Flashback Friday

Here's a video from Jeff's 30th. He's actually still 30, so although this isn't from too far back, I think it still counts as a "flashback" because it's BB (Before blog).  We celebrated with 2 friends at Grand Cascades Lodge in Northern NJ (out past a bazillion places that I swear did not exist in this state - wild west park, anyone?).  In a word, Grand Cascades is...PERFECTION.  I mean, they have an indoor Bio-sphere and an outdoor heated (and an unheated, brr) pool!    I know it was Jeff's birthday, but it was one of my favorite weekends ever!

PS. This video was not edited by me.  Our friend (in the video) did it for us. Isn't it great?!
PPS. Enjoy!

The Rebel Toothbrusher.

I have a mini rebel living within me (it's like a mini-pony, but in my brain).  It makes me enjoy things that are not supposed to be enjoyed merely because they are different and being an oddball excites me. How to deal? Growing up, I'd flunk a test here or there, draw/paint/vandalize my own bedroom walls, walk to parties instead of drive (and driving was way cooler), or NOT even attempting to have a sip of alcohol at Woodstock '99 when I was 16 and definitely could have gotten away with it.  Isn't being different fun?!  Nowadays, I still have my quirks - the walking thing, not getting an iPhone, not reading Harry Potter or Twilight, or wearing "name" brands.  There are a million things that I find myself being a little rebellious with on the regular.  And toothpaste is one of them.

As a kid, my parents would HATE how gross I allowed my toothpaste container to become.  They weren't even being mean, my toothpaste was nasty...and did no small wonders for making the hallway bathroom appear tidy.  Still, no matter how many times they begged/thought I was brain dead/pleaded for a cleaner toothpaste tube appearance, I couldn't shake my love for a freeing toothpaste application experience.  Oh, kids. So silly.

Now I am almost 30.  I have a career. I have a husband and a super-mutt.  I have my own house...with my own bathroom (see where I'm going with this).  I have my own toothpaste. And it looks like this:

Just enough room for miniscule portions of paste to squeeze out. Perfect.

This glob is hidden when houseguests are around. Don't worry.

Being a mini-rebel is tough. And somewhat disgusting.

Sorry Mom!

The sky is falling!

That's what I thought, at least, when the wind blew earlier today and a branch the size of Hercules fell onto the roof right above the office I was working in (I could have died!!! Crap).  Not only did said Herculean branch knock a picture straight off of the wall, it also scared the bejeezus out of Remy and I! Obviously, Remy ran to the front door to yell at whoever dropped the gargantuan branch onto us so rudely while I went out back to survey the damage.  Yowza.  Living amongst my tree friends is a wee bit scary some days.  Anyone know a good arborist?

Now let's all say a cheer that this didn't happen to your house!  Weeee!

I did this for perspective, but I don't think it worked. Perspective fail.

  Where are we supposed to put this thing?  Chop it up and burn the wood in a fire pit? Great idea!   To do: buy a fire pit.

I'm not gonna lie...you should just lie.

Dear "I'm not gonna lie" phrase lovers and abusers,

First of all, thank you...for not lying to me.  Second of all, does someone regularly accuse you of speaking in non-truths? Are you a recovering pathological liar? Or are you merely making it known that this is a free country and you could lie if you wanted to lie, but you don't so you won't?  

I get that it's the modern-day version of "honestly..." but I am so done with the added sentence bulk.  Maybe we can retire it...just for a little? Til momma's ears have had a rest?

I'm not gonna lie (because if I were, I wouldn't tell you) this phrase is killing me (not an exaggeration). 

Happy Saturday, Passover and Easter!

Flashback Friday

From an early age, I realized that I was verrrry different from my peers in one very huge way: I had parents who did not give a crap what I looked like when I left the house...SO I dressed like a crazy person.

From ages 5 and up, I had free reign of my abysmal hand-me-down filled closet, allowing me to show the world just how disheveled and wildly unkempt a kid can look.  Jealous?  I understand.  Two things came out of this life experiment: I lived a pretty creative existence as a kid AND I have horrendous childhood photos.

Here is a gem taken from the back seat of our mini-van as we drove to North Carolina:

Happy weekend!

Veggie Loaves are...not attractive.

Guess what this lucky girl had for lunch?!

A veggie-filled monster turd with cat throw up poured over it!   

Stop, I'm drooling. 

If the 8 year old version of myself ever caught wind that I would later in life become someone who willingly consumed veggies in loaf form, I would have passed out flat on the playground.  Which is actually great because it would give now-me a chance to slide a nice slice of veggie loaf down my little kid gullet.  Gotta get those taste buds ready! YUM!!! This stuff is awesome.
 

Mama Don't Club No Mo'

Last night, I went where no part of me wanted/but everyone thinks a Jersey girl should want...to go.  I went to a club.  Like an, UNCE UNCE UNCE, fists in the air, guido-loving club.  And I've never been more terrified.  

The days leading up to the big clubbing extravaganza were nerve wracking.  Will I get let in at this age?  What if they see my wrinkles and turn me away?  Must I spring for a spandex tube dress with slits down the side, spray tan myself bronze like a little trophy and drop an ecstasy pill just to belong?  I mean, that's what clubbing is, right?  WHAT DO I DO?!  I figured that I should think back to college when clubbing was a weekly thing.  My brain short circuited immediately because back then when I went to a club, I was always just so pumped to have someone check my ID and let me through the door, that what happened afterwards was meaningless.  Even though, I'm pretty sure it included me laughing at my friends dancing while I never left the bar and inevitably talked someones' ear off.

FACTS: 

~I've always been a horrendous dancer and therefore only partake in moves such as the robot or a Shakespearean interpretation of Beyonce's, "Who Run the World?" 

~I've always liked bar stools. Clubs do not have bar stools. 

~Boozy Laura = Insanely loquacious Laura.  All I wanna do is TALK YO EAR OFF! Just kidding. Sorta.

So, no dancing, screaming over loud music to people who can't hear me with no place to sit.  That's what I went into it thinking about.  HOWEVER, the reason behind this whole club thing was going to be worth it.  One of my very best friends whom I've known and loved since the 6th grade was turning 29.  29!  That's a pretty big deal.  I obviously had to be there. She is a retired club kid who thought that it would be fun to throw the old dancing kicks back on for a night. I get it!  And I was even honored that she invited me.  So that's why I ended up at a "monster huge" club with reviews like: "Guido-supreme on Saturdays!" and "On most nights you can usually find a place to stand."

What happens if we don't find a place to stand?!  

Ultimately, we came, we clubbed, we got home at 2am and ate an entire pizza laughing over how ridiculously FUN the night was.  I can't believe how judgmental I've been to all these crazy clubbers.  Every girl that I talked to or bumped into was super nice and although some of guys were a tad on the scary-tan & muscle-y side, they weren't completely freaking me out with their guido supreme-ness.  I had an epiphany.  Guido's are people too! Sure, I probably won't ever go to a club again but I will definitely have more of an open mind about the whole thing.  Lesson learned. Go me!

Oh, and my voice is shot.  I scream/talked for 3 hours straight and proceeded to go completely deaf as I walked to our cab at 2am.  YAY!

Pictures from our fabulous 3 hour foray into the club scene:

Guido-bait.

Photobombed by the hubs.

Me and the birthday girl. Clubbing into our 30's!

It was WAY past our bedtimes.

xoxo
~L