Changes

In case y'all didn't hear, yesterday I celebrated my golden birthday.

And by "celebrate" I mean I felt sick, made us spaghetti (no cake), watched a movie, opened one card, and went to bed angry and alone.

But that's not the point.  

The point is, I am no longer 25 and I am in fact now in my late twenties.

27.

SO, first things first.

The title of my blog has changed, and will continue to change every year until I am, in fact, a REAL granny, in which case, the blog title will not be ironic anymore and I will need to think of another title.

For those of you who google the title of my blog, you will now have to google "Tales of a twentySEVEN year old antacid poppin granny."  For those of you who just know the website URL, you are all set; that shit stayed the same.

Secondly, I need someone to do me a birthday favor.  I need someone who is creative to create a header for my blog.  Please, for the love of all things holy.  I want something bright and catchy but also cute.  It can include pictures of either me, or wine, or antacids.  Or all of the above.  It must be classy and sophisticated.  And lovely.  If all of these rules do not scare you off, and if you have the craftiness to do this for me, LET ME KNOW.  Please.  I will make you cookies in return.

Lastly, as a belated birthday gift to me, please do the following.  Follow my blog.  I know more than 56 of you read this thing.  Just last week I ran into three guys from high school (Ahem, Nate, Matt, Andy) who clearly read my blog and don't follow it.  Yes, I will publicly shame and embarrass you until you follow my blog.  Just do it, it takes one second, and it will make me happy for my birthday week.  You won't get bombarded with emails.  I promise.

That sums up all of the changes around here.  Thanks for sticking with me.  Back to your regularly scheduled Tuesday.

Love,

Granny

Is this real life?

In case the name of my blog did not queue you in, I have all sorts of ailments that contribute to my grannyness.  One of which is my bad back.

For the last ten years I have been dealing with neck and back issues stemming from a car accident.  Ever since then I have been seeking treatment to get this pain in my neck (har har) to disappear.  

I have tried tons of muscle relaxers and none of them have done very much.  I never so much as felt conked out while on the mind altering, muscle soothing pills.  They were just like Tylenol, barely putting a dent in my pain.

So it was with some skepticism that I took a new muscle relaxer last night that my pain doctor gave me.  I gave her an extra side eye when she said I could take two if I really needed to. 

These must not be strong, I thought, if I can take two.

But I was achin' pretty bad, so I went with it and popped one of the little suckers.

Between nodding off at any given moment and completely forgetting what I was doing while I was cooking dinner, those little suckers completely relaxed me and made me forget about my neck pain.

To sum up, I was like "David goes to the Dentist."  I even said to Mr. G (with drool coming out of my mouth) "I feel like Shauni goes to the dentist" on more than one occasion last night.  (The poor dear had no idea what I was talking about since he does not know the names of YouTube videos like I do.  But once I started asking if this was real life, he clued in.)

I slept like a [drooling] rock last night.

Love,

Granny

High School

Last week my high school class was abruptly brought back together after nearly ten years due to the untimely death of one of our classmates and peers.  

I saw old friends last week that I had not seen in years.  While I keep in touch with a lot of my high school classmates, I wouldn't say I am close with that many of them, and I have honestly gone nearly ten years without seeing some of them.  It was nice to reconnect last week.  To laugh, to remember, to catch up.

Which got me thinking a lot about my high school experience.

I know most kids hated high school and could not wait to leave.  

But not me, I LOVED high school.  Loved.

Not to toot my own horn, but to be honest, I was friends with everyone.  

Smarty pants kids.

Jocks.

Theater geeks.

Stoners.

Drop outs.

Student council members.

You name a kind of student, I was friends with them. 

After last week's reminder of how I have not stayed in touch with so many old friend, I got to thinking.

And I whipped out my photo books.

And took a stroll down memory lane.

It was hard to limit the photos I am posting here today, I had so many good ones of so many different people.

  See if you can spot me.  Hint: I am the only fool wearing a (winter) hat.

  

Loser alert: our Junior prom was hands down the most fun of my HS career.  

At HHS we made science COOL (we also made bandanas look ridic on white teenage females.)

jdhsafkjdhsalfjkh WE ARE NOT WORTHY!

Sweet 16s were all the rage.  Not MTV style though, more like "Which town hall is your sweet 16 at?" style.

As you can see, despite the horrible fashion mistakes I made throughout my high school career, I look back on it fondly.  During the hour I spent last night looking through old pictures, Mr. G had to keep checking on me because I would be laughing so hard, or snorting, or shouting "OH MYLANTA!"  I have hundreds of pictures that prove how embarrassing our teen years were. 

I think due to the fact that I will be entering my late twenties in less than a week I felt especially nostalgic looking though the pictures and remembering all of the fun I used to have with my high school peers.

And with that, I will sign off and leave you with one of TWO yearbook pictures that look almost exactly the same.

Love,

Bubbie

Love = Crustacians

 Let's just cut to the chase; every woman really loves Valentine's day because it provides us with a great excuse to eat a lovely and romantic (read, unhealthy) meal.

You were all thinking it, I just said it.

So here was the menu from Hotel Goodwin last night to celebrate the occasion:

Artichokes with garlic butter

Lobster

Roasted Broccoli

Twice Baked Stuffed Potatoes

Champagne

Red Velvet Cupcakes

Mr. G and I collaborated over dinner.  He made the lobsters and chilled the champagne.  I did the rest.  

I don't have any before pictures of the food because we were too excited to start eating.

But here is the after.

Yes, we drink our champagne out of mason
jars.  And yes we ate our fabulous feast at
our coffee table so we could watch "Princess Bride."

BAM!

The artichokes were divine.  The lobster was the sweetest lobster ever.  The twice baked 'taters were cheesy and delicious.  The roasted broccoli was perfect. The red velvet cupcakes were velvety (?!).

'Twas a dinner that dreams are made of.

Mr. G and I moaned in ecstasy throughout the entire messy meal.

No really.  We are creeps.

And then...

And then I could no longer contain myself, as I have no recollection of ever having a meal so good.

So I danced like I had just scored the winning touchdown in a super bowl game.

(And Mr. G was a peach and caught it all on camera.)

If you had dinner at home last night don't you dare
pretend that you also did not wear your most comfy
sweatpants.

I hope you all had a fantastic Valentine's day (aka a delicious and decadent midweek meal).

Love,

Bubbie

Lurve

Happy Valentine's Day to all of my friends and loved ones, but especially happy love day greetings to my snookums. 

You still make my heart skip a beat, 10 Valentine's days later.

Swoon,

Granny

I'm still thawing out

This weekend was a total change up for my granny blood.

My best friend 4EVA (seriously, since the second grade) is getting married in 2 months and this weekend we took her out to celebrate.  Seven of us got together for Laura's bachelorette party.

But this was not your typical bachelorette party.

(Well, part of it was.  I was there, so obviously we had some phallic shaped accessories because I am like a 16 year old.)

Saturday we skied.  We skied our asses off.  My legs are still sore.  It was a GREAT day of hitting the slopes (I didn't fall once, but I did manage to spend $19 on my lunch of a sandwich and french fries...wtf?) 

We then did the typical bachelorette party fun, had dinner, had some cocktails, and hit the hay.

Only to wake up bright and early on Sunday morning to do a zip-lining canopy tour.

Sounds fantastic and total cool, right?

Well, "cool" is not the right word to use.

Freezing, frigid, unbearable, hypothermic.  Those are better words.

It was -10 out.  Before the wind chill.

And we were outside for HOURS zipping through the air.

We were quite the sight:

Hair that was exposed was frozen.  The only skin that was showing was our noses (and sometimes not even then).  We looked like the kid from the Christmas story.  We were each wearing about 4 layers of clothes UNDER our winter parkas and snow pants and huge boots and helmets.  

I promise I will post pictures shortly (they are worth viewing), but right now I am still thawing out.

We had a fantastic time (despite our complaints and despite me ruining my BRAND NEW PINK PARKA) but never had I ever been more excited to sleep for 9 hours in a warm bed.

Still trying to get warm,

Bubbie

96

The title of this post is in fact the age my body thinks it is.

You know you're a granny when...

You get up to pee FOUR TIMES at night whilst trying to sleep.

True story.

Love,

96-year-old, pea-sized bladder granny

Terminal C

Sweet mother of pearl, I have had quite a week.

In case y'all were not aware, I had a quick little trip out to warm, sunny, palm tree laden Long Beach, Califor-ni-ay.

And by "quick" and "little" I mean it took me 22.5 hours to get there.  Longer than some international flights.  Cripes.

So what did I do while I spent 10 hours in Terminal C (worst terminal) at Boston Logan?

I did what any responsible individual would do and I had a couple of cocktails and watched and absorbed my surroundings.

During the stroke of time I had to people watch I observed quite a few things--people were pissed that our flight was cancelled.  Employees had no idea what was going on.  Traveling folk eat a LOT of junk.  Traveling folk also drink a lot of booze.  People make friends with their seating area neighbors.  Others do nothing but complain.  A special brand of travelers talk on their cell phones for hours on end at a volume that we can all hear.  

But my favorite observation is one I have made many a time before.  It has to do with older folks.  And while I do not consider my mother elderly in the slightest, she falls in to this category (love ya mom).

I am talking about old people who do not realize that the loud ringing sound or song coming from inside their purse/pocket/bag is theirs.

It gets me laughing every time (except at the movies).

It seems like every other person on earth knows when their phone is ringing.  But these darling old folks just keep on walking, looking around like "whose phone is chirping so loudly?  why is no one answering it?!" and it is not until a full 30 seconds lapses that they realize it is in fact their very own pocket that is singing "Living la vida loca" (true story).

"Hello!  Sorry, I didn't realize it was my phone ringing!" they generally shout in to the phone (because, you know, the person they are talking to are so far away that the talker must shout so their friend can hear them on the other line).

I had one hell of a travel day.  22.5 hours of travel is too much for a domestic flight.  But at least throughout my hours at Boston Logan in Terminal C I was able to find some continual enjoyment in the cell phone owning folks of the baby boomer generation.

Still recovering from my trip,

Granny

PS, yes I did manage to talk my way in to free drinks at the terminal bar, a free upgrade to first class, and free vouchers to use on a later flight, thankyouverymuch.