Tales from La La Land

Blog-neglect happens to everyone. And this is totally not going to be a post about how I’ve been neglecting the blog.

However, I figured I should put something up to bury that stupid Office Max Blog. You know, the one where I thought I was soooo creative with the headline? Sometimes I think I’m super funny and/or witty only to find out years (and, sometimes days) later that I was, in actuality, a giant tool.

So, anyway, since I last wrote that post, not much has happened. I thought about writing a post chronicling the shower dialogue between Laef and I, but I figured it’d make people super gaggy. But, we can not be the only ones who draw hearts with random hair on the shower wall.

Or can we?

Laef took it to a new level last week,  stringing together many of his fallin’ brethren to draw an entire face with a giant smile (not a good sign for the top of Laef’s head.) Then this morning I got in the shower and noticed that Laef had gone even further. He drew a penis. With balls. And pubes.

All I can tell you is this: When it’s 6:30 a.m., and you are fucking pissed off at your alarm clock and the cat who meows from 6 a.m.-6:30 a.m., NOTHING will make your morning more than seeing a giant penis drawn with hair on the shower wall. I cracked up. I can’t remember the last time I laughed at 6:30 a.m. on a work day.

The pressure is now on me to draw something for Laef’s enjoyment.

I guess I don’t care if you get gaggy or not. At least I didn’t include pictures of the hearts or the “Hi!” or the .

Then I thought writing a post about marathon training, and how I am on the home stretch in a sense. However, I don’t want to jinx it. I have one long run left – 19 miles this weekend – and can then begin to taper a bit. Next weekend, my long run will be 8 miles, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but: 8 miles at this stage is a cakewalk*.  The marathon is 2 weeks from Sunday. UNREAL. Can’t wait. There’s not much more to blog about the training – it’s kind of shitty, and if not for the help of some great friends (Angie, Erin), it would have been a lot worse. It’s draining physically and mentally, but I know the payoff is going to be WELL worth it. So, I am very excited for race day.

Other than that, there’s not much to tell. Laef is completely dialed into the Cardinals baseball season, so I just sit back and watch him swear at the TV or look doey-eyed at Albert Pujols every time is up to bat. I am completely dialed into the Real Housewives of New York City so Laef sits back and yells obscenities to me while pretending not to watch (he actually asked me yesterday if Jill and Bettheny were friends yet).

TGIF!

*Please don’t let me eat shit or get hurt on this run because I called it easy. Please.

I do a lot of things to block out the fact that I’ve become everything I thought I wouldn’t in terms of my professional life. Never in my life did I think I’d be a person who sat behind a desk from 8 a.m. – 5 p.m., Monday through Friday. While I don’t miss the Sunday afternoon hours of working in college athletics, I do miss the roaming around I did for most of my work day.

Let’s be honest, I miss the bullshitting with people while standing at football practice pretending to work. I miss the free grub in the Autzen Stadium press box on a frigid Saturday morning after a long night of drinking (nothing says Saturday morning college football like Hole In The Wall). I miss wandering all over the Cas Center looking for Jonathan Stewart because he’s found the best hiding place to avoid interviews. It annoyed the crap out of me at the time, but now I realize that I was constantly in motion. Rarely was I behind my desk.

That was over 3 years ago. Now I sit behind a desk. The good news: I have my weekends completely free. I don’t stand in freezing rain pretending to care about whether or not Nate Costa took reps with the first team. The bad news: Fuck. I sit. A lot.

Office jobs are funny. It’s all of the stereotypical stuff one might think. Our color printer broke the other day and it was like a 6.0 Earthquake had struck. I am not trying to be disrespectful in light of the recent quakes – I am telling you that people lose their shit when office supplies go haywire.

Pandemonium, I tell you.

So, there’s the stress of: “You stapled this wrong”, “The printer is broken”, “How do you scan this?” (Yes, important people really are that stupid), “WHY CAN’T YOU DO 17 THINGS AT ONCE?”

And then there’s the joy of your Office Max order arriving.

I swear to God I get so excited when my new Post-Its arrive.

It’s disgusting. And I hate myself  for loving ballpoint pens so much.

We’re heading home to my parents for Easter weekend. All of my siblings, nieces and my nephew will be there. Should be tons of fun.

And educational.

When you hang out with a group of small children, you learn very quickly that most of your vocabulary is not acceptable. Therefore, E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G has to be spelled out. Many times, this includes multiple words in one sentence, which after 3 cocktails (absolutely necessary during a family weekend, and any member of my family who is offended by this statement, should glance at the d-r-i-n-k in their hand), is extremely hard do to.

I used to wonder if it was necessary to talk like your competing against a 5-year-old for first prize in the spelling bee. Like, do we really need to spell out b-a-t-h? Don’t they figure this shit out after the tenth night in a row? I figure they hear the letter “b” and they are like, “F this. I’m outty.”

Then we got The Sanch, and while it is evident that he definitely knows what we are saying (“come here”, “NO”, “get the fuck off the counter”), he ignores everything that is ever said to him.

EXCEPT for the word treat. That little biatch learned that word immediately. He could be in the deepest REM sleep of his life and if we say “treat”, he is up and at ‘em immediately. So, I can definitely understand the need to spell out certain things when you are trying to avoid conflict.

My sister, Brooke, stopped through LA on her way to Mexico last week, and she brought her two daughters with her. Brooke and I were reminiscing about the last time she visited. The time we got absolutely shit-faced on Tequila on a Thursday night.

Me: “I have not been that drunk since”.

Brooke (whispering to Laef and I): “Shhhhh…don’t say drunk.”

Laef: “Remember that time when you visited and you hung out with your friends Dru n’ K?

My niece:  “You were drunk!”

Sadly, there is an age limit to the spelling/play on words tactic. So I guess this weekend I will have to use huge words like inebriated and lavation.