Clearly, I Made A Mistake

A couple of months ago a friend of mine, Aarturo* showed up for a casual game of volleyball with an unusual orange tint. I innocently asked Aarturo if he had been to the beach, and he unapologetically and unashamedly shared that the glow was due to spray tanning. Now, Aarturo is a somewhat normal, heterosexual, professional 20-something male. I was intrigued, so I inquired as to why he voluntarily stood naked in a pod while a machine showered skin dye over him. His response was something to the effect of, “Well lying in the UV bed is bad for your skin so I decided I wasn’t going to do that this year.” This response piqued my curiosity and led me to conduct my own unscientific social experiment, quizzing male friends and co-workers on the topic of fake baking. Turns out male tanning is much more prevalent than I originally would have thought. But while the guys seemed to own up to it, it always came with an excuse. “Oh my buddy owned a gym and he asked me if I wanted to test out the new tanning bed he put in.” Or, “My wife and I were going on a cruise and she suggested I go for a few sessions so I wouldn’t fry myself on the ship deck.” SSSSUUUURRRREEEE……. At least Aarturo was man enough to admit he did it because “Tan fat looks better than white fat.”

I was curious as to the sociological thought process that would drive a male to the local tanning salon, but it is important to note that I am not anti-fake-baking. I became a pro at it myself back in high school, where I would wait 45 minutes for one of five or so beds at the local hole-in-the-wall-only-one-in-a-ten-mile-radius-I-can’t-even-remember-the-name tanning salon, slap on my playboy bunny sticker, and bake for 20 minutes at a time. This continued off and on for the next 10 years or so. In college I dedicated a portion of my “entertainment allowance” to achieving that healthy glow. In post college years I tanned on, culminating in the grand finale – my high school reunion two years ago. All the while roommates and friends warned me about something called “skin cancer.” Clearly that made a huge impact on me.

Recently, while spending time with some girlfriends, Reamona and Kaythleen, the topic of sunless tanning was introduced. Kaythleen mentioned wanting a nice tan for her sisters’ upcoming wedding and Reamona had recently bought a yellow dress for her graduation ceremony she was convinced she wasn’t tan enough to wear. I was just bored and intrigued all at the same time, so the three of us made a date to meet at Palm Beach Tan on Monday to check out our spray tan options. We got the inside scoop from Aarturo, who suggested we try VersaTan instead of Mystic Tan. VersaTan is similar, but different, and Aarturo seemed to like it because he claimed it provided a more natural, clear spray. Recalling Aarturo’s debut at volleyball a couple of months ago, seems to me like the tint is not just clear, it’s clearly orange.

(Sidenote – Aarturo would like to interject that the clearly orange tint was due to the fact that spray tan was acquired over lunch time and guidelines of showering 4-6 hours following spray tan were not followed. I will admit that within a day or so the orange tint faded and Aarturo’s skin turned to a nice shade of Panamanian-baby.)

At Palm Beach, we were each asked to provide our license (our drivers license, not our license to tan – we asked) and Reamona, Kaythleen, and I forked over $54 each for four VersaTan sessions plus an amplifier packet. Kaythleen asked for a receipt, which led to a discussion of exactly what occupations would be justified in expensing tanning services. Conclusion: strippers, hookers, and apparently ministers (though Kaythleen insisted the receipt was for her personal record keeping – RIGHT!). We were each required to submit fingerprints for identification, a task Reamona walked us through like a pro. Then our Fabulously hot tanning instructor Gaylord (this is how Reamona likes to refer to him as she wonders why all the hot tan ones are gay, noting that Aarturo is clearly the exception) walked us through the process, demonstrated the poses (The Claw, pivot to right Stop Sign/Right Egyptian, pivot to left Stop Sign/Left Egyptian, and Backward Flex – just like yoga), explained how to avoid a Ross situation, and gave instructions for follow up care for our spray-on self esteem. Reamona recalls this lecture, “I know that I can barely remember choreography for one eight count, so this demonstration paired with instructions for accelerator and blending cream instilled a little panic in this citrus-tinted non-diva.” Kaythleen remembers being terrified during this speech with so much to remember, especially when distracted by thoughts such as “Hot gay guy though…why does his fake tan look so nice, and should we invite him to volleyball?”

A couple of observations during tanning: The mist and the subsequent air dry were COLD! It’s a darn good thing we decided to tackle this project in the middle of May instead of the middle of winter. While I, due to previous mystic tanning experiences, have a habit of holding my breath throughout the entire process so as not to inhale the chemicals, Reamona took a different approach. She reported that she forgot to stop breathing when the mist covered her face, “So i'm sure my lungs are looking freshly bronzed like they just got back from Cancun. Lucky bastards.” Whoever said beauty was skin deep hasn’t seen Reamona’s lungs.'

The three of us came through the process like champs, and didn’t endure any staring or gawking the rest of the evening, leaving us to wonder whether we’d done it right. Our tanning instructor advised that we could wait to shower until the morning, so long as we weren’t worried about anything rubbing off on our sheets. Luckily my sheets are bronze already, so I slept like a baby. But when I awoke the next morning, disaster struck. The tan had set in, and I was a nice shade of California, until I saw it. “It” was a spot on my upper right thigh where the tan was literally peeling off my body. Then I noticed a second “It.” Another spot on my lower right leg. Each spot a couple of inches in diameter, each spot an ever expanding starburst of hypercolor skin.

I had been looking forward to wearing a skirt to work, but my plans quickly changed. It would have to be pants this day and every day until the VersaTan was gone. I emailed Kaythleen, Reamona, and Aarturo to report my clear malfunction. Reamona and Kaythleen had mostly positive results (Kaythleen reported some orange splotchy-ness but no peeling, Reamona’s apparently turned out perfect), and Aarturo showered me with questions and accusations (“Did you use lotion? Did the skin actually peel off? I bet it’s because you played volleyball afterwards”) and suggested I request a refund. All balked at the clearly disgusting picture of my right leg. With this peeling phenomenon demanding all my attention, I almost overlooked the splotchy-ness of the application in the areas where my skin wasn’t flaking off. If tan fat looks better than white fat, then where does multicolor fat fall?

So here I am, hiding my $15 sporadically tinted shedding skin under layers of concealing clothing, just waiting for my entire epidermis to disappear while Reamona and Kaythleen are probably sipping martinis on a patio in Uptown in Gucci sunglasses looking fabulous while discussing the latest developments in plastic surgery. Hopefully in three to five days I can join them, and I’ll look forward to my next VersaTan experience. You better believe I’m not letting the next three tans go to waste!

Finally I’d like to leave you with a quote from Reamona, who summed up our experience nicely:

“Doing stuff like this makes me think of how we scoff at old beauty rituals... like corsets or wigs or stuff like that... we do the same thing... we're just hotter.”

*Names have been changed to protect privacy

10 days for 10 dollars - Namaste

As some of you know I’ve amped up my workout routine over the last few months. But I’m one of those people who get bored with the same old thing, so I’m always looking for new ways to burn a few calories. My default workout is a standard gym workout – 30-45 minutes on a cardio machine, upper body weights, crunches, etc. But despite my stellar I-pod workout mix (who WOULDN’T want to work out when J-Lo, Kriss Kross, and Barry Manilow all make the same mix?), I’m constantly trying to throw in other random activities here and there to keep things interesting. I’ll do step aerobics, spin class, hip hop, kickboxing, double step aerobics (two benches), and anything else that looks new and different. (I’m still looking for a tennis partner!) My yearning for variety has driven me to desperation - for the past few weeks I’ve even incorporated a weekly run around the neighborhood. I have always said the only time you’ll see me running is if a maniac is chasing me with a butcher knife. Maybe one day I’ll get to the point where I don’t have to pay that guy to chase me with a butcher knife.

So knowing all that, it should come as no surprise that I decided to try yoga over Easter weekend. This is not my first yoga adventure, but it’s been years since I last tried it. So when I went to Sunstone Yoga (shout out to all my Sunstone peeps – holla!!!!) I was signed up for the $10 for 10 days introductory offer. I had really only intended on going that first time, but since I got another 9 days for free, I ended up making a bit more use of the free pass. I have no idea what the difference is between Fire and Wood and Earth and Metal and all the other classes – to me it’s all hot yoga. But I’d still like to share with you all my amateur experience:

Class #1
Saturday April 11, 10AM
60 minutes Earth Series followed by 30 minutes Wood Series
Temperature: 90 degrees
Humidity: 50%
Here are the sequential thoughts that ran through my head:
1. Sick! It’s like 500 degrees in here and reeks of smelly feet!
2. I hope I don’t fart
3. What’s up with this music? Can I get some Justin Timberlake up in here?
4. I wonder how much weight I’m sweating out (see footnote A)
5. I wish someone had told me to not wear a white tank top. This isn’t Spring Break in Cancun
6. Never regaining feeling in the top of my left knee after surgery 10 years ago is making this position very uncomfortable
7. When will this end????

Footnote A: The phrase sweating profusely definitely applies here. My scientific experiment showed (measured via weigh ins before and after) that I shed 1.5 to 2 pounds each class. Contrary to yoga instructors’ advice, I tried to avoid drinking water (or any other liquid) so as not to regain water weight, but found that no mater how much liquid I drank the rest of that day, it was 8-10 hours before I had to pee again.

Class #2
Monday, April 13, 5PM
60 minutes Fire Series
Temperature: 98.6 degrees
Humidity: 60%
Here are the sequential thoughts that ran through my head:
1. Sick! It’s like 400 degrees in here and reeks of smelly feet!
2. Oh look – that guy on the front row works at TI. Awesome.
3. Note to self – must remember to breathe very noisily in yoga so as not to look like the “new girl”
4. I’m pretty sure I saw that little guy in the speedo in Cirque Du Soleil
5. Why is there no music in this class? Not even that cheesy massage parlor Enya crap?
6. That little guy in the speedo was DEFINITELY in Cirque Du Soleil
7. I wonder if the instructor always says she likes the energy in the room or if today’s energy is particularly inspiring?
8. A 44 ounce diet coke with double limes would be REALLY good right now

And this is where I’ll insert the “discussion” I had prior to class number three. I was in the locker room kicking off my flip flops when the following conversation occurred with a woman who was completely naked

Naked Woman: You need to spit out your gum
Me: Oh I always chew gum when I work out. It keeps the saliva going in my mouth
Naked Woman: It’s not good for your facial muscles and mind
Me: Well I really just come to burn some calories
Naked Woman: You won’t get the full relaxation benefit if you chew gum
Me: Relaxation? That’s what happy hour is for!

She did not appear amused, and suspecting at this point that she might be the instructor (which she was), I swallowed the gum. Those yoga people are so serious!

Class #3
Wednesday, April 15, 6AM
60 minutes Earth Series
Temperature: 90 degrees
Humidity: 50%
Here are the sequential thoughts that ran through my head:
1. Sick! It’s like 300 degrees in here and reeks of smelly feet!
2. Ooh – I really like that guy’s tats. Especially when they are glistening.
3. I wish I were chewing gum right now
4. I should really blog about this (followed by trying to remember every thought that ran through my head during this class and every prior class)
5. Whoa! I can do this pose? I should definitely show some dudes.
6. I wonder how critical it is that my foot be exactly at a 45 degree angle. This looks more like 42 degrees. Can I get a protractor?
7. Ahhh – ending with the Happy Baby. I love this one. It feels like I’m in a giant amniotic womb.

An out of town wedding took me away for a few days, but I managed to get one more class in before my 10 days for $10 was up.

Class #4
Monday, April 20, 5PM
60 minutes Fire Series
Temperature: 98.6 degrees
Humidity: 60%
Here are the sequential thoughts that ran through my head:
1. Sick! It’s like 200 degrees in here and reeks of smelly feet!
2. I wonder if second-degree burns due to sunscreen malfunction over the weekend will make this class more painful than usual
3. This gum is good
4. Holy cow I totally thought that lady was a man until just now
5. Yeah – this would be less uncomfortable without a sunburn
6. I need a pedicure
7. My new favorite quote: “A tight body is a light body!”
8. I’m so over this

Surprisingly I did seem to adapt to the heat okay. With each class the room felt less and less suffocating-ly hot. But after every class, when I stepped outside into 65-70 degree temperature it felt like I was jumping into the Antarctic Ocean. Definitely a weird feeling. I only came away with one battle scar – a towel burn on my right kneecap that makes it difficult to shave. Aside from that (and the gum incident), it was an overall semi-pleasant experience. I don’t think I’ll be participating in the 60 day yoga challenge, but I think I may definitely drop in on a class from time to time. For those of you that haven’t tried yoga before, it’s not for everyone, but I would definitely recommend giving it a shot. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, remember there is a light at the end of the tunnel – curl up and suck your thumb and get ready for Happy Baby!

Namaste.

Security Is Everyone's Business!

Well I’m sure I’m not the only one whose workplace feels a little different these days. With the current economic state there are a few less heads around here and a few less orders to fill. Earlier this week I saw a pin-stripe-suited-woman in the hallway rummaging through an unattended, trash-filled janitors’ bin pulling out bubble wrap. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. But I can say with confidence there is one thing my company isn’t scrimping on these days, and that is security. Since the beginning of April I have received three “Security Awareness Notices” in my office, two of those coming in the last three days.

From what I gather, security walks the halls peeking in people’s offices looking for anything left out that someone could steal. Apparently my personal cell phone qualifies, so I end up with a “ticket” with my name, office location, and signature of the security officer indicating a security violation due to “unsecured cellular phone.” (Note that two out of the three tickets have my first name spelled wrong, despite the fact that my name is prominently displayed with correct spelling on the nameplate outside my office AND the only way the security officer would know my name to write it on the ticket would be to read it off the nameplate).

On April 1 I (or should I say Kelley) received my first notice, citation number 26623 (I thought it was an April Fools joke, but I was wrong).

On April 7 I receive citation number 28818

On April 9 I (again addressed as Kelley) received number 30986

Does this mean that between April 1st and April 7th 2,195 citations were written and between April 7th and April 9th (TWO DAYS) 2,168 citations were written? You’d think the economy would result in less work to go around, but seems like security is working hard and earning their paycheck!

I polled the office, and it seems that I’m not the only one who has been affected. One co-worker got a notice for a purse left out, another for a laptop, and another for leaving a calculator similar to this on her desk.

I guess she’s supposed to stuff it in a drawer every time she walks down the hall to go to the bathroom?

Then I wondered (silently, of course, I don’t want people to think I’m weird!) why does security think that my cell phone is the thing in my office most attractive to thieves? Surveying my area, I found several other things I would think would be even more susceptible to disappearing, including (but not limited to):

• A photo calendar with pictures of a snowman pez dispenser stationed in front of famous landmarks (April features Mr. Snowman Pez in front of Casa Rosada in Buenos Aires, Argentina)
  
• A set of 8 pound weights I use when a report is taking a long time to run on my computer


• A plaque recognizing me for outstanding effort in the area of Probe Cost Reduction in 2004


• Various loot from career fairs, including race cars and beanie babies covered in company logos


• A real stamp (like stamp and ink pad) with my name on it


• An HP DeskJet printer that I swear is from 1992 that sounds like it’s going to die every time I turn it on


• A proudly displayed newspaper article listing The University of Texas as the 3rd biggest party school in the nation


• About a dozen or so pictures, most of me with a group of girls at a baby shower, wedding shower, or wedding (these have been known to disappear from time to time, later to be found in perverted male co-workers' offices)


• A white pom pom, orange beeds, and Rose Bowl National Championship pennant from when Texas won the BCS title in 2006


• And last but not least, a chicken catapult that you shoot down the hall and it clucks when it hits the wall (GREAT for stress relief! Annoying for co-workers)
  

I decided to visit our Worldwide Security & Emergency Services home page to learn more about this hard working organization. Some highlights from the webpage: Security & Emergency Services and Worldwide Security have recently merged. Yay (I think)!!!! There have been 12,053 site visits in some unspecified time frame. There are three different security phone numbers you can call (not to mention emergency contacts for every site) depending on whether it’s an emergency or non emergency. And the praise and recognition section touts that three employees have passed the Opacity Smoke School (I’m not sure what that is but it sounds like it might violate the company drug policy) and the badge room completed over 5000 DART gold passes. Congrats everyone!

Then I found the Security Awareness Program section of the website. First thing I see is that “Security Officers perform patrols after normal business hours and during the weekends and holidays in search of unsecured items in the workplace.” (If 9:18AM on a non-holiday Thursday is “after normal business hours” then I am going about this work thing all wrong.) The site also says that the notices do not have any disciplinary consequences associated with them. Phew!

A little later I came across a section of the website entitled “Traffic and Parking.” Uh oh - this opens up a whole other can of worms. You see, another hard working employee who NEVER slacks on his job is my friend JC. JC is about 85 years old (if I had to guess) and he drives a golf cart around the parking lot outside Wing A of the building. To give you a little context: there is virtually no parking outside Wing A. There are several visitor spots (must have a visitor decal to park here!), a few spots where you can park no longer than 60 minutes, and just a few free-for-all spots. So if you work at the south end of the building, unless you get to work at 7AM, you will not be able to park legally anywhere near your office. You are expected to park at the North end of the building, then haul your laptop, purse, lunch, 44 ounce Sonic diet coke with extra limes, and whatever else you have with you for the day on your 10 minute walk down the long, long hallway. This is not fun first thing in the morning (or in new heels)! And to prove that I’m not the only one who thinks this – every year as part of a United Way fundraiser Visitor Parking Passes are auctioned off for winning bids of hundreds of dollars. (In total, the company raised $5,065 last year in the auction of 22 Visitor or Authorized parking permits that hundreds of people bid on)

So to keep us all honest, JC spends his days (5 days a week) driving around the south parking lot and writing parking tickets. Now I no longer work in Wing A, but I did for about 4 years. Many of you know I am not a morning person, which means I usually roll into work about two minutes before my first meeting, which leaves me no time for the bag-lady stroll down the hallway. So I had to learn to adapt to this parking nazi-ism, and I did learn a few tricks (I no longer work in Wing A, and therefore no longer have to compete for parking, so I’m not above sharing this information with fellow co-workers at this time)

• The 60 minute parking spaces are individually painted. So that means you are limited to parking 60 minutes in one spot (not the entire row of 60 minute spots). Since there are multiple spots, this means that at 9AM you can park in one 60 minute spot, then at 9:59AM you can move your car to another 60 minute spot (if it’s available), then at 10:59 move again, and so on and so forth. You can spend the whole day parked in the 60 minute parking row, but TECHNICALLY you are not violating the 60 minute parking rule.


• JC works the pedestrian gate at lunch from 11AM to 1PM. So if you park your car in a 60 minute spot at 10:01AM, you can actually leave it there for two hours and 58 minutes (until 12:59PM) because he won’t start writing tickets again until 1PM.


• JC leaves at 3PM every day. So if you park your car in a 60 minute spot no earlier than 2:01PM (or in any visitor spot at 3PM or later) you are safe


• Employees are supposed to have parking decals. I lost mine years ago and never got another, so I don’t have one. But don’t worry – JC still knows who you are! The parking office will look up your license plate through TXDOT to know what employee is parked illegally. This means that if you are in a rental car you are golden! Also I would suggest purchasing a new car while you are working in Wing A. JC can’t trace dealer plates back to the employee, so I think my dealer plates stayed on my car about four months while I enjoyed premium parking.


• If you do get a ticket – DO NOT THROW IT AWAY!!!! Save it, not only for your scrapbook, but also because you can put it back on your windshield the next time you are parked illegally and maybe, just maybe, JC will think he already ticketed you that day.
  

Despite these genius efforts, I still did occasionally receive citations. (And by occasionally, I mean I’d guess I received about 100 tickets in 4 years).

I told you, JC is very serious about his job. For example, one former co-worker remembered she’d left her car in 60 minute parking too long when she saw JC in his golf cart parked outside her car scribbling on his citation pad. She ran out and frantically explained she was just about to move her car and there was no need for him to give her a ticket. But he said that since he had already started writing the ticket, he had no choice. She pleaded with him, promising that no one would know if he tore it up. JC’s response? “God will know.” Touché, JC, touché.

Why did we care so much? Well the rumor was that if you had more than three parking tickets in a year, disciplinary action would be taken, aka, you could be fired. So after you got two tickets, not only did you get a pink slip on your windshield, but an email went to your boss (and sometimes your boss’ boss) notifying them of the infraction. Of course when you don’t know the system this can be intimidating. But come to find out, I don’t think I ever had a boss that cared. So in my 4 years in Wing A, I TRIED to follow the rules, but the truth is I didn’t try TOO hard!

I’m sure that JC misses me. Some former Wing A co-workers joked with me that JC is bored now that I’ve moved offices. Oh well. I think I’ve found my new BFF in security officer J. Williams. If only I could get someone to steal my work telephone so people would quit calling me!

So what is your company doing to ensure an equitable parking environment at work and keep you and your possessions safe? Remember, Security is Everyone’s Business!

NKOTB Review - October 19, 2008

The best place to Cougar hunt Sunday night wasn’t Duke’s or Martini Park or even Down Under Pub. It was American Airlines center, where amid crimped hair, gigantic buttons, and lots of bright pink and green, a few friends and I went back in time about 16 years (at the very reasonable price of $90 per person) to enjoy a night with our onetime FHs, The New Kids on the Block. There weren’t many teenagers (and the ones that were there appeared to be with their mother’s) and there weren’t many men (though Donnie praised those that were there as being smart and declaring they would definitely “get some” tonight). There were so few men, in fact, that the men’s bathrooms had been converted into additional facilities for the ladies. Of course the one time I visited the men’s room, I nearly gagged at the unmistakable stench of urine, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

I can basically sum up my demeanor last night in one word – giggly. I think I laughed throughout the entire concert I was so giddy. I wasn’t expecting quite the reaction I had, although in hindsight it makes sense. I mean the New Kids really are the only good memory I have of junior high (other than the time the radio station came to school and I got to spin the wheel and won a gift certificate to the movie theater). And I was surprised that all the words to every song came back to me so quickly – I should have never doubted myself. I remember very clearly a debate I had with my mother around age 11 over the overall impact of our favorite boy bands. Somehow I don’t think I ever got her to come around to my way of thinking:

“Oh Kelly we totally felt that way about the Beatles when we were your age.”

“No Mom – this is WAY bigger than the Beatles! This is NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!!!”

The guys don’t really appear to have changed much. Joey is still adorable. Donnie is still ghetto (in a super hot way). Jordan still has a ridiculous falsetto voice. And Jon and Danny were still merely backup singers. One noticeable change is that the guys (especially Joey) are no longer boys. I’m pretty sure that “Please Don’t Go Girl” was dropped about five keys since apparently, Joey went through puberty sometime in the last 16 years. But boys or men, 1992 or 2008, there will always be some definite crotch grabbing, and I mean that in the least perverted way possible.

One of the highlights came when the band disappeared from the stage and reappeared on an elevated rotating platform near the back of the floor section. With my seat one level off the floor near the back, this put me probably the closest I’ve ever physically been to Joey, my favorite New Kid. They performed four of five songs on this platform, including “Tonight,” a song they wrote near the end of their glory days that referenced several of their early hits. It was at this point that some woman threw her bra onto the stage. Jordan playfully picked it up and swung it over his head like a lasso, just as he had done countless times decades ago.

There were a few songs that allowed the guys to showcase their solo careers. While Joey’s song was most likely to be featured in a cheesy Kate Hudson/Matthew McConaughey movie, Jordan garnered much attention when while standing over a wind machine he flipped his white button up shirt back to expose a pleasantly surprising chiseled chest. And what did Donnie do at the end of his song? Pull his pants down below his boxers, duh.

(I must say that I did have a revelation last night – “I’ll Be Loving You Forever” is possibly the best first dance wedding song ever written. “There’s just so much that I want to say but when I look at you all my thoughts get in the way.” I mean seriously, how come that doesn’t get more wedding play?)

Last night I flashed back to memories of attending New Kids on the Block concerts in elementary and junior high school with friends I can’t even remember the names of, though I do remember one of the guys took off his sweaty shirt and threw it to someone in my section. I’m pretty sure I cried. It also brought back memories of the night I spent in the Four Seasons hotel lobby hoping to get a glimpse of NSync (Joey Fatone said hi to me!). Basically the whole evening reaffirmed my love of boy bands. I mean any boy band will do. Pair Zac Efron with the Jonas Brothers and I’ll buy the CD, a concert ticket, and I’ll probably join the fan club too.

The finale was the ultimate culmination. Fifteen thousand adult women waving their hands back and forth to “Hangin’ Tough,” diverting for a while into Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” then back to “Hangin’ Tough” supersized with electric guitars and sparkly lights. I’m not kidding when I say two EMTs had to come down to our section to ask if one woman was okay. But the thing about fifteen thousand 30-something year old women with fully developed lungs – well lets just say my ears are still ringing.

I, on the other hand, didn’t spend the whole night screaming at the top of my lungs, and I didn’t throw my bra on stage, but did I throw my hands in the air and wave them like I just don’t care when prompted by Donnie? Why yes, I did.

30 Things in the Next 30 Years

My 30th birthday came and went. I don’t really feel too much older, unless you count the fact that after I do step aerobics my knees crack when I walk down the stairs for the next two days. In my last blog I gave you “30 Things in 30 Years.” And while I’ve accomplished a lot in my 30 years , I also made a list of 30 things I’d like to do in the next 30 years. So here goes:

1. Get married. That’s right Mom – I said it. It’s on my list.

2. Live for a year or two outside of the US. Really anywhere but Antarctica would be okay with me. I don’t think there would be enough fleece in the world to make that comfortable.

3. Learn to play the fiddle. OK – I realize a fiddle really is a violin, but I would like to play “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and besides it’s way more interesting to say, “I play the fiddle.”

4. Learn sign language. Currently I know the alphabet and a few bad words, but that’s it.

5. Write a book. At a minimum it would be a compilation of non-fiction short stories a la David Sedaris, but without the drugs.

6. Take a mission trip to Africa. And maybe, Mom, I’ll buy a kid while I’m there.

7. Learn a foreign language. Spanish would be practical, but Norwegian? That would be fun!

8. Learn to dive. I don’t mean scuba dive. I mean actually jump off the diving board with my arms over my head and go head first (feet last) into the water without doing a belly flop.

9. Make a gigantic anonymous donation to something. Any ideas on how to get rich first?

10. Quit biting my nails. I’ve tried – I can’t help it if the pepper flavored nail polish tastes good.

11. Fit into my prom dress. OK really I mean just lose some weight, but if I could fit into my prom dress I’d take a picture and make a Christmas card out of it.

12. Learn to fly and get my pilot’s license (and maybe spell out kproc.com in the air with my plane)

13. Go skydiving. WHEEEEEE!!!!!

14. Join a band. Maybe I can be the fourth Dixie Chick!

15. Go on a vacation without taking my laptop. Good luck, self.

16. Spend several weeks in the Italian countryside taking cooking and wine classes. Maybe I should learn to like tomato sauce first.

17. Go to Hawaii. I’d fire walk, hula dance, be an extra on Lost, the whole nine yards.

18. Compete in a reality show. Any one but The Real World. I really think I could kick some butt on Survivor.

19. Go back to school to get my PhD so I can officially be Doctor Proctor!

20. Visit Australia Mate!

21. Participate in a step aerobics marathon. By my calculations, doing step aerobics for five hours straight is equivalent to running 26.2 miles at 5 miles per hour (that’s how slow I’d run). Who wants to do it with me? We can pick a charity.

22. Go to the Superbowl (hopefully when the Cowboys are playing – probably when I’m like 80 years old)

23. Read the whole bible. Not the kids bible with all the pictures. I mean the real thing.

24. Learn to scuba dive. I hear I might suffocate, but the Australian scenery might be worth it.

25. Learn to play the harmonica, and get one of those things that goes around your neck so you can play harmonica without holding it in your hands. I know, that’s hot.

26. At least try to water ski. I know I will fall, but I should probably try at least once instead of breaking my back on that stupid tube.

27. See my nephew (and other nieces and nephews that may come) graduate from college. If they graduate from UT I might even buy them a present.

28. Play in a fantasy football league with a bunch of guys and WIN! That would make the guys at work REAL happy!

29. Buy a baby grand piano to go in the music room I don’t yet have in the house I don’t yet have

30. Find some stupid hidden talent and perform it on Conan O’Brien’s show. Suggestions?

Wow – this is a pretty big list. I better get to work!

30 Things in 30 Years

Composed September 15, 2008

Here I am, on the eve of the 30th anniversary of my birth. I have a glass of Shiraz in one hand, a diet coke in the other, and the Cowboys on TV. I am reflective.

30 years is a long time, and so I started to think of whether I’d made the most of my 30 years on earth. Of course there are things I still want to do (those will be revealed in a future blog), but I made a list of 30 things I have done or accomplished that at least I can say I’ve “checked off my list” so to speak. It was hard to cut it down to just 30, but in no particular order, 30 things in 30 years:

1. I decided I wanted to play the guitar, so I did. Two guitars and countless dollars spent in lessons later, I play a mean “Silent Night”

2. I watched a guy drink snake blood in a Taiwanese market. This is an accomplishment, because it confirmed for me that I will never, ever do it.

3. I jumped off a three story cliff canyoning in Switzerland. The funny thing is that after I jumped my friend Jasmine, the one who begged and pleaded and insisted I go in the first place, chickened out and had to rappel down.

4. I went on a walking beer tour in the middle of January with ten complete strangers in Munich, half of whom I could not communicate with. And I discovered – Russians don’t just throw back vodka.

5. I danced in a televised parade. 7th grade – Foley’s Thanksgiving Day parade in Houston. We danced to Vogue. I froze my jazz hands off.

6. I ran in a race. Yes me. Yes a race. A fun run actually. I think I was about six. We ran around the football stadium. On the backside of the football stadium I realized I was in last place. So when I turned the corner toward the finish line, I started limping as if I’d fallen down and THAT’S why I was last. I have never revealed that to anyone until now. Somehow I still got a trophy.

7. I sustained a sports injury. I tore my ACL snow skiing, and I’ve been back on the slopes about five times since the surgery. Every time I’ve skied since then I have never fallen. Not even when David Daniels and Ryan Blakeney tried to take me down.

8. I bought a house and a car all by myself. Of course I did not realize I was going to have to spend two hours a day changing light bulbs.

9. I saw my brother play cello in the Texas All State Orchestra, which is cool, except that he sweats a lot.

10. I made it 30 years without being arrested. Take that Reagan!!!!

11. I learned how to tap dance. And after another glass of wine, I may just put on a little show for myself.

12. I managed to never use any kind of drugs, except for whatever you people may have slipped me over the years without my knowledge.

13. I watched the University of Texas (the greatest school ever!) win the BCS championship against USC, live in person.

14. I tried out for a reality show – The Apprentice. I could have been Omarosa.

15. I enjoyed certain delicacies in Asia, like a Green Bean popsicle in Beijing, and Pig Ear in Hong Kong (chewy!)

16. I watched basketball (March Madness) and played craps with the mafia in Vegas

17. I, along with several friends, was solicited by a swinging couple on a cruise. We politely declined.

18. I went to the Olympics (Atlanta 1996) – baseball and women’s basketball. My two favorite sports! (That’s sarcasm)

19. I “studied” abroad twice – once in Paris and once in Hong Kong. Notice the strategic use of quotation marks with the word studied.

20. I got my MBA. Or should I say that while working full time I agonized through two and a half years of mind-numbing lectures when even a 64 ounce double gulp was NEVER enough diet coke

21. I learned how to make a website and get over 104,000 hits.

22. I survived a church retreat as a chaperone for 100 junior high and high school kids at church. And I thought I wasn’t a kid person!

23. I learned to like roller coasters after being terrified when I was younger, and now it’s love.

24. I went wine tasting in Napa in a limo with my infamous ex. At least I got a trip to San Francisco out of him.

25. I somehow, someway kept my composure in my bridesmaid dress when retrieving aforementioned ex from the hospital in New Orleans after a very unfortunate (for him) night.

26. I bought a piano after not having played for eight years, just because I heard Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” on the radio

27. I went white water rafting in Lake Tahoe. Accidentally wore helmet backwards. Flipped completely out of the boat.

28. I visited a Japanese beer brewery with co-workers and took an hour long tour that I couldn’t understand a word of.

29. I hiked the Great Wall of China in flip flops. I thought we were just going to look and take pictures, and had left my Puma’s at home.

30. I taught my two year old nephew to chant “Romo! Romo!” much to the chagrin of my Texans fanatic brother in law.

In conclusion, I was told yesterday that I am a “desperate, desperate, Cougar” And since I have an hour and a half to go, this desperate desperate Cougar is going to go play with her Snoopy Sno Cone Machine.

Random mini-blogs

Well it’s been a while since I’ve posted here and I’m feeling pretty uninspired lately, so I’m going to string together some mini-blogs. If anyone would like to suggest topics for future blogs, please send them my way. I’m out of ideas.
Here’s some snippets…

So your boobs really do get bigger after having a kid…
Here is a mini-guest blog from my little sister Ashley. She had been working at her new job about two weeks when this unfortunate event occurred. Here it is in her words:
I was sitting in a morning meeting at 10 am this morning when a horrific thing occurred. Not 2 minutes into it, I barely leaned on the corner of the table, and I hear a snap. I realized my underwire on my bra had broken. So I'm hoping it will be short meeting so I can go to the restroom and adjust. But no, of course not. So as the meeting gets longer and longer, the wire inches out more and more. It is stabbing me and pinching me and is just overall extremely painful. As soon as the meeting ends (1.5 hours later), I tell my boss I need to take my lunch break to go to the Galleria and buy a new bra, as at this point the one I'm currently wearing is completely useless. So I get in my car as fast as I can and find the nearest Wamu (I got my first check today, and needed to deposit it before buying a bra). I rush back to my parking garage, park, and run across to the galleria and enter through Nordstroms. I find this new store a friend told me about because I desperately need a fitting as well. When I tell them what size I think I am (38C) they laugh. I try on a few new bras, and discover I am a 34F. And my boobs are slightly mis-shapen from wearing the wrong size bra. I buy one bra and promise to come back when I'm not on my lunch break.

Now my boobs feel absolutely amazing and I never knew a bra could feel so good. Plus, they don't sag anymore. But I still have a nasty red spot where my wire rubbed me raw....

It must take something stronger than beer to get through a Britney Spears concert
My mom and two and a half year old nephew Trevor came to visit me a couple of weeks ago while my brother attended cello camp in Arlington. We did lots of fun stuff while they were here – played in the pool, rode the trolley, went shopping, etc. But probably the highlight of Trevor’s visit was when we went to the circus at American Airlines Center. I think he’s still playing with his $30 spinning light thingy and talking about lions and elephants and clowns. When we went to the circus, I had had a tough week and an even tougher day, so the whole car ride to the circus I was hoping and praying they would be selling beer there. I could just taste the cold, frothy goodness. And guess what – they sold beer and I drank every drop out of my 24 ounce cup! But here’s the ironic part – I remember very clearly attending a Britney Spears concert several years ago at the very same venue where beer was not available for sale. So you can buy beer at the circus, but not at the Britney concert? Go figure. Well it was right around the time she was starting to go downhill - maybe it was for her own protection.

There’s No Place Like Aunt Kelly’s
As I mentioned Trevor’s visit to Dallas was probably the highlight of his life. At the end of the week I took Trevor for a six hour car ride to Evadale, Texas for a family reunion. It was there that he would be reunited with his mom and dad after spending nearly a week apart. My sister had never been away from Trevor for that long, so naturally she was very excited to see him. So when we pulled up she started running toward the car. Trevor stood there watching her run toward him staring at her like she was crazy. When she got a few feet away, Trevor ran over to me and wrapped around my leg. I’m pretty sure I saw a tear in Ashley’s eye, but I am just glad that I am henceforth known as the fun aunt.

Red, Hot, and Puke
Last Friday several of us went to eat lunch at Dallas BBQ joint Red, Hot, and Blue. It was me and seven guys (I work with all guys, therefore I eat lunch with all guys). Today at work it seemed relatively sparse for a Monday. Turns out that half the people I had eaten lunch with on Friday got food poisoning and spent their entire weekends in the bathroom. Either that or they concocted this ploy to all skip out on work today. Either way, they all had the pulled pork, and it seems that many are still paying for it. I’m just glad I got the chicken.

Olga! Homer! Get in time out!
It’s raining babies. My friend Jenny will give birth to daughter number two later this week. My cousin and his wife had a baby on Saturday. And the fun is just beginning for my friend Laura who is carrying quadruplets. Despite my mothers’ urging to adopt a baby girl from China (“Ya know you don’t have to be married to adopt a child, Kelly. Who’s going to care for you when you get old?”) I am years away from learning how to suppress my gag reflex long enough to change a diaper. But something has happened – my cousin and his wife stole my baby name. Madeline. Maddie for short. It’s not their fault, I thought it might be pretty psychopathic of me to declare to the world I had names picked out for my un-conceived children. And why should I? I mean maybe if I could find someone to pretend to be my FH (future husband) for a few minutes I might have a right to claim names. But clearly I’m no where near that, so I can’t just reserve names. What was I thinking? But at the rate my friends are popping them out, and at the speed at which I’m cruising at, I just better get used to sound of Agnes and Hugh.

That hula hoop trick was a perfect ten
Can I just say what everyone is thinking? Thank goodness the Olympics are over! Sure at first it was fun – Michael Phelps, underage gymnasts, but was it worth the four hoursof sleep a night I’ve been averaging? It was more frustrating than anything. Here are some of my observations:
Why can’t we prove the Chinese gymnasts are underage? It’s 2008 people – isn’t there some kind of DNA testing or something like that? It’s not like they are barely too young. They are freaking 12! If we can count rings to tell the age of a tree, then why can’t we tell how old a human is? Does anyone else think this is weird?

I’ve never run track before, but I would think that passing off the baton in a track relay would be an essential and fundamental skill. I know. Call me crazy. How is it possible that both the US men and women could screw it up? Was it covered in Vaseline? I’m not claiming to be an expert in baton handoffs, but they should be! How does something like that happen? Similarly, serving a volleyball over a net in bounds should probably be a given for an Olympic volleyball player.

The first week was exciting, the second week was boring, but thank goodness we could cap the whole thing off with a healthy dose of rhythmic gymnastics. I must say the hula hoop skills are mesmerizing. I see an extremely successful Cirque Du Soleil career in these girls’ future.
I’m just saying I think I’ll be okay waiting four years for the next one. That’s all.

Smoke? No Way!
Well I’m still doing the online dating thing, or should I stay I’m still paying for the online dating thing. It hasn’t been quite as much fun since Grapevine Chris quit stalking me. Match.com was boring me, and since I was looking for some kproc.com inspiration, I took advantage of the Eharmony $45 for three months sale. That hasn’t been that exciting either. Here’s a guy who says Smoke – No Way! (one of my basic criteria), yet his profile picture shows him with a cig hanging out the right side of his mouth. Sexy. I did initiate communication with a guy with a mustache, just to change it up a little. I’ve been on one so-so date and one excruciatingly painful date. Just one or two more and I’ll have my memberships paid off, and hopefully some good blog material. But so far, nothing exciting to report. Maybe I should reach out to Grapevine Chris and see if he’ll go back to stalking me.

It’s not like it’s 238,494 Zambian Kwacha’s
I’m currently fighting with my old apartment complex. They are trying to charge me excessive and unreasonable charges for my move out in March above and beyond the deposit I already agreed to forfeit. We have been fighting over this for a couple of months now, and the current negotiated bill is for $65.24. Yes, I know it’s not like they are trying to charge me $500, and writing a $66 check won’t break the bank, but it’s the principle of it. Without going into too much detail, I will say that when I was moving out I called the office and asked what I needed to do, and I proceeded to follow instructions that were provided to me over the phone. Apparently the person I was talking to was smoking something, since doing what they told me to do was not enough to avoid these ridiculous charges. But none of those people work there anymore, the entire management has changed, and everyone refuses to believe me. I realize now I should have been recording every phone conversation I ever had.

I filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, but I also didn’t want to have a $66 bill hanging over my head, so I went in a few weeks ago to pay my bill. With 6,524 pennies. It’s US legal tender, but the office refused to accept it, even though no where does it state they only take check or money order as they claim. So I’m still fighting this with the leasing office, the corporate office, and through the Better Business Bureau. If they refuse to accept my payment I’ll be glad to pay via check. 6,524 of them for $0.01 each. Anyone have a check printing hook up?