduce the ever-growing lovehandles that have mysteriously appeared sometime between my college cheerleading days and the last time I ate McDonalds*.

Realizing that I wasn't going to escape the fact that I need some serious cardio in my life in order to reach the goal of 15 Lost Pounds before May 26th, I set out to my local Wal-Mart to buy yet another $9 DVD. I keep my work-outs high class.

I found a Denise Austin** "Burn Fat Fast--Dance Party!" DVD that tempted me. I like dancing. I like parties. I like that it's $9. Sold.

Right away I thought to myself, "Hmm...Denise Austin. Sounds like a porn name***". I should have let that be my first indicator and chosen the "Salsa Thin" DVD instead.

I'm not sure how many of you will understand this reference, but this woman is a cross between any woman porn star and Molly Shannon. Her voice is similar to Mary Katherine Gallagher, and she says "encouraging" phrases such as:

"Oh yeaaaah...feels SO good....you LIKE burning that fat, don't you?"
"MMMM...you KNOW you want to increase your flexibility."
"OOOOOH YES! We're DANCING that fat away. Do you like that?"

And she's got that gruff, scratch voice that makes you think that either she's a long-time smoker or she's been working those phone lines too long.

She also says things that make me want to punch her in her peppy little face:

"Let me see that smiling face!" (after our "power move" has concluded and I'm nearly passed out)
"Make this move your own! It's YOUR dance party!"
"Do the BEST that YOU can!"

As much as I make fun of her, and myself for actually buying this thing, I can't deny the fact that I'm sweating and my heart's a-pounding when I'm cooling down. Props to you, Denise Austin.

I just hope Huw never does what Chris Cope did.

*The people in the drive-thru by my apartment know me now.
**Apparently, she was the clumsy cousin on Three's Company.
***Not that I would know.

Along the Same Lines...

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 28 Mar 2006 14:54:00 +0000

I trudged into the kitchen at my respective place of work this morning to find notes of a rather rude nature Scotch-taped pretty much everywhere I turned. They read:

"You're not a Princess. You're not a Prince.
If you drink coffee, make coffee.
If you make the mess, clean it up."

...and who can forget...

"HEY!! You're mother does not work here.
Your maid does not work here.
Clean up your own dishes!!"

...and, of course, the MEMO (dah dah dahhhhhhhh):

"Due to the unacceptable condition of the Division break room sink filled with dishes, cups and other items for more than a week, the following will go into effect immediately. All items left in the sink at the end of the work day (5 p.m.) will be discarded."

Our small group here thinks it was the Kitchen Fairy putting her Brusque Wand to use. She must mean business. I can't say I disagree completely, however. The smell wafting from the sink drain could have killed a small horse.

I thought this might compliment the entry that my Huw posted a time ago. Discuss.

One More for the Road

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Wed, 22 Mar 2006 22:46:00 +0000

Believe it or not (but you should believe it), I was not the coolest 10th grader in the history of 10th grade students. Throughout middle school I was known as a "schoolgirl", and the fact that I had won "Best Overall Girl" for three consecutive years (I think, at least two) of middle school didn't exactly help my coolness factor. I wore brown glasses that were way too big for my face, cried if I got a "B" on a test (which didn't happen often, mind you), and earned the moniker "Poodlegirl" for my poofy permed hair (yes, including permed bangs). I didn't find out until my Senior year of high school that I was called this, nor that I was the girl equivalent of the most disgusting girlfriend prospect that the popular boys would torture each other with. Observe:

Popular Boy #1: "Dude, you are so dorky."
Popular Boy #2: "Shut up, Dude, I am not...YOU are!"
PB#1: "Nuh uh...you're so dorky, I bet [Me Over Here] is your girlfriend and you kiss her everyday!"
All PBs: "OOOOOOHHHHH"
***silence***
PB#2: "Dude, that's SO not cool. Take it back."
PB#1: "NO TAKE BACKS!"

So began the torturous journey that was my middle school/early high school experience.

Because I couldn't shake this reputation, I had no chance with the shallow but popular boys I dreamt about being my boyfriends. So, I took what I could get. Consequently, what follows is the story of my first kiss.

Fast forward to me in 10th grade (about 15 years old) whining yet again in one of my classes about how I'd never have a boyfriend. A girl in my class suggested I consider dating one of her twin brothers, older than me, used to go to the same school, but had recently moved to a neighboring town. Because I was desperate to validate my femininity, I told her I'd think about it and get back to her. Well, not 2 days later, I had one of the Twins calling me up at my house and asking me if I'd like to go rollerblading in a park near his town. (Leave me alone, it was the '90s)

After obtaining a signed permission slip from my parents to go on a very unofficial "date", Twin picked me up and we began our 45-minute drive to the park. Along the way, we passed by a building that looked like a large castle from a fairy tale.

Twin: "See that building?"
Me, shyly: "MmmHmm"
Twin: "I belong to the group that meets there."
Me: "Really? What group?"
Twin: "[blah blah] Masonry Knights [something blah blah]"
Me, not knowing what he's saying: "That's so cool!"

So, that was Weird Incidence #1.

Rollerblading was, well, all that rollerblading could be: uneventful and clumsy. After that, we played Laser Tag, and after getting nice and sweaty and stinky, we settled into a theater to watch a movie (this was a full-service date, I'll give him that!). Not gonna lie--there was some hand-holding during the movie, and because things were going seemingly well, I got a little flip-flop butterfly feeling in my tummy.

The movie ended with just enough time to get me home to make my curfew. As Twin spouted off some incoherent blather about the stars and their alignment, one thought consumed my mind: What if, just what if, he tries to kiss me?

I'd never been kissed before. Frankly, it's scared the piss out of me. What if it hurt? What if I was horrible at it? What if I didn't like it and would therefore be scarred for the rest of my life? Looking back, I understand that my first kiss was a pivotal moment in my life, but really, what was I so stressed out about?

I was snapped out of my panic-state when this declaration floated to my ears from Twin's Rubbish Mouth: "You know, [Me Over Here]...I could change your life if you let me."

Weird Incidence #2. I should have spotted it there. But, still consumed with thoughts of lip locks, I giggled nervously and said something to the effect of "cool" or "neat" or "okay". I know I still have insecurity and self-confidence issues now, but good Lord--back then, I would have let anyone convince me to do anything!

Anyway, as we neared my neighborhood, and my heightened state of panic reached chart-topping levels, I decided to be proactive and simply be honest with him. Which made me even more nervous. But it was either this, or put myself in a compromising position, so I opted for Option A. As we pulled in front of my house, I began:

Me: "[Twin], can I talk to you about something?"
Twin: "I am an open door." (or something equally corny)
Me: "Well, it's just that, um...I've never, you know...kissed anyone before. Andnotlikeyouwereplanningonkissingme
butifyouwereI'mnotsureI'mreadyforthat! (because I talk a lot and quickly when I'm nervous).
Twin: "Okay..."
Me: "It's just that, you know, I'm kinda scared to kiss someone, and I don't know if I'm ready to just yet, and I like you, but I think I should wait." (because I'm a prude)
Twin: "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with."
Me (relieved): "Okay, thank you so much for understanding!"

Pretty clear, right? I thought so, too.

Feeling a sense of relief and inner calmness, I sat, heartbeat slowing to a normal speed, and waited for him to walk around and open the car door for me. All in all, Weird Incidences aside, it had been a fun date with a reasonably nice guy, so I had decided that if he felt the same, I would agree to a second date. I was already getting excited at the prospect of THAT being my very first kiss ever!

Twin walked me to the start of my sidewalk, close to his car, and put his arms around me. Super, thinks I, he's going to give me a goodnight hug. What I got was far, far from a hug.

He kissed me. And not just a small peck on the lips. He came at me with his tongue. His tongue which was already out of his mouth as he swooped into my face. Before I had time to react, I felt his nasty, slimy lips on mine, and his tongue plunging around in my mouth like he was trying to tongue-mix a milkshake. And did his nasty mouth appendage stay in MY mouth? Nope. I swear, it had a mind of its own, and felt the need to explore, with saliva as its lubrication, my upper and lower lip, the little bridge thing between my nostrils, my chin, and yes, my left cheek. When he was done, I felt like I'd been slimed.

I didn't react. How could I? I was in a state of shock. Did I, or did I NOT JUST TELL HIM I WASN'T READY TO BE KISSED?!?!? Assface gave me a goofy smile.

Because I was so unsure of myself, I didn't slap him or use the choice words I was not allowed to say in my parent's or teacher's presence. Instead, I said, "Well, it's my curfew time, I should go in."

I turned to walk away, when I heard him say, "Wait". Then, I felt his hand on my arm, and in a lanky maneuver, he spun me around and grabbed me by the waist--a position I was all to familiar with now. And then he said, and I poo you not:

"One more for the road."

What the hell did that....SLIMED AGAIN!! He was "kissing" me for a second time, using extra spit and covering a larger surface area before. When he released, I was more in shock than the first time, so I just turned around and walked toward my front door. I can vividly remember the distinct smell of foreign spit lingering on my upper lip and yes, actually IN my nostrils this time. I can also recall the first though as I fell onto my bed that night: If this was what kissing consisted of, I never, ever, under ANY circumstance, wanted to do it again.

Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyway), I declined Spitty Twin's invitation for a second date, and never spoke to him again. Luckily for me, the next kiss I experience was actually really pleasant, and although my first kiss makes for a good story, I will always be disappointed that it wasn't the fireworks-popping moment I imagined it would be in my pre-teen years. One positive result of that dreaded first kiss was the fear I implanted in my mind of becoming such a crappy kisser...I resolved that I would never leave a crusty layer of spit around some poor guy's mouth (or any other facial features), and because of that oath, I am (so I've been told) a great kisser.

I wonder where Twin is now. Probably somewhere lubing up a defenseless girl's nostrils with the vile smelling saliva that I'm sure he deems something like his "sure-fire, life changing, sex-getting ace in the hole". Assface.

Squeaky Clean

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Tue, 14 Mar 2006 05:07:00 +0000

When I was younger (ahem, a year ago) and I still lived with my parents, I was perfectly content with having the carpet on the floor in my room covered with items ranging anywhere from mateless socks to paper plates with dried soy sauce on them to unopened cans of chicken noodle soup. I actually found things I needed with more precision than if my room was tidy. My mom used to complain.

"How do you LIVE in this mess," she would inquire.
"What mess?" I would innocently ask (really, it looked fine to me).

With a curled upper lip she'd glare at me and direct me to "clean it up...NOW". Because I will never rid the Fear of my Mother which was instilled in me from birth, I would do as I was told. However, it would only be a matter of days before the tornado would come gusting through with stronger force, tossing about old college notes and high school cheerleading megaphones. When we couldn't find my dog for 2 days, at the end of which we discovered her buried beneath a pile of "clean" clothes under which I had been sleeping for about 2 weeks, I acknowledged there was a problem. But still, I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. I was addicted to the mess.

Now, a year later, I find myself in a completly different situation. I can't STAND to have mismatched shoes leading me from my living room to my bedroom closet. The sight of dried toothpaste in my sink makes me gag a little, and we can all agree that that's not the most pleasant reflex when you're gargling with your Scope. And don't get me started on the dishes in my sink (that's right, I went old school and said "don't get me started". It helps if you say it out loud and with a head swivel and finger wag).

What is even more bizarre than my incessant need to keep my apartment organized (probably because it's the size of my closet back at my parent's house, but I digress) is then hour at which I choose to clean. It's normally at about 11PM, after Family Guy, and right at my prime bedtime. I just can't help myself...I must get that dried soup off of my stove burners, or so help me, I'll lay in bed sleepless just thinking about how dirty it looks and how, the longer I wait, the more stubborn the spot will become. But wait, there's more. Not only do I clean late at night, oh no, it doesn't stop there. It's like Lays Potato Chips with me and cleaning: I can't do just one (okay, so it's a modified saying, but I was trying to make a comparison, just cut me some slack).

Last night had me Liquid Plumbering my bathtub drain (I swear, how I still have hair on my head remains a mystery to me). After that, I scrubbed my toilet. Then I swept. Which lead to vaccuming. Then came the hangers, oh gosh, the hangers. I hung up clothes like no one has ever hung up clothes before. From there, the rest is a blur. All I know is I woke up this morning with a squeaky clean toilet lid and my remaining hangers sorted by color and type in my closet. Frankly, I'm worried.

Tonight, I impulsively filed my bill receipts. In chronological order. Then...then I used my paper shredder.

This is a cry for help, people. I'm ready. I'm ready for some much needed help.

Ironic

noreply@blogger.com (Me Over Here) — Fri, 10 Mar 2006 04:19:00 +0000

The Internal Revenue Service of the good ol' United States of America is now going to fund my trip abroad.

That's one big, fat "thank you" to Uncle Sam. His wife as well. Hell, I'll thank their whole family.

In honor of this recent bit of good news, here's a picture of me and Huw during his trip down here in January. Ain't we just the cutest couple? Happy weekend!