Weekend ABCs - B is for Baking & the Buff

(Yesterday & today's photos and styling are courtesy of Wade, as I don't think he can stand my grainy cell phone pictures any longer.  Thanks sunshine!)

This weekend kicked off the Summer 2008 To Do List Extravaganza.  I had planned on checking off baking a cake.  No need to rush into the more difficult items like going skinny dipping or taking an outdoor shower.  No, no.  I'd take it nice and easy.  Like in the kitchen ... where I thought I knew what I was doing but before I found it was going to be NINETY SEVEN degrees this weekend.

Thankfully Wade and Jimmy have air conditioning.  And flour.  And butter.  And sugar.  And pretty much everything else you need to bake a cake.  Going over to their house is like going back to your parents' to do laundry and raid their stocked cabinets.  That is, if your parents are two gay men who encourage you to drink vast quantities of lemon drops and then get naked in their boss' pool.  And let's face it, whose aren't?

So there I was, curled up on Wade & Jimmy's comfy couch in their refrigerated basement, happily polishing off my first lemon drop of the evening when Wade casually mentioned to Jimmy "I thought I'd take her up to Terry's house so she could swim in his pool."  My head cocked to the side like Fisher's does when I ask her if she wants to go to the dog park.  

Terry is Jimmy's boss and unknowingly allows me to live vicariously through his extravagant lifestyle.  He has a private plane, three houses and entertains people at his house like, oh, Al Gore.  He has no idea who I am, despite the fact that I've met him a few times.  But I don't mind.  Just please keep allowing me to come to private, open bar, Pink Martini concerts on downtown Portland rooftops where I can hang out with the former Governor of Oregon and an editor at The Oregonian and we'll call it even.

So Terry's house, and conveniently for me, pool were wide open this weekend as he was on the east coast somewhere having dinner with ... no joke ... Anderson Cooper and Michelle Obama.  Wade and I headed up to the West Hills where I made him promise repeatedly that NO ONE would be there except for us, that he was to stay LOCKED in one of the bedrooms until I told him it was safe to come out and made him swear to me that the pool was NOT visible by any neighbors.  

I got a tour of the mansion that in addition to its gorgeous entrance and well decorated living rooms, bedrooms and bathrooms, boasts a theater, gym, GIFT closet and remote control toilet.   Don't ask.  By the time we made it out to the pool, I was not only ready to take my clothes off, but to go ahead and just put them in the guest room closet and send for the rest of my things.

Wade buried himself in the house somewhere.  I did a quick surveillance of the yard and determined there were no gawkers before I got down to the business of buff.  I cracked up the entire time.  Here I thought I'd be making a cake, but instead was getting naked in a stranger's back yard.  I had wanted to make this summer memorable, right?  As I ducked my head under the water, swam a few quick laps and floated around taking in the view of a gorgeous, warm Portland evening, I'd say, mission accomplished.

Oh yeah, and that cake?  A delicious cherry and lemon tea cake with vanilla sugar courtesy of Epicurious, half of which stuck to the bottom of the pan because I didn't bake it long enough.  Did I let that bother me?  No, I had other things to worry about.  Like what Jimmy said when we walked back into the house after my dip a la skinny.

"Honey, I forgot to mention the 24 hour surveillance cameras.  But I'm SURE no one looks at them."

Gulp.

Where's SSG?

Why checking items off her Summer To Do List of course!  Guess which one (surprisingly!) happened first?

Hanging On by a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup

Today was one of those days.  It was BEAUTIFUL out.  It was a FRIDAY.  My work day went by quickly.  I sat outside and had lunch with Ems and we people watched (read: judged).  Side note to the ladies of Portland, smashing job in the outfit department today!  You guys looked gorgeous!  All in all it was a good day.

So then tell me why I feel so ... Blah.  Ick.  Blach.  Aargh.  Baaaah?!?! 

Perhaps it's a delayed apres trip funk?  I don't know, but I went in search of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups this afternoon so I could straighten myself the F out.

Do you see those Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on the left up there?  #E8?  The ones I paid 75 cents to watch fall into the little tray below?  The little tray from which I would scoop the lovlies up so they could perform their magic and make my day all better?  Yeah, those. Up there.  Hanging by a ... what?  Hair?  Hopefully not.  Thread?  Mmmm, I don't think so.

No, they're hanging by sheer force of the universe's will to illustrate how close I can be to something I want so desperately and yet not have in my grasp.  "But wait SSG!  For the small price of just 75 cents more!  They could be yours!  Mwa haa haa."

SSG is nothing if not DETERMINED (and seems to always have the equivalent of a roll of quarters in the bottom of her purse).

So I did get my Reese's and silly SSG, expected the next PB cups to come my way too.  But no, they just decided to go ahead and chill, probably staying for happy hour with the Pop Tarts and Twix.  Which, I can't really say I blame them, but SERIOUSLY?!  

Superhuman strength rose within me, peeps.  And to say that I wanted to take that vending machine and make it cry for its mommy would be like saying Paris Hilton has had sex a few times.  But! I restrained myself ... kind of.  

The only reason SSG won't be the recipient of a Darwin Award this year?  The cute attorney from across the hall came into the lunch room at the precise moment she had that machine in a half nelson.

S.S.G.F.D.

There is a fire station right down the street from my office.  So whenever I'm out and about, grabbing coffee or a bite to eat, I usually hear them coming from a few blocks away.  Their sirens are LOUD and they honk OVER AND OVER again to let everyone know to get the F out of their way.  And for that?  I'd like to say ... 

THANK YOU.

• Thank you for giving me enough time to fix my hair and make sure I don't have any lipstick on my teeth so I can look my best when you fly right past me.  

• Thank you for the cute nods when I smile and gaze at you guys for a bit longer than necessary.

• Thank you for going jogging in those navy blue shorts and t-shirts.

• Thank you for laughing at my joke "hey guys where's the fire?" and not asking my coworkers if I was "special."
  

Your #1 Fan (but TOTALLY not in a creepy way),

SSG

P.S.  That girl yelling "hi boyfriends!" when she was coming out of the bar the other week, was NOT me.  No matter what anyone says.

A Note to the Pot Smokers of Portland

Dear Pot Smokers of Portland,

Um hi.  I know there are a lot of you in town, but I worry you might be feeling neglected.  I'm sure all of the Fox News updates on the meth addicts and child molesters make you wonder if anyone even knows you're here anymore.  What with all of the "BREAKING NEWS!" stories that show blonde 23 year olds fresh out of college aerating lawns with their heels as they push their mikes into another guy's face who swears he "just met her on the internet" and "what, she said she was 18!"  So what if she had braces and a Jonas Brothers t-shirt on, at least he "didn't give her any meth." 

Anywho.  I have a feeling these reports are making you feel alone.  Like you're not being seen.  Like a trouble making older brother, the focus is always on the meth heads.  And you, the sweet, good kid who just wants to relax at the end ... beginning ... and middle of every day ... and night, might be wondering when people will start paying attention to you.  

I want to assure you, my dear pot smokers of Portland, that I see you.  There is no reason to start making rash decisions and acting out just to get people to notice you.

  

There is no need to smoke pot out on a corner of downtown Portland right in the middle of the lunch rush.  If I can SEE (and smell) you, chances are the policemen riding the sidewalks on their Segways can too.

There is also no need to ban together with your four chef buddies and smoke out right outside of one of Portland's fine dining establishments.  I KNOW WHERE YOU WORK and prefer my filet being grass fed, not served with grass.

Furthermore, there is no need to stop helping customers in order to laugh hysterically at your coworker who is PUSHING A BROOM.  As that is HIS job.  Let's get back to YOUR job, m'kay? Helping us, your customers?  Remember us?  The people who pay for your pot?

So rest assured pot smokers, we know you're out there.  No need to be loud and proud.  Don't get me wrong, be proud of who you are.  But be proud at home.  Indoors.  Preferably in the evenings where I won't get a contact high on my way to get a latte.

Thank you,

SSG

P.S.  Yes, a cloud of smoke billowing out of your car is just as conspicuous.

To Do List

I love lists.  

Somewhere along the way I shed the need to make my lists about chores and turned instead to lists that inspired me--places I wanted to visit, words I love, books to read or new traditions for old seasons.  Every now and then I'll pull out an old notebook, flip to a random page and smile at how little has changed.  Once I love something, I will always love it.

I came upon a list titled "Summertime" tonight.  I can't tell you when I wrote it.  It could have been 10 years ago or yesterday.  Some of the items from the list are as follows:

• The front porch of an old farmhouse.
• Homemade lemonade.
• Farmers markets.
• Berry cobblers.
• Corn on the cob.
• Fireworks.
• Days at the beach.
• Fresh peaches.
• Bicycles with baskets.
• Afternoon naps in a hammock.
• Outdoor concerts.
• A porch swing.
• Picnics.
• White picket fences.

I was giving some thought to this list tonight as I stood in my kitchen chopping zucchini and summer squash for dinner.  The windows were open, the dog was asleep in the middle of the floor and I didn't want that moment to end.  I wanted to figure out a way to soak up every last bit of summer this year and not leave myself wishing, by Labor Day, that I had enjoyed it more.  

I remembered an article I saved from Real Simple a few years ago.  It's called "Like We Did Last Summer ... Twenty Five Traditions You Can Start Today."  I loved the opening picture--two friends in a row boat, feet hanging over the side, dangling in the water.  I remember thinking to myself, "I'll have to do that one summer."  

Peeps, one summer has ARRIVED.  

I'll be making my way through this list on the weekends or random weekdays when I happen, serendipitously of course, upon these new traditions.  Some of these items I've done, some I've never done.  But all of them together?  I have a feeling will make Summer 2008 a very memorable one indeed. 

SSG's Summer To Do List (courtesy of Real Simple)

1)  Float in a boat.

2)  Make a cake.

3)  Listen closely.

4)  Pick some berries.

5)  Buy a vintage sun dress.

6)  Take an outdoor shower.

7)  Make a shell necklace.

8)  Get a buzz cut (um, we'll have to think of a "creative alternative" for this one.) 

9)  Paint your toenails bright pink.

10)  Read a biography.

11)  Chill out.

12)  Hang wind chimes.

13)  Make old fashioned lemonade.

14)  Go skinny dipping.

15)  Cook dinner in one pot.

16)  Create a summer haven.

17)  Climb a mountain.

18)  See how they grow.

19) Ride a ferris wheel.

20)  Sell your junk.

21)  Find Shakespeare.

22)  Catch a ball game.

23)  Collect pine cones.

24)  Treat yourself to ice cream.

25)  Return to a favorite place.

Each Monday my "Weekend ABC's" will include what items I can check off this list.  Some of them make me want to hide under the covers (Skinny dipping?  Outdoor shower?  Does anyone have bail money if I get arrested for indecent exposure?).  Some of them I welcome (Ferris wheels?  Shakespeare?  BALL GAMES?!   Oh my!).  

Is anyone else up for the same challenge?  If so, e-mail me (sometimesserendipitousgirl@gmail.com) when you blog about any or all of these items and I'll post your links each Monday.

And if not?  No worries.  Crickets are one of the best sounds of summer.

Weekend ABC's - S is for Spontaneous & San Diego

When Digs called me on Thursday saying she had a free airline ticket and asking if I wanted to use it to go to San Diego that weekend, it took me about 0.3 seconds to whisper loudly into the phone "OHMYHOLYSHITAREYOUFUCKINGKIDDINGME?YES!"   We were being VERY discreet as we whispered and worked out the details.  (Both of our employers are conservative finance-y type places, and we were trying to be respectful.)  

We giggled through planning my surprise visit (an early birthday present to Spleen), listing out the places we wanted to go (most of which included 24 hour taco shops that ended in some form of "-berto's") and how to pick me up from the airport without Spleen knowing (complicated lie that was essentially rigged together with duct tape).  I hung up the phone and sat back in my chair wondering in disbelief at how something so incredible had plopped in my lap.  If you had asked me earlier in the day what I had planned on doing this weekend, the response would have been "Um?  Making Wade some cupcakes?" (Wad-ay, I promise they're COMING!) My thoughts were interrupted by my cube farm neighbors yelling out "WTF, SSG?  You're going to San Diego?  Who are these friends of yours and can we come?"  Apparently my "whisper" is um, not so discreet.

Saturday morning I was WIDE awake, even at the ridiculous weekend hour of 6 a.m. as I hopped onto the shuttle at the Thrifty Car Rental Lot.  The shuttle drivers are these retired guys that have call signs like "Iceman."  They use phrases like "copy" and "roger" and are always johnny on the spot to help me with my luggage.  I find myself wanting to salute them and turn sharply on my heel before wheeling my bag into the terminal.  

I made it into sunny San Diego right on time, and other than the swingers sitting in front of me who were HAMMERED by 9 a.m. the flight was uneventful.  Digs pulled up to the curb, I threw my bag into the back of Spleen's truck and climbed in as we screamed and hugged and overall freaked out at what an AWESOME time we were going to have.  San Diego's harbor was clear, sailboats were already out on the water and a cool breeze blew through my hair as I put on my sunglasses.  It was good to be back in my hometown.

The look on Spleen's face when she saw me, was something that I will remember for a long time.  There was much screaming and crying and jumping up and down and hugging.  Serendipitous moment, indeed.  (Sometimes!) moment? Spleen's cute neighbor decided to ride his bike past us just as we were all sobbing, embraced in a group hug.  To say he rushed past us would be ... a staggering understatement.

Within 20 minutes we had picked up another friend and were sitting at a local taco shop.  People often ask me how I could leave a "paradise" like San Diego for a climate like Portland's.  Dudes, it's not the weather that I miss.  It's the Mexican food.   Digs had been there since Thursday night.  Our Saturday morning taco shop run was already her third.  I'm telling you.  The.  Best.  Mexican.  Food.  Ever.

The rest of Saturday was spent on quality catch up.  Only with these ladies can you hear about the time Spleen was dating an FBI agent and the night he came over, dumped his badge and gun on her dining room table, and started telling her about his day that involved following a suspect into a gym in Hillcrest (the decidedly gay neighborhood of San Diego) where he had to wear his partner's gym clothes to look like he fit in.  Spleen's FBI guy was 6'5.  His partner?  5'10.  The gym shorts?  Let's just say he was VERY popular. 

The three of us decided not to go to a party that night and instead shared a couple of bottles of wine and some incredible food in the patio of Jayne's Gastropub (see above for photo).  Anyone from San Diego reading this?  Get thee to Jayne's.  Guys (or ladies!) if you take a date there I can almost guarantee you get some action.  I was about ready to put out for Spleen & Digs, I was so wooed by the ambience.  (Though that also could have been the wine.)

Seven of us ladies had a chick flick movie marathon on Sunday that included food and wine pairings with each film.  After a 9 a.m. walk to Starbuck's, we were supposed to start with Breakfast at Tiffany's and mimosas, but decided instead on P.S. I Love You, breakfast burritos and pomegranate mimosas (What?  No chance in hell we were going to give those up).  P.S. I Love You was followed by Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with gourmet grilled cheese, chips & guacamole and beers.  The Notebook was supposed to get paired with salad and wine, but instead was paired with only tears and kleenex.  We were a blubbering mess of such epic girl proportions, I can only hope Spleen's neighbor that had biked past us the day before didn't hang himself after listening to us cry and laugh hysterically for the SEVENTH straight hour.

By that time, we were exhausted (and quite full!) and decided to go catch the sunset down in Pt. Loma.  Four of us headed to Sunset Cliffs and spread out a blanket, uncorked a bottle of wine and toasted to a crazy, lazy (and yet somehow so satisfying) day.  We watched the surfers ride waves into the shore, clinked our plastic cups over and over again and laughed as we watched the sun go down.  

Coming home today was rough.  

It wasn't helped by the fact that the airline lost my bag.  By the time I jumped back on the shuttle, I was almost teary eyed at missing my ladies.  That was, until I noticed I was the only girl on a van full of about ten businessmen.  My spirits perked up rather quickly.  And when "Wildman" took a turn that made my sunglasses fly off my head and my purse slide onto the floor, the nice business guys all jumped to my rescue.  One even found a broom from behind the seats to reach my sunglasses and still crawled on the ground to get them for me.  

Guys of the world ... I couldn't live without you either.  Now is there something one of you could do about my lost luggage?

Blomit in Bullet Formation

• I'm leaving for San Diego in the morning.  The trip is TOTALLY last minute, as in I got my ticket yesterday.  (Who says SSG can't carpe the diem?!)

• Because I'm going on a trip, I feel like NOW is the time I should probably get my oil changed, make sure the bathroom towels are all washed and the garage swept.  (I'm convinced I could get this whole U.S. economy whipped into shape by relying strictly on a combination of avoidance and procrastination.  Present me with a gym membership and a plane ticket and watch me get down to business.)  

• This guy at work is super quiet.  He's either legitimately shy, or he hates me.  Assuming it HAS to be the former, I try and irritate him AS MUCH as possible without making him quit or come into my cube wielding a rifle.  For example, the past two days I've asked him what his sign was and yelled his horoscope at him over our cube walls.  (I also haven't mentioned that it's from Yahoo Shine, a website for women.) 

• I wonder if that has anything to do with him looking for chocolate this afternoon?

• The "Office Dare" from my Office Dare page a day calendar today was: "Walk around the office on all fours with a stick in your mouth."  I didn't think it was that bad until I came back in from a meeting and someone said "Where were you?  On all fours with a stick in your mouth?"  (Reading vs. Hearing--COMPLETELY different.)

• I didn't really have time for happy hour today but went anyway as I'm the consummate team plater.  Ems also made me:  "Come on SSG!  You're getting Lemon Drops and THEN an oil change!"  To which I responded:  "Please tell me that's a euphemism."  (It wasn't.)

• I actually did go get my oil changed.  Thanks Oil Can Henry's!  (Oil Can Henry's must have recently gone through a sales class where they learned how not to take no for an answer.  Every.  Single.  Item.  I.  Got.  Offered.  Was.  Offered.  Twice.  I almost flipped them off with my right finger.  And then my left.)

• I am going to attempt to "Twitter" this weekend.  (And no, that's not a euphemism either.)  You guys are WAY smarter than me, so I'm assuming ya'll know how it works.  Let's see if I do (hint: no).  So when you get NOTHING, it means I just spent an hour typing a four word message, assume it totally made it to you guys and was probably the FUNNIEST thing you've ever read in your lives.  So follow me, it will be fun!

Have fabulous weekends my lovlies!

SSG

Take That City of San Francisco

(This post is brought to you, albeit unknowingly, by Digs.  Shhhh, don't tell anyone or else my friends are going to stop sending me e-mails.  So I've mentioned our friend Dan here, he's a veritable modern day MacGyver.  But I might also add that when Digs' car was stolen last year, SHE was the one who found it, not the SFPD.  Digs, Veronica Mars has nothin' on you and your sistAH.)

E-mail From: Digs

To:  SSG

So there I was ... Sunday night having dinner for Father's Day and Dan came over for dessert.  BreemastAH mentioned being annoyed at going out to her car and finding no less than THREE parking tickets.  Three separate offenses, you ask?

No.  THREE tickets for the exact same offense.  

The Department of Parking and Ticketing wrote THREE citations for not turning her wheels on a street where the grade is > 3%.  Um, how the F do you know if something has > 3% grade if you're anything other than a city planner ... or a cop?  She thought the street was flat.

She was about to buy a protractor and rig it up to take a photo.  But who needs to do that when you have Dan?  He bounds down to his truck and comes back carrying a digital level.  Not only does Dan know how to fix it, he just happens to drive around with a digital level?  

I don't know why I'm surprised.

How to Network

1)  Forget that you have a breakfast meeting.

2)  Wake up late.

3)  Twist your hair into something resembling a knot.

4)  Shove on headband.

5)  Wear casual outfit that makes you look like you're 18 and starting a college internship.

6)  Remember you have a meeting and sprint (read:  walk faster than normal) to the location.

7)  Realize it's farther away than you thought.

8)  Stop in front of a beautiful 100 year old brick building.

9)  Pray to God they've updated the AC.

10)  Greet volunteer coordinators.

11)  Put on name tag that has your full name, not the nickname you go by.

12)  Feel like you're in trouble.

13)  Start to feel warm.

14)  Put down your purse and realize you're feeling warmer. 

15)  Realize the founder of the volunteer organization has flown in for the event.

16)  Think about going over and introducing yourself.

17)  Realize you're not just feeling warmer, you're HOT.  (And TOTALLY not in a good way.)

18)  Ask where the restrooms are.

19)  Start to speed walk to the ladies room.

20)  Smile at everyone, hoping they don't realize you're kind of sweating (Future Husband if you're reading again?  Hi!  This part?  TOTALLY fiction.)  

21)  Pretend like you're dry.  Chant softly "I am the Sahara!"

22)  But then remember the Sahara is hot! 

23)  Walk faster.

24)  Say "shit" under your breath as the founder of v.v. important volunteer organization is approaching you rapidly.

25) Don't make eye contact.

26)  Mumble "fine!" when he asks "how are you?!"

27)  Run to the bathroom.

28)  Freak the fuck out.

29)  Wonder if it's worse that people think you might actually be using the facilities (Future husband?  More fiction!).

30)  Cool off enough to make your way back into the room.

31)  Shake hands.  

32)  Smile when you realize.  You.  Didn't.  Bring.  A.  Single.  Business.  Card. (!)

33)  Freak the fuck out again.

34)  But keep it inside.

35)  Notice the cutie from a software company across the room.

36)  Think you see him laugh at a joke you make when you have to speak in front of the group.

37)  Determine he has a phenomenal sense of humor.

38)  Determine that if he isn't gay, he's probably getting married.  Most likely this weekend.

39)  Congratulate him when you get introduced.

40)  Say "I mean, it's nice to meet you" when he looks at you confused.

41)  Freak the fuck out again.

42)  Don't realize that while you're calling yourself an idiot in your head, you get roped into a coordinating position.

43)  Remember later, as you have a raspberry mojito at lunch (shhhh) with your favorite downtown P-Town ladies, you might have used the phrase "bring it" to the v.v. important founder of the v.v. important volunteer organization.

44)  Determine, without a doubt, that people were asking "who was that chick" after you left.  

45)  (And TOTALLY not in a good way.)

Come on and Work, Work it Girl

This is the reason why Wade needs his own blog.  It truly isn't fair that only a select few of us are privy to his hot ass and corn rowed chest hair.

Email from SSG to Wade:

Hey Cupcake!  How did the cupcakes turn out?

From Wade to SSG:

I did not get a single one!  I sent some with Karen and took the rest to work.  I had to take Jimmy to his appointment and when I got back they were all gone.  Sadness ... tear ... but my ass still looks hot!

Email from SSG to Wade:

Awww Cupcake!  I'm sorry.  I'll make you some and you can keep them all to yourself.  In fact, they will come to you with the stipulation that you can NOT share.  Unless it's with Jimmy, of course.

Email from Wade to SSG:

How is everyone behaving for you today?  Do I need to come down and spank someone?  Is there dancing on the desks like you had ordered?  Did formal attire get redefined to include G-strings and sock puppets for men?  If so, when can I start?

From SSG to Wade:

I like your version of formal attire!  Please wear that this weekend when I bring you cupcakes.  I'll need to see what we're getting ourselves into before I can make my recommendation.

From Wade to SSG:

I shall design a runway show for you!  I think I can build a ramp up onto the coffee table that can support my heels.  But you have to bring the photographers of course.

The Great American Road Trip (Including Parts of Canada!) Conclusion

(Catch up here:  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.)

The only thing scarier than a nun in the middle of a country road at 2 a.m?  Being surrounded by large (and not surprisingly, hairy) mountain men.

"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE!!!"  I screamed just as one of the serial killers reached his hand out to Dan.

"Hi, we're the local volunteer rescue, heard there's been an accident?"

Oh.

By that time the nun was making her way into the front seat of Dana's truck while Digs, Bree MastAH and I were in the back seat, arms locked in full support of kicking any nun's ass that dared step out of line.  Dana looked over his shoulder.  "We're just going to take her to the convent to pick up her sister."

The nun said quietly.  "They're going to be so upset about the car."

I still was NOT buying this lady's story and hello?  Forgiveness?  Wasn't that supposed to be their niche?  I clenched Dig's and BreemastAH's arms harder as we drove up a narrow dirt road to the "convent."  

Now, I heard convent and had visions of sweet faced nuns singing "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" while seemingly floating on their path of righteousness.  I did not expect to drive up to a hovel in the middle of the woods, the likes of which grew real life Freddy Krugers or Jasons.  Guess which one we drove up to?  (Hint:  Julie Andrews?  Nowhere in sight.)

Digs and I looked at each other and promptly lobbied, albeit unsuccessfully, Dana to turn the truck around the moment the nun ran up to the steps to the front door (so NOT the Stairway to Heaven).  We were still yelling "gooooo!" when the nun and her sister climbed back into the truck.  

The six of us made our way in silence.  

I had calmed down.  Slightly.  But was still eyeing the nuns suspiciously.  How did her sister get out to the car so quickly when she had on her full nun regalia?  They didn't sleep in those things, did they?  I was just about to ask, when I looked up and saw something that cracked me up.  

You know the hysterical giggles?  The kind of laughter you know damn well (sorry sisters) comes at the complete wrong time and place, so you try and hold it in but your body starts shaking and your eyes start watering and you try and talk but you can't because of the big guffaws that come out of your mouth and NOTHING can stop it no matter how hard you try?  That was me.

Digs and BreemastAH looked at me unsure if I was crying or having a seizure.  I barely managed to point to the windshield before I was doubled over.  They looked up to see what the hell (sorry again sisters) had struck me as being so funny.

There was Dana, the self proclaimed atheist, in his periodic table t-shirt squished in the front seat of his Ford truck next to two nuns in full habit.  On his dashboard was a present we had picked up for him in Canada.  It was a wooden mallet that said "Rocky Mountain Woman Getter."

How to Tame a Fire Alarm

1)  Hear odd chirping noise.

2)  Wonder if a bird is now residing in your coat closet.

3)  Assume you were just hearing things.

4)  Go back to reading.

5)  Hear odd chirping noise again.

6)  Question your mental status.

7)  Note the dog's ears perk up as she looks at the ceiling.

8)  Determine you can't be going insane if the dog has heard something too.

9)  Feel a moment of relief.

10)  Hear odd chirping noise again and realize it's the fire alarm.

11)  Think you can put up with it until you go to Target later in the afternoon.

12)  Realize you'll probably forget the batteries you need for the fire alarm the moment you set foot inside Target's door.

13)  Decide to write "batteries" down on your Target shopping list.

14)  Realize you don't have a Target shopping list.

15)  Wonder if that's why you always come home with 14 shopping bags, none of which contain what you went to Target to originally purchase.

16)  Start Target shopping list.

17)  BATTERIES go at the top.  With an exclamation point. ! .

18)  People Magazine goes underneath at #2.

19)  Cross out #2 and write 1a) People Magazine is of equal importance to batteries needed for life saving fire alarm.

20)  Wonder when you became so shallow.

21)  Scribble out 1a) and write back in #2.

22)  Go back to the couch to read.

23)  Chirp.

24)  Smile at dog who is now staring up at the ceiling.

25)  Laugh aloud at the book Bright Lights Big Ass.

26)  Chirp.

27)  Dog growls.

28)  Wonder if you should bump up the Target run in your busy Sunday morning schedule of doing absolutely nothing.

29)  Speaking of bumps, remember that you need to pick up a present for a friend's new baby.

30)  Add "Present for friend's new baby" to Target list.

31)  Wonder if Brangelina have had their babies.

32)  Add "US Weekly" to Target shopping list.

33)  Think of what Brangelina's new babies are going to look like.

34)  Add "Lip Plumping Gloss" to Target shopping list.

35)  Go back to reading.

36)  Chirp.

37)  Bark.

37)  Start getting annoyed.

38)  Spy new Real Simple Magazine on coffee table. 

39)  Note article that says "How to Free Up More Time."

40)  Look down at pajamas and coffee cup and wonder if you should be writing for Real Simple.

41)  Chirp.

42)  Bark!

43)  Look at clock wondering if chirps are increasing in frequency.

44)  Chirp.

45)  Wonder if the alarm is actually going off and not in need of batteries.

46)  Look around to see if there is a fire.

47)  Remember what the fire alarm actually sounds like since it goes off EVERY morning when you take your shower.

48)  Relax back into the couch.

49)  Chirp.

50)  Bark!

51)  Stomp into the kitchen and grab a broom.

52)  Stare at the fire alarm.

53)  Chirp.

54)  Shake the broom at the ceiling.

55)  Realize threatening the fire alarm from the shower has never worked and that a broom probably won't either.

56)  Curse the fact that you don't have a ladder.

57)  Curse the fact that you are single and isn't this what boyfriends are supposed to be for?

58)  Look around for something you can stand on to reach the 10 foot ceiling.

59)  Spy the pub table chairs.

60)  Chirp.

61)  Bark!

62)  Curse.

63)  Grab a pub chair.

64)  Start to climb on pub chair.

65)  Remember that you put the pub chair together yourself.

66)  Pause.

67)  Recall the last item of furniture you put together and how it always listed to the right.

68)  Remember Dan's cousin grazing said piece of furniture in the middle of the night, knocking it over and being smothered by your CD collection.

69)  Crack up, but ...

70)  Back away from the pub chair.

71)  Chirp.

72)  Bark!

73)  Cuuuuuurse.

74)  Take your chances with the pub chair.

75)  Realize once you're eye to eye with fire alarm that you have no idea what to do.

76)  Chirp.

77)  Bark!

78)  Cuuuuuuuurse!

79)  Attempt to take the battery out.

80)  Pull down the entire fire alarm.

81)  Worry you'll get electrocuted by the wires hanging from the ceiling.

82)  Shove fire alarm back into ceiling.

83)  Chirp.

84)  Bark!

85)  Cuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrsssseeee!

86)  Feel like Keanu Reeves in Speed when you take the battery out.

87)  Start to climb off pub stool.

88)  Wonder what the chances are of there being a fire in between the time you actually put a battery back in the mother fuuuu ... contraption.

89)  Determine chances of breaking pub stool are higher.

90)  Go back to the couch.

91)  Chirp.

92)  Bark!

93)  WTF?

94)  Realize the fire alarm has been possessed.

95)  And is laughing at you.

96)  Wonder if the guy who controls the elevators at work and makes them close just as you walk up to them, has hijacked your fire alarm.

97)  Chirp.

98) Bark!

99)  Currrrrsssssssssssseeeeeeeee!

100)  Wear pajama pants to Target.

P.S.  The BEST way to get out of Target for less than $20?  Wear your pajamas.  Self consciousness - 1, debit card - 0.

P.P.S.  Hello to those of you visiting from OR Blogs and thanks for making the REI post one of yesterday's favorites!  SSG has been feeling LOTS of love lately and wonders if she should remove the (Sometimes!) from her moniker.  She now realizes she has just said "hello fate!  Let me shine down this big spotlight right here so I can tempt you!"  (Sometimes!) will stay.  But she still thanks you.

REI, I'm Going to Have to Let You Go

I work in finance and am one of five women in the office.  I get asked all the time about the single guys that I work with.  When I first started my job, friends and family all asked "how are you liking it?" which was really just a precursor to "dish it, how many cuties?" or the slightly more subtle "anyone interesting?"  If by interesting you mean guys who leave labels on my desk like the one above, then yes.

There ARE single men in the office.  All of them cute and sweet, but annoyingly falling into the category of "outdoorsy."  This is something I run into as a single girl in Portland A LOT.  I always considered myself outdoorsy too.  And then I moved here and realized riding horses and spending summers at the beach translated to being carried around like a sloth with a touch of skin cancer.

My idea of being in the great outdoors includes a stroll somewhere scenic, maybe with a picnic thrown in and climbing on top of a rock so we can watch the sunset.  But I somehow managed to rack up a pile of friends who are BIG fans of the outdoors.  I have no idea how this happened.  They prefer their hikes to entail sharp ascents up the sides of cliffs (bonus if it's covered in ice) and I prefer a hike that has the words "Great for Kids" in the title (bonus if it's a loop).  Dig's sister and her new husband took a biking tour of Tuscany for their honeymoon.  I wrote about the last time I was on a bike here.  

Sometimes I secretly wonder if I moved to the Northwest because its rainy climate suits my nature of cozying up with a book, pulling warm cookies out of the oven or bundling up in a scarf and cap to duck into a bookstore to listen to a favorite author.  But then, the sun comes out in Portland.  I can feel it warm my skin and watch as it dapples the sidewalks with shadows of the dogwood trees.  The beginning of summer ... can being outside get any better?

I may not be covered in North Face, scarfing Cliff Bars while discussing mountain bikes and Smart Water.  But today as I sat outside at a bistro having lunch, wearing my new peep toe heels as I strolled along the waterfront afterwards, I realize that my version suits me just fine.

Why You Don't Wear Peep Toe Steve Madden Flats to Walk Dogs

I like routines.  I like a vague semblance of a plan.  It doesn't ALL have to go according to said plan, I can be spontaneous and smell the roses and carpe the diem like nobody's business, but most days?  I like to know what's up.  

Take for example, my morning routine--get up a little early, pad down the stairs to have a cup of coffee, read a little, write a little, fall back asleep on the couch a little.  Whatevs.   Having an extra dog around?  Throws me off balance.  Literally.

So there I was, being all State Farm ad slogan-y.  Like a good neighbor, SSG was THERE.  I love my neighbors.  I love their dog.  I really do.  I just don't love that their dog doesn't understand that when the alarm goes off it does not mean we get up RIGHT THEN.  It means we hit the little button that says SNOOZE.  But their dog is smart.  My dog is smart too, but she knows it's pointless to try and get me up the first alarm go around.  At least she did.  Until today.  Because I got up on the first alarm.  You try having Lassie staring at you, whining at 3:52 a.m.  

The kicker?  The whining doesn't stop.  It goes on.  And on.  Like some hairy version of Celine Dion.   You heard it here first, it's NO WONDER Lassie was a sheltie.  

"What?  Is Timmy stuck in the well, Lassie?"  I asked him as we (read: they) bounded down the stairs.

"What?  You know who shot J.F.K?"  (Lassie spins in circles, SSG is unable to crack her eyes open enough to see where the leash goes amongst the Crystal Gayle style locks he has going on.)

"You have an idea for an alternate energy source?" (SSG holds onto the leashes and water skis behind two dogs as they bomb out the front door.)

After the dogs had a chance to pee before I did (Future Husband, if you're reading?  I don't ACTUALLY do that.  This is where I fictionalize my posts.) we were all walking back inside when I was just in the middle of thinking "I hope none of the neighbors see me in my red pajama pants and cute peep toe Steve Madden flats."  I took a step but my foot kept going, straight out in front of me like some skateless version of shooting the duck.  

I came down hard on my other knee (that never happened at the Aquarius Roller Skating Rink?!) and before I knew it I was sitting in the middle of the street with two dogs staring at me like "wut r u doin' der?"

Lassie "Whine.  Whine. Whine."

And I'm sure he was telling me all about how I should wipe my skinned up knee with some alcohol to make sure it was good and clean.   But really, Lassie.  The only alcohol necessary? Grey Goose.  

4 a.m. is still considered evening, right?

And Then There Were Two ...

Oh suuuuuuure, they look like the picture of innocence NOW.   I'm dog sitting my neighbors' dog until Sunday ... gulp.   The scary part is I'M looking at THEM the exact same way that they're looking at me in this photo.  What do I do with TWO? 

I'm off to go stock up on some wine and Grey Goose.

P.S.  Can someone please tell me why it's easier walking two dogs instead of just one?  Granted we just went to the mailbox, but STILL (Are you there Ceasar Milan?  It's me, SSG.)

40% is Like, Really Bad, Right?

So I stumbled upon this article today.   And while all along, I've thought I'm a pretty good single chick, this article?  Makes me rethink that stance.  I think I might be a "bad single."  I have FOUR of these items.  Care to venture a guess as to which ones?

This will be a short post as I need to obviously get my behind down to the store for earplugs and condoms, find someone who has Nikon or Cannon that can make me look fabulous (Are you there Pioneer Woman or Posie?  It's me, SSG.), stash some Cosmopolitan magazines circa 2001 in the bathroom, buy (gasp) an (gasp) Eminem (hurl) CD and practice the pick up line "Do you work at Subway?  Because you just gave me a footlong."  Oh wait!  That's supposed to be the dude's line.

Perhaps I have more to learn than originally thought ...

Back to the Future

When I was younger and used to think about my life as a grown up, it involved the following:

• Working Downtown
• Riding a Train to Work
• Having a Dog & Cat
• Buying My Own Groceries
• Driving a Car
• Michael J. Fox

Five out of six ain't bad; however, I neglected to add one teensy weensy item to that list. Work days?  Should totally start at 10 a.m. and end promptly at 4 p.m.  

That way, I wouldn't have to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to have time to feed the dog and cat that I so desperately wanted, put on nice enough clothes to work in a downtown office and leave in time to catch the 6:15 train.   The youth of the '80's.  SO misled.  These Generation Y'ers and their entitlement issues?  COMPLETELY onto something.

As I stepped off the train this morning and walked past the buildings that have been in downtown Portland for almost 100 years, I took some comfort in knowing that day after day, year after year, Monday after Monday thousands of people have walked the same streets on their way to work.  And if they could do it?  So could I.  

I stopped for a second to take a picture so those of you lovely peeps who live in other parts of the country could see what Pioneer Courthouse Square and 364 days of gray skies look like.  PCS is referred to in some circles as "Portland's Living Room" but to me as "Where All the Cool Shit Goes Down in the Season We Try and Pass Off As Summer."  Please note the fuzzy photo.  That would be from getting tapped on the shoulder by a homeless gentleman/comedian at the same time I took the picture.

"What's the longest pencil in the world?"  

Pennsylvania.  Get it?!

Perhaps Michael J. Fox could pick me up in his De Lorean?  I'd like to go back to 1982 and restate my goals.  They would be as follows:

• No pencil jokes.
• Figure out a fulfilling career where I could make money and not have to get out of my pajamas until at least 10:30 a.m.
• Have a driver, a la the cartoon character Richie Rich.
• Mandatory 6 months of vacation time each year.

Now who has some plutonium and 1.21 gigawatts they can lend me?

P.S.  I wonder if the mention of plutonium will get me on the FBI's blog roll?  

Weekend ABC's - J is for Junk in My Trunk

I have written about my uncle's cabin in Yosemite here, but one of the things I neglected to mention was that the cabin has games.  Games that we've been playing for years.  Games, that start off as fun but slowly morph into accusations of cheating, bribery and blatant family favoritism.   My uncle is usually at the center of such speculation and all allegations begin, and usually end, with him as the guilty party.  So much so that a Webster's Dictionary is the first thing that gets smacked down on the table after Scattergories makes its appearance.

Some of the allegations include:  "Wonderful" as a term of endearment (when the letter W was rolled).  He argued "my little Wonderful" could indeed be a term of endearment for a good five minutes before he would accept the veto.   "Junk" was also vetoed as something to be feared (when the letter J was rolled).  He even attempted to ACT out his answer by going to the hall closet and screaming "Ahh, my junk!" as he opened it.  Though I would never admit this to my uncle, for a moment today I was thinking he just might be onto something.   

At what point should you start fearing the junk in your trunk?  Ahem.  Your literal trunk.  Like car trunk?  Because when I opened mine today it contained, amongst a myriad of other goodies, my college roller blades, a 2006 desk calendar and two bed pillows.  Um, I think I'm going to go with the pillows, Bob.  Was I supposed to be escorting someone to a Lamaze class that I've forgotten about?

As I started going through mah junk, I recognized most of it.  However, some items, like the black bag which I totally didn't recognize, and thus feared, remained untouched.  I wonder if I pulled a Lohan at a club one night and walked out with someone else's bag?  (OJ, if you're reading.  I'm SURE this isn't yours.  Please don't hurt me.)  I continued to sift through my trunk, and carried its contents into my living room so I could sort through it all.   With each trip into the house, I had the vague recollection of having done this same process before.

And that's when I realized.  The items I had brought OUT of my trunk and INTO my living room were the EXACT same items I had taken OUT of my living room and put INTO the trunk of my car to "sort through" a few months ago.  My guess is, right around the last time I had house guests.

So next time I'm at the cabin and roll an ol' "J" on the Scattergories dice and the subject is "Things You Deny?"

Two words, Unc:  BRING IT.

#1 - What I Learned from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

So over the past four days you've learned A LOT about SSG.  Probably more than you'd ever really want to know.  And today is post number 100 ... and if SSG had given a little more thought to this thing, she would have maybe actually called  this post #100 ... but it is kind of, right?  In a backwards kind of way?  Because I started off with a countDOWN and ...

So wait, where was I?

Oh right!  This weekend we'll get back to the fun, sarcastic and occasionally witty banter that drew you here in the first place.  But one more confession for the road ... and I think it's the most important thing about me.

I learned something from Buffy the Vampire Slayer once.

I have always been quite literal.  As a kid, I thought the big deal about Mt. Rushmore was that it magically appeared there, that all of the presidents faces miraculously showed up on a big rock, and that's what made everybody talk about it so much.  Then I found out someone CARVED it.  That it was MANMADE and my little six year old self was all "Seriously?  That's it?"   I also thought that adults knew everything.  That there was a finite amount of knowledge in the world and once you learned everything, you became an adult and that's why we went to school.  To learn everything.  And then become adults.

The point is, I always thought that the trick to life was to figure out the answers everybody else already knew.  So I got good grades.  And I worked really hard at being the perfect daughter and friend and sister and granddaughter and horseback rider and party-er and employee and girlfriend and woman and student and pasty white chick in tan San Diego and natural chick in pasty Seattle and on and on and on.  And I thought that if I just kept going I would get there.  Where?  Well ... THERE.

"There" was a place where it would all be okay, where I would be safe and loved and cared about and happy and life would be perfect.  I just had to find it.  And I'm guessing you can imagine how WELL that went for me?  Yeah.

I followed A LOT of roads that I thought would take me "there" and they were constantly changing.  First it was fashion.  Then it was money.  After that it was the right boyfriend.  The right college.  Then maybe the right job?  Ok, the right body?  The right volunteer work?  Then maybe the right house?  The right paint color?  Maybe a therapist knows?  What about my friends?  My boss?  Ok, maybe Oprah.  Are you there, Oprah?  It's me, SSG.

Until finally last year I asked myself "What do YOU think?" "What do YOU feel?"  What do YOU want?"  

Ummmmm?  (Cue crickets.)

Listen to myself?  Trust myself?  Uh, wha?  I didn't know anything!  That's why I listened to other people, because if I knew what I was doing, I'd be doing it.  Duh.

That's when I found out a little secret.  

No one else knows what they're doing either.

The single chicks out at the bars.  The single dudes out at the bars.  The married wives and husbands.  The parents.  The teachers.  The President.  Even Oprah?!  Nope.

Nobody has it all figured out, but most of us pretend like we do.

Everyone feels hurt at times.  Everyone feels self conscious at times.  Everyone feels betrayed and loved and understood and wrong and right and mad and sad and happy and elated and creative and smart and stupid and like they want to give up or like they have more energy than they've ever had before.  Sometimes people feel sexy and sometimes they don't.  And sometimes people can't get out of bed.  Sometimes those same people jump out of bed.  Sometimes people say the right things and sometimes they say the wrong things.  Sometimes people worry and sometimes they don't.  Sometimes what people want and get doesn't feel right.  Sometimes what people don't think they want, they get and love.  One day people want to walk away from everything they know and the next day they can't imagine being anywhere else.

I realized I felt all of these things, often times at once, and it scared the shit out of me.  

What was I supposed to DO with all of that?  Well, easy.

I ignored it.

I said:  "Nooooope.  Uh, uh.  Don't want to feel scared.  Bye fear!  Nope, don't want to be a needy.  Bye needy chick!  Nope, don't want to feel any bad stuff at all. Uh uh.  Only good.  Nothing else.  Too scary.  If I open ALL of that up, it will be the end and I will implode into a big black hole of ick.  So I just WON'T."

And that's where Buffy comes in.  There was an episode that had an off screen monster that was about to invade Sunnyvale (or whatever "Sunny" place in which Buffs lived--sorry real Buffy fans).  This monster was so terrifying that everyone talked about it in panic throughout the entire episode.  The monster would be the end of the world as we know it!  It would kill everyone!  When the monster finally showed up toward the end of the hour, it had been built up to such epic proportion of evil, wrath and destruction that I was terrified.  The monster appeared!  Huge flash of smoke and lights!  Everyone (including me) jumped back in horror!

Until they saw the monster.  The monster that was about 6 inches tall.  Everyone paused.  And then they all said how cute it was.  I think someone even picked it up and pet it.  And then they decided to go get dinner.

The scariest time?  Is always right before you see the monster.  And once you look it in the face, you realize it's not as big as it once seemed.  And perhaps, in the space that your monster once occupied is the "there" you've been looking for all along ... and damn it if it hasn't been with you the whole time.

Now can I go make out with David Boreanaz?

#2 - These Two

Um, please note the touching of paws.  Does anything else need to be said?  Nah.  I didn't think so either.

#3 - Kindred Spirits

One of my favorite books is Anne of Green Gables.  It was given to me by my beloved Gam when I was about eight and I still have my dog eared, much loved first copy.  Anne speaks frequently about the "kindred spirits" she finds along the way in Avonlea.  I too have been fortunate in those who have crossed my path.

1)  My sister - There for me since day one.  Thanks for the catch up today, Winner.  I love you.  

2)  Gam - My mom's mom who instilled  a love of books and nature in me so deep that I can't think of one without the other.

3)  Grandma - My dad's mom, who was quiet and content to just spend time allowing me room to explore the world.

4)  Diane Pauli - My kindergarten teacher who made me love going to school.

5)  Bobbie Vaus - THAT teacher ... the one that makes everything come alive.  Nothing was off limits.  

6)  Cass Lockhart - One of my horseback riding coaches.  She'd only let riders in her clinics if they were 18.  I started riding with her when I was 12.

7)  Barbara & Leslie Gerrior - This mother and daughter became my second family when I didn't have a home to go to.  They're the sole reason I made it through my adolescence.

8) Judy Turner - I worked with her at Bank of America when I was a bank teller in college.  We used to chat in the evenings before the branch would close about life and love, marriage and kids, movies and books, careers and passions.  I always looked forward to our chats.

9)  Victoria Featherstone - My creative writing instructor who was there for me for YEARS--throughout my entire college career, my move to Seattle, applying to film school and writing a novel.  I still hear her calm, melodic voice quietly whispering "keep going."

10)  Tony Torres - For making it all okay.

11)  Digs & Spleen - Have I mentioned them enough on this site?  They deserve an infinite amount of love and cocktails for their unconditional friendship over the past 15 years.  (My lucky ass recognizes it ladieth!)

12)  D - Wherever you are.  I miss you.  

13)  The Sac Town Boys - The brothers I never had.  Dudes, HIKING means casually strolling on a dirt path (and preferably one with no incline).  It does not mean ICE CLIMBING, which is what you freaks do.  Don't fall.  I'd miss you way too much.

14)  Mrs. Bob - My twin! Who knew I'd be so lucky to get three friendships for the price of one?  Partner in magazine crime, Paris dreams and soul sister.  3 months until we are both bawling our eyes out in front of every French landmark in disbelief.  (Pssst ... I can't WAIT and I'll bring the Kleenex!)

15)  Mr. Bob - Palm Tree?  "Did I hear a niner?  What, were you calling from a walkie talkie?"

16)  Jon McAndrew - For cracking my heart open over and over again.

17)  Wade - I keep telling him he should start his own blog.  Potential name?  Wad-a-tay, The Dang a Lang Kang.  I (and my liver) thank you.  Portland wouldn't be the same if it weren't for you and Jimmy.

18)  My niece, nephew and Little Bob - The world got way more fun with you three in it.

19)  And to those kindred spirits I have yet to meet?  I look forward to traveling the roads that will lead me to you.

I wouldn't be the SSG without you all.

Love,

Me

Don't Ever Change Your Password on a Monday

I have to use A LOT of passwords for our systems at work.  And I like to try and keep them upbeat and fun.  I like a little something that will make me smile or relax for a second before I enter into my world of numbers and corporate balance sheets and acronyms ... oh how we love our acronyms in finance.   I think I used four sets in one sentence today and not surprisingly?  My cube neighbor answered in an acronym. 

SSG:  How would you calculate an XYZ when you've got a noncompliant ABC on a standard BCG that uses a TFP?

A:  I think you can use that new FUK we got on that con call last week.

Corporate finance, my second language.  

My passwords are usually something like "Bellagio Villa" which yes, takes forever to spell out, but doesn't it make you think of George Clooney wearing aviator sunglasses, white linen pants and no shirt out on his boat in Lake Como?  Perhaps that's just me.  

Today, a rainy Monday in Portland with a full five day work week ahead, the LAST thing I wanted to do when I got to work was be perky and upbeat enough to pick a password.  

It was an inauspicious start.  "Portland is a bucket of water disguised as a city"  was too long and didn't have the proper format. "H8" was too short and apparently "SuckA55" I had already used before.  It took me 20 minutes, plus a cruise over to Stumptown with A, a double tall vanilla latte and one piece of banana bread with chocolate chips before I could think of a password.  Perhaps I should have chosen "Procrastin8?"

I finally came up with one.  And I'd totally tell you what it is, but then you'd have to use the FUK to calculate the XYZ on a noncompliant ABC on a standard BCG that uses a TFP and I like you all WAY too much to subject you to that.

Weekend ABC's - M is for Movies & Music

SSG loves chick flicks.  

SSG likes heavy movies too.  But for some reason these days heavy movies make her want to crawl under the covers with a gallon of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream and not come out.   So this weekend SSG was in pursuit of tickets to the chick flick to end all chick flicks--The Sex and the City Movie.  But as that would only take up a few hours, she decided she should be more productive.  And by productive, SSG means spending time tracking down two songs she heard during another chick flick.

So a few years ago I watched a movie called Lucky 7.  Lucky 7 was on the ABC Family channel.  I'm sure I was PMSing, because 1)  I was watching the ABC Family Channel and 2)  A made for TV movie not only made me cry, but I kept it on my DVR for months and made Digs watch it when she came to Portland to visit.  And I cried during the movie.  Again.

A quick recap of Lucky 7:  Patrick Dempsey (pre Grey's Anatomy). Kimberly Williams Paisley.  Seattle.  A dead mother.   A road map to love.   7 boys!  Daughter follows map to the letter.  She meets boy #6 & #7 at the same time!  Patrick Dempsey's eyes!  But he's #6!  Choice!  Angst!  Ferry boat to Orca's Island!  Touching moment on the beach!  Sex!  Does she follow her heart?  But the map!  The dead mom!  More angst!  Patrick Dempsey's fabulous hair! Happily ever after!

Two incredible songs that I had never heard before were in that movie.  And avec le power d' Google and You Tube, I found them this weekend.  Here are the two links:  

• Time   
  
• So Are You to Me

(Side note:  SSG isn't too sure why there isn't a link to Lucky 7 for the So Are You to Me song since apparently it has been used in every single television series ever.  So she chose the Pride & Prejudice link as it is one of her favorite books and movies.  She's also unsure as to why anyone else would want to play Mr. Darcy after Colin Firth did it to perfection.)

Speaking of love.  Angst.  Sex.  And will they or won't they?  I also saw the Sex and the City movie last night (don't worry, no spoiling!)  

The Dates:  Ems, Radioactive, Preggers and Gay Boyfriend #2.

The Wardrobe:   Aim: Flirty/Sassy.  Result? Pirate/Hooker.

The Dilemma:  Pre or post movie dinner and drinks.

Florida Retiree Moment #1:  Dinner at 5 p.m.

Young Hot Moment #1:  Everyone showing up a 1/2 hour late saying "Damn, 5 is EARLY."

Florida Retiree Moment #2:  Dinner at the Heathman Hotel.

Young Hot Moment #2:  Each downing four cocktails in just over an hour (except for Preggers).

1 Minute:  Amount of time between my ass hitting the theater seat and the movie starting.

Second:  The row we had to sit in.

Three:  The number of previews it took my eyes to adjust (Proximity to screen or number of drinks?  Jury is still out.)

One:  The number of girls whose ass SSG wanted to kick during the movie.

Frantic Face Fanning/Gasping/Squealing:  Reasons for ass kicking desire.

Mentally Handicapped:  Reason for the aforementioned frantic fanning/gasping/squealing.

ONLY acceptable cause for frantic face fanning/gasping/squealing:  Diagnosed mental handicap.

SSG's Emotions (excluding the desire to kick as of yet unknown mentally handicapped girl's ass):  Sheer joy at the mere hint of the opening song at the credits.  Happiness!  Desire!  Hate!  Sadness!  Anger!  Lust!  Envy!  Angst!  Love!  

Twice: Number of times SSG cried.

Countless: Number of times SSG will see the movie again.

Thoughts on weekend:  Girl card renewed!  Estrogen at maximum levels!  

Let's go to the bathroom together!