A Kid At Christmas

It's Christmas Day and, like always, I spent last night at my mother's house. It's a tradition that I spend the night at Mom's on Christmas Eve so I'm there bright and early in the morning to see how Santa squeezed down the chimney with all those gifts and decorated under the tree.
As I've gotten older, the magic of Christmas has slowly faded away however there are certain staples of this holiday that I need to keep alive because of the tradition of it. For starters, this tree has transitioned from a large, color-lighted evergreen holding the memorable ornaments of our past to a store-bought Charlie Brown trademarked "tree" that holds one ornament. GASP!
What normally happens is on Christmas Eve I lay my head upon a special Christmas Eve pillowcase that I've had for, what seems, like forever.
Then, once we've all woken up, we scan through the gift boxes and bags and start ripping that paper off and throwing that tissue paper on the floor. We typically do one gift at a time so it stretches it out a little longer and we can actually see what everyone has received.
Then, of course, I have cookies for breakfast.
Well, apparently, those traditions have totally faded away.
I got home from a family member's Christmas Eve gathering last night at about midnight. Mom and Jim had already gone to bed so I tiptoed to my room to see my plain-Jane, everyday pillowcase. GASP!
What's a girl to do? Do I wake up my mother to remind her that it's bedtime on Christmas Eve? Do I ransack her home in the dark to try to find the magic pillowcase myself? Do I just stay awake in the living room and wait for Santa to arrive?
I end up just going to bed like normal and pray for a good ending to this, obvious, risky choice.
At 8:30am, I hear the alarm I set the night before and, then, I sprung out of bed because I hear the sounds of gift paper crinkling. GASP!
Did they start without me? Why would they do this? If they couldn't wait any longer, why wouldn't they just wake me up?
I walk out and promptly tell my mother of her huge pillowcase mistake and that they're ruining Christmas by starting without me to which my mother says, "I told you she'd be mad."
What the heck is going on here? What has happened to Christmas? Why do I sound like a claymation character?
Don't they know that Christmas is special and that the tradition surrounding it is what makes it amazing? I love being a kid at Christmas. I love watching the Christmas classics on television. I still smile while watching Santa Claus is Comin' to Town and still sing along with the Heatmiser.
I love seeing the smiles on others faces as they open gifts in their pajamas while A Christmas Story is on the television. I love watching my mother decide which new pair of jeans and which sweater to wear that afternoon to my uncle's house and me, inevitably, giving her fashion advice - "You're not wearing that together, are you?" It's become a tradition. Just call me Rachel Zoe.
It's things like that that I look forward to and it's sad that those few things have...just gone away. Next year, I'm taking charge and doing it all myself. I'll be damned if these things just slip away.
Now, I'm off to eat peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kiss in the middle. Merry Christmas!

Attn: Department Of Child & Family Services

For years, I have claimed to have worked with some of the most ridiculous people on Earth. Many of you have heard the crazy stories of things that have happened in the office or quotes that people have said and you, most likely, think I'm kidding. You probably think that I'm making it up...or, at least, exaggerating the truth.
Well, here's another one for the books...
This afternoon was my department's annual pizza lunch and Yankee Swap. We ordered from Pizza Pie-er (yum!) and booked ourselves a conference room so we had PLENTY of space to fill with nonsensical conversation.
The grab gifts were as follows: $10 Dunkin Donuts gift card and some Lindt chocolate truffles; two 5"x7" silver picture frames; a popcorn maker; a foot massaging slipper thing and a Starbucks gift bag; a holiday Pyrex serving dish; a Crate & Barrel candy dish and some chocolates; two holiday movies and some movie candy; a set of four wine glasses; and, finally, a bottle of pinot grigio.
I've played different versions of a Yankee Swap. The way we played today was everyone picks a number. Number one picks a gift. Then, number two picks a gift and opens it. They can decide to steal number one's gift if they choose...and so on. Then, at the very end, number one can pick any gift they want.
This year, I picked number seven. When we're dealing with just nine people, number seven is not great.
I had a choice between the gift I brought, a rumored Chia Obama and something in a penguin bag. I chose the penguin bag. In the bag were the two picture frames. Because I'm trying to declutter my house and get rid of my frames, I decided to steal the bottle of pinot from a team leader. Thank you very much.
After me, the most ridiculous of my ridiculous coworkers opened the four wine glasses (not Chia Obama) and deliberated for what seemed like 10 minutes about whether she wanted to keep the wine glasses for herself or steal my bottle of wine...not because she drinks wine...but...wait for it...because her underage daughters drink wine.
There were a lot of strained eyeballs in that room and my good friend not-so-softly whispered to me, "Isn't that illegal?"
I'm not saying I didn't drink before I was 21 years old. I'm not saying that my parents never let me try a sip of beer or a sip of wine or a mixed drink before my 21st birthday. What I AM saying is that bringing home a bottle of pinot grigio from a work holiday party for your boozehound daughters just doesn't seem right to me.
On the bright side, my boss, number one, decided to steal the gift I brought from someone else to end the game. Hell yeah! I knew that How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Four Christmases, Goobers, Twizzlers, Reese's Pieces, Junior Mints and Swedish Fish were the way to go. I win!

"That Number's A Little High"

Being the good person that I am, after work last night, I went to the Rhode Island Blood Center to donate blood. I arrived at about 6:15pm and was surprised to see a crowd in the waiting room. After a few minutes, "Patricia" was called into the interview room by a young Asian girl with flaming red hair. She asked me the normal blood donation interview questions to confirm that I was, indeed, Patricia. I passed.
She then pricked my finger and ran the blood through that mystery machine. It's, clearly, a mystery because I have no idea what it actually does. I passed.
She then took my temperature. I passed.
Finally, she took my blood pressure. 124/90. She states, "That bottom number is a little high."
This is the only time I've EVER had a response like that.
It's ironic because for the first time in a very long time I'm actually watching what I eat and exercising regularly. How do I now need to watch this?
After 3 minutes of research, I learned that diastolic blood pressure (the bottom number) measures the pressure in your blood vessels between heartbeats, when your heart is resting.
Perhaps I'm just stressed? Well, after news of this, I'm more stressed than I was originally.

Trading Spaces

This has been QUITE the week. Work was just hellish and I haven't gotten much sleep. I left work promptly at 430pm today and successfully made it home without being hit by a car. All I wanted to do when I arrived home was jump in some sweats and vegetate on the couch. I did do this but not before I found some strange woman attempting to use her key to get into my neighbor's condo.
She looks at me as I open the door to the hallway and, not recognizing me, says, "Am I on the wrong floor?"
Silently in my head, I say, "How the hell do I know, lady?"
Then, she looks at the number on the door across the hall from me and says, "Oh, yes, I am. I'm not well." She then takes my neighbor's "Welcome" door mat that she had moved in front of my door and puts it back in place where she found it originally and hustles past me. I was convinced that Paige Davis from Trading Spaces was going to jump out from behind a door and tell me I had to paint my neighbor's place and reupholster their old loveseat. Ugh, that would've been bad. I just wanted to nap.

The Day I Was Hit By A Car

The first thing I heard on the radio when I woke up this morning was how warm it was going to be today. At 7am, it was 55 degrees...in Rhode Island...in late November. Despite this news, I decided to wear my long red wool coat to work today. Little did I know that it would save my life.
(If I really WERE to write a book, wouldn't that pull you in?)
Unfortunately, my escapade in the Providence Place Mall parking lot was not that dramatic but it still happened. I was hit by a car.
Not my car. But me - Trish-the-Dish.
I left work a little later than usual so I have a few extra pennies in my paycheck. When I clocked out, it was super dark out. The clock said 4:57pm but it looked like midnight.
Anyways, I got stuck in the elevator with two obnoxious women talking about Zumba. This was annoying on it's own but they didn't leave me there. They escorted me to the door at - a - very - slow - pace. When I finally got to the double doors leading to freedom, I cut to the right and blew right past them. Out of my way, ladies!
I power walked to the corner and waited for the signal telling me it was safe to walk across the street. While there, a coworker came up to me and we waited together...safely on the side of the street. We finally cross and realize that we park in the same parking lot.
As I always do, I walk in the drive-out opening in the building, which positions me facing the oncoming cars so I can see everything. I lure Linda to do the same. Because there's so much traffic at the toll booths, this is usually an easy task. You simply just breeze through them. They ain't going anywhere.
We were talking about her upcoming Florida vacation when we cut in between two cars. The one at the end of the line got fed up with his line and decided to reverse it and switch lines. Let's call him Mr. Patience. This allowed Linda & I to walk through without incid...
OUCH!
The crazy woman that was in line right in front of Mr. Patience decided that she would also jump ship. Ship being her line of traffic.
Let's call her Mrs. Hit & Run because she totally backed up into me! Um...hello! Did you not see my bright red coat? Also, I'm pretty sure we made eye contact as I walked through the cars.
She just tapped my left calf and I won't have as much as a bruise but I'm going to milk it for everything I can. In fact, I may develop a limp overnight. That should score me a free breakfast, no?

Isn't Thanksgiving Ironic?

The product of a broken home, for years, I've had to split my time between Mom and Dad during the holidays. Dad's holidays are elegant and polished, while Mom's holidays are casual and relaxing. For anyone who knows me, you KNOW I prefer Mom's holidays.
This morning, while I was getting ready for another Ginnetti Thanksgiving, I was cursing the fact that I needed to put on "work clothes" when I wanted to throw on some jeans & a hooded sweatshirt for a Sheridan turkey day. I wore a pair of black slacks, a pattered top with 3/4-length sleeves, pearl earrings and suede flats. Outerwear included a purple scarf and my knee-length red wool winter coat.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I was greeted at the door by my father in a polo, jeans & all-white sneakers. (The all-white sneakers are another story altogether!) I enter the house and see Sue in a nice top, jeans and wedged shoes. A few hours later, Sue's son and his family arrived - all in casual clothes. Hell, David wore khaki shorts and a baseball hat!
Then, I look outside and saw flying pigs! I, clearly, missed a memo.
Perhaps next year, to avoid confusion, we should dress like this:

Scamming Second Dates

I think I may have accidentally stumbled upon a new dating tactic.
I have been casually talking to this boy and we decided to grab a quick bite to eat over the weekend. I showered, dried and straightened my hair, brushed my teeth, applied deodorant and ran threw a cloud of perfume, wore "big girl" shoes & a nice sweater...also known as put forth effort. What I did NOT do is put my debit/credit cards in my purse.
He and I have a great conversation, have a few drinks, share a few stories, some laughs and a slice of vanilla bean cheesecake and, then, the waiter brings the bill over to the table. Being the nice girl that I am, I reach for the bill and add up my portion in my head. I put the bill back on the table and reach for my purse.
I grab my change purse, which holds all money, my license, AAA card, insurance information, my health insurance card, a Charlie Card for the Boston T, a Cilantro frequent shopper card (with 4 punched stars) among other things. Those other things typically are my debit card and my credit card...but not tonight.
I take the folded cash out of my purse while I feel my face getting more red by the second. Oh great, six dollars!
I rifle threw my cards praying that one of them has cash on the other end. No such luck.
"Hi, ____. Funny story. I realize this is our first date and it looks like you're having a good time. Well, I'm here to ruin it."
I totally didn't have enough money with me to pay my portion. Needless to say, I was mortified. I can not believe I had done this. I'm usually the girl that checks 100 times to make sure she has anything. En route to any game or concert, I'm the girl that checks 20 times to make sure that the tickets didn't crawl out of my bag, open the car window and fly out.
LUCKILY, ____ didn't leave me at the restaurant to clean dishes. He very graciously reopened his wallet and paid the full amount. We continued our conversation and left well after our server did.
On the bright side, I now owe him dinner. Looks like someone scored herself a second date.

Nibbles Woodaway

One of the first things I learned when I moved to the State of Rhode Island was that the proper name of New England Pest Control's "Big Blue Bug" was "Nibbles Woodaway". He is stationed at the Thurbers Avenue curve on I-95 in Providence and is, no doubt, the cause of many rush hour traffic accidents to those looking to sneak a peek of the massive attraction.
Since my move in 2004, I have told people this fun fact and very few people actually believe me. They have never heard of such a ludicrous name for the state's most well-known insect. Livelong Rhodies tell me that Kate's crazy for thinking this and that I'm crazy for believing her.
Well, read it and weep, people! Per Wikipedia, the "Big Blue Bug" is also known as "Nibbles Woodaway".
Nibbles is 928 times the size of an actual termite, standing at 9 feet tall and 58 feet long, and weighing 4,000 pounds. It was constructed over a four day period from wire mesh and fiberglass in late 1980 at a cost of $20,000.
Nibbles has made numerous media appearances, including the film Dumb and Dumber, and the television programs The Today Show, The Oprah Winfrey Show, The Daily Show and Family Guy.
The reason why I bring this up is that on my drive home tonight, Nibbles was getting his annual holiday garb on. Can we say "costume change"?
I don't know what it is but nothing quite says "Happy Holidays!" like a massive termite in reindeer antlers and a red nose.
Tis the season!

Take Me Out!

I used to read. I don't know what happened along the way but I just...stopped. Perhaps it was the lack of time or my severe television addiction but I can't tell you the last book I purchased and my last trip to the library was to use the computer to check my email and Facebook accounts.
A few weeks ago, one of my Aunt Kathys recommended I start reading Jen Lancaster's blog. I did and I immediately fell in love with her. I loved it so much that I dusted off my library card and headed to find some of her books.
It took me a while to find PS 3615 A54748 Z466 2007 in the stacks at the Warwick Public Library but, with the help of the computerized card catalog, I did it! I checked out Bright Lights, Big Ass A Self-Indulgent, Surly Ex-Sorority Girl's Guide to Why It Often Sucks in the City, or Who Are These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me? and Pretty In Plaid A Memoir A Life, A Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase.
My love for her started with the amazing titles of her books.
I started Bright Lights, Big Ass just this week and I have literally laughed out loud four times already...and I'm only on page 64.
As I was reading this evening, I turned the page and I found a surprise within the pages. A manufacturer's coupon for "any bag of Cooked Perfect meatballs". Save $1.00! I did what any single 31-year-old girl would do. I checked the expiration date. I've never eaten Cooked Perfect meatballs before but for $1.00 off I could be convinced to make that purchase. I mean, how bad could they be?!
Unfortunately for me and my taste buds, the coupon expired on 1/16/11. This not only saddened me because I couldn't save some cash during my next trip to Stop & Shop but it saddened me to think that this book hadn't been checked out of the library in close to a year. I can't believe it. I've been taken out more in the past year than this wonderful, smart, funny book.
Do people no longer read? Or is it just that people don't borrow books from the library any longer now that the Kindle and Nook have been introduced?
I don't know about you but I like actually flipping the pages of a book. I enjoy the smell of the pages. I get an adrenaline rush from the risk of getting a papercut.
I'll keep you posted on new items I find within the paperback book pages. Perhaps a winning lottery ticket is in my future!?!
I am thankful I'm back in the reading groove. Thanks, Aunt Kathy!

All Roads Lead To Rome...Jerry Rome Nissan

I decided to take advantage of a day off from work and get the Grey Lady's second oil change. Seeing as I'm still in West Springfield, I made an appointment at the local Nissan dealership on Riverdale Street for first thing this morning. Perhaps not a GREAT idea after a full afternoon of day drinking but, nonetheless, I was there bright and early this morning.I walked into the office and met with Daniel. I requested an oil change and he tried to "up-sell" me to the recommended 7,000 mile services, which I declined after looking at the price. I walked into the waiting room and thought about my previous decision.
"Maybe I should just get this done now while I'm already here...I mean, it's a lease and I'd rather spend a little money now & then to keep it running smoothly than have pieces just fall off while driving and need to pay out lots of money all at once..."
I go back to the desk to meet with Daniel to tell him my decision to do the recommended services. What's another $80 on my credit card? (Oye!)
After approximately 40 minutes, Daniel appeared in the waiting room with a clipboard. He called my name and I went to the desk to pay for the car services. He began telling me that they found no problems with the Grey Lady and that everything looked good.
On the desk sat a bingo game. Not cards and blotters but the metal cage with round plastic balls with letters and numbers on them. Daniel told me about an incentive program that if you turned the cage around and number N37 came out, you got your service for $1.00.
I look in the cage and I can see the N37 white ball. It's sitting right on the top of the cage full of colored balls. My theory was if I could turn the cage around without jostling the balls from side to side, N37 would be turned and would come right out of the bottom hole. I turn the cage around by using the handle and I hear a ball hit the table.
I look at my new friend Daniel and he says, "N37!"
The man in line next to me, "Get out!"
I do a little jump and pump my arm in the air.
I pay Daniel $1.00 in cash and I take my receipt and car keys and hit the road. Thank you, Jerry Rome!

Goodbye, My Friend

It's a sad day.
A childhood friend that I spent much of my time with is no longer with us. It's with a heavy heart that I announce that the Friendly's restaurant on Westfield Street in West Springfield has closed.
As an elementary school student at St. Thomas the Apostle School, Friendly's was THE place to go after school was released on half days. Our parents would write permission notes that would allow us to walk to Friendly's rather than take the bus home. We'd all line up and, when that bell rang, would run to the crossing guard at the traffic light. We'd cross and run down the street to ensure a seat in the restaurant soon to be overtaken by children.
It's a miracle that the staff didn't ban us from this tradition. Imagine shooting straw wrappers from one table to another and kids running around...not the ideal dining experience for anyone over the age of 15.
I can vividly remember one trip in particular. My guess is that I was in 3rd or 4th grade and I sat with Taryn and Lindsey. I can still pick out the booth we were sitting in. We decided to get an appetizer sampler and split a Jim Dandy. Honest to God, we polished that sundae off in mere minutes. Quite a feat.
We'd also flood to Friendly's after softball games. In fact, one of my recreational softball teams when I was younger was sponsored by Friendly's. Driving down that stretch of Westfield Street at 730pm during the springtime, you'd be amazed at the number of parents, coaches and players in their brightly colored uniform shirts, some dirty, outside the restaurant having their ice cream cones with sprinkles.
Friendly's continued to be a staple in my high school career. Friends and I would go to Friendly's after basketball games, school dances and events. In college, roommates and I would walk down Route 9 in Framingham to the Friendly's in the Stop and Shop plaza. That is where I first ordered the "Chicky Crispin' Salad" (also known as the infamous Crispy Chicken Salad).
When visiting Mom in West Springfield, we'd often order sundaes through the pick up window. Recently, I had a date at Friendly's...it was my choice and I was so happy about it! I was potentially more excited about the food than I was about the male suitor.
This past week when I heard about the Westfield Street location closing, I got genuinely sad. So many memories took place at that restaurant and that franchise really has brought quite a bit of childhood fun to Western Massachusetts. I'm sad to see it go.
Going forward, I encourage everyone to go to Friendly's as often as possible. Start your own family traditions that include a Fishamajig or a conehead sundae. It'd be a shame for them ALL to disappear. You don't know what you've got til it's gone.

Bye Bye Bobby

This is a first.
In my 15 years of dating, I have never been stood up for a date. I've had some awful first dates and even some super late cancels but NEVER have I been sitting in my car in a parking spot waiting for my date to show up...and they never do.
...until tonight.
I've been emailing/texting with Bobby (name NOT changed for anonymity) for a few weeks now. He has a good job in Providence, works normal hours, owns a tie, has his own group of friends, likes sports & good beer and seems like a nice guy. We had agreed to meet up on Thayer Street tonight at 6pm.
I had been texting him casually while at work today, making sure we were still on for tonight's plans. He confirms. At approximately 3:30pm, I ask where we should meet up. No response.
I stay a bit late at work, change and primp in the work bathroom, give him a call (and leave a message) at 5:20pm to ask where on Thayer Street we should meet up.
I drive over to Thayer Street and find a parking spot without a problem. I'm about 15 minutes early for the big rendezvous. I'd much rather be too early than late. I shoot Cindy a text about the Modern Family premiere last night.
I eavesdrop on some kooky lady's conversation with her two rescue dogs outside Johnny Rocket's. I know they were rescues because she told every single person that walked by her.
The clock turns 6pm. Still no text or return phone call.
I text Cindy & Kate that I believe I'm being stood up.
6:21pm I call Jess to let her know that I'm being stood up.
At around 6:45pm, I decide to venture over to Antonio's for a slice of chicken parm pizza and a fountain soda. Good decision.
I get home to Warwick around 7:15 and change into my pajamas...2 hours later than I should have.
At 7:35pm, Bobby texts me, "I just got out of work, are you gonna kill me?"
No...but I'm not going to respond.

The Reason I'm Single

A recent email from a potential male suitor:
"Wats up beauitful..? . Names Garyy im 23 im a very wise person far from a knuckel head. I aint the type to play silly games people tend to play.. liers i hate i always keep a 100... On the Other hand i do know how to treat nd please a real Woman... Im from Providence R.I Age aint ish lol im just Looking to Make a Friend if it Aint A Problem..!j Im singlee been singlee for two yrs No DRAMA NO WORRIES LOLZ.. Im a Tattoo Artist Going to skoo to become Cook & get my business degree.. Lets get to know one anotha Wat cha Sayy? Yhu have a number... hmu"

(Keep in mind that the upside down question marks were removed because I have no idea how to do that...for that, I'll give him credit.)

Help!

I Have A Theory

Is it me or have other people noticed the overwhelming amount of squirrels out and about recently? Unfortunately, I've seen most of them flattened like pancakes on the roads but there have been an extraordinary amount of them.
Don't know why?
Have no fear.
Here's my theory.
Irene.
My theory is that with the recent hurricane that came through New England in late August the trees that these squirrels called home have been damaged or taken down once assessed after the storm.
These furry creatures just don't know where to go...so they run into the middle of Route 2 and meet their maker.
Good, right?
I feel super bad for the little guys, though. Although death is a part of life and, in the animal world, you have to worry about that pesky food chain, it makes me sad to know that they become homeless, find their furry friends and family and then have no where to go.
The only solution: adopt a family of squirrels.

Like It Matters

After work yesterday I sat in my car in the parking lot to organize my blackhole of a purse. As I sat there, a young male driver comes out of the mall and walks up to the passenger side of his own car and inspects a small mark on his car. I didn't see it so it may not be a scratch...it could've been bird droppings for all I know.
Anyways, after a few minutes he walked around to the driver's side, got in and started to back out of the spot. It was then that I noticed that the entire front, driver's-side bumper was completely missing from the car. I could see the windshield washer fluid tank!
I literally laughed out loud because he was so anxious about a teeny tiny mark. He must've been devastated when his bumper fell off the car! That is all.

Good Morning, Irene

I'm almost nervous to wake up on Sunday morning. Hurricane Irene is heading up the East Coast as we speak and is expected to pummel New England on Sunday. Although I'm scared about my new car (The Grey Lady) getting a tree trunk impression on it, I have a good feeling about Irene...mainly, because I can't get Irene McGee out of my head.
Irene McGee was a member of the Real World: Seattle cast a few years back...and by "few" I mean "lots". To be completely honest, she was one of my favorites. I don't really know why. I think it was because I, sort of, felt bad for her.
She didn't fit in with Janet & Lindsay because she wasn't a petite, spunky smoker. She didn't fit in with Nathan & David because she wasn't a military institute graduate and her eyes were the same color. She didn't fit in with Rebecca because she wasn't a old-fashioned Victorian romantic who was friends with Sir Mix-a-Lot. She didn't fit in with Stephen because she wasn't an angry black "man".
I liked Irene because she was so matter-of-fact. I feel like if I were to be cast on the Real World, I would be a lot like Irene...which doesn't pan out too well for me because, as we all remember, Irene got slapped and left the show in a very dramatic fashion. Deep down, I feel Irene had a really great soul and was misunderstood in many ways.
Hopefully, Hurricane Irene will just give the East Coast a gentle love tap and not totally knock us out.

Dirty Dawg

As I was driving home from work tonight, I came across a car with a Rhode Island license plate: NKOTB. My gut reaction was, "How the hell did this bi-atch beat me to the DMV?" I got this weird sense of...sadness...jealousy...rage...
That was until I drove up beside the car and took a glance at my newest nemesis. Not only was it a dude BUT he had a barbed wire tattoo on his bicep and was wearing a red muscle shirt and Oakley sunglasses on his head. I can only imagine the interaction at his house that morning...
Him: "Sweetness, my truck's in the shop so can you take me to work?"
Her: "Baby, why don't you just take my car and I'll have Susan pick me up on her way in to the office."
Him: "Are you KIDDING me?"
...or something like that...
Anyways, it made me chuckle.

Subway: Steal My Sandwich?

So, today was the ultimate lazy day on Quaker Lane. I woke up at 10am, only to transfer onto the couch and watch television. I ran some errands and, obviously, bee-lined for the couch immediately afterwards. It wasn't until 4:30pm that I realized I hadn't eaten so I had some almonds and cantaloupe and went back to watching the Oprah: Season 25 Behind the Scenes (or whatever it's called) marathon. Don't ask.
My laziness was starting to annoy me so I got my "Me Gusta Guster" t-shirt and grey sweatpants on, threw on my kicks and went to the gym. (Sidenote: I had completed my warm up on the eliptical, my whole body workout and 15 minutes on the treadmill before a dryer sheet fell out of my pant leg.)
On the way home, I stopped at Subway. I have NO food in the house and Subway's better than Taco Bell, right? There were two ladies in front of me with a list, which consisted of at least 4 sandwiches and 5 cookies, so it took a while for them to be done with their order. They had to check it twice like Santa and confirm with the poor girl behind the counter that the points from this purchase went onto their frequent buyer card. This gave the other poor soul behind the counter time to make my 6-inch Subway Club sandwich (toasted with American cheese, lite mayo, lettuce & tomato on Italiam Herbs & Cheese bread).
As the two women collected their purchase, the older of the two STOLE MY SANDWICH. I said, "Ma'am, that's my sandwich...Excuse me, ma'am". I stand firm that she was seconds from making a run out the door with my tasty meal.
It took the cashier saying, "Ma'am..." in a non-Subway-training-video tone for her to turn around and return my bag, apologizing the whole way. "Oh my goodness, I thought this bag was ours too!"
At what age do we stop caring what society thinks of us and just start looting? Looks like 54 is it!

Zip It!

I've just discovered one more reason why living alone is no bueno. Not only do you almost always eat leftovers because no reasonable person cooks for just one, but just now I was faced with the idea that I might forever be wearing a polka dotted dress.
Hear me out...
I'm going to a friend's wedding in a week and a half and I, up until an hour ago, didn't know what I was going to wear. I got home from work tonight and I walked straight into my bedroom closet. I pulled the string to my overhead light and, like a sign from God, the light shone right onto my shiny black dress with white polka dots and red trim. It was meant to be!
I took it off the foam-covered hanger from the last time it was dry cleaned and put it on to make sure it still fit. I zipped it up and - voila! - it fits like a glove! In fact, it's potentially too big. Only problem was I couldn't unzip it. The zipper down the back is very tough to get up and down even when it's not on a body. I danced around for a few minutes and tried my best to stretch my arm as far as it would go to release me from this dress of horrors.
I considered knocking on my neighbor's door for them to lend a helping hand.
Luckily, I didn't need to embarass myself any further. I was able to wiggle out of it by pulling it over my head.
Needless to say, I may need some help pre-ceremony and post-reception. Any takers?

"I Want..."

One of my favorite people on Earth is two years old. His name is Douglas and he's got blonde hair, blue eyes and a devilish grin that proves that he's one step ahead of us all.

On Friday, I went to dinner at Friendly's with Dougie and his mom (my great friend, Cindy). Although we spent most of our time moving items around the table so that Dougie didn't splatter paint the wall with ketchup or wash the table with Mom's water, it was a lot of fun and it's always great catching up with her.
He's got so much energy! He was in the high chair, on Cindy's lap, pulling her hair, back in the chair, slingshooting his straw so chocolate milk went all over the place, attempting to walk across the table to get the salt shaker...y'know, the usual dinner ritual.We took our ice cream to go because when Dougie's ready to go, you go. Patience is a lesson that hasn't yet been taught at day care. We went back to his house and we ate ice cream together and played with some toys. He opened the birthday gift I got for him and was...well, let's face it...just a delight.
Behind that chocolate fudge-stained face is one of the sweetest little boys walking this planet...swiftly, no doubt...most likely with someone chasing after him shouting "Douglas, come back here!"

So Sleepy...

I spent an hour of my Friday morning at the Nissan dealership in West Warwick for the Grey Lady's first oil change and car wash. Chris performed a multi-point inspection and filled all her fluids. She feels good and looks even better.
Anyways, while I was watching Maroon 5 perform on the Today Show, a young lady came in, made a coffee and joined me in the less-than-cozy chairs. About 20 minutes later, a gentleman carrying a newspaper sat next to me, "Dad jeans" and all. At the next commercial break, I heard this heavy breathing so I nonchalantly glanced in his direction and, yep!, he was asleep in the chair.
Granted, it was 830 in the morning but, sir, you're in a waiting room. I would love to know where else this man has fallen asleep in his life.No doubt, he's the guy that has fallen asleep in the movies...or in recliner at his buddy's party...or on a float in his pool...or under the table at his company's holiday party. What can I say? Some people just can't hang!

I Truly Do Love Children

I'm a bad person.
I had a session scheduled with my trainer this evening after work. I meet with Nicole 3 times a month at Work Out World and, so far, things have been going well. At my last measuring (about 3 weeks ago), I measured 5 lbs lighter and 5 inches smaller. Being able to whip me into shape...she obviously knows what she's doing!
Anyways, all afternoon, I was saying how I would prefer jumping off a bridge than meet with her tonight. This week just kicked my behind and I didn't think I had it in me...a workout with a petite blonde hot tamale like Nicole, that is.
Luckily (?), I got a text late afternoon that read, "In the ER with my little one. He swallowed my father's heart medicine. They need to monitor his heart rate and pump his stomach." Awful, right? As a real auntie of one and a honorary auntie of several youngsters, I know how serious this is.
The reason why I'm a bad person is that when I read this, my first gut feeling as "Oh, thank God." Clearly, not because I want anything bad to happen to my new friend or her family...or to anyone for that matter. I just read the above text as "YOU'RE FREE!"
For those of you who are appalled by my recent thoughts, have no fear. I'm meeting with her tomorrow morning and, as we all know, Karma's a serious bitch.

I Speak The Truth

This week I was scolded by, what I thought was, a friend because of something I said casually in passing. After watching this person mope around and be short with people for days, I told Nuncy (*name changed to protect anonymity*) that she was "cranky".
Call me crazy but, to me, "cranky" is not an insult. I say I'm cranky at least once a week out loud for all to hear. AND, to prove my point, she snapped at me in front of people in an environment not accepting of such childish nonsense, which is Exhibit One that she was, indeed, cranky.
Take a look at any recent reality show. Imagine if "cranky" was the worst insult that was thrown around. Snooki would've fallen on hard times years ago. Teresa would simply be a NJ mother of four poorly dressed little girls. Heather would be rocking her love everywhere...but not on VH1.
Why is it so hard to hear the truth? Is it because we don't want it brought to our attention or because we are so shocked that someone actually has the guts to say it aloud? It's like, if we don't speak it, it doesn't exist...?
Although it's sometimes hard to hear the truth, wouldn't you want someone to tell you something upfront rather than them sugarcoat things and make you believe that things are different? No? Who are you? Fleetwood Mac? "Tell me, tell me, tell me lies. Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies..."

Blowing A Fuse

So, for those of you not summering in New England, this summer has been very warm...this week especially. It was pushing 100* in Rhode Island on Thursday and once the sun went down it didn't get much cooler.

As I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, I turned on my air conditioner in my bedroom as I was getting ready for bed. I also sleep with a small fan facing me on my nightstand because I'm a glutton. I think I was a dog in a moving car in a past life.

Anyways, I woke up this morning in a puddle of my own nightsweat. "Totally gross. Why?" you ask. Well, in the middle of the night, my air conditioner decided to blow a fuse. God only knows how I didn't wake up but when my alarm went off this morning these were the thoughts going through my head:
"God damn, it's hot!"
"Why is it so quiet in here?"
"If that switch is in the 'on' position, why is it not on?"
"Did the power go out?"
"It couldn't have gone out because my clock's not blinking...and the lights work."
"Kate is going to kill me!" (Kate was spending the evening on an aerobed in my living room when this heat wave travesty occurred.)

Luckily, I went to the fusebox in the kitchen and simply flipped a switch and all was right in the world.

(Kate also survived.)

"I'm Mr. Green Christmas. I'm Mr. Sun. I'm Mr. Heat Blister. I'm Mr. 101. They call me Heat Miser. Whatever I touch, starts to melt in my clutch. I'm too much."

Introducing...Me!

Hi friends. My name is Trish and I'm a Libra...or, at least, I was one before Ophiuchus came along. I'm 30 years old and reside in Rhode Island. I enjoy riding in the trunks of cars, rolling my eyes and reading while out to dinner with friends. If you're reading this blog you probably already know many of the ludicrous stories I have to share...but, have no fear, there are more in the vault and, no doubt, more to occur. So, sit back, grab a treat and enjoy...at my expense.