Adjusting.

Things are a wee bit crazy on this end. I'm still adjusting to school (which is an inside joke with myself, because tonight we are going to talk about adjusting financial statements in accounting. Isn't accounting hilarious?)

(I kind of suck at accounting.)

(I'm not just saying that.)

In life, I believe that there is no problem I can't study my way out of... And so that is what I do now. I study. I wake up at 5 or 5:30, and I study. Baby napping? I study. Getting a pedicure? You know I've got that management book sprawled across my lap.

And still. I worry it's not enough.

Last week I bombed my first accounting quiz. I knew the material too; but the prof threw in revenues and expenses, and like, we totally hadn't covered them yet, and so I was completely thrown off OH LORD WHY DON'T I KNOW THIS ALL I DO IS STUDY and then I got nervous and failed miserably. (The entire class seemed to have been thrown; I did manage to get us an extra 2 points for the uncovered material.)

WITH that extra 2 points? I got a 5 out of 10. Failure, thy name is HomeValley.

We have our second quiz tonight. Hoping I can get the old confidence back. Mrs. Crane told me I would be president of a major corporation way back in the 7th grade, you guys, and I don't want to let her down. (Though, in fairness, she probably didn't know about my accounting ineptitude. Had she, she may have just shrugged and proclaimed me destined for middle-management.)

(Sidenote: I made a friend in last week's class. He introduced himself and thanked me for speaking up about the quiz. We chatted for a few minutes during break. As we were about to walk back into class, he said, "You know what has really been bothering me though? It stinks in there." Word, brother. Beware the SBDs.)

Back to School

I am not sure what my favorite moment from class was last night. Here are a few:

• The BO? She is intense. Last night I had to dab perfume on my wrists, hold them conspicuously in front of my face all night, and simultaneous concentrate on retaining the information and breathing through my mouth. Also, guy who has mastered the Silent-But-Deadly fart in the row ahead of me? Kudos, brother; but you're killin' me.



• Perhaps the moment when the professor was giving an example of coercive power, and yelled at the class to stand up? And she spotted a guy in the back row not standing, and she pointed at him and bellowed, "You! Get up! Why aren't you standing?!" And another student quietly informed her that he was physically unable to stand, what with that pesky wheelchair and all.



• Or, when, with fifteen minutes left in class, a woman in the front row (who had the distinction of talking more than me this round) shouted out: "Hey! Weren't we supposed to have a quiz tonight?" I am surprised texts didn't fly at her head; the collective groan was deafening.

At one point, our instructor asked for an example of empathy. A man in the corner raised his hand and began," When my mother died in the earthquake in Haiti..." You could have heard a pin drop. I spent the rest of the class sending him psychic hugs.

Three weeks in, and nary a dull moment. I'll take it, business school. I just wish it smelled more like roses.

Meanwhile, do you remember this dude?

He's like, 15 now or something.

A New Season

Recovering from my (fake) brush with death yesterday. My left temple is a lovely green shade and my shoulder and wrist are aching. Nothing a little light exercise and Management reading can't fix. And perhaps I should consider one of those benches in the shower, made specifically for seniors?

So what's new? I've started my grad school courses, though due to Hurricane Irene and Labor Day, I still haven't actually attended my Management class yet. I'm also taking Accounting, which I quite enjoy. All in all, a good semester thus far, a mere three weeks in.

Today marks Day 1 of half-marathon training. I intend to run the Dallas White Rock in early December; and thank Jesus, because I am quite jiggly these days. I managed to gain nearly FIVE pounds on our three-week sojourn through the Northeast (cheese fries, cheese nuggets, ice cream, Italian hoagies, cheesecakes, cupcakes, and the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru will do that to a gal), and I am currently trying to rid myself of the extra girth so I can button my pants again one day soon.

Oh! I found an old journal, one I've been missing for quite some time now. And this one is GOOD, y'all. It is juicy and sordid and paints a picture of a very self-centered lass from 1997 through 99, during which time I move to New York and mercifully gain some perspective and stop obsessing about boys a tiny fraction. As I was skimming, I came across an entry in which I divulge my weight - 10 full pounds less than I am now - and write, "I need to lose at least 10 - 12 pounds; starting to feel like a heifer!" And now I'd like to personally thank anyone who hung out with me in high school, because damn: I was annoying.

Finally, yesterday I hobbled along with my boys to a new friends' place to watch the Eagles game. (Fellow Birds fans: huzzah!) At one point I got down on the floor to color with Hendrik and their two young daughters. Later, back home, J and I were sitting on the couch when he started giggling and burst out, "How 'bout your plumber's crack today?" When I asked him why he didn't nudge me to pull up my jeans, he just laughed and replied: "I'm sure I'm the only one who noticed." Right, J: because no one ever picks up on a person's butt checks billowing out of the top of their pants.

Informal poll this Monday morning: Divorce?

We Ain't in Undergrad Anymore, Baby.

Amidst a very hectic summer schedule of houseguests; travel (flying to Colorado on Saturday); playdates; a renewed gym membership; and furiously texting my sister Cat re: our slightly unhealthy So You Think You Can Dance obsession, I've got grad school orientation tonight, y'all!

I have been enthusiastically looking forward to this moment for months, ever since I learned I was accepted to business school. I am thrilled to be pursuing a graduate degree. I am overjoyed to have a serious adult outlet. I am approaching schooling as a new business venture. I've been waking at 5:30 AM to enjoy the peace of the morning and to indoctrinate myself into the ways of rousing early to complete coursework. (Squee! Coursework!) I feel invigorated that though there is a cost at present, I will eventually be contributing monetarily to our family again.

Most of all?

I am excited about the shoes.

Mah shoes, guys.

I have no cause to wear four-inch heels around the house, whilst I am chasing a rambunctious nearly-14 month-old babe. On weekends, it's about 567 degrees here, so even if J and I do score a night out sans babe, you will catch me in straight flats (oh, I will also rock the flops, but I try not to make a habit of that in the evenings. I am unspeakably fancy.)

I showered and blew dry my hair this morning. and then threw on a pair of ripped jeans and a black tank. I briefly wondered if these jeans would be appropriate for tonight's event. (This happens when it has been eons since you attended an event labeled "business casual".) And then: an epiphany!

My business clothes!

I am in business school. I am an adult. (I am 29, after all.) I own a home in a respectable suburb. Today I decided I would attempt to get involved in a community board, for fuck's sake.

I can wear my beautiful business clothes to business school. I can make like the other part-timers who are rushing to class from uber-demanding day jobs. No one has to know that my current occupation involves poop and My Gym and Mom's League.

Ladies and gents: HomeValley's back, and she's better than evah.

Now, where did I put my Spanx?

Fifteen Things.

Hi! I never blog anymore! And like three of you have asked me "wassup?" But it is just life, y'all. Life is long. And busy. And challenging. So! Here is what is new with me!

(Exclamation points!)

1. Hank turned one. You saw the video. He's awesome and charming and swell. More on that later.




2. Break out your backpack and Trapper Keeper: THIS GIRL will be attending University of Texas at Arlington in the fall. I will be getting my MBA, finally. (No, I am not sure yet what I am going to do with said MBA. But it will be mine - all mine!)




3. I am done with grad school applications and the humbling process of soliciting recommendations from former employers. Huzzah.




4. Visitors! J's mom, J's dad, J's sister and husband. Hosting is a blast but time-consuming. It's mostly just figuring out food: when we will eat? What will we eat? What will Hendrik eat? What time do we need to leave so that Hendrik is not hungry and/or sleepy? It is probably not acceptable to order pizza every night, but I may try it next week when my mom arrives for a TWO WEEK visit. Stay tuned.




5. I seriously wish I still had my Trapper Keeper. I would organize the hell out of those folders.




6. They still sell Caboodles make-up organizers, and nothing else, apparently. I just want an organizational caddy for my make-up that is not a bag that gets all gnarly from cracked blush cases and loose powder everywhere that doesn't make me feel like a twelve-year old girl and is not a clear plastic box that costs $20, Target. Get on this.




7. Where was I going with this?




8. The house is coming along quite nicely. Photos to come. Every surface has been painted; popcorn ceilings have been demolished (RIP early 90s); and many, many fixtures and bathrooms have been updated. We're loving this place.




9. We've been slathering on the 100 SPF and spending countless hours in the pool. Having a pool is alternately terrifying (babies!) and remarkably decadent. We enjoy.




10. It's seriously about 100 degrees here, everyday.




11. It really is the humidity.




12. The phone on my iPhone inexplicably stopped working last week, and after many attempts at troubleshooting, I have no choice but to schedule an appointment at the Apple "Genius" Bar. This frightens me; all of those people clamoring around all of that technology in that place! And yet, I still want an iPad. Go figure.




13. I have been meeting lots of nice mamas here through a mom's league. We've joined a playgroup and there is no shortage of fun (and often free) activities for the wee ones. We've hit up the Fort Worth zoo; the Southlake Library for story time; Safari Park; the Fort Worh Children's Museum; and several playgrounds. I have subsequently decided that this is the most child-friendly city in America. Win!




14. I've signed up for the Dallas White Rock Half-Marathon, because I don't have enough on my plate this year. But I seriously need to work on my fitness.




15. I've resolved to write more. And not necessarily on this here blog (though I would like to accomplish that task as well). I've been neglecting my pretty blue Eva Peron journal as well, and I've found that I need the catharsis of putting pen to paper daily. It makes me a happier person, whether I am creating to-do lists, listing all of the things that are currently making me STABBY, or detailing the things that make my heart swell with gratitude. Talk soon!

All Good Things

Obvs it's been a little loco here lately. We've been busy with house showings, moving preparations, social engagements, luncheons, Gymboree, and banging our heads on coffee tables (wait, no, that's just Hendrik).

(Hendrik, who is currently "napping" or, more precisely, "trying to scale the crib to make a break for it.")

(Ah, kids.)

Anyway, all of this beautiful chaos has led to some very definite resolution-keeping from your lady-friend over here in Iladelph.

Friends, this year's resolution was a simple/vague one: All Good Things.

I first came up with it at the mall food court, where every human being is in grave danger of casting aside healthful eating options for the deliciousness that is Chick-Fil-A. I thought: instead of depriving myself this year, I will make my mantra "All Good Things". All good things on my plate to nourish and care for my body; all good thoughts when it comes to family, friends, and those ever-present bothersome worries, the fruitless and frustrating and unproductive "what-if" scenarios.

So far, I think it's working.

Since my two-week Starbucks boycott, my weight is down about 4 pounds. I've got 10 more pounds to lose to be back to pre-baby body, fifteen if we want to get silly and return to the illusive Wedding Physique. So far, so mediocre, only because J and I eschewed exercise this month in the name of family togetherness. Now, it's time to get back to business. I've got a summer to prepare for. The name of the game is TONED.

Body-after-baby aside, the real makeover in 2011 thus far involves my mental clarity. Remember my tendency to become paralyzed by inactivity? It's a vicious cycle for me, and in order to avoid any dangerous missteps, I need to be organized. I mean, ORGANIZED.

This involves having our living environment neat and streamlined. But mainly? Mainly it involves lists and spreadsheets. I am having a love affair with lists and spreadsheets.

I decided at the turn of the year that if I am going to get an MBA this fall, I should practice by running our home like a business. It's not easy being a domestic engineer, y'all. There are many, many things to coordinate. I'm like an event planner that works 24 hours per day. I've got to think cash flow, budget, bills and savings accounts, meal plans, social events, diapering and nap schedules; not to mention the task of keeping the house sparkling and clean enough to be shown in 4 minutes flat. (Really, J called me one day as I was stepping into the shower to tell me that a prospective buyer wanted to see the house in FOUR minutes. I got dressed very quickly.)

Enter: my spreadsheets. I've got one for my budget, in which I list all of the expenses I cover, plus any incidentals that creep up. I've got an ultimate family travel/packing list, which details every item that each family member could possibly need before taking a trip (this one makes travel ever so much easier with a high-maintenace babe). I've got an Excel doc for grocery shopping, which is divided into weekly "staples" and "non-staples" and lists price per unit, so I can properly bargain hunt. (Whole Foods ain't cheap, yo.) I've also got lists of tasks that need to be accomplished before a house showing, and my ever evolving "to-do" list that lives in my Franklin Covey planner, a reliable faux-leather binder/friend.

I am positively Type-A, you guys. And I like it. I feel like I am learning to clean up the mental clutter, allowing me to really achieve my full potential, whatever that may be. (I've got some ideas percolating, my sweets.)

So now that I have finally regaled you with my New Year's resolutions on January 26th, pray tell, what are yours? Have you kept any? Any game-changers?

Of course, I wish you all good things, my friends.

19 Weeks - So That Was Christmas

A belated Merry Merry to you all!

J and I had a lovely holiday. I have pictures! Which of course I can't upload here, because they are not on this computer. Oh, and I am a lazy sonofabitch. But only for a few more days, y'all. What up 2010?!? It's almost resolution time, lovers. What will you be resolving to do in Ten?

I was very spoiled this year (so spoiled that I think J and I are done with gifts, at least for next year)... I mean, I got the Kindle! Naturally, I am deeply in love. And I got the iPod Touch (though previously owned, long story). And I got this book, which actually has made my love for Sara surpass my love for Oprah, which is quite serious, no? Now I begin sentences, "Well, Sara Snow says..." which doesn't annoy J at all.

Most notably, I received a family heirloom. Immediately before dinner on Christmas day, my uncle Frank presented me with a ring from my great-great Aunt Mary. The ring was fashioned from her mother's mother's mother's most treasured pair of gold and pearl earrings. It's gorgeous and unique. It was also accompanied by a letter written in 1959 (the earrings are now 150 years old) by my Aunt Mary, which Uncle Frankie handed me to read aloud. Good night! I couldn't get one word out without blubbering. Am pregnant puddle. And also: very blessed.

Antique heirlooms aside, perhaps the best present I received this year? J's mustache. It's... stunning. He's been cultivating it since last Saturday, and I know it will grow even more spectacular. I swear: photos to come.

How about y'all? Any great gifts this year?

Today I'm 19 weeks prego, and Ninja is doing some fast and furious pop-and-locks in the old uterus. It's wildly exciting to feel a little person in there. We have our 20-week ultrasound next Monday, and although we are determined NOT to find out the sex, I wouldn't be crushed if the N flashed us some bits. We shall see! Are we really halfway there?

Oh! And the GMATs went well. My overall score was top-notch, but I am concerned with my quantitative score. I toyed with the idea of retesting, but honestly, I have actively forgotten all of the geometry I just crammed into mah brain. Next stop: GREs.

More updates to come. Until then, as Sara Snow says: be well.

17 Weeks. Seriously, My Back Really Hurts You Guys.

Wait a minute; what happened to 16 weeks?

16th week recap: For two consecutive blissful nights, I didn't wake up at 2 AM to pee. The end.

17 weeks? Yes, still with the peeing. And my back is killing me. But I won't bore you with my grievances. Nay, I shall tell you that I had a doc's appointment this week, and Ninja is still glorious. Heart rate is about 155, though the N was very squirmy. The doctor found the heartbeat right away, but then she'd lose it. "The baby is really moving around in there," she said. "You hear that noise?" she asked, referring to a strange, muted, underwatery, sounding motion. (Amazing description! You should be a writer!) "That's a hand or foot moving through the amniotic fluid."

Well, go Ninja, with your stealth kung fu. Bad. Ass. (Or maybe he is a dancer, J!)

(Oh, I said he. I have to stop that, but honestly, I am convinced I am cooking a boy.)

OK, so the ten of you (and my new son or daughter) don't really want to hear about all of this, do you? I mean babies are adorable and chubby and snuggly, but still, I have something BETTER. Oh my. Something, insanely delicious. Are you ready?

You must know that J and I journeyed to my mother's for some eats on Sunday. My stepfather, Bucky (not a pseudonym) mentioned he was cleaning out the basement. "I have a bunch of your stuff down there," he added. "I'm going to throw it out if you don't go through it."

(As if! They have been threatening me like this for ten years.)

But later, Buck came upstairs carrying a ginormous box filled with mother-effing TREASURES.

Where to begin? There were sketches. Sketches of my EIGHT future kids. (Judd says: Oh HAHA! "Victoria Leslie" was born in 2002. Loser.) And there names were awesome and regal. And then I also maybe sketched their rooms. And then maybe some fabulous designer fashions. And maybe I wrote a song entitled "Nice and Naughty." Oh, oh yes I did.

Verse 1
Some say I 'm nice
Some say I'm naughty
Some say I'm perfect
Some say I oughta be PUT AWAY

Verse 2
Some say they like me!
Some say they don't
Some say they'll learn to
Some say they won't

Refrain
OHH! Someday I'll just be me! But for now I'll settle for nice and naughty!
(nice-nice-nice-nice and naughty! HOO!)

(I was going to stop there, but the song actually has one more verse which is just too good not to share.)

Verse 3
Some say they love me
Some say they hate me!
Some say they'll be my boyfriend!
Some say they'll date me!

(REPEAT REFRAIN)

You guys? I was like 17 when I wrote this.

Okay, I kid. I was 11. Back in the days when I was just content to settle for nice and naughty, man.

(David Foster: Call me!)

Oh em gee - there were also all kinds of stories! "The Grandmother's Secret" and "Snow" and "A Mysterious Disappearance."

There was a newspaper, the cover of which bears the headline: "Michael Jackson's Split Personality!" That story?

Michael Jackson, a popular musical singer, and former member of the Jackson 5, was admitted to the psychiatric ward of Newberry Hospital today after it was found by millions of Japanese fans that he does, in fact, have a split personality - a sister, Janet.

It appears that after a long period of loneliness Michael created the woman we know as Janet Jackson. She was also made a star.

"He came out on stage and scared the fans by changing his voice back and forth," says fan Ching Heng.

"We were shocked at Michael's mental instability," says Janet.

"No we weren't, says Michael.

(The Onion: Call me!)

There was a stirring poem:

Melissa
Stubborn and sweet,
Messy and neat.
Funny, crazy,
Sometimes lazy.
Addicted to junk food,
Usually in a good mood.

(Judd says: Oh HAHAHA! Nothing has changed at ALL! At least you were always self-aware.)

(Present-day HomeValley says: Wow. That description is on point. Shit.)

Oh hey, Cuzzy?? Did you think you escaped my biting commentary?

Here is your poem, my love:

Tough; boy-crazy,
sometimes lazy.
Messy, messy, messy!
Always beats up on Jessie.
Usually has a smile on,
Will always be in love with John.

(Who is John, 9 year-old cuzzy?)
(Wait, I just remembered. HA!)

Oh, and amongst various entrepreneurial start-ups (read: The Babysitter's Club), I also found the time to publish a magazine. I give you: Girls, Etc.

October 1992 Cover

Time to Grow Up: Should You Make Your Own Decisions?

Preteen Problems: Junior High Blues

Peer Pressure: How to Deal

Test: Boys Before Books (Are you boy-crazy?)

Joining the Bandwagon: What's In and Out for Fall

(For the love of GOD Oprah: CALL ME!)

I think one thing we've all re-learned today, is that I am awesome. Or, that at one time, I was incredibly creative. It is a damn good thing blogging came about, lest I still be sitting in my room, listening to my Electric Youth album, composing songs about how people say they either hate me, or might possibly LEARN to LIKE me.

I take the GMATs tomorrow, kids. After that, it's on.

Fourteen weeks and slowly rejoining the human race.

I think it is high time for a pregnancy update, eh? Besides, I have just come from studying Sentence Corrections. I am shockingly abysmal at sentence correcting. I blame blogging entirely.

So what's up with Ninja? S/he is 14 weeks and 2 days presently. I am finally starting to feel a bit like myself again, and less like an alien with ridiculously sore boobs who can't tolerate basil or peanut butter. (Though my boobs are still sore, and I will cut you if you come near me with either basil or PB. Wait. What was I saying?)

Right, feeling better! I have been gradually easing back into exercise. I've even jogged a bit, but mostly I mom-walk around the track to the iPod on shuffle. Tonight I am trying prenatal yoga for the first time. If I enjoy it, I am going to attempt to go at least once per week. Fingers crossed.

I'm not really showing yet. At all. Of course, I notice the girth; my belly is less shapely than it was in my svelte, youthful days. And a lot of times, I have to unbutton my pants after a meal, or by the end of the evening. I also have this bizarre habit of announcing that I am going to unbutton my pants, or that soon, I might unbutton my pants. I am sure everyone around me is just to delighted to hear it.

J commented yesterday that everyday, he gets me back more and more. And then, when he arrived home from class, I promptly burst into tears. Why? Who knows? Maybe because I really wanted Sweettarts? These hormones are tricky bastards, but it's all for the good of the cause.

But oh, mah precious face. Pregnancy doesn't agree with my skin, and once again I find myself breaking out. It's at least somewhat manageable at this point, but I am mulling a trip to the dermatologist.

J and I went to visit my aunt and uncle last Saturday, and they sent us home with loads of baby gear. I walked in the house on Saturday night carrying a car seat. "Whoa," I said to J. "Does this just make this all feel real? What the hell is a car seat doing in our house?"

Yesterday J asked me something about something. "I didn't get that part of the email," he said. "Why would he say that is what we have to look forward to when we have kids?"

"I don't know," I replied wearily. "I don't know anything about children."

Or gerunds. Or present-perfect tense. But who's keeping score?

When I set the bar low, I actually accomplish things!

I may be my own worst enemy.

It pretty much follows that each time I make a bold proclamation, within 24 hours I am watching old Jon and Kate episodes on TLC.

I usually aim too high; my brain is always telling me it must be all or nothing, all or nothing. Don't take the GMATs, the brain commands, until you can make sure you score a 750.

You've already watched an hour and 2 minutes of television today, it says insidiously, so what's two more hours?

My book? The one about procrastination? Well, it actually confirms something I have long suspected: some procrastinators are actually perfectionists; we must wait until we can execute something properly, or else that something is not worth doing. Yet. We'll just curl up on the couch with a good book, thankyouverymuch, and wait until our brains are perfectly clear and focused and we feel physically, emotionally, and mentally prepared to accomplish that task. Good day.

Take this post, for instance. I almost waited until I could write something coherent, but then I forced myself to sit down and type. (You're welcome, Internet.)

And those mothereffing GMATs, always looming over me.

Then last week I realized: I am never going to wake up one day and understand geometry. That day is never coming.

The best I can do is study. Study like I have never studied before. And also? TAKE THE GODDAMN GMATS ALREADY, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.

Finally - finally!- I have scheduled the test. I will be taking the GMATs on December 17th. I have a lot to cram into my brain before then; but then, after the 17th, I can finally relax. I can watch Oprah without feeling guilty. I can read books again without that nagging sensation that I should be studying. And that alone is worth turning off the television - and the Facebook - until then.

And of course, you know, I will have actually accomplished something. Not quite as monumental as showering daily, but it's a start.

For Shame, Roseanne Connor.

*Blogger whines to husband about GOALS! She is driven! She is coming out of the first trimester wretchedness! She will accomplish a floppity-jillion things before Ninja comes!*

"OK. So what did you do today?"

"Well, I got downstairs around 7:30. And then I poured myself a hearty bowl of Honey-Nut Cheerios. And then I sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. Started watching Roseanne, but it was an episode from the final season... And so I turned it off and booted up the computer to find out what the fuck was going on with the final season? The Connors won the lottery? And then I learned that - wait, are you ready for this? This is fucking unbelievable, J. Here, the entire show was all Roseanne's 'writing.' Jackie was gay! Dan DIED of a HEART ATTACK. They never won the lottery! Becky was with David! DARLENE WAS WITH MARK! Is that the most fucked-up thing you have ever heard?!?"

Beat.

"So, that was pretty productive."

"Quite."

*Husband's head explodes*

Snippets, Hosers!

1. If you don't immediately go when the light turns green, you have about 1.5 seconds before I give you the honk. It may be a courtesy tap; it may a furious bleating. I mean, come on, sirs. I've got tuna tataki to dig into back at the hotel.
2. "Oh - I heard you're trying to have a baby," sayeth Mom, pesudo-casually. "Excuse me?! Who did you 'hear' that from?" questions Daughter. (Word on the street?) Mother implicates aunt. "Wha? It's not true." insists daughter. It's not true. And when it is true (it's not true), no one gets any details, besides maybe my best good friends on the Interwebs. Sheesh.
3. I am quite frightened of hotels with outdoor room access. I'm lookin' at you, Residence Inn, East Syracuse.
4. Driving on the PA Turnpike yesterday, I was nearly struck by an errant, fast-moving flying tire. Gobsmacked! It was a brief moment of heart-stopping terror. And also a great excuse to use the word "gobsmacked".
5. Why can't you spell "definitely"? It's not definatley. Damn.
6. Am studying for the GMATs, yet again. Apparently, am not as bright as I think I am. (spelling skills remain impeccable, however).
7. Gobsmacked means "extremely shocked" in the Queen's English.
8. Made the mistake of mentioning my irrational completely justified fear of high fructose corn syrup at The Retreat restaurant today during lunch. Apparently Syracuse? Not really ready to discuss the perils of the HFCS. Pass the ketchup, asshole.
9. Today a coworker asked me if I'd like to carpool to Buffalo tomorrow. "Can't," I replied sheepishly. "I have to go to Canada."
10. Am totally serious. I have my passport in my bag; I'm going to Canada tomorrow. Figured I'd check in and see what those dudes are up to.