Recapping Christmas in Raleigh

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Raleigh gave to us...

12 Jello Shooters

11 curling rod ringlets

10 place settings (2 parents, 7 kids, 1 husband)

9 ounces of mustache wax

8 inches of snow

7 varieties of dessert (cookies, coconut bars, chocolate pie, pecan pie, danishes, cinnamon rolls and peanut brittle)

6 strands of baubles

5 hours of dancing (Paul's party!)

4 idiots watching a turkey fry

3 new watches (Anna was one of three that received a new watch from Santa)

2 sisters named Katy/Katie (I have a stepsister named Katie!)

And 1 cod fish face!

What a great Christmas holiday! Thank you to my dad and Susan for hosting an awesome Christmas week gathering.

(Hope all your holidays were fabulous as well!)

- Katy

Story Time: Holiday Edition

Being in that I'm a semi-new employee at my company (eight-ish months in), I felt compelled to make an appearance at our corporate holiday party.

The hubs and I suited up in our best cocktail appropriate attire and headed up to the Cobb Galleria (big events facility in metro Atlanta).

We followed other cars and the parking attendants' light sabers to a parking deck flush with the facility. I left my coat in the car, making the executive decision that a coat check might be more trouble than it's worth.

We entered the party and double-checked with a banquet employee to make sure we were in the right place. Check. We quickly made friends with the photographer, the wife of a company structural engineer. She was hilarious — encouraging people to take photos in front of the Christmas tree and telling people they ought to come back after a few more drinks. The photographer, who's name I can't remember (Lisa maybe?) introduced us to her husband. I learned he works with the Facilities department on waste water and building management projects. I shared with him that I'm in a semi-small part of our organization that sells advertising to the car manufacturers (Ford, Toyota, etc.). I asked him if he'd moved to the new office yet. So we talked for a few minutes about the new building and how nice it is and about an interior fountain that's not going to be installed after all (I didn't know there were plans for an interior fountain!).

Dan and I mostly hung out on the periphery. We were nervous to sit down at a table and get engrossed in conversation because we could only stay for an hour or so. After all, we didn't want to miss my bro and his girlfriend's annual tacky sweater party. Keeping to ourselves wasn't challenging, as I didn't really see anyone I knew. I mean, I heard that a lot of people opt out of this party for other Saturday night plans, but I was hoping to see a colleague or two.

Xylophones were chimed and dinner was served. The long drink line prompted a good idea on Dan's part: me go stand in the drink line while he went to grab a plate of food for us both. While Dan was in line, a woman asked him, "So, do you work for Arcadis or does your spouse?" Dan took a moment to reply but said, "my spouse." The woman replied, "Oh, what group?" Dan found the answer that made the most sense at that point in the conversation: "National Accounts." The woman seemed like she wasn't familiar with the department but didn't ask questions.

Dan and I found each other then found a vacant table where we could sit down. He told me about his conversation in the food line — and we promptly inhaled our food, hoping that no one would talk to us or that no one would ask me anything else.

And that's how we found out we were at the wrong holiday party... for 45 minutes. That's right... my employer's name also starts with an "A" but it's definitely not Arcadis.

5-Minute Funny Break

This has been cracking me up since I watched it last weekend:



I mean, the lyrics to Pearl Jam's Yellow Ledbetter are pretty hard to understand... watch the video... hilarity ensues.

Enjoy!


(Kudos to James Wiersma at the basically now defunct "The Anthology of James Wiersma" blog for passing this link along to my hubs)

p.s. Safe for work. I think.

I Usually Don't Give Money to the Homeless

Sorry for my absence. Out of town work training + 'lil vacay to California = extreme lack of posting.

But I had to give it to this guy!

(Click for full-size images)

Part installation, part arcade game — these three pieces encouraged us to chunk out some coin.

What Says Dog Lover More Than A... Well, You Decide for Yourself

I woke up early the other morning with a headache.

I looked in a few intuitive places (my toiletry basket, the medicine cabinet, the linen closet) for some Aleve...

No luck. So I talked myself into waking my sleeping husband to ask him where it was.

"Dan, where's the pain reliever?"

(without missing a beat) "By Roxxi."

You've seen Roxxi. If your memory is escaping you, here's a photo:

So I go back out of our room, into the living room — near where Roxxi sleeps. I have no idea why Aleve would be "by Roxxi," but I keep looking (on the built in cabinets, the mantle, the coffee table). Still no luck.

I go back to husband.

"Dan, I hate to ask you this, but can you show me where the bottle of medicine is?"

He gets up and walks directly to it:

Oh, stupid me! I should have known he was referring to the ceramic Rottweiler that's temporarily hanging out in the kitchen.

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

We live on a street that's often a cut through to other parts of Decatur and Druid Hills. It's not a busy street but a decent number of cars come by.

Sometimes we leave things out for the garbage truck that disappear within hours — long before the garbage man comes by.

Sometimes, Dan and I make fictional bets about how long it will be before items are lifted from the trash pile.

This time it was the old/traditional ceramic chandalier that was up for grabs.

Merchandised atop a stack of empty ceiling fan boxes.

I put this out at 7pm yesterday — and gone this morning when I woke up to get ready for work.

Other treasures that people have taken from our trash pile:

• A yellow ceramic sink (circa 1950)
• Dusty/dirty/old off-white carpet, removed from our living room
• An old, painted wood door (removed from the entrance to our daylight basement)
• Possibly asbestos ceiling tiles - yikes!
• A framed black and white photo of the Brooklyn Bridge

Clementines are even better when...

A colleague steals them and returns them with smiley faces.

Playing in the street with sticks

"We need to get our kids back outside, playing with sticks in the street like I did when I was little," she said. "Expand your mind, go outside and get to see what this world is like."

- Caressa Cameron, Miss America 2010-2011 (formerly Miss Virginia)

I can't wait until next year when a Miss America contestant has to take up "Public Safety/Keeping Kids from Playing the Street" as her platform.

Google Voice Strikes Again: Now with more Christ's Birth

(From my husband)

"Hey Dad, It's around 2 o'clock. I just picked up those golf clubs. I had to withdraw 4 blocks here. There are 350 some reason. A. T M would work, but that's fine, thank you know that one of the the Fall or. Predefine about alright. 50 100 I heard. Whatever 200 trying to get you to know if it's Ross I can definitely grow, strictures. Anyways, got your fellow they've got a birthday present, so I'm excited and Andy, I was Peters Realty stopping by the office to drop off perishable Christ's birth so very nice. And yeah, I'm just sorry. I'll talk to you soon. We have a good day."

You tell me what that probably means...

I'm no scientist or mathematician, but...

It doesn't seem like there could be TWO of these big bottles of wine in that box. Really?

Notable Quotables

Me: "Are you happy that I have to wear more conservative, office-appropriate attire at my new job compared to what I could get away with wearing at the agency?"

Husband: "Yes... everyone is."

Oooh. At least we both have good senses of humor! 

(9th Grade) Poetry Corner

I recently stumbled upon some poetry I wrote for 9th grade English class at Eufaula High School. What an interesting step into the past to find these. So without further adieu, I will share a musing from this adolescent collection, unabridged and uncensored:

Tossing Seas

You are like the waters

of an ever-changing sea,

furious and unpredictable,

crashing down in rage.

Your being is like angry waves of the sea

in a storm. 

Sometimes you are still and calm,

embracing the gentle breeze skimming your surface.

Your mood is quite laid back, 

rolling the tides in and out lazily.

Your laughter is like the ripples

being tickled by the early morning current.

Your words seem encouraging, 

steady whisper lapping at the shore.

You are always craving attention,

hurling your waters high into the air.

And in the night you become serene

and lay motionless underneath the moon.

But I am but a dim star observing from above,

knowing that you barely acknowledge that I am here.

If I feel brave later this week, maybe I'll post another one of these. FYI, one of the poems I found is kind of strange and terrifying. Let me go ahead and dispel any rumors: I had a fine childhood. (By the way, a post by my former colleague Molly partially encouraged me to post this. Thanks, Molly!).

Taco Scandal (Don't Let This Happen to You)

Tacos have become an American family staple. They’re inexpensive, can satisfy the masses (i.e., the work to make them is about the same whether you make five or 50) and even picky kids like tacos. For some families, tacos (in some variety — taco casserole, build your own, taco salad, etc.) are in the weekly meal rotation.

Given the widespread popularity of tacos, burritos and similar Tex-Mex dishes, I feel compelled to shed light on something. This news may strike you as unfair, sneaky and scandalous. You may be angry. You may feel betrayed. Be forewarned.

As a consumer and one who may cook for your family or significant other or roommate, you’ve probably scoped out the options for taco seasonings. You know the stuff; it’s a spicy/tangy powder that comes packaged in an envelope that’s about 5 x 7 inches. This envelope will season one pound of beef, chicken or pork. Ortega, store brand, Old El Paso, Taco Bell — these are some of your choices. Most packets run about $1.00.

Scour the shelves of your local grocer a little harder next time. Look for the plastic canister of taco seasoning pictured to the left. I hate to point this out, but I have to do it… this container of Ortega seasoning is about $4.00. And it contains THIRTY servings of taco seasoning. That’s enough to season THIRTY pounds of whatever taco meat you prefer, not to mention how many packaging waste it saves.

Let’s do the math. If you’re cooking for five people, you likely use one to one and a half packets of seasoning per taco meal you prep. If you make tacos 20 times in a year, that’s about $30 worth of taco seasoning (or about $1.50 per meal prepped). If you pick up one of these handy jars, you’ll be able to prepare the same amount of taco meat for about $4.00 (or $0.20) per meal prepped.

Over five years, you could in theory purchase $150 worth of taco seasoning. Don’t let this happen to you. Don’t be taken advantage of. Buy your taco seasoning in bulk.

MMMMemories

I was talking with a good friend yesterday about my memory. Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can't stop paying attention to details that don't mean anything. I'll recognize someone from college... who I never actually met or talked to in college but just remember from seeing often. Or a particular food may send me spiraling back in time through layers and layers of munch memories.

A few stream-of-consciousness examples of how my brain works (and sometimes distracts me into long, unproductive bouts of remembering "is this really that important to remember?" stuff).

I hear Blink 182's "Adam's Song" on the radio. First I think about a friend of mine from high school who was really into Blink. Oooh high school. Loved that white Ford Explorer that I had to share with my brother. Loved that my ghetto CD player who legitimately say, "BAD" when I put in a disc that it couldnt' read. Wow. I had that song on my first generation mp3 player I had in college that only held 30 songs. Adam's Song was one of those 30 songs. In the playlist, it was proceeded by "Freak of the Week" by Marvelous 3. Oh, and that little black and yellow mp3 player with the black elastic armband used to travel with me to the Ramsey [athletic] center at UGA, where the elliptical machines were engulfed in sorority girls. Would you believe that upon arrival, you had to sign up for a slot nearly an hour away? And then when girls would get on late because the person before them got on late, they would try and stay on beyond their :00, :15, :30 and :45 time slots. Nice try, girlfriend. Just because you let the person before you use the machine until 7:48, that doesn't mean you can be casually getting of of there at 8:03. Nice try. Also, why did those girls wear clothes that were two sizes too small? Was it the "freshman 15?" Is that why MY clothes were all too small? Man, my clothes did get way too small at that time. And there was that time that I was stretching and realized after 20 minutes that I didn't have the mp3 part of my mp3 player (only the earphones). I walked over to the information desk with my little black and yellow earphones and asked if they had seen a lone black and yellow mp3 player. The punk behind the counter asked, "How can I REALLY know this mp3 player belongs to you? I'm sure a lot of people would like to claim this thing." I respond with, "Umm... do my matching set of earbuds that are missing its player give any kind of indication that the player belongs to me?" And I think to myself, "and who would want this 30 song-playing POS mp3 player anyway?" It was more than 20 minutes before I convinced this kid's manager to give me back my cheap player with the same skimpy song list on it. He was short and angry at the world, I'm pretty sure.

So, I'm browsing facebook. I click on my friend R---n's page. I see a familiar face with her in one of her tagged photos. I click on that girl's profile. Hmmm, I met this friend of the friend once in person and thought she looked familiar. Processing. Processing. Oh, she hung out with the DTD guys I befriended over my freshman and sophomore years. And she was a little younger than I was. Yeah, that's right. Wait, she's married to M---y H----r? What? No way! That's crazy! I totally sat next to that guy in biology class freshman year. We played tic tac toe and the class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He played tennis and went to Chattahoochee High School with my dorm mate and friend Michelle. Gah, it seems like a million people came from Alpharetta's Chattahoochee High School! Seriously. There are some people I ought to catch up with who went to CHS. Freshman year biology started at 11am on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I preferred to get up as late as usual, going straight from the dorm to the classroom. September 11 was a Tuesday. I was supposed to have freshman biology. I woke up late and had slept into the first few minutes of freshman biology — and straight through hysterical people talking loudly and moving about down my Russell Hall dorm hallway. I wish I could blame my poor scores in freshman year biology on things other than tic tac toe, national disasters and too long class periods. I am rather sure I just wasn't cut out for biology. I mean, who thinks that way... and retains it? 

And so go many of my trains of thought throughout the day. 

TOP 10 SHAMEFUL MOMENTS IN THE HISTORY OF KATY

Seeing college sports promos (football players, cheerleaders, etc.) got me thinking about a mildly shameful part of my past (this will make more sense further down in this post). Then I got to thinking about how there's no better place to air out my own shameful past then on my own blog.

So, I present to you the...

TOP 10 SHAMEFUL MOMENTS IN THE HISTORY OF KATY

Disrespecting a substitute teacher with an insult that didn't even make sense. In 5th grade, whispering (too loudly) to a classmate that our substitute was (and I quote), "so fat you could make a few hamburger patties out of her." (Why do elementary and middle schoolers say weird stuff that they think will make them cool? I wish I knew.) I was caught, almost paddled and went home crazy embarrassed. Imagine explaining that to your mother.

Causing $2,000/worth of damage to my car and another while backing out of a parking space. On a dark, Christmas Eve night, I thought I was pulling out of a straight parking spot when it was instead angled. I pulled the wheel and pulled my front bumper off as it slid down the side of the car next to me. And worse yet, the car next to me belonged to my younger brother. Doh! 

Turning a pizza into a mountainous terrain. You know, a lot of things seem like a good idea after a late night out on the college town. The night called for a frozen pizza. I told friends I would take care of cooking the pie. Not being able to find a flat cookie sheet, I pulled out a muffin tin and sat the frozen pizza on top. I didn't realize that as the pizza cooked, it would dip into the muffin crevices. As you would guess, I was seriously ridiculed by the aforementioned friends. Well, it tasted the same...

Officially eating four pounds of turkey, dressing, hot corn and other Thanksgiving fixins. My old office holds an annual Thanksgiving feast. I'm talking about more food than you've ever seen. Another Thanksgiving tradition is an eating contest. Not being one who's shy to a challenge, I agreed to eat as much as possible between the hours of noon and 4pm. I ate four pounds worth of food. I didn't win. I felt like I was going to die. 

Dressing as a stuffed animal, for a whole school year. Okay, "a whole school year" might be an exaggeration, but I did dress as the Eufaula High School tiger for a year's worth of football and basketball games. I talked myself into trying out because I had several friends who cheered (and I was not so much coordinated to cheer). Man did I feel stupid, sweaty and lame in that smelly costume. At least I got to be quasi-cool by being semi-associated with cheerleaders.

Fierce.

Ratting myself out to coworkers re: my true feelings about another coworker. At one of my previous jobs, I worked regularly with someone who had a difficult personality. One of my outside mentors suggested I buy a particular book to learn to deal with said difficult personality. Well, this bright gal forgot to take the book out of her car when driving three colleagues out to lunch. One colleague had to move my How to Work for an Idiot book off the floorboard to make room for her feet. I can't even remember what bad excuse I made for owning that book. 

Being cheaper than cheapness should really legally allow. If you're reading this blog (or my other blog), you know that I love a good deal. I'm especially obsessed with good deals when it comes to clothing (I'd guess a fifth of my closet came from Goodwill). Well, while working one of my college jobs, I excused myself to go to the restroom. What do I see in the trash? A perfectly nice white skirt from The GAP with a small spot on it. What does any sane person do? Leave it there. What did I do? Put it in a plastic bag, took it home and washed it. Viola. Now I have a cute white skirt. And it was free! (Houston, I have a problem.)

6th grade. All of it. See photo exhibits A and B. No further evidence needed.

Exhibit A (and that's with my top stuffed with toilet paper. Sad, right?)

Exhibit B (click to enlarge).

Saying "hi" to people I don't really know. A few months into dating Dan (and after a few cocktails at Twisted Taco), I see an Indian guy across the street and think, "oh, I know him!" So I yell (yes, YELL), "Hey! Rishi!" When he gives me a confused look in return, I think,  "Uh-oh... I don't really know that guy in real life — I've just seen him in a lot of photos on Facebook." I mumble something about mistaking him for someone else, which I'm sure didn't go over very well considering I called him by his correct name. Oh, and did I mentioned I probably embarrassed my date?

Writing pseudo-porn for 3rd grade English class. So, Mrs. Johnson gave us a writing assignment: write about PE class. Well, write I did... a semi-racy account of the jogging trail (i.e. a course we had to run/jog during physical education class). I believe the exact words that got me in trouble (and resulted in a subsequent letter home to my parents) were, "I could feel the cold sweat running down my breasts." Well, it was true!

I know I'm not alone. What shamefulness lurks in your history?

Why Do You Taunt Me, Chick-Fil-A?

As I pumped gas in yesterday's 95-degree heat, I examined the landscape surrounding the Shell station. I spot the Chick-Fil-A across the street and begin to drool at the idea of a chilly, creamy peach milkshake. Mmmmmmm. 

If you're lucky enough to have a Chick-Fil-A in your area, you're also unlucky to only be able to eat there Monday thru Saturday (Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays to allow its employees a day to themselves, or possibly a day to practice their religion if they so choose.)

Dear sir, please change your signage to not say "today." "Today" could be 

Sunday and you are not open Sunday. This is unfair and ridiculous. 

Thank you. Sincerely, Katy

Not cool.

Delirious: Streaming My Consciousness

This is streaming my consciousness at it's best (or worst?).

As I sit here, trying to get my brain focused on doing some work, my mind drifts off into super odd places. I just spent about 15 minutes pondering the following deep, serious life questions:

• Why doesn't Heinz make individual ketchup packets larger? I don't know anyone who uses only ONE packet... and we all know that less packaging per volume saves money and space (think the Coca-Cola "Fridge Pack")
• In middle school, was it uncool to wear both your backpack straps or the color purple? WTF was wrong with us? Or maybe that just my school...
• Is it only a matter of time before Truitt Cathy opens up Chick-Fil-A on Sundays as well? I mean, imagine the revenue he's missing by only being open six days a week. Or perhaps his revenue wouldn't change much at all because all us Chick-Fil-A eaters out here make sure to get our fill before Sunday morning rolls around?
• How the hell have nearly six months already elapsed since Christmas? What have I been doing all this time...?
• When are we going to start seeing people throw 90's theme parties? Next year is my bet.
• Why did I actually just answer a telemarketers phone call and spend 15 minutes answering his questions about why I decided to close my SunTrust checking account? Perhaps there's a name for it. Procrastination.

Random

I just stumbled upon this accidental silliness photo of Moeko from East Side Lounge... and it's been making me giggle all day.

So I thought I'd share.

Easing In... TMI Thursday

So, I mentioned via a comment on Mb's blog two weeks ago that I may participate in a TMI Thursday*. Well, this is my first attempt. Being in that I'm rather private with bodily functions and such, I have to start light.

I'll start with an embarrassing story that many can laugh at and few witnesses can forget. 

So there I was, sitting at the lunch table amidst a few hundred other Eufaula High school students. It was 10th grade. I was sitting with some friends from show choir or some other super cool class, chatting about something like the newest roller coaster at Six Flags, the new night of TGIF coming up on Friday on ABC, the latest planet to be discovered how I didn’t have a date to homecoming. I flipped my soft cooler lunch box open and continued the discussion.

Before I had a second to blink, my classmate and friend Jeremy pulled something pale and cloth-like out of my lunch bag, twirled the item above his head then threw it in the middle of the atrium. It took me a few seconds to make out what the white, cotton item was. Oh sh*t (okay, I didn’t curse at that point in my life) SHOOT, it’s a pair of my freaking underwear! And other lunchers were noticing, too. People screamed, jumped out of the way, giggled, pointed and immediately started some really fun rumors about the situation playing out before them.

Seeing in that I was a camper at an all-girls summer camp even at 16 (shout out to Camp Nakanawa!), most of my underwear had a big “K. Beck” written in the back in jumbo black Sharpie. How else was I supposed to keep my lady part coverers separate from the other girls? This was embarrassing — and also meant that I had to go retrieve the panties because it would eventually be clear anyway who they belonged to.

Exhibit A: the star of my first TMI Thursday

Neon bright red in the face and trying to duck under my hands like I was hiding from the paparazzi, I slinked out towards the undergarment.

Did I mention these were granny panty-esque? Oh yeah. 

I picked up the sexy "full coverage" panties that looked like they belonged to my mom and miserably sat down back at the table. I think I was a mixture of bewildered and humiliated, thinking “how the eff did those things get into my lunch bag?” And “how am I ever going to recover from this?” The laughter didn’t die down with my tablemates until the lunch-ending bell rang. HORRIBLE. As if being an awkward 16-year-old isn’t bad enough.

My thoughts flashed back to that morning. I packed my lunch as my mom was doing laundry. Perhaps one of my much younger siblings threw the underthings into my lunch bag, not knowing the consequences. Perhaps it was done on purpose by a sibling closer in age to me. Maybe we’ll never know.

But what I do know is that for months, the halls of EHS were filled with questions:

·      Why wasn’t Katy wearing underwear? (I was, btw)

·      Was the pair of Fruit of the Looms roaming the cafeteria floor dirty or clean?

·      Why did Jeremy Carroll have Katy’s underwear?

·      Are Katy and Jeremy “an item?” (followed by oo-lah-lahs)

·      Why would a 16-year-old have her name written in her panties?

Having people discuss my possible commando-ness or underwear swappage was mortifying … especially considering the most scandalous thing I’d done with a boy by that point was hold hands.

*TMI Thursday is something many of the DC Bloggers are embracing. Posts range from poop and pee to periods and private parts... I already know I'm going to struggle with having enough material to be interesting and ongoing.

Nadine just sent me one of the most interesting requests I've heard in quite some time:

"I have a case of crappy TP, do you want some?"

Makes just a smidge more sense when you consider that she's a rep for a large tissue manufacturer.