21 Suggestions for Success

Flashback: Daily Candy 2008 Halloween Lexicon

These are too good to be left out of the Halloween season, and a DC Lexicon always makes me chuckle.

boo-bies
n. The effect of constantly being startled by the number of revealing costumes surrounding you. (There’s so much cleavage in this room, I’m getting the boo-bies.)

candy rapper
n. The smooth-talking little kid who “trades” with all the other kids for the best loot.

costomb
n. The overcoat you inevitably have to wear every year, which totally kills your costume.

monster mesh
n. The effect of too-tight fishnets.

tramplify
v. When you decide to go as yourself, only sluttier.

vampire weekend
n. The massive 48-hour hangover that comes from attending too many Halloween parties.

veepie crawler
n. One of the hundreds of Sarah Palin/Tina Fey costumes you’ll spot this year.

wee-atch
n. That ho who copied your witch costume.

wicked witch
n. Just a regular witch. In Boston.

C-town of the South

We're headed to Chattanooga tomorrow to spend the night with friends/celebrate a birthday, and I am so excited. Chattanooga reminds me a lot of Akron, and I love going to enjoy the slower pace of life AND see Ruth! The birthday boy requested Halloween-themed beverages, so I decided to whip up some tasty desserts to compliment. How cute are these?

I'm so proud! And pumped for a fabulous weekend! xoxo

Amazon

My recommended purchases on Amazon consist of OPI nail polish, Harry Potter paraphernalia, Alton Brown cookbooks + related cooking accessories and fitness DVDs. Am I that predictable?

If I Reigned Supreme

For the 10+ years I have been driving (Eek! Has it really been that long?!), people who do not use their turn signals have been a constant point of irritation to me. Clearly, directionals became a required feature on all vehicles because they make driving safer for all of us. Just think, if everyone used their blinkers, there would be fewer instances of unexpectedly getting cut off on the freeway by non-users and you could confidently make that left turn without wondering if oncoming traffic is going straight or turning.

For these reasons, among others, if I reigned supreme, I would install a new standard feature on all vehicles that actually prevents you from turning or merging unless your turn signal is activated. If we can design cars that stop (safety feature!) and parallel park (convenience feature!) themselves, I think we can do this for both safety and convenience.

Back to School

The good news?

I decided to take only one class this semester.

The bad news?

The book for the class I dropped cost $15. The book for the class I'm actually taking? $200. Ouch.

I lost it.

Somewhere around the time when my big project at work kicked into full swing & three MBA classes peaked, the weather got warm and I found myself sitting poolside with a book and/or binder of PDFs rather than sitting on the computer.

The bonus? Much more efficient reading.

The downside? Much less blogging.

In fact, I have rarely turned on my beloved Mac lately (though that is more likely due to the fact that I have some kind of issue that makes it constantly create HUMONGOUS log files that fill up my 120 GB hard drive. [Help? Anyone?])

As a result, I've neglected my "three things" posts, and I think that's a loss. As my life has gotten no less hectic or stressful, I should, no need to keep it up.

I Appreciate Catchy Writing

I'm not really concerned about the subject of the following excerpt (Havana), I just love the opening. And I quote...

"When stuff happens you don't like, there's solace in knowing it was for a reason: when your hamster died, the little fella was old and not really enjoying himself anymore, and when the Buckhead strip closed, it was to keep you from being stabbed by visiting NFL players whose names rhyme with Ray Lewis." --from Thrillist

Why I Miss Ohio

Becuase in 5 hours, give or take, you can drive to a variety of awesomely entertaining places.

In Georgia, 5 hours puts me in a variety of middle-of-nowheres, and I'm over it.

A Pop-er in the Land of Coke

How To Know You're Getting Old

When the two things that would make you happiest are a housekeeper and someone to water the plants.

My Friday Night

Lessons of an apartment dweller

It's interesting how great I thought my apartment was when I moved in. I loved everything about it. I will admit that in theory, it seems like a fabulous place. I will also admit that I may just be snotty and have too-high expectations. But what is undeniably true is that my so-called "luxury apartment home" is more stodgy construction and less high-quality abode.

- In apartment-speak, "hardwood floors" actually means linoleum, which is SO hard to clean. No matter what soap I use and whether I use a mop or scrub on my hands and knees, it always has a visible film.

- Cheap paint is just that: cheap. If I remove several layers of paint, leaving a visible spot, when cleaning the walls, it's a problem.

- While white ceramic floor tiles and white granite counter tops provide a bright, clean look, they're impossible to keep clean and show every minuscule scratch.

- Double-pane windows are a necessity.

- Buying the cheapest washer and dryer is probably not the best idea.

- I am envious of fingerprint proof stainless steel.

- I have gained a new appreciation for wiping the baseboards, despite the fact I used to think my mother was a crazy woman for noticing the near-invisible dust that settled upon them. Why you ask? Because when no one cleans then, the maintenance team simply paints over the dust, and it looks disgusting.

- When planning your kitchen, measuring is important, especially when placing a side-by-side refrigerator/freezer with a in-door ice maker next to a protruding window sill.

All of these things taught me one thing: I'm going to be one heck of a picky home buyer.

'naners!

On Feb. 21, I posted a blog about a florist in Atlanta called the Banana Florist. It revisited me today because James somehow received an e-mail about the same plant in his e-mail box this week. Coincidence? Not sure what to think, actually.

What I do know, however, is that I love this florist, although I do not know where it is, and I have never been given any flowers from it (I'd remember, apparently, they come with a banana?). But I simply adore their description of the 'naner:

The banana's got it going on. Eye-catching color. Unmistakable shape. In a bowl of fruit, it stands out against the greenest grapes and orangiest oranges. Vibrant, original and immediately recognizable, the banana represents everything we strive for in the floral world. (Not to mention, those things are crazy good for you.)"

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The Story of Ms. Big Head

Recently, I went for a ride in a bi-plane with my Dad. It was completly old school and amazingly fun, especially with the spectacular views of Sedona, Ariz., and the surrouding red-rock landscape. I saw beautiful formations, plunging canyons and high plateaus densly covered with evergreens, all from an open-air cockpit.

When I got out of the airplane, I had a terrible headache. It wasn't because of the pressure changes during take-off and landing. It wasn't because the pilot turned our plane on its side with the left wing pointing straight down and the right wing pointing straight up. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I was in a loud, windy seat with no roof.

It was because I have a big head.

This big head problem has been one that has plagued me for all of my life. My first softball helment, which I received for my ninth birthday, was a large--and it wasn't bought big so I could grow into it.

When my older sister and I got to the age that we wanted to share clothes, she often would not let me borrow her shirts becasue she said my big head stretched out the neck. And she was right, it did--the stretched out necks of my own shirts were proof.

During my freshman year of highschool, the same sister's boyfriend caught on to the Leslie-has-a-big-head game. She had been showing him photos of our childhood and he made a comment about what a large head I had then and still had at the present time. The two of them have long since broken up, but you better belive that six years later, he still makes fun of me.

To the casual observer, this head obesity problem isn't overly obvious. I was the athletic director's office aide during ninth grade. It was flag football time, and being the petite girl that I am, he was concerned about my safety. So he tried to give me a football helmet, despite my protests that it would be too small. And when he tried to put it on my head--it was, even though he promised me it was one of the biggest helments they had.

So, you ask, if people don't notice my big head, why does it matter? The issue is that people only don't notice my big head because I do things to draw the attention away. Like have big hair. Really. It helps.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

The Truth about Tumbleweed

Since I arrived in Arizona on June 9, 2006, I have been on a mission. The mission, which I voluntarily chose to accept, was to find a tumbleweed. One might think that this is an easy task because the Southwest United States is filled with nothing but sand, rock formations, cacti and tumbleweed. Or so the story goes.

But really, the part of Arizona where I am, Scottsdale, is nicely populated by about 150,000 people. If you count all of the Phoenix metropolitan area, the U.S. Government estimates that this number jumps to more than 3.7 million, making it one of the largest and fastest growing cities in our country.

I mention all these numbers to make a point. With all the people, there just isn't room for tumbleweed. And believe me, I've looked. I started by looking along the highways. I was told by locals (which are few and far between because not many people are actually from here. In fact, I haven't met a single one. My locals are really just transplants from the Midwest. Take this as a hint, fellow Midwesterners. LEAVE!) that the highway would be a sure-fire way to see these dry beauties. Well, they lied.

Like in Columbus, Ohio, in Scottsdale, we must often take the highway to get places. It's called the 101 and it loops around Phoenix, meeting up with other highways, such as the 202 and the 303, which take travelers to other suburban areas. So I've spend a lot of time on the highway looking for tumbleweed, all to no avail. It's even getting to be monsoon season (very windy. And it actually rains), which I was also told would be a good time to see tumbleweed, especially on the highway, but still no luck.

One day, I took the aforementioned 101 North until it heads West to a much lesser-developed area. By this I mean there are roads, the beginning of homes and only one Resort-Hotel. I thought for sure I'd be in luck. I was wrong. All I found were three very large, very yellow signs broadcasting the sale of "Luxury Condo's." Idiots. One would think that when trying to attract buyers to your condos, you'd at least learn proper punctuation. Or ask someone who already knows the difference between plural and possessive. Well, that's what I would do, anyway. Must be another "Ohio thing."

Regardless, I was becoming quite distraught about the lack of tumbleweed. To get my mind off the crisis at hand, I drove to San Diego for a couple days last week. It was a lovely time. I continued my travels West, with each mile marking another tiny bit farther away from home than I've ever been. I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. I visited with Casandra. I even went to a Padres game at Petco Park. Fabulous.

I eventually had to make my way back to the scorching place we call Scottsdale. It's about a five-and-a-half hour drive, if you go 10 over the speed limit (which is completely acceptable). I left at 4:44 on Saturday evening, aiming to be home shortly after 10. I made it to Yuma, Arizona, filled up my tank before I got into the boonies of the desert (read: scary! Like "The Hills Have Eyes." Only real.) and was on my merry way. Since this part of Arizona is very close to the Mexican border, there are Border Patrol Checkpoints. Slightly before 8 p.m., I passed through one and took a photo of the pretty sunset through the mountains. Then I drove away, watching the sky grow progressively darker in front of me. In fact, by 8:15, it was damn near black in the direction I was heading. Then I started to notice the lightning. Then the lightning became a lot more frequent. Then I got scared.

I've not been a fan of thunderstorms since I was about 12 and a funnel cloud went over our house, knocking down a large chunk of tree onto our deck, which narrowly missed our house. Now put yourself in a tiny car that weighs no more than a golf cart that is on the highway going 85 miles an hour. All of this is no good in a thunderstorm.

But, you see, it rarely rains here, so it is very dry. Therefore, before the thunderstorm comes something else. At home, it's called wind. It brings with it the fresh smell of wet, pollution-filled rain and we all rush to close windows and put tops up on our cars. In Arizona, this fresh scent is not fresh at all--it's thick, cloudy and full of dust. And everyone here goes inside to get away from the filth. But when you're on the highway in the middle of nowhere, you have no choice but to keep driving.

Meanwhile, I can't see anything in front of, behind or beside me. It's so windy, and there is so much dust and debris in the air that I'm thoroughly convinced I'm about to be sucked up into a tornado, but I can't get a hold of anyone who knows what's going on or can even check the weather. To make matters worse, I couldn't find a radio station that broadcast in English, so even if there was a severe weather bulletin telling all motorists to abandon their cars and head for the nearest shelter (or whatever I should do in a tornado when I'm in a car. I don't even know), I wouldn't have understood it. So I drove on at 35 miles an hour, clutching my steering wheel for dear life and seriously contemplating calling 911 and asking what the hell is going on.

This was about the time when I realized that all the "debris" hitting my car--those "sticks" and such--were tumbleweed. You see, I had in my head this picture of a tumbleweed out of a Tasmanian devil cartoon. It's perfectly round and just rolls lazily along the road. And it's all a big LIE! While tumbleweed may be nice and round and perfect sometimes, really, they're just a dried up weed that blows along in the wind. And I killed about 800 of them but was too busy freaking out to even notice.

So the lesson, my friends, is that tumbleweed aren't cool. They explode into tiny bits when you hit them, they make terrible noises as their brittle parts collide with your paint and windshield at high speeds and they don't even look sweet. I've yet to thoroughly investigate the damage these dried up sticks have probably done to my car because then I will just be angry. I pursued these somersaulting bushes for weeks and this is the repayment I get? The crushing of my media-fed Midwestern fantasy? Psh. I'm over it. If you want to see a tumbleweed, try the Tumbleweeds Cafe inside Chase Field. It seems like it'd be more fun to me.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Please explain to me why a FedEx man and a Ameritech man came to get ice cream together in a SBC truck?

Also, I had yet another random life occurrence.
I had to call the American Institute of Philanthropy, which is located in Chicago, to get quotes for an article I was writing. I was explaining to the woman on the phone who I was and where I was from and she told me she knew of the Kent Stater because she grew up in the town next to Kent.
I said, oh, I'm from Rootstown, where are you from?
She says, Ravenna. I went to high school with someone who has the same last name as you. Her name was Samantha.
Oh yes, that is my cousin.
Of all the organizations I could have called, and of all the people they could have transferred me to!

Sunday, June 26, 2005

stop and smell the roses!

When I got home from work tonight, I went outside to look for the Little Dipper. I can always find the Big Dipper, but never the Little. Alas, it was too light from our security lights... so I sat down on the patio to enjoy the beautiful evening while I talked on the phone. As I was sitting there, I looked up at the sky through the arbor and I saw beautiful white roses gracefully poised over my head. I have been so rushed and so busy that I haven't taken two minutes to literally stop and smell the roses. I remember when my dad made the trellis for the little rose bush that mom so lovingly planted next to the patio. And now, it's a beautiful sight to see... The branches woven around the trellis, all the way to the top, spilling green leaves and white petals through the beams of the arbor.

And I'd missed it.

As I sat there, I remembered so many things that I had forgotten about my childhood and growing up. I won't even get into it now, but it was an extremly nice moment. Beautiful, serene and bittersweet....

All because of a rose bush.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Another day in the life of Leslie & Amy

Amy and I had another stupid Amy and Leslie adventure last week. In all honesty, it never fails to amaze me the ridiculous predicaments that we find ourselves in. We were talking about being roommates one day.... oh goodness, can you imagine the daily irony and insanity with which we would live? :)

Anyway, I had to go pick up our Starbucks shirts from Primal Screen and did not contemplate the consequences of trying to put both a person and a large box in the front seat of my car. So we put Amy in the car, and the box on top of her. I thought all would be well until I tried to shift into reverse... and my shifter would not move due to the LARGE BOX in my SMALL CAR.

So we decide to take the t-shirts out and put them in the trunk, fold the box and re-construct it at a later date. Amy proceeds to stick the tape from the box on my convertible top, for which i scolded her, and I threw mine on the ground (litter bug!). As it turns out, the now flat LARGE BOX still would not fit in my SMALL TRUNK.

So I gave the box to the man from Primal Screen and we went on our merry way. As we start driving, I start hearing this THWAP THWAP THWAP noise, which became more frequent the faster I drove. Well, since I'm an asshole and haven't rotated my tires in 10,000 miles, they are quite bald. So I hear this noise and am like, SHIT, my tire is flat!! So I quickly pulled over into the first available driveway and ran aroud to the back of my car to see what was going on.

There definitely was a long piece of tape wrapped the entire way around my tire, and the THWAP THWAP THWAP noise was the end of that piece of tape hitting my car.

Welcome to Atlanta

It’s way too early But I'm up anyway, enjoying my coffee as I watch the sun come up. If I look over the formerly abandoned projects and past the old folks high-rise (They're under rennovation now. I hope they're not going to be projects again.), it's quite nice! :) I got a note from our property manager in the door last night, sometime post-10:30, and it brought two questions to mind. One, who the hell is wandering around sticking notes in our doors at that hour (not that it's that late, but goodness, the office closes at 5! Someone must have stayed VERY late!) Two, WHO THE HELL IS ROBBING PEOPLE AT GUNPOINT IN MY PARKING DECK? (well, visitor parking anyway). And as it it wasn't bad enough, the perpetrator took not only the man's wallet, but also his dog. Talk about fucking up someone's day.