2011

What a year.

Indeed.

Using pictures to sum up 2011 in a nutshell:

2011 started with tons of travel.  And it continued throughout the 12 months.  I hit up Texas twice, Toronto, Boston, Connecticut more times that I can count, Rhode Island, Key West, LA, New Orleans, Denver, NYC.  

My crazy ass also decided to take up running.  Other than traveling, running seemed to dominate my year.  I started with a 5K and finished the racing season off with a half marathon.  Even Mr. G was inspired by my raw running energy (ha) and hopped on a (mountain) bike for a 50 mile race!

I also managed to squeeze in about eleventy trillion weddings and wedding related parties.  It was an honor watching so many of our friends and loved ones be joined in holy matrimony.

(Please ignore the fact that Mr. G wears the exact same thing to every.single.wedding.)

2011 had a rough streak as well, Irene being the highlight.  As a state and a community we were struck hard, but we came together immediately and made incredible progress.  I am so proud of my neighbors, state politicians, and hardworking friends who worked so hard to help bring VT "back to normal".

Being back in New England for a full year, I took full advantage of being within driving distance of so many friends again.  But I also got to reunite with friends from all over.  Praise Jebus.  I love my friend family.

Yes, despite a few bumps in the road, 2011 was a fantastic year.

2012 is shaping up to look even better; I have 3 half marathons to run, plus a triathlon with my man. (Mr. G will be riding another half century, and then a couple months later he will participate in his first 115 mile race.)  Starting next month I will be hitting the road again, I have planned trips to LA, San Diego, San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Charleston, Louisville, Philly, Denver and hopefully a few days on a beach somewhere.  We have three weddings to attend.  We have friends to get together with again.  We hope to get a new place somewhere and adopt a dog.  

I am so looking forward to all of the promising events that 2012 looks to be bringing. 

But I am not sure how 2011 can be beat.

Happy holidays, everyone.  Enjoy your last week in 2011.

(And with that said, if anyone in the upper valley has suggestions for what I can do for New Years, I am all ears...)

Peace out cub scouts,

Bubbie

Explain to me

How on God's green earth is today only Wednesday?  How in the world is that even possible?

I swear I woke up for Monday a year ago.  How has it only been 3 days?  Is it because I am excited for this weekend that all of a sudden each day has 67 hours in it?

This morning my old faithful alarm went off as usual at 6:30 and I was all like "fuck off, it's got to be Saturday, leave me alone."

And then my internal self was all like, "no, you fuck off.  It is Wednesday, asshole.  Get up and get going."

And then I was all like, "#$!!%&*$&!"

And then I got up, burnt some popcorn (true story.  I make popcorn at 6:30 am most weekday mornings.), braided my bangs back, and here I am.  Smelling like burnt popcorn and blogging.  Thinking, "I must have waisted a few hours already. Must be time for my lunchtime soup."

OH WAIT.

Not even 8:30 am yet.

Even the squirrel thinks it's NUTS that it is only Wednesday!
(sorry about that.  The slow week is taking it's toll on me.)

PS: (C)Happy (C)Hanukkah to my fellow Chosen People.

Napping under my desk,
Bubbie

You know it

This morning for morning snack #2 I had a new brand of low-fat cheese sticks.

It was so delicious.  It was like the heavens opened and angels sang down on me.

What, you didn't know that I love cheese?

That's all for today, 

Granny

Is this a joke?

I thought acne ended with the 9th grade.

Boy oh boy was I wrong.

Growing up, when I had a "breakout" it was one or two pimples at a time.  And it was usually during that time of the month.  Knowwhatimsayin?

Since then I would say I get a lovely pimple or two a month.  That is it.  I am constantly complimented for my great skin and complexion.  Not to brag or anything.

But now, at nearly 27 years of age, instead of having snow for Christmas, I will have a forehead full of pimples.

BAM. 

10 pimples.  

10.

All on my forehead.

This is not a lie. 

(really, I counted them this morning...)

Thank you very much, santa.

I woke up this week with the fucking big dipper constellation above my eyebrows.  You know that small mountain chain in Nepal, the one that Everest is a part of?  The goddamn Himalayas?  Yup, the earth must have shifted, because you can now hike that mountain range here in VT, at the Goodwin residence.  On my dome.  My forehead looks like I have chicken pox.

Just in time for a week of holiday parties.

FML.

Off to hand in my Granny card and resume my old 8th grade status instead,

12-year-old Granny

Shit I Hate, Volume II

So a few weeks ago when I wrote that list of shit that I hated, I got a lot of feedback.  And lord knows, that was not the only shit I hate.  I hate tons of shit.  So I decided volume two of "Shit I hate" was required.

And today you are in luck.

Here I go!

1.  Greek Yogurt.  Vom.it. (The ONE and ONLY exception to this is Chobani peach flavored greek yogurt, with Splenda swirled in.)

2.  Pimples.  I am nearly 27.  What am I doing with an entire forehead of acne?  And you know what is just as bad/if not worse??  Bacne.

3.  Those mother fucking stickers people put on the back of their cars that have stick figure families.  You know the ones.  Extra hate coming your way if there are more than 3 children, if everyone is wearing Disney hats, or if you have a million pets.  Extra-extra hate your way if you are the woman in Lebanon, NH who drives a suburban with this sticker that includes the two perfect parents, 7 kids, four cats, and a matching license plate that says "7kids."

4. Getting chips in my nails (bless you, Gel Manicure.  Me love you long time.)

5. Feminine Napkins.  No explanation needed.

6. My period in general.  Please see previous bullet in list for explanation.

7. Finding crumbs on a counter or table.  CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES, MOTHER FUCKERS.

8. Men in skinny jeans.  Bonus hate if they are gray jeans, you are wearing a v-neck, and also a huge scarf.  Bonus-Bonus hate if there is a fedora or floppy winter hat on your head.

9.  When people confuse "to" and "too," "there" and "their" and "they're," and "your" and "you're."  What I hate even more is people who confuse shit that should not be confusable, such as "are" and "our." 

10. The Twilight movies.  To sum up my hatred, please read THIS.  Go fuck yourself, Bella Swan.

Ok, I think that is the last edition of "Shit I hate."  Anything you care to add to the list?

Love always,

Bubbykins

Hot child in the city

Just got back from a quick weekend away in the Big Apple with my little sister.  Had a fantastic time.  Saw the sights, shopped the shops, ate the food, and in between had some great talks and a fun, relaxing time.

However, there is one thing my sissy poo and I could not agree on.

And that is the city itself.

My sister capital L LOVES living in NYC.  LOVES.  Hates coming home to "small town middle America" where my parents live.

I am quite the opposite.  Give me wide open spaces, fresh air, quiet nights, grass, and minimal cement.  I don't look forward to going to the city, I feel claustrophobic and dirty.

Don't get me wrong, NYC is something that I feel everyone should go see and experience.  There is a totally different culture there (dear sissy poo, please note I said "different" and not "better") and you can get a mani-pedi on just about any block for a steal of a deal.  You can eat Pakistani food for lunch, followed by authentic Chinese for dinner, and then Afghan for a late night snack.  You can go running in a great park and on just one street you can chose between H&M, Sephora, the Gap, Old Navy, Banana, Ann Taylor...


And, of course, my sister lives there.  Reason alone to go.


However...it is not that often in the country that the drunk kid sitting next to you starts puking all over and gets spatter on your shoes.  Or that a cat-sized rat comes and stares you down for 15 minutes while you wait for your train.


No, I think I will stick with my rural setting, where you need to drive 15 minutes to get anywhere (and by anywhere, I do mean nowhere).  I will keep my clean, green, grassy yards, my personal space when I go for a run.  I will take no sidewalks at all over sidewalks covered in trash and spit out gum and cigarette butts.

Like I said, I had a great time in the city for a few days.  But lord, was it good to come home to the country.

Still breathing in the (cold) fresh air,

Granny

Pickle

Y'all remember how I have a strong and burning love for Chic-fil-a?  Because I do.  I look forward to my once yearly mecca to the holy CFA to fill my desire for an original chicken sammich, hold the pickle, side of polynesian sauce for my waffle fries, served with lemonade, thankyouverymuch.

I was even able to ignore their conservative and religious right wing agenda for my once yearly chicken sammich fill.

But now, in December of 2011, my world appears to be crashing down and falling apart.  I am forced to boycott CFA, and it really hurts my feelings, because I really love their original chicken sammies.

Some background...

Other than CFA, I also have a love for kale.  That's right.  The green leafy vegetable.  You know the one--the one that could never, not in ten million years, be confused with chicken.

I have often seen shirts and bags and bumper stickers that say "Eat More Kale!" on them.  And every time I do, I say "I WILL!" and then follow that with "I NEED that bumper sticker."  And then I drive myself over to the closest store and pick up more kale.  Nope, not joking.

Well, it has been brought to my attention that the man behind the "Eat More Kale" slogan is from good ole' Vermont.  And he started using this slogan 11 years ago, when a friend of his asked him to screen print him a Tshirt with the phrase "Eat more kale."  He started a local and eco friendly screen printing company called "Eat More Kale."  11 years have gone by, and now the "eat more kale" slogan is getting more and more popular.  So popular, in fact, that this smart little Vermonter behind the phrase went to go get it trademarked. 

Except that the ever so loved Chic-fil-a is blocking "Eat More Kale" from being a trademarked business.  They want the name changed.  Because they think the phrase "Eat More Kale" is copyrighting their marketing phrase of "Eat Mor Chikin" and that it confuses the CFA customer and they will lose money to "Eat more kale."

WHATTHAMOTHAFUCK??

I shit you not.  CFA is saying that "Eat more____________" (insert your favorite food item, booze, etc, here) is a copyright violation.  And that the CFA customers do not know the difference between a Fried Chicken Sammy RESTAURANT and a t shirt that says "eat more kale."

I want to walk right over to those CFA folks and shake them until they make the right decision.  But instead, I signed a petition that I think you should too; sign the petition telling Chic-fil-a to lay off this local business and to allow "Eat More Kale" to remain as it is.  (That last sentence is the link to the Petition, FYI.) Because as much as I love me some CFA, I love me so kale and some local businesses more.

Thanks!

Bubbie

por que

Sometimes, after looking at all of the other blogs I love to read, I wonder "why do I blog?"

I have also been asked by people who find out that I blog, "What is your blog about?"

Which got me thinking...

I do not have a focused topic that I blog about.  Fashion? Hell no.  I wear shirts with holes in them constantly.  My shoes all have scuff marks.  My jeans are in no way designer. I wear clogs proudly and I almost always prefer sweat pants.  Food? While I love to cook and eat, fuck a food blog.  I love to read them, but never do I ever have the time nor the desire to document and photograph how I cook.  Running?  While I do it, let's face it: I suck at it.  Nobody wants to take advice or listen to a woman who is proud of her ten minute mile pace.

Well, Granny, if you are not blogging about a specific topic, you must have a great and exciting social life to blog about and entertain the masses with?

Wait, what?  No?  No social life what so ever?

This is not an exaggeration.  The only thing I do with my life is this: wake up, work, run, make dinner for Mr. G, watch TV with Mr. G, talk to Mr. G, go to bed.  Repeat daily.  Sometimes we spice it up by going out to eat, seeing a movie, or going shopping.  That is it.  No friends.  No weekly get togethers.  No girls nights, nights out at bars with friends, etc.  Unless people come visit from out of town, the Goodwins legitimately live the lives of hermits.

Ok, well, you must at least have SOMETHING you can give us advice on?  Home ownership?  Child bearing?  Animal Rescue?

No, no, and no.  We live in a crummy two bedroom condo that we rent.  We cannot even hang shit on the walls, lest our landlords evict us.  No children in my near future, as I love sleep, money, and wine too much.  No animals to call our own (please see: uptight landlords).

So really, there is no reason I should have a blog.  Except I do.  And I hope you just enjoyed spending the last 4 minutes of your life reading about why I shouldn't blog.  No, you cannot have that 4 minutes back, it is mine and I cherish it.  

Love,

Boring Bubbie

Fa la la la la

Growing up in the PB household, half Jews and anti-consumerists that we were, Christmas was not celebrated like it was throughout the rest of America.  Sure, we got a tree, put up a few decorations and opened gifts Christmas morning.  But said tree was cut down from the woods behind my aunt's home about 5 days before Christmas.  And those decorations we put up around the house?  A lone candy cane decoration on the front door.  And never have I ever heard either of my parents listen to Christmas music once in their lives.

It wasn't horrible and lord knows I was not deprived.  And growing up, while I always wanted my parents to put an addition onto the house to accommodate a 20 foot tall perfect Christmas tree, I never felt like I was missing anything.  As the years passed by I never gave into the massive consumerism that surrounds this holiday and I always gave the side eye to those people who started decorating for Christmas as soon as Thanksgiving was over.  (This could also have something to do with that little festival of lights that us Chosen People celebrate that falls in between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Why rush Christmas, I still got 8 days of presents anyway!)

Even when I moved out and on my own with my now husband, Mr. G and I would not listen to Christmas music until we put up our tree (and other than that, we listened only to Christmas music on Christmas eve).  And our tree would usually go up one to two weeks before the 25th.  And our decorations for around the house included one candle that my mom regifted to me (she hates scented shit) and a stuffed animal walrus wearing a santa hat.  I still gave people the side eye for being so "in to" Christmas so early.

And then there was last year when I wanted to skip out on Christmas entirely.

But this year, while I STILL side eye those Black Friday shoppers and those who really do turn Christmas into a completely consumerist holiday and forget what it is really about, I think I am starting to make up for lost time.  This year, the Saturday after Thanksgiving I braved the holiday crowds and went a little crazy.  I didn't get everything I wanted, and I have done only minimal gift buying.  But I did buy ribbons, wrapping paper, candles, crafts to make candles, mini glittery christmas trees (2), poinsettias (already killed them, going out for more this weekend), and tons of other little Christmas decorations.  A trip that started out to get a picture frame, some glue (to fix our angel for the top of the tree), and some beef turned into a two and a half hour debacle for me to get decorations.  And then I returned to our home and started decorating.  I dug our boxes out of storage and just went with it.  It was magnificent.  I also stamped and addressed all of the holiday cards we are sending out this week (there are 70 of them.  Goodness gracious).

We still have not allowed ourselves to buy a tree or a wreath or play Christmas music.  It was, after all, not even the same MONTH that Christmas was.

But now, now that it is December, and now that it is no longer near 60 degrees (global warming, what?), I will be going back to the store this weekend to buy more Christmas decorations (poinsettias for starters), start my gift buying, and we will pick up a tree.  And "Little Drummer Boy" will be played on repeat while I clean the house throughout the month.

I am making up for lost time here.

Cheers and happy holidays!

Bubbie

*PS, when my mom heard about my post Thanksgiving-Christmas-inspired shopping binge I got quite the earful.  "I cannot believe you did that!  You are giving into the consumerism!  Stop that!  And now I cannot even come over to your house because you will have so many scented candles that I will not be able to breathe!"

Shoot

Lip pimples; they are the worst.

Nobody can tell if they are a pimple or the herps.  And nobody wants to walk around looking like they have the herps on their face, youknowwhatimsayin?

Also they hurt the worst.  The lips are a sensitive part of the face, and having a little pimple right on your kisser is quite painful.

I should know.

I woke up with one this morning.

So if you see me, be a doll and 1) don't mention it, and 2) know that I do not have the herps.

Peace out cub scouts,
Granny

SAHM 2

This four and a half day holiday weekend has done nothing but confirm my desire to be a stay at home millionaire.

Hope you all had a wonderful and safe and joyous and perfect holiday weekend!

More to come tomorrow.

Love,

Bubbie

Giving Thanks

In case y'all haven't heard, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

While I may complain a lot and have a large laundry list of shit I am NOT grateful for (please keep your eyes peeled for my second edition of "Shit I Hate" coming soon), tomorrow is a day to reflect upon what I am grateful and thankful for, and there really is a lot.

I am grateful for big ticket things, like that Mr. G and I both have our health.  Not only that, but for the most part, our families and loved ones do too.  We have not one, but two working cars that allow us to travel.  Though our apartment may be fully carpeted and no where near as nice as some (most) of our friends' places, at least we have a place to call "home."  And not only do we have a little place to call our own, but we have a two bedroom place, and it is warm and dry.  We both have jobs, and though they are not making us rich any time soon, they are bringing us a steady income for which we are both thankful.  We have gone on two major vacations in two years.   And we have our friends and family, of which we love so much.

And then there are little every day things that I can say I am thankful for.  The second bathroom in our condo.  Soft, oversized sweat shirts.  Pandora.  All Apple products.  Harry Potter.  Sephora.  Hot baths and good books.  Red wine. Pinterest.  Blogs.  Pedicures.  Headlamps so I can run in the dark.  Indian food.  Chinese food.  Noodles.  Email.  Tampons.  Contacts.  Fall inspired scented candles.   Skype.  Nail Polish.  Nail polish remover.  Lemon zinger tea in the morning.  Leggings.  Sweatpants.  Any pants with an elastic waist band.  Flip flops.  Affordable earrings.  Mr. G cleaning off my car.  A nice card in the mail.  Macaroni and cheese.  Bath sheets/beach towels.  Volumizing hair spray.  Farmers Markets.  The radio.  Unlimited Free Texts.  "Friday Night Lights."  Gchat.  OWS.  A clean house.  Cake.  Our troops.  Good old fashioned books (you know, with pages).  Easy to manage house plants.  Wooly slippers.  Running socks.  Sharpies.  Birth Control Pills.  The list goes on...

I wish you all a wonderful, safe, happy, and delicious Thanksgiving.  Cynical and sarcastic Granny will be back shortly.

Until then,
Bubbie

Romance

I just returned from a weekend away with Mr. G.  We had planned a very romantic weekend at the lovely Hyatt Regency right on the waterfront.  (And by romantic I mean...a weekend away at a waterfront hotel.  We are not the most romantic couple.  I think romance is when Mr. G scrapes my car off in the winter.) It was all lovely, except nothing the Goodwins plan can go off without a hitch...

-GPS told me it would take 3 hours and 51 minutes with traffic to get to Newport.  It took six hours.  Fucking traffic.
-Traffic makes any couple in a car together pissy.  Here is how the last three hours in our car went:

"Can you please slow down!?  Those people are stopped up ahead!"

"That car?  The one with the break lights on a good mile ahead of us?"

"You should switch lanes, our exit is coming up in a couple of miles."

"Do you want to drive?"

"I am so cold, can't we turn the heat on??"

"You touch that heat button and I will kill you."

"I can't find any radio stations I like."

"Stop changing the channel every 30 seconds.  For the love of god."

-By 7:45 am on Saturday morning--the day I had planned to sleep in until 9:30--some parents had decided that their adorable toddler needed to get his energy out in the hallway outside our room.  Which he did by running up and down the long hallway and yelling and singing for 45 minutes.  TO THE PARENTS OF THAT CHILD, may you get hives and have a week of sleepless nights.  

-Mr. G felt that since he was already awake, that turning the TV on until I woke up was a good idea.  It was not.

-The mansions we wanted to tour cost $40. 

-Ok, we can pay that so we have the opportunity to get some good pictures of us in the mansions.

-Oh wait, no pictures in the mansions?!
-The toll was $4.  We had $3.  Big debacle ensues.

-Sephora was out of my lotion.  Curse you, Sephora.

-Sephora still had the mascara I wanted.  Which I grabbed.  And 5 hours later when we got home and I unpacked I realized I DID NOT GRAB THE MASCARA, I GRABBED A $30 EYELINER INSTEAD THAT WAS MIXED INTO THE MASCARA CONTAINER.  (Did I mention the closest Sephora is 2.5 hours away?  And I am desperately in need of new mascara that does not come from the Wal Marts?)

whatthemothafuck?!

Despite all of the unplanned, pain in the neck, annoying little problems that arose over the weekend, the Goodwins had a fantastic little weekend away with lots of fun, laughing, shopping, rum, and even a little romance.

Off to daydream about Thanksgiving!

Love,

Bubbie

Happy Friday

Last night I kicked my weekend off right and because of that I am very hopeful that this weekend in its entirety will be nothing short of epic.

After some inspiration from Mike Tyson, the Goodwin household has implemented "Pizza Pthursday" (not to be confused with "Taco Tuesday"), which coincidently is now my new favorite thing to say.

Combine Pizza Pthursday with two other of my favorite things, and last night was glorious.  The two other favorite things?  A holiday visit from Mr. Brockway (deep in the heart of Texas), and Youtube.

I can spend hours on Youtube just playing around.  Instead of linking you to the top 20 videos granny loves (laughing babies, funny kids, silly animals, Marcel the Shell with Shoes...), I thought I would just post the one we three watched last night on repeat 4 times.

Ah, nothing like lovely, classy, perfect evening of PBRs, pizza, and acid tripping lizards.

Happy Friday, y'all!

Granny

Halp?!

Why hello.  Welcome to my slightly updated blog.  I think it looks more mature and professional now, yes?  No more distracting images or background to take away from my all important blog posts.

However, after fucking around with Blogger for a good hour now, I still need some help with four little things.

First readers to help gets...cookies.  I will send you some cookies.

(But not really.  I will just love you unconditionally and mention on you this here blog.  That is just as awesome, right??)

Ok, first thing I need is a picture or something to spice up my title.  HELP.  I know how I can add a picture but I don't know how to make that shit look good.  And I don't necessarily want a picture of me, but just something fun to add a little oomph to my page.  Please, someone, send me DETAILED, step by step directions, complete with pictures and words so my 4 year old cousin could do it.  Not that he is going to, but that is just my level of skills when it comes to computer and internet and web design--that of a 4 year old.

Second, if you will observe, the title of each post is in gray.  Which is fine and dandy.  Except I want it in black.  Every other section of my blog I can chose what color the words appear.  But not for my Post Titles.  Whatthamothafuck??  Help a sista out.

Thirdly (which my spell checker informs me is a real word), I want the information on the side bar, such as the list of blogs, to show up in black.   I know, boring and unoriginal.  But the blue is just random and out of nowhere.  I have gone back to check eleventy million times (which spell check has informed me is NOT a real word) and I did not chose blue as the color for this to show up.  So where in the heck is this coming from?

Lastly, and by far most importantly, all I want for Christmas is 100 followers.  NOT GONNA HAPPEN, Shaun John.  Get with the program.  But, maybe 50?  And then for my Birthday I could ask for 100?  Can y'all kindly follow my blog if you're not already?  Or send my blog out, now that it looks all profesh., to all of your friends and their friends and their friends' friends??  Not to be super desperate, but...I'm super desperate.  I just wanna be one of the cool kids.

Ok, that is all for now.  Thank ya kindly for listening, and hopefully helping a sister out.

Lots of Granny love.

Side-eye

I got the inspiration for this post from my cyber friend Stephanie, who has done a few posts about her pet peeves and things that she simple doesn't understand.

Because I am not as nice as Stephanie, I am simply going to make a list of things I hate. 

Sorry for the negativity so early in the work week, just wanted to put it out there so the rest of the week can  be all rainbows and puppies and shit.

1. Skanks.  Y'all know what I am talking about.  Skanks have been taking over my Facebook wall for weeks now.  Trashy tattoos.  Over plucked eyebrows.  Groomed facial hair.  Smack talking all over my news feed.  Cut the shit, kids.  Grow up, put on some clean clothes, don't drink until you black out tonight, and calm your tits.

2. Fake tanning.  I know, I know--back in the day, I had two experiences with tanning beds.  I went a couple times before my vacation to Florida.  I ADMIT IT.  But that was before spray tanning was readily available.  Now it is, it is safer, and you won't look like, well, A SKANK.  Because tanning beds and skanks go hand in hand.

3. Dropped calls.  What the what?  I fume just thinking about it.

4.  The Facebook app on my iPhone.  Only works about half the time.  How am I supposed to keep up with the skanks?

5. Speaking of Facebook, men, this one is (mostly) for you--I know it is hunting season and you are proud of your kill, but really, between all of the posts from the skanks all I see are dead animals. 

6. Slow drivers in the fast lane.  JUST GET OVER.  Do NOT drive in the fast lane if you are going any less than 71 mph, unless you are strictly passing a car.

7. When pants fit in the morning, but by the end of the day they are all saggy and wrinkly in the butt and crotch.  

8. The word "crotch."

9. The 5 day work week.  I want a 4 day work week, a 3 day weekend.  I don't even need it every week, but maybe every other??

10. Racists.  Even more than a straight out racist, I hate people who say they aren't racists, but then say something racist and follow it up by saying "no, I'm not racist, I have a black/indian/Muslim/hispanic/jewish friend."

11. This is stolen directly from Ms. Stephanie, but white people with dreadlocks.  This is not the 90s anymore.  Get on with it.  We get it, you're alternative.

12. Anyone who is opposed to gay marriage.  LOVE IS LOVE, people.

13. Dreaming about work at night.  This is completely unacceptable.  Especially on a Sunday after a wonderful weekend.  Weekend considered ruined due to these dreams.

14. Carpeting.  Especially wall-to-wall carpeting.  Especially in our condo.  

15.  People who are skinnier than me and eat like crap and never work out.  Could make a grown woman sob.

16. Uneven lists that do not end in a "0" or a "5."

Bitches, I'm back

Sweet sassy molassy, I am done with my whirl-wind trip of America.  Seven cities visited in 3 weeks, and an equal number of pounds added to my waistline.  Thanks, airport food and all disregard for anything healthy.


I am back in the saddle and so looking forward to a couple of months without major travel.  Regular exercise, making my own meals, back on the double dub train, working from a desk, doing regularly grocery shopping, watching FNL with my man, washing load after load of laundry...it all sounds so appealing right now (please remind me of this when I complain about how boring my life is in 3 weeks).

Before I dive back in to my regular, boring, busy (for now) life, I thought I would share one last story of my travels with you.

The scene: Earls Bar, Denver, Colorado.  The cast of Characters: H. Keane and myself.

Here we are, sitting at our table near the bar, exhausted (please see: two all nighters in two weeks), ready to leave and hit the hay.  When the bartender walks over and says "Are you 21?  These men at the bar want to buy you some drinks."  I know, I was as shocked as you.  Me?  Greasy haired and all?  I was flattered, especially when the bartender said "Those men at the bar think you are the most beautiful women they have ever seen.  And I agree." (Again, seriously shocking. Even though it was a bold faced lie and an obviously desperate attempt to get laid.)  We agreed to the drinks and the bartender returned a moment later with...wait for it...two shots...of...BAILEYS.

Because nothing says "You are so hot, let me get in your pants" like an Irish whiskey and cream liqueur.

Off to resume my granny status,
Shaun John

No antacids here

I took a vacation from my lame ass life and pulled TWO ALL NIGHTERS IN TWO WEEKS.

That's right, folks.  You read that correctly.  When granny is away from the home base, she goes wild.

Night one: LA with one Lindsey Fout.  Shit was magical.  My alias came out and yes, I was an Internist from Dartmouth.   Drank gin gimlets, met many a fun folk, ate street tacos, and met a Hebrew Hammer look alike.  By 4 am we were loading ourselves into the Subaru and were off to LAX.  God bless my 8 hour flight so I could catch up on sleep.

Night two: Far more wild.  H.Keane and I hit up Nawleans. Dueling pianos.  Karaoke.  Hurricanes, Long Island Iced Teas, and (blue) Greatful Deads.  High heels were worn.  Wormed my way into wearing the staff uniform at an Irish bar and met a black leprechaun.  Was chaperoned by my AARP card-carrying boss until 2:30 am., when we encountered  male strippers.  At 4 am we crawled our way back to our rooms, got 45 minutes of shut eye, and then headed off to the airport once again.

Now in Denver; let's see what kind of shenanigans we can get into here...

Peace out, granny status. (But not really.  I'm far too old for this shit.)

Spooky Halloween Tale

This fine Halloween morning I thought I would share a true story of a woman who was once normal and on Halloween morphed into a scary, crazy, neurotic, OCD individual.

Yes, the woman is me. (No, the woman in the picture is not actually me, but I think it is a pretty accurate portrayal of what I will look like in another 30 years.)

Every morning I make tea while I get ready for work.  The tea water boils, I finish putting my face on, getting dressed, and making the bed, and then run down and pour the boiling water into my travel mug.

I have been doing this for 4 years now.

And yet today, for some reason, 3.5 miles into my drive to work, I decided I simply MUST go home and double check that I had turned the stove off.

Which of course I had.

But I needed to add a little crazy to my life and double check.

Off to wash my hands 47 times,
Granny

What the mothafuck!?

Unfuckingacceptable.

Off to cry,

Bubbie

Help

Ok, so if ya'll recall, I blogged last week about maid service while at conference numbero uno (of 7...) and about how I didn't like to have the maids come daily because I didn't have the cashola to pay them.

(If you do not recall this story, then start reading my blog more often.  I beg of you.)

Well the responses have overwhelmingly been "you tip your maid service!?!?!"

Which got me thinking.

I have ALWAYS tipped the maids growing up.  I remember my dad leaving cash on the TV stand when we would leave for our daily activities when I was a little girl and since then I have been tipping.

But apparently, that shit is not normal.  (The Pinkson clan not normal?  Color me shocked.)

So please, as I have 6 more conferences to attend in the near future, please let me know if I need to be packing cash to tip the maids, or if I am crazy, and maids do not get tipped (which will save me a bundle of money and some stress).

I have an addiction

Help me, mama. 

Someone has made the mistake and invited me to Pinterest.

Slippery.Slope.

Cannot stop pinning.

If you do not hear from me for the next 100 years, it means my addiction has taken over and I am lost in the cyber-world of beauty that is Pinterest.

You can find me Here.  Follow me (because I am insecure and need you to follow me to feel successful).

-Granny

Clean yo' self

I come to you from beautiful, sunny, warm, perfect foggy, overcast Southern California to gripe about something.

I would say I travel a lot.   Not even including this trip, I will have at least 3 night stays in over ten hotels between now and April.

Because I am a neat freak, when I travel I do not leave towels on the floor.  I make my bed, I fold my clothes, I have things neatly put away when I check into my room.  No crap all over the place, everything is where it should be.

And because of this, I do not need my room cleaned daily.  I do not even need the house cleaners to come in every other day.  So I put the little "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door and leave it there generally for the entire 3-5 days I am at the hotel.

I do not have a maid at home, why do I need one when I travel?

Am I on vacation from being the clean, OCD individual that I am?  No.  If you can make your bed at home, keep your towels off the floor, and generally not be a slob while you live at home, why must you behave differently while at a hotel?  Just because there is a maid?

Furthermore, at home, I do not clean my bathroom daily nor do I vacuum my floors daily.  I do not change my sheets daily, or my towels.  Why do I need this all done daily while on vacation?

For the few days I am staying at the hotel, I do not want my space invaded just for the room to be perfectly cleaned.  The garbage can be emptied from my gum wrappers and tissues when I leave, thank you.

But apparently this mentality is absurd.  Regardless of whether I am at a Hilton in Houston, the Marriott in Anaheim, or the Hyatt in Albuquerque, I am constantly asked by the cleaning service if I would like my room cleaned.

Just yesterday (8 hours after I had arrived--how messy could I have allowed my room to get WHILE I SLEPT?!) I had a note under my door (on lovely hotel letterhead) instructing me to call housekeeping if I wanted my room cleaned.  I also had a message on my phone--from house keeping seeing if I wanted my room cleaned.  And lastly, as I ducked out of my room in the middle of the day (I had gone back to freshen up) a cleaning woman saw me and literally dashed down the hall shouting after me "scusa me, ma'am, do you no want me to cleana your room??"  I kindly explained that I did not need the room cleaned, I had just arrived last night, yadda yadda.  "No towels?  You don'ta want new bed?"

I smiled, said no, and went back to my meeting.  But I do not understand why I am constantly asked if I need my room cleaned during my short stay.  Do people really not understand that I keep my room clean and do not need fresh towels daily?!

Or that I never remember to travel with cash and therefore cannot tip the maids? (This may or may not be the real reason I do not have my room cleaned while traveling. Hint: it definitely is.)

Back to work I go,
Bubbie

La La

I am unexpectedly headed to LALA land for work tomorrow.  Southern California weather, I welcome thee.

I am bummed that I will be away, I have a lot of work to do, a man to love, runs to go on, healthy meals to cook, and Friday Night Lights to watch.  I have no desire to be working at 7 am every morning straight through until Sunday.

But my biggest concern is not the work, the fear of flying, the massive amounts I will miss my man.

It is the fact that I am, how shall we say, fashion retarded?

This is LA:

And at any given moment, this is me:

Not quite the tanned, leggy, sexy, blown-out, perfect female specimen that roam the streets of Hollywood.

This trip is going to be great on my self esteem.

Going to pack,

Granny

October

It's raining and will continue to rain for the foreseeable future.  It is also cold.

I have a serious headache.  It has been here for 3 days.

Recovery from this race is taking far longer than I anticipated and I have not gotten any exercise since Sunday.

We are broke (always).

I want a puppy.

Our house is a mess.

I need new snow tires (please see: we are broke).

I have pimples (3!).

I have to do laundry this weekend (at least 4 loads).

But none of this is going to get me angry.

It is near impossible to be upset when this is what I see everywhere I look:

Happy Fall,

Bubbie