I had something poignant and meaningful to post today, but it will simply have to wait until next week. Because somewhere during my morning blog stalking routine, I read something that is far too hilarious not to share with y'all.
And if you already follow The Heir To Blair, then I'm sure you already read it and are already laughing. Otherwise, click here and read immediately.
I die.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I Go Walking In My Sleep.
Meh. Today was Day 2 of Bootcamp. Katie (also known as "world's most evil trainer") made us partake in a loverly little obstacle course with a dash of circuit training thrown in.
Here's what I've learned so far:
Here's what I've learned so far:
- Running up and down steps sucks a great deal of ass.
- You use your hamstrings for ev-ah-ree-thang. I know this because I can FEEL them. Even when I don't move.
- My triceps? Weak as a kitten.
- 5:30 a.m. isn't so bad. Like, on a scale of 1 to Hiroshima, it's like a 5.2.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Listen Up!
I have an announcement to make: I'm expecting!
...a niece or nephew!
Bwaaahahaha. That was a mean trick, no?
Anyway, on or around February 14, Kelli will birth little "Baby Valentine" and make my Mom the happiest woman in the galaxy with grandbaby #2. Seriously. I think the woman was born to be a Grandma. For the record, I am what one could call over le moon about this news...except for one peeny, weeny detail that is may-jah-ly getting in my way: the entire state of Connecticut.
CT is not MI. And thusly, I cannot see my sister every day. I cannot rub her belly whenever I want. I cannot pick her up randomly one night to go on an adventure to Meijer to curb her latest cheesy poof craving. I cannot leave work and show up at the hospital 10 minutes after her water breaks in a state of panic/elation. I cannot visit her every single day after the baby is born and laugh as she hooks herself up to the "milking machine." Basically, I can't do all the amazing things she did for me while I was pregnant. And it sucks. A great, great deal.
But, the upside of this is that I'M GETTING A NIEPHEW! That's what I've nicknamed le babe. They will not find out the sex, so I can't specifically say 'neice' or 'nephew'. And so, I combined the two words and made up my own. Niece + Nephew = Niephew! In related news, I always get the i-e arrangement in niece wrong. Thank you, schpellchek.
Now, it's time to plan a shower with Mom and Jill!!
...a niece or nephew!
Bwaaahahaha. That was a mean trick, no?
Anyway, on or around February 14, Kelli will birth little "Baby Valentine" and make my Mom the happiest woman in the galaxy with grandbaby #2. Seriously. I think the woman was born to be a Grandma. For the record, I am what one could call over le moon about this news...except for one peeny, weeny detail that is may-jah-ly getting in my way: the entire state of Connecticut.
CT is not MI. And thusly, I cannot see my sister every day. I cannot rub her belly whenever I want. I cannot pick her up randomly one night to go on an adventure to Meijer to curb her latest cheesy poof craving. I cannot leave work and show up at the hospital 10 minutes after her water breaks in a state of panic/elation. I cannot visit her every single day after the baby is born and laugh as she hooks herself up to the "milking machine." Basically, I can't do all the amazing things she did for me while I was pregnant. And it sucks. A great, great deal.
But, the upside of this is that I'M GETTING A NIEPHEW! That's what I've nicknamed le babe. They will not find out the sex, so I can't specifically say 'neice' or 'nephew'. And so, I combined the two words and made up my own. Niece + Nephew = Niephew! In related news, I always get the i-e arrangement in niece wrong. Thank you, schpellchek.
Now, it's time to plan a shower with Mom and Jill!!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Dear Readers:
Today marked day one of Boot Camp. Le sigh.
If getting up at 5:00 a.m. doesn't kill me, certainly I will die of other causes. (Read: squats, lunges, planks, dead lifts, sprints, hills, steps, excessive sweating, etc.) The combination of the hardcore-ness of this camp and my low level of fitness are NOT a match made in heaven.
I won't be able to move tomorrow, of this I am sure. So don't expect much out of me, mmmkay?
Smoochies,
A (very) sore Kristi
If getting up at 5:00 a.m. doesn't kill me, certainly I will die of other causes. (Read: squats, lunges, planks, dead lifts, sprints, hills, steps, excessive sweating, etc.) The combination of the hardcore-ness of this camp and my low level of fitness are NOT a match made in heaven.
I won't be able to move tomorrow, of this I am sure. So don't expect much out of me, mmmkay?
Smoochies,
A (very) sore Kristi
Friday, September 3, 2010
Poppi: The Awake Version.
I received a vewwy interesting phone call from my Dad yesterday. It seemed his course of action was to file a formal complaint with the PR folks 'round here regarding the manner in which he's been portrayed on this little bliggity blog.
Apparently, he's sleeping in every picture I've ever posted. Here's his formal rebuttal:
Apparently, he's sleeping in every picture I've ever posted. Here's his formal rebuttal:
And you wonder where I get my writing skills?
Upon looking back through the archives, it would appear he is correct. So, in an effort to remedy the situation and prove to you all that my Dad, in fact, spends most of his days as an awake, alive and functioning member of society, I give you this:
Dad and Gramps chillin' at a Loons game. AWAKE.
Dad and Kyle at a Tigers game. Also AWAKE.
With yours truly at my wedding. AWAKE and dancing!
Attempting a racing victory @ Alex's first birthday party.
Notably, AWAKE and driving.
Kelli pictured at left attempting to save Alex's little life.
Kelli pictured at left attempting to save Alex's little life.
With my Mom, somewhere. I wish I had his blue eyes...
which are AWAKE in this picture.
Again, with the Momma. And AWAKE.
And lookin' fine, if I do say so mah-self.
So there you have it. My Dad does not sleep all the time. And when he does? He snores. Probably wasn't authorized to tell you that. I should buckle up for another phone call, I suppose.
Oh, and for what it's worth, his middle name isn't really "Dentist." It's Dennis. For most of my childhood (read: until I was 14) I honestly thought it was Dentist, and will never live it down.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Love Fest, Year Three.
As I may or may not have previously mentioned, Joe and I always take a trip on our anniversary weekend. I plan the odd years, he plans the evens. Since this was year tres, I did the planning...and I think I get an A+, if I do say so myself.
A few days before the trip, I printed this out and left it on his car:
If you look closely, it provides hints for the entire weekend. I know, I'm awesome.
The trip began with a HUGE adventure. A friend (Hi, Beth!) is a frequent traveler on the Megabus, which boasts fares from Detroit to Chicago for as low as $1. Yes, one dollar. I'm not a huge fan of public transportation (read: sketchy people, small spaces & funny smells), but Beth promised me the buses were clean and the ride was smooth, so I gave it a whirl.
Well, the Megabus did not disappoint. The WHOLE trip (there AND back) cost a TOTAL of $22. Exactly $9 for each ticket there, $1 for each ticket back and a $0.50 reservation fee on each ticket. I know. Unreal. The bus was clean (a double decker!), the drivers were nice and the people were (with the exception of us) relatively normal. The buses even have a potty and free WiFi and power outlets. We were there in a little over five and a half hours -- way faster than the train and WAY cheaper than flying. Awesomesauce all around for the Megabus.
Upon arriving, we checked into our suite at the Allerton Hotel (hello, Mag Mile) and vamoosed it right on over to Frontera Grill for our lunch reservations. Look, people. There's a 3 month waiting list to even get INTO this restaurant, so I really thought ahead. We love Rick Bayless, Mexican food and the Food Network in general, so this stop was really a no-brainer. In summary: far and away thee best margarita I've ever had in my entire life. And the Sopes Rancheros are still haunting my dreams. AMAZING.
After a little shopping and a little walking, we went back to le hotel to fancy ourselves up for dinner at N9NE Steakhouse. I bought a Groupon for this bad boy a few months ago and couldn't WAIT to use it. Is it sounding like all we did was eat on this trip? Because it's true.
On the way home, we stopped at the Signature Room on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Building for a drink and a lovely view of the city. Que romantico.
The next day, we had an overwhelmingly yummy breakfast at Eggsperience. Hello, portions! And following what very well could have been my last meal, ever, we went to a matinee of Shrek The Musical. If you do ONE thing the next time you're in Chicago, go see this show. It rocks. Joe claims that the ending (The 'I'm a Believer' sequence) was the highlight of his whole trip, which says a lot.
That night, we had rezzies at Art Smith's Table Fifty Two. Fun fact: if you watch "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" on The Food Network, you know that it's a tippity top secret that he serves his famous fried chicken on Sunday nights only. Coincidence that our dinner was on a Sunday night? Ithinknot. The food was absolutely scrum-diddly-umptious, but let's get to the REAL point, shall we? ART SMITH WAS THERE! Like, in the flesh (Skinny flesh, mind you. The man's lost like 100 lbs.). He walked around and greeted everyone, acting like we were all old friends. And when he PERSONALLY brought over an anniversary dessert (Pecan Pie. I die.) to our table I about peed myself. Trip highlight, fo' sho.
And after we were done eating that meal, Joe dropped his fork in submission and said, "No wonder Oprah is 400 pounds." That's when I spewed the spiked tea all over myself.
On Monday, we had lunch at Grand Lux Cafe (I live for the Beignets) and took the Red Line to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs spank the Pirates (14-2). A brew or two at Harry Caray's Tavern and some late-night Cheescake at the Cheescake Factory rounded out the perfect weekend.
Here's to a million more just like it with my best friend and partner in crime.
A few days before the trip, I printed this out and left it on his car:
If you look closely, it provides hints for the entire weekend. I know, I'm awesome.
The trip began with a HUGE adventure. A friend (Hi, Beth!) is a frequent traveler on the Megabus, which boasts fares from Detroit to Chicago for as low as $1. Yes, one dollar. I'm not a huge fan of public transportation (read: sketchy people, small spaces & funny smells), but Beth promised me the buses were clean and the ride was smooth, so I gave it a whirl.
Well, the Megabus did not disappoint. The WHOLE trip (there AND back) cost a TOTAL of $22. Exactly $9 for each ticket there, $1 for each ticket back and a $0.50 reservation fee on each ticket. I know. Unreal. The bus was clean (a double decker!), the drivers were nice and the people were (with the exception of us) relatively normal. The buses even have a potty and free WiFi and power outlets. We were there in a little over five and a half hours -- way faster than the train and WAY cheaper than flying. Awesomesauce all around for the Megabus.
Upon arriving, we checked into our suite at the Allerton Hotel (hello, Mag Mile) and vamoosed it right on over to Frontera Grill for our lunch reservations. Look, people. There's a 3 month waiting list to even get INTO this restaurant, so I really thought ahead. We love Rick Bayless, Mexican food and the Food Network in general, so this stop was really a no-brainer. In summary: far and away thee best margarita I've ever had in my entire life. And the Sopes Rancheros are still haunting my dreams. AMAZING.
After a little shopping and a little walking, we went back to le hotel to fancy ourselves up for dinner at N9NE Steakhouse. I bought a Groupon for this bad boy a few months ago and couldn't WAIT to use it. Is it sounding like all we did was eat on this trip? Because it's true.
On the way home, we stopped at the Signature Room on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Building for a drink and a lovely view of the city. Que romantico.
The next day, we had an overwhelmingly yummy breakfast at Eggsperience. Hello, portions! And following what very well could have been my last meal, ever, we went to a matinee of Shrek The Musical. If you do ONE thing the next time you're in Chicago, go see this show. It rocks. Joe claims that the ending (The 'I'm a Believer' sequence) was the highlight of his whole trip, which says a lot.
That night, we had rezzies at Art Smith's Table Fifty Two. Fun fact: if you watch "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" on The Food Network, you know that it's a tippity top secret that he serves his famous fried chicken on Sunday nights only. Coincidence that our dinner was on a Sunday night? Ithinknot. The food was absolutely scrum-diddly-umptious, but let's get to the REAL point, shall we? ART SMITH WAS THERE! Like, in the flesh (Skinny flesh, mind you. The man's lost like 100 lbs.). He walked around and greeted everyone, acting like we were all old friends. And when he PERSONALLY brought over an anniversary dessert (Pecan Pie. I die.) to our table I about peed myself. Trip highlight, fo' sho.
And after we were done eating that meal, Joe dropped his fork in submission and said, "No wonder Oprah is 400 pounds." That's when I spewed the spiked tea all over myself.
On Monday, we had lunch at Grand Lux Cafe (I live for the Beignets) and took the Red Line to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs spank the Pirates (14-2). A brew or two at Harry Caray's Tavern and some late-night Cheescake at the Cheescake Factory rounded out the perfect weekend.
Here's to a million more just like it with my best friend and partner in crime.
Brew pictured is 312 Urban Wheat by Chicago Brewery Goose Island. YUM!
Also? I need a manicure.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Windy City Shenanigans.
Hi, childrens! Didya miss me? Didn't even notice I was gone? Hmmphhh.
Anyway, Joey and I have been away on a lovecation in le Windy City, celebrating three years of awesomeness.
Anyway, Joey and I have been away on a lovecation in le Windy City, celebrating three years of awesomeness.
It was glorious. Just the escape we needed. I shall review all of our adventures soon (hold onto your seats for the one about meeting Art Smith and me subsequently spewing spiked southern tea all over myself). In the meantime, please die over this adorable picture of Alex snoozing away with his Poppi, aka my Dad, for the new kids.
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