Thanks AMAZON...

Screen shot of an email I just received from Amazon this afternoon: 

Is it just me, or are they trying to tell me something?

(Or maybe Grammy Pammy?) ;P

Nanner, nanner, nanner...

A college friend of mine posted this link on Facebook for the Hutzler 571 Banana Slicer.  I had no idea that Amazon could be used for sarcasm and mockery, but I absolutely love it.

Anyway, it was too good not to share:

CLICK HERE FOR BRILLIANCE

For no particular reason, today was the day...

Actually, that is a lie.  There IS a reason.  My college roomie had a baby girl yesterday.  She named her Dorothy.  This made me think of The Wizard of Oz.  And, well, this will all make sense by the end of this post.

Maybe.

(Seriously.  There are no guarantees.)

It has been 7 years, 5 months and 27 days since I started this blog. And for 7 years, 5 months and 27 days I have been irritated that my little corner of the internet is called BLINKY MOMENTS.

Yes, I know: #firstworldproblems. It is amazing I can sleep at night.

The original name for this blog is now (FINALLY) the name of this blog. BLINKY MOMENTS was only supposed to be temporary. Except I am notoriously lazy and have never been motivated enough to simply sit down and figure out how to change the header. Which, as it turns out, is ridiculously easy and took less than two minutes.

Awesome.

For those of you who are curious, LOSING THE UP-TO-UP-TO-SIDE-TO-SIDE ROPES is a reference to an inside joke from college. And by “inside joke” I really mean “I said something incredibly stupid and everyone is still laughing at my expense twelve years later”.

Stuff like this actually happens to me all the time.

For instance, for years and years and years I thought cows were traded on Wall Street. When I heard that so-and-so bought whatever stock, I envisioned a cow wearing a blanket with a company logo on the side. I always felt bad for the cows that were bought and sold constantly and never had a nice, consistently loving home. I even once vowed as a child that I would be a good stock owner one day, and provide my cows with some emotional stability.

Because cows need stability.  Especially those living in New York City on Wall Street.  Because NYC is all concrete and skyscrapers.  Not green pastures and acres of farm land like those "happy cows" have out in California.  New York cows need to know they are loved.  Because life is hard for the city cow.  They need a reason to carry on.

(THIS MAKES SENSE TO ME!)

Of course, it helps if I mention the fact that my dad, grandfather and great grandfather were all cattle ranchers. At least there was a context for my confusion. Granted, you would have thought I would have figured it out before, say, high school (let’s not talk about that). And yet, to this day, I always picture a bunch of cows when discussing or reviewing my portfolio.

Case in point: Yesterday I debated whether or not to sell a stock because my grandfather gave it to me DECADES ago. Rationally, I know that there is no such thing as a sentimental share of a publicly traded company.  It is just business. But that didn’t keep me from imagining an elderly herd of cows that once knew my grandfather.  They were counting on me.  If I sold them, they would be back out THERE.  In the chaos of the trading room floor.  That's a young cow's game.  Sending old cows back out there is just...well, cruel.

(You can’t make this kind of crazy up, people.)

(And, yes. I still own this stock.  All of it.)

(Moo.)

Similarly, I was well into my double digits before I finally figured out that pharmacists weren't drug dealers. After all, they worked in a DRUG STORE with DRUGS.  I just couldn't figure out why the cops weren't on to them.  If they simply raided all the pharmacies, they would find all the drugs and they could confiscate them.  National drug epidemic SOLVED.

It didn’t help that I once saw a movie where a drug deal went down in an alley behind a drug store.

And then there is the Dolphin Show I coordinated in my mind to the theme song from Top Gun.  But that is an entirely different post all together.  But suffice it to say, I thought Sea World was going to be knocking down my door to hire me to train all their dolphins and whales once they got a hold of it.  Mainly because it was a multi species event, and who doesn't love it when nature collaborates on something fabulous set to music?

'Nuf said.

(Stop laughing, Trevor.)

But back to the Wizard of Oz. There is a scene in the movie, after the house gets picked up by the tornado, when Dorothy turns to Toto and says:

“We must be up inside the cyclone.”

Except I always heard:

“We lost the up-to-up-to-side-to-side ropes.”

Because for over TWO DECADES I thought houses were literally tied to their foundations.  Especially in Kansas, the midwest and other tornado-prone areas.

And, even though I now know that houses aren’t tied to the ground (thanks to the hysterical laughter of all my college besties), my mind always flashes to imaginary ropes underneath our home during particularly bad thunderstorms. Which, since I live in tornado alley, is pretty often.  I know these foundation ropes don't exist, and yet I always find myself crossing my fingers and saying a little prayer that they hold strong anyway.  Because, you know, I'd hate for my house to be blown away like Dorothy's,

If any of this is making you blink at your computer screen, then you know how I coined BLINKY MOMENTS.

So, there you go.  A new name for an old blog.  Except it is the original name.  So it is really an old name for an old blog.

Welcome to the world, baby Dorothy.  You are loved.

Screw Hallmark. Travelers Insurance commercials make me cry...

Love this SO much...
(Stop laughing at me TREVOR)

Geography has never been my strong suit, but I guess I should be grateful our power wasn't knocked out by Sandy...

Photo of my TV screen.

Taken while watching the 10 PM news on NBC 5.

In DALLAS.

Happy Easter (Egg)!

Less of a egg hunt. More of an egg pick up.

My baby is getting so old...

Some reasons to love Waxahachie...

The Ross Sisters...

This is really amazing. The song is catchy, but nothing special. The crazy stuff comes afterwards, and the stunt in the hay loft with the apple is going to give me nightmares. Because, really? Who sits at home and night and thinks doing something like THAT is a good idea? Where were their parents?!

(And, no, it is not porn. The image You Tube froze the video on suggests it might be something...lurid. But it isn't. Honest.)

HAPPY EASTER!

And, just out of curiosity, do you think the little flowers below look a bit like tootsie roll wrappers?

Because I do.

It is all going to the dogs...

My mom called me tonight. From the moment I answered, I knew something was wrong. Her voice was strained, and I immediately feared the worst.

Mom: "[Deals]?"

Me: "Yes? Mom, is everything okay?"

Mom: "No. I need your help!"

Me: "What's wrong?!"

Mom: "Oh, it is just awful!"

Me: "What happened?"

Mom: "Well, I was setting up a Dogbook page for Rowdy on Facebook, and I wanted to upload a photo of him for his profile page. But something went wrong and now his photo is MY profile picture! I can't have my a dog as my profile picture! I just can't! But I can't figure out how to change it back! Please help!"

And to think my heart almost stopped when I heard her voice. I was convinced that someone had died!

I saw Eddie Izzard...

...and he was awesome.
(like a hotdog)

STARS!

Awhile back, my Dallas friends and I decided to go to a Stars game instead of buying Christmas presents for one another. This way we all got to spend time together as a group, catch up and watch a bunch of men skate around on ice chasing pucks. In a word: AWESOME.

Awe, memories...

It was my first hockey game. Ever. Well, excluding my three years playing varsity field hockey in high school. But that was on grass, not ice. And – now that I have seen an ice hockey game – I’ve decided that it reminds me more of lacrosse than field hockey any way.


There were nine of us in attendance. Six ladies and three of the guys. Trevor was there, and – despite being outnumbered by girls – all three of the men managed to buy matching Stars hats between periods one and two. Very, very cute.


In the end, the Stars lost, but it was fun despite the final score. Plus, we all got to go out to dinner afterwards. All in all, a good day.

Trevor, can I go to another hockey game soon? Pleeeeeeeeeease?!

Happy New Year!

Soooooooo...

Is it:

• Two Thousand and Ten?


OR


• Twenty Ten?

Of course it is both, but what is your preference? Or do you even have one?

Just curious.

How Oy! Oy! The Envoy ended 2009...

Yes, that's right: my car now has 50,000 miles on the odometer. Has it really been that long since THIS POST?

Another installment of "Is It Just Me Or ...?"

Is it just me or does Gene Wilder look a lot like Martin Short?




And if you agree, does that mean that Gene Wilder looks a lot like Barry Manilow?

Anyone? Anyone?

Caution: Read At Your Own Risk!

This is absolutely REVOLTING, but I have to share (you just can’t keep things like this to yourself).

I normally use the restroom located just off the museum’s board room when (ahem) nature calls. My office is relatively close to the board room, and it keeps me from having to leave the secure employee area for the staff bathroom on the far end of one of the museum’s galleries.

However, this morning there was an interview going on in the board room, which kept me from accessing my normal facility. Thanks to two cups of coffee and a large glass of water, waiting for the interview to be over was not an option. Consequently, I opted to head down the hall to the staff bathroom (lest I explode).

Upon entering the staff restroom (which is unisex, by the way), it was clear that someone had deposited a “major package” at some point in the not so distant past. This someone had gone to great lengths to cover up the odor by spraying a whole heck of a lot of air freshener in the small, poorly ventilated room. Despite the overwhelming smell of condensed potpourri (coupled with the unmistakable aroma of poo just below the surface), I appreciated the effort made to disguise what must have been quite the stench.

Without further ado, I quickly got around to completing my business (i.e. peeing). And was in the process of reaching for the toilet paper when I stopped dead in my tracks. On the first sheet/square of toilet tissue - right smack dab in the center - was a perfectly formed thumb print…IN POO.

This discovery was followed by much gagging.

I briefly considered the careful removal of the incriminating evidence for thumb print analysis. Mainly because I really want to know WHO left it there. Because – EW! Whose bathroom etiquette is SO lacking that thumb prints in poo are left behind? That person should be subjected to…well, SOMETHING! A mild beating, perhaps? Or, at least, public humiliation!

In the end, I simply removed the square in question (along with almost half the remaining roll. I didn’t want to risk missing any more evidence!), and flushed it down the commode.

I just hope that whoever left the thumb print washed his/her hands thoroughly before leaving (I know I did!).

Oy, gag, gag, gag!

I swear…some people!

Stuck on Band Aid Brand. Literately.

I totally have this commercial stuck in my head:

The thing is: I LOVE this ad. It makes me happy whenever it comes on TV. The kids are adorable, and it always makes giggle the way the little boy sings the word, "Soooooo".

But going through the day with, "I is stuck on Band Aid Brand cuz Band Aid stuck on me," is not very professional. Especially when you are caught humming it to yourself. Twice. In under an hour. During a meeting.

I guess Band Aid really IS stuck on me.

“I is stuck on Band Aid Brand…”

OMG…STOP IT!

It is going to be a looooooong day.

I've arrived (or something)...

I just arrived in Galveston. For a conference.

That’s right: I’m working. At the beach.

Weeeeeeeeeee!!!

My room? Yeah, it has an ocean view, a king-sized bed, free internet access and two sinks in the bathroom.

LOVING. IT.

Things have definitely improved since the days of sharing a super-sketchy La Quinta Inn motel room with RR in Beaumont. Not that sharing a room with RR isn’t fun, mind you. I’m just saying that this is better. A lot better.

Yep. I just checked and there are definitely NO biker gangs hanging outside my room door drinking beer. What more can you ask for?!

Here are some photos from my hotel room:

The Ocean View...

The Pool...

Not One, But TWO Poolside Bars...

And A Water Slide. Nice!

Too bad I'm back in support hose and can't fully enjoy being at the beach. Actually, that's probably a good thing since I'm technically here to "work" and all. Boo!

Interesting...

CLICK HERE

(I'd say more, but...no.)