You know you live in the wrong town when the bar you went to last night has 40 year old men drinking apple flavored Smirnoff Ice and the women are drinking Twisted Teas.
We need to move immediately.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Exhausted
You have heard me mention my fabulous, young, hot, and hip cousin in previous posts. Her name is Katie Rae. Not only is she hot and hip to boot, but the girl is a living genius. Homegirl is taking her CPA exams and on her last exam, she got a world record breaking PERFECT score (nope, not joking). She invited me out last time she took the exam and I had plans already and couldn't make it. I promised her "after the next exam..."
Today (as I type this), Katie is taking CPA #2. Earlier this week, I got this text from her: "Come out to celebrate with us on Thursday!"
My response (being 72 years old) was "sure! But do you mean celebrate as in dinner and drinks? or celebrate as in party like late at night?"
Katie: "not late, like 9-10"
I just about died. On a work night? Drinking? STARTING at 9 or 10?
After my silence, Katie texted me back, "Shauni, come on, you are 25, GET A LIFE. YOU ARE COMING!"
Mr. G gave me a side eye and said "have fun, lord knows I'm not staying out that late on a Thursday."
I promised my cousin. Plus, I want to be good family. Plus I thought of all of the other 25 year olds I know (and hell, 35 year olds. And Liz Lemon.) who go out and lead fun and exciting lives, and I said "I CAN DO THIS!"
So, at 9 tonight, instead of putting my exhausted, 72-year-old ass into bed, I will be headed over to a local bar (nope, not dressing up, will be wearing something with an elastic waist band and nothing that resembles heels) and having one tonic water, hold the booze. Last time I went out to drink on a work night, I ended up in a spinning restaurant 32 stories above the ground, crying, having a bottle of wine, and not getting home until 1am.
This time, I'm being cautious.
Love,
Nervous and exhausted Granny
Today (as I type this), Katie is taking CPA #2. Earlier this week, I got this text from her: "Come out to celebrate with us on Thursday!"
My response (being 72 years old) was "sure! But do you mean celebrate as in dinner and drinks? or celebrate as in party like late at night?"
Katie: "not late, like 9-10"
I just about died. On a work night? Drinking? STARTING at 9 or 10?
After my silence, Katie texted me back, "Shauni, come on, you are 25, GET A LIFE. YOU ARE COMING!"
Mr. G gave me a side eye and said "have fun, lord knows I'm not staying out that late on a Thursday."
I promised my cousin. Plus, I want to be good family. Plus I thought of all of the other 25 year olds I know (and hell, 35 year olds. And Liz Lemon.) who go out and lead fun and exciting lives, and I said "I CAN DO THIS!"
So, at 9 tonight, instead of putting my exhausted, 72-year-old ass into bed, I will be headed over to a local bar (nope, not dressing up, will be wearing something with an elastic waist band and nothing that resembles heels) and having one tonic water, hold the booze. Last time I went out to drink on a work night, I ended up in a spinning restaurant 32 stories above the ground, crying, having a bottle of wine, and not getting home until 1am.
This time, I'm being cautious.
Love,
Nervous and exhausted Granny
Monday, January 24, 2011
what the what??
Today, in VT, it was -25. That is a full 57 degrees below freezing. Caroline the Corolla was pissed about it. She refused to start. Then when she did, she gave me a hard time and didn't warm up until about 31 minutes into my commute.
Happy Monday.
Happy Monday.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Lindsay Lohan
I do not drink a lot. I will have a glass of wine with dinner a few times a week, and on a really wild night, a few cocktails. But Lindsay Lohan I am not. Until this past weekend...
A few serial killing friends and their husbands came for their first time up to Vermont and stayed at Hotel Goodwin. I managed to buy all of the food related groceries we would need for less than $50 for the weekend. The booze, however, cost a lovely $168.
Friday evening we consumed: a handle of tequila in the form of margaritas (thanks A and T for the marg maker!), half a jug of wine and about 22 beers.
Saturday we all woke up with quite the headache. My famous eggs, turkey bacon, and cinnamon buns did not even help. The freezing cold fresh air on Piko Mountain, however, did. You think we would have learned our lesson, but...
After spending the afternoon skiing on Saturday, we were right back at it. After dropping the men-folk off at the local bar to watch the Steelers game (go Steelers!) the ladies went back to Hotel Goodwin. We had some cocoa with vodka AND baileys in it. Then decided to meet the guys at the bar. Cut to: $300 bar tab AFTER a 10% discount...
Not only can my body not handle booze, neither can my wallet. I am old and broke.
Still recovering,
Bubbie Shauni
A few serial killing friends and their husbands came for their first time up to Vermont and stayed at Hotel Goodwin. I managed to buy all of the food related groceries we would need for less than $50 for the weekend. The booze, however, cost a lovely $168.
Friday evening we consumed: a handle of tequila in the form of margaritas (thanks A and T for the marg maker!), half a jug of wine and about 22 beers.
Saturday we all woke up with quite the headache. My famous eggs, turkey bacon, and cinnamon buns did not even help. The freezing cold fresh air on Piko Mountain, however, did. You think we would have learned our lesson, but...
After spending the afternoon skiing on Saturday, we were right back at it. After dropping the men-folk off at the local bar to watch the Steelers game (go Steelers!) the ladies went back to Hotel Goodwin. We had some cocoa with vodka AND baileys in it. Then decided to meet the guys at the bar. Cut to: $300 bar tab AFTER a 10% discount...
Not only can my body not handle booze, neither can my wallet. I am old and broke.
Still recovering,
Bubbie Shauni
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
1.11.11
Today, had I not gotten married, would be my 9 year dating anniversary with Mr. G. However, after nearly 8 years together, Mr. G decided it was about time to make an honest woman out of me (that, and I told him he better shit or get off the pot) and he popped the question. And while January 11th is no longer my anniversary, I would like to dedicate today's blog to the love of my life, Mr. G.
Mr. G, who leaves socks around the house, who waits a full 24 hours before washing the dishes, who hates all things healthy. He drives too fast in the snow, he doesn't massage me nearly enough, and he is really lazy on his days off. He drinks too much beer, he has awful taste in movies, and he won't admit when he is wrong. We argue. We bicker. We get pissed at each other. But here is why I love Mr. G: whenever we are arguing/bickering/being pissed, Mr. G will force me to hug him. He will always hug away my anger. He wont let me stay mad at him (even if I want to). While I may hate it at the time that he forces me to hug him, this is one of the things I love most about Mr. G.
Mr. G kisses my head every morning before he goes to work while I am still asleep. He cleans off my car for me in the winter at 5am. He lets me put my icicle feet on his legs under the covers for warmth. He spoons with me when I am scared in the night (note: Paranormal Activity is not for the light-hearted.) He is the man that calms me when I am frantic, screaming, crying, stressed. He is the one who says "we will make it, we will get there someday" when I complain about finances. Mr. G kills spiders for me when they are too huge to take outside and rescue. He is a maniac on a bike and one of the best skiers I know. He tells funny jokes and he always wants to go an adventure. (Darling honey bunny: my idea of an adventure is not 6 hours of skiing, biking up a mountain, or hiking all day. I prefer 1 hour of skiing, and 2 hours of cocktails, biking along a flat river, or hiking less than 2 miles.) Mr. G is a dreamer, but realistic. He is enthusiastic, funny, sensitive, romantic, and the hardest worker I have ever.met.
After 9 years, Mr. G still gives me butterflies.
He thought I would cry at our wedding, I didn't, but I cry whenever our wedding song comes on (this morning in the car) just thinking about my luck in meeting and snagging Mr. G.
Yesterday I found out that an acquaintance of mine was killed in the Arizona shootings on Saturday. Gabe Zimmerman was a young man who was working for Congresswoman Giffords and was shot to death. He was engaged to be married in April. Nothing breaks my heart more than imagining what his fiance must feel right now. I am beyond blessed every day that I have Mr. G with me, but this fragile reminder of how easy it is to lose the ones you love will make me hug Mr. G tighter tonight, and for a little longer than usual. He is my husband, and I hope he knows how much I love him.
To give you a glimpse into what I love about my husband, I thought I would share with you a few images of Mr. G over the years.
Please look at this man and tell me he is not handsome, sensitive, and sweet. This last image of him kills me--he is reading over his wedding vows mere moments before walking down the aisle.
Mr. G is also funny. Please refer to him riding a killer whale while looking for adventure, or for further proof, see him (with some stranger--no idea who she is) all dressed up for a night on the town.
And again, so so handsome. Does anyone do beach casual as well as Mr. G? I think not.
And lastly, I would like to leave you all with this photograph. It really shows off what a stud-muffin Mr. G is.
Lots of love,
Grams
Mr. G, who leaves socks around the house, who waits a full 24 hours before washing the dishes, who hates all things healthy. He drives too fast in the snow, he doesn't massage me nearly enough, and he is really lazy on his days off. He drinks too much beer, he has awful taste in movies, and he won't admit when he is wrong. We argue. We bicker. We get pissed at each other. But here is why I love Mr. G: whenever we are arguing/bickering/being pissed, Mr. G will force me to hug him. He will always hug away my anger. He wont let me stay mad at him (even if I want to). While I may hate it at the time that he forces me to hug him, this is one of the things I love most about Mr. G.
Mr. G kisses my head every morning before he goes to work while I am still asleep. He cleans off my car for me in the winter at 5am. He lets me put my icicle feet on his legs under the covers for warmth. He spoons with me when I am scared in the night (note: Paranormal Activity is not for the light-hearted.) He is the man that calms me when I am frantic, screaming, crying, stressed. He is the one who says "we will make it, we will get there someday" when I complain about finances. Mr. G kills spiders for me when they are too huge to take outside and rescue. He is a maniac on a bike and one of the best skiers I know. He tells funny jokes and he always wants to go an adventure. (Darling honey bunny: my idea of an adventure is not 6 hours of skiing, biking up a mountain, or hiking all day. I prefer 1 hour of skiing, and 2 hours of cocktails, biking along a flat river, or hiking less than 2 miles.) Mr. G is a dreamer, but realistic. He is enthusiastic, funny, sensitive, romantic, and the hardest worker I have ever.met.
After 9 years, Mr. G still gives me butterflies.
He thought I would cry at our wedding, I didn't, but I cry whenever our wedding song comes on (this morning in the car) just thinking about my luck in meeting and snagging Mr. G.
Yesterday I found out that an acquaintance of mine was killed in the Arizona shootings on Saturday. Gabe Zimmerman was a young man who was working for Congresswoman Giffords and was shot to death. He was engaged to be married in April. Nothing breaks my heart more than imagining what his fiance must feel right now. I am beyond blessed every day that I have Mr. G with me, but this fragile reminder of how easy it is to lose the ones you love will make me hug Mr. G tighter tonight, and for a little longer than usual. He is my husband, and I hope he knows how much I love him.
To give you a glimpse into what I love about my husband, I thought I would share with you a few images of Mr. G over the years.
Mr. G is also funny. Please refer to him riding a killer whale while looking for adventure, or for further proof, see him (with some stranger--no idea who she is) all dressed up for a night on the town.
And lastly, I would like to leave you all with this photograph. It really shows off what a stud-muffin Mr. G is.
Lots of love,
Grams
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
It's always something
Mr. G has a big, shiny, new-ish Ford truck. It's name is appropriately Harrison [the Ford]. Harrison has been a good truck to us. He drove us through the heat, the wind, the rain, and oh the snow. He has kept us safe and sound, and he only has 64,000 miles on him. He is a baby (and he puts Caroline the Corolla's milage to shame!) Yes, Harrison has been a good truck to us. Until yesterday that is.
Mr. G and I were just starting to feel financially comfortable again after the expensive holiday season. Mr. G bought some fancy new Oakley's. I had just called a local shop and asked if they could special order me some new Frye Riding Boots. I was about to drive down to Tilton and get myself a great new purple leather Coach bag. My favorite Juicy sweat pants have a hole in the crotch the size of Texas that I finally intended on replacing with a new pair this weekend. And it doesn't stop there. We just picked out a new bedroom set AND a new piece of furniture for the living room. January was going to be a month all about us.
And then Harrison got word of all of our big plans and he said "fuck you." He just stopped working. All of our January dreams out the window. All of our savings for the fun shopping I had been planning are going into fixing Harrison.
So I said goodbye to the boots and the bag and the sweatpants. I hope to unite with them next month. I am still hoping to find some cheap furniture for the living room and bedroom this weekend, however, due to Harrison's poor attitude, I am banned from Pottery Barn and now must start the search over at Big Lots.
I wish it was yard sale season....
xo,
Grams
Mr. G and I were just starting to feel financially comfortable again after the expensive holiday season. Mr. G bought some fancy new Oakley's. I had just called a local shop and asked if they could special order me some new Frye Riding Boots. I was about to drive down to Tilton and get myself a great new purple leather Coach bag. My favorite Juicy sweat pants have a hole in the crotch the size of Texas that I finally intended on replacing with a new pair this weekend. And it doesn't stop there. We just picked out a new bedroom set AND a new piece of furniture for the living room. January was going to be a month all about us.
And then Harrison got word of all of our big plans and he said "fuck you." He just stopped working. All of our January dreams out the window. All of our savings for the fun shopping I had been planning are going into fixing Harrison.
So I said goodbye to the boots and the bag and the sweatpants. I hope to unite with them next month. I am still hoping to find some cheap furniture for the living room and bedroom this weekend, however, due to Harrison's poor attitude, I am banned from Pottery Barn and now must start the search over at Big Lots.
I wish it was yard sale season....
xo,
Grams
Monday, January 3, 2011
Hello, new decade
New years eve was spent in Rhode Island. Providence to be exact. Mr. G and I drove down and arrived at our dear friends' too-cute-for-words house in the middle of the afternoon. We would have been earlier, but we made the mistake of stopping at a Taco Bell in northern Mass. $14 and 45 minutes later we were back on the road. Note to self: fast food is bad.
We had dinner reservations for 5pm. Because we are 94 and need the early bird special. We ate in the Little Italy neighborhood, and yes, as a matter of fact I did have the best meal of my life. This pasta was so good it might make me move to Providence, RI just so I can eat it whenever I want.
We got back to the too-cute-for-words house by about 7:33. Being that Laura (said friend) is my soul mate, she immediately uttered the words that I was longing to hear: "ok, so does this mean we are home for the night? We aren't going out again? I can put on my PJ's?" Before Mr. G or Laura's new fiance Kyle could respond with "No, lame-ass, get yourself pumped, we are going out, it is New Years Eve!" I shouted "YES! PJ TIME!"
By 10:30 Laura was asleep on the couch. Kyle was about to brew some coffee. Mr. G and I were drinking wine and dozing off. We barely managed to stay up until midnight, but somehow we mustered our strength and battled onwards. At midnight we watched the ball drop, popped a quick bottle of champagne, kissed, and hit the hay.
Happy 2011. We really know how to celebrate.
With the new year comes resolutions. As usual, mine is to lose weight. (I will start with giving up Taco Bell). I already threw out the chocolate chip cookies in our house. And the inhumane amounts of enchiladas left over from dinner last night. I know it is bad to throw away food, but Mr. G cannot eat the enchiladas because I made the mistake of putting 6 (oops) jalapenos in the sauce. And I cannot eat those leftovers for lunch every day. 1) I would have an ulcer and 2) I would be the size of a house. Which is the opposite of losing weight. Unless the house is a doll house. I could handle that. So from now on, I will be eating healthy, tracking my calories, and hitting the stupid gym 5 times a week until I am so small that my old nickname, Scrawny Shauni, is relevant again. Or at least until I am no longer house sized. I see Weight Watchers in my future...
We had dinner reservations for 5pm. Because we are 94 and need the early bird special. We ate in the Little Italy neighborhood, and yes, as a matter of fact I did have the best meal of my life. This pasta was so good it might make me move to Providence, RI just so I can eat it whenever I want.
We got back to the too-cute-for-words house by about 7:33. Being that Laura (said friend) is my soul mate, she immediately uttered the words that I was longing to hear: "ok, so does this mean we are home for the night? We aren't going out again? I can put on my PJ's?" Before Mr. G or Laura's new fiance Kyle could respond with "No, lame-ass, get yourself pumped, we are going out, it is New Years Eve!" I shouted "YES! PJ TIME!"
By 10:30 Laura was asleep on the couch. Kyle was about to brew some coffee. Mr. G and I were drinking wine and dozing off. We barely managed to stay up until midnight, but somehow we mustered our strength and battled onwards. At midnight we watched the ball drop, popped a quick bottle of champagne, kissed, and hit the hay.
Happy 2011. We really know how to celebrate.
With the new year comes resolutions. As usual, mine is to lose weight. (I will start with giving up Taco Bell). I already threw out the chocolate chip cookies in our house. And the inhumane amounts of enchiladas left over from dinner last night. I know it is bad to throw away food, but Mr. G cannot eat the enchiladas because I made the mistake of putting 6 (oops) jalapenos in the sauce. And I cannot eat those leftovers for lunch every day. 1) I would have an ulcer and 2) I would be the size of a house. Which is the opposite of losing weight. Unless the house is a doll house. I could handle that. So from now on, I will be eating healthy, tracking my calories, and hitting the stupid gym 5 times a week until I am so small that my old nickname, Scrawny Shauni, is relevant again. Or at least until I am no longer house sized. I see Weight Watchers in my future...
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