32

January 24, 2012 in goody two shoes by kgseymour | 2 comments

Today, I’m 32. Or, as I like to say, I’m celebrating the seventh anniversary of my 25th birthday.

But, here’s the thing — I don’t mind being another year older. I mean, yeah, I’d be okay if certain parts of me, like my boobs and metabolism, were still 22, but overall, I like where I am. I’ve lived through enough sadness* to truly appreciate the happiness, I spent enough time working for peanuts that I still get giddy over being able to purchase something nice without saving for a year (not that I can do it often, but it happens). I’ve got enough life under my belt to feel worthy of respect, but young enough to know that I have a lot more to do and see and learn. Yeah, I’m okay with it.

To kick off 32, I’m having dinner with Jared and some friends tonight, and, on Sunday, I’m running a half marathon. Oh, did you forget about that? Because, believe you me, I haven’t. I’ve been working my ass off to get ready for it, but — get this — I’ve kind of loved it. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve made good use of my vast store of running buddies, or because I’ve taken the pressure off in terms of pace (I’m taking a cue from Susan and mostly aiming not to die, but other than that, I just want to beat the time of the only other one I’ve ever done, which was just under 2:30). I actually have a decent amount of confidence that I can do that. Either way, it’s definitely been an enjoyable training journey.

And if I can’t meet my goal, there will still be beer at the end, so, you know, there’s that.

 

*Thank you all for your comments (here and on Facebook and Twitter and via text and email) about Meeko. Your support has been an enormous help.

Little kitty, big loss

January 23, 2012 in those crazy mutts by kgseymour | 4 comments

This weekend, we had to say goodbye to our cat, Meeko. She was, as Jared put it, “the best foot-warmer, sink drinker, and bathroom buddy ever.” She was all those things and so many more.

Jared already had Meeko when I met him, and his obvious love of her was one of the things I immediately dug about him. It took a long time before I ranked anywhere near him in her eyes — I could be petting her, feeding her treats, but if he got up and walked away, she’d jump off my lap and trot on after him. Nothing personal, I know, he was just her world.

Little by little, she came to love me — not as much as Jared, of course, but I think I became a very close second. In the last few years, after he started traveling more for work, she started falling asleep over on my side of the bed. A purring cat is better than a warm glass of milk when it comes to facilitating relaxation and sleep, let me tell you.

In addition to loving those of us who fed her and scooped her poop, she also loved sunbeams, balls of paper, chewing on plastic bags, running water, and curling up on available laps.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you might remember that we almost lost Meeko a year ago. Her kidneys were failing, which is pretty common in older cats, and she was having some crazy thyroid problems. We got her stabilized (although she continued needing a pill twice a day and fluids injected a couple of times a week), and, well, we got an extra year. We knew it was borrowed time, but that doesn’t make it much easier when you see the end coming.

We spent her last morning petting her, feeding her tuna, and memorizing her sweet little face. She died very peacefully in the arms of the person she loved most in the world. For that, I’m thankful. I’m also a little surprised at the different ways she made herself part of my day, and all the ways I’m missing her.

I knew it would be weird to work without having her lay on my desk, batting pens off the side and drinking out of my water glass. I assumed it would make  me sad to look over at where her cat tree and litter box were. I didn’t realize I’d tear up every time I went into the bathroom and didn’t have to wait for her, or how I’d turn the sink faucet on — just a trickle — for her to drink and then realize she wasn’t there.

She was pretty talkative, too, and every time I hear a strange noise, I look around to see what she needs. The kitchen is sad because she’s not standing in the middle of it, staring at us and willing us to give her food or a new water bowl or attention or who even knows what she wanted. When I let the dogs out in the back yard, I realized I could leave the door to the screened-in back porch (which we got for Meeko) open, because we didn’t have to worry about her getting outside.

The first night I slept in our bed without her, I kept thinking I felt her jump up on the bed. Jared found himself being careful when he moved so as not to kick her.

The dogs know something is up — I don’t know that they really realize she’s gone, or, if they do, if they, like, miss her, but they definitely had their own little dynamic. Mainly, Meeko was in charge. They could come up and sniff her, and even put their noses right on her, as long as she wasn’t looking at them. If they approached her head on, forget about it — she’d let them know who was boss and encourage them to find another route. They always listened.

This is going to take some time to get used to. And even though it hurts, I’d rather have the pain that goes along with the memories than forget about her easily. She was just a tiny little thing, but the hole she left behind is bigger than I can explain.

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It happened in a Macy’s fitting room

January 3, 2012 in jeez-o-petes by kgseymour | 9 comments

Something happened. Something bad. It was a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t write about it right away. The terror was too fresh, too real. But now that it’s all relegated to the occasional ‘Nam-esque flashbacks and night terrors, I think I’m ready to relive it. After all, writing is a good form of therapy, right?

So, here it is.

Ready?

You guys? I … I tried …

Dammit, I can’t do this. (Yes you can. Be strong. You never know when your story might help someone else.)

Ugh, fine.

I tried on Mom jeans.

It started innocently enough. I was shopping for some new jeans — something straight, or maybe even skinny, but definitely not with a flare. Between the cruise earlier in December and the holidays, I wasn’t really wanting to shop in the Junior sections. You see, when you’re a size 10 or 12 in Regular People clothes, that equates to different kinds of numbers in the Junior section, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to try on a size 19 or something … and not be able to button it. And so, to the Grown Up Ladies section I went.

I was optimistic, and with good reason. Macy’s and I tend to get along very, very well. I have several beautiful dresses from the Grown Up Ladies section that I got on wicked sale and couldn’t be more pleased with. And it’s a department store, for god’s sake. They should have a little of everything, right? Including hip but not Juniors-sized pants.

I saw the denim section and approached without hesitation. Hanging on the wall there were numerous styles, and they were even displayed in such a way that I could tell what was happening at the bottom. Flare, bootcut, bootcut, “slimming” bootcut, and, there they were. Straight. And not a million dollars, which was my other issue. The wash looked good, the price was right, and they appeared to be slim enough to tuck into my new boots. Into the dressing room I went.

It’s funny how you often receive NO WARNING that your life is about to change.

I pulled them on, pleased with the softness of the denim. I may have even congratulated myself a bit for navigating away from the elastic waist jeggings and trouser jeans with rhinestone-studded back pockets. Hahaha, I’m so smart, I thought.

But then it happened. I buttoned them, and my heart began to race. As I zipped them, I felt like I was in a Guy Ritchie movie, with everything slowing waaaaay down so that I could hear and see everything. I heard the laughter of a mother and daughter shopping for a Christmas dress two doors down, and a subtle grunt from another woman trying on a bandage dress that probably should have been a size larger. I could see the particles of dust falling from the fluorescent lights above me.

And then, I looked in the mirror. And there they were.

Mom jeans.

It was awful. I couldn’t look away. The waistband easily came up to my bellybutton, and the back — oh, the back! Let’s just say that I’ll never use the term “long-ass” (as in,  “Man, that is a long-ass drive!) without thinking of how my butt appeared to be the height of an encyclopedia in those jeans. *shudder*

As I unzipped and stepped out of the high-waisted catastrophe, my terror began to turn to confusion, with a touch of rage. How could this happen to me? Why weren’t they clearly marked? This isn’t right!

I speedwalked out of the dressing room, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him away. “Take me someplace stylish, right now,” I begged. And, as he looked into my eyes, he understood the trauma I had gone through. Well, after I explained what the innocent looking pants I’d taken into the dressing room did to me, he understood, at least. And so, arm in arm, we walked directly to Banana Republic and never looked back.

 

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And also this happened (ZOMG!)

December 8, 2011 in goody two shoes by kgseymour | 2 comments

Just in case getting to meet Janet Evanovich wasn’t enough for one lifetime, I had another brush with celebrity. No, it wasn’t Sean Connery on the phone (again), but it got my heart all aflutter nonetheless.

It was this:

Wait, you don’t know Aldis Hodge? He’s on Leverage and totally one of my celebrity crushes — definitely above the Clooneys and Pitts of the world, but not quite as high on The List as Zachary Levi. Then again, you know, ol’ Chuck there has never Tweeted me back. And The List isn’t carved in stone.

And, yes, I’m aware that I have a type. Tall, handsome, athletic-looking, computer geeky. Those of you who know my husband will not find this surprising in the least.

(There’s one exception to the type: Alex O’Loughlin. What can I say? I would be at least as tall as he

Anyway, all that is pretty much just to say, damn, I love Twitter. (BTW, are you following me? Drop me a line at @kgseymour! Tell m who’s on your List and I’ll bestow some of these “smooth” points on you!)

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Janet Evanovich will DEFINITELY be in Group A at my book signing

December 5, 2011 in goody two shoes by kgseymour | 3 comments

Janet Evanovich and yours truly. That's as small as my smile could get. Seriously, you should see the other pictures.

What’s that? You didn’t know I was writing a book? That’s because haven’t started it. Or, maybe it’s more accurate to say that I’ve started it at least 300 times. But, whether I’m putting a pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, or just thinking things out in this slightly beleaguered brain of mine, I’m always, always writing a book.

I’m also often reading them, and as often as not, they’re by Janet Evanovich. I adore her, I think because she writes the way I do (only, you know, a wee bit more successfully). It’s the characters that draw you into her books — the plot is always fun to follow, but every time I turn the final page of one of her books, I wonder what the characters do after that last scene. I find myself truly caring. I love it. And I love that she’s committed to keeping the violence off stage, the pets alive and well, and the language appropriately vulgar. Fuckin’ A, man.

Basically, I want to be her. And this weekend, I took a step toward that. I met her. And it was glorious.

I think my mom had just as much fun as I did.

My mom and I went down to Orlando for a book signing — the only book signing Janet is doing for Explosive Eighteen, btw) — and despite getting there at 9 a.m. when we thought the store was opening, we ended up in the third group. Which, you know, wasn’t so bad when we realized that, although we were Group C, there were people in Group H.

Knowing her most famous character, Stephanie Plum, had a keen affinity for Cheetos and Tastykake treats, I swung by Publix to pick her up a gift bag of goodies — I figured it would be a long day for her, and we all need sustenance, right? Although, I’ve got to say, she was sucking down Diet Cokes like a champ. And if that’s any indication of how to be a super successful author, well, I’ve got at least part of it down.

We waited quite a while in line, although between the Barnes and Noble staff and Janet’s people (including her daughter and husband, who I may or may not be BFFs with now), it went by in a flash. I guess she collects the kind of fans who just like to be happy, because as the hours went by, nobody near us complained. I think we were all just really excited to meet her.

I tried not to build it up too much in my mind. I knew she had to sign a million books and I didn’t want to expect too much more than  passing hello, but oh. YOU GUYS. She couldn’t have been more wonderful. I brought my copy How I Write(her book about, uhh, how she writes), and mentioned that I’m a writer, and she turned right to me and asked what I was writing.

I loved these ladies. They'd driven up from Miami and made a whole girls' weekend of it, and they were a hoot. And also smart -- ALWAYS bring water to a book signing. Always.

 

I’ll spare you the full dialog, but she was smart and funny and encouraging and amazingly chipper considering she’d been signing books for almost four hours and probably had more than that left to go. When I mentioned something about “if I write a book” she cut me off immediately and corrected me.”When you write a book. Always when.” And then, she said maybe the coolest thing ever: “Once it’s published, I expect to be getting your signature.”

Well, clearly I’m going to hold her to it. But I guess that means I need to get my ass in gear and start, like, writing. But I will, and when it publishes and I go on an amazing book tour and I have tens of people (hey, in this fantasy I’ve already written and published a book and somebody has asked me to sign it — that’s enough for me, for now) waiting in line, Janet will have a personal invite to one of the first spots in line.

(After Jared and my folks, of course, because, let’s get real. Janet has provided incredible inspiration and I’m super grateful, but who do you think is going to be keeping me in Coke Zero and Mexican food while I scribble down page after page?)

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Oh, I’ll give you some figgy pudding, alright

November 30, 2011 in I kill me! by kgseymour | 2 comments

I admit it — I had no complaints when I walked into the mall just after Halloween and saw the first hints of the holidays. You want to start trimming trees and ringing bells in early November? I’m not going to stop you. Although I might stare at you longingly, because someone in this house doesn’t believe in holiday decorations before Thanksgiving. I’m not naming names, but it’s not me. Or the dogs. Or the cat.

I even love Christmas music. I don’t think there’s any music in the entire world that makes me happier than Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy — honestly, I can’t help dancing to pretty much anything from The Nutcracker Suite. And I’m a big fan of carols. Hell, I can even sing Silent Night in multiple languages. Well, two, anyway, thanks to the German roots of my old Lutheran church. (Shut up. It’s a good party trick.)

I tend to stick more to the traditional carols, although I’ve found myself listening to the Indie Holidays Radio on Pandora lately — yes, I’m one of those people who likes Zooey Deschanel’s voice. But, I’ve noticed more and more over the past few years that some of the traditional songs are pretty messed up. Allow me to state my case.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

Sure, it starts off all sweet: “We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!” but then it takes a devious turn. The little turds start demanding you bring them some figgy pudding, and a cup of good cheer! And if you don’t? THEY’LL NEVER LEAVE. Bastards. I’ll tell you where I’ll put your figgy pudding, you little jerkass.

Baby It’s Cold Outside

“Say, what’s in this drink?” Seriously? Dude, she said she really must go. Her parents are worried, and you’re giving her a reputation that she’s clearly concerned about. Back. Off. Stop being creepy.

Frosty the Snowman

It’s kind of a final binge, you know? He knows he’s nearing the end, so he’s just running around, breaking laws, thumbing his carrot-y nose at the cops. And then he dies. That’s a bad example and also sad. No thank you. (Oh, and I’m sure the kids *found* an old silk hat. Those hooligans totally ripped it off of some unsuspecting and law abiding old man.)

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Okay, fine, if you really want to make a snowman and pretend he’s a freaky goddamn circus clown, that’s your prerogative, I suppose. I won’t be joining you, but, whatever. Still, as much as I do not like clowns (*shudder*), what’s the deal with the other kids knocking him down? Did you go around knocking down other people’s snowmen when you were a kid? I just find that rude.

I know there are other totally inappropriate holiday songs out there that I’m missing. Lay them on me — whatcha got?

 

 

Grandpa Chuck’s Bloody Mary recipe

November 28, 2011 in mmmm... by kgseymour | 2 comments

My mom’s parents, Grandpa Chuck and Grandma Sara, used to throw really swell parties. And, even though I’ve heard this from multiple sources and have seen the photographic evidence, it’s hard for me to get it in my head. My grandfather died when I was really young, and, as I’ve mentioned before, my grandma began battling Alzheimer’s when I was in middle school, so I never knew any of them as fun-loving party folk. I mean, they were grandparents, you know?

It doesn’t really surprise me, though. They were both lovely, kind people who went out of their way to make sure the people around them were happy and comfortable, and isn’t that the mark of a great party host? At least, that’s what I try to do when we host a soiree. Until I get to that second bottle of wine, anyway, at which point everyone should probably start fending for him- or herself.

I don’t think Grandma Sara probably ever got to the second bottle of wine. A study in moderation, that woman, with the figure to prove it.

Anyway, even though I didn’t get to know them well as an adult, I definitely feel a connection to them, and the weirdest things will make set that connection abuzz. When I was in Michigan this fall, my aunt and uncle were talking about my Grandpa Chuck’s Bloody Mary recipe, and how it was wonderful and perfect and practically famous. I checked with my mom, and, sure enough, she had it! I couldn’t wait to get home and make it myself.

And then I forgot. Until this weekend, anyway, when we were planning a big tailgate and I decided now was the time to bring it out.

Oh, you guys. It might be the best Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. Spicy where it should hit you with some spice, a little sweet and sour in all the right places … delish. Maybe too delish, as I didn’t want to share with many people and ended up having three all to myself.

To make things even better, after I made (and drank) it, my mom scanned in the actual recipe card that my Grandma Sara wrote out, and, do you get all emotional about handwriting? I do. I probably could identify the handwriting of almost anyone I’ve ever spent a lot of time with, and seeing her cursive on these old cards got me a little choked up. But mostly, I smiled, because what a great memory is this?

Anyway, recipe is (on the cards above, and) typed out below for your gastronomic pleasure. For the record, I only let it sit overnight and it was totally fine, but next time, I’ll totally plan ahead and let it sit a week. Also! I couldn’t find dill sauce (let alone the specific brand that Grandma underlined), so I just used juice from some garlicky dill pickles.

Grandpa Chuck’s Bloody Marys

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp pepper

1/4 tsp celery salt

2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

1 1/2 tbsp soy sauce

2 tbsp dill sauce (Milani, if you can find it)

1 oz. lime juice

46 oz can Campbell’s tomato juice

Vodka

Dill stick for garnish (or celery, like I did)

1/2 gallon jar

Mix all spices, then pour 1/2 the tomato juice and shake well. Then add rest of tomato juice and fill the rest with vodka. Let sit for a week.

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Ways in which I totally lucked out

November 26, 2011 in goody two shoes by kgseymour | 2 comments

I took no pictures on Thanksgiving. Zero. None. Which is a bummer, because the food was beautiful (and delicious), the company was fantastic, and it was a great day all around. So, since there are no pictures, I figured I’d give you a thousand words. (Or, you know, however many. You get the drift.)

I’m thankful for my relationships. I’ve said it before, but I really lucked out with Jared. How many other people can say their husband took care of the turkey (we fried it), made mashed potatoes from scratch, jumped in to help clean up, and still told them, “Honey, you did such a great job.” Oh, just me? I’ll take it.

I also love that I have such a close and fun relationship with my folks as well as Jared’s mom and sister. We eat, we drink, we laugh — we have MUCH more fun than a lot of families, I know.

I’m thankful to have so many good friends. My “in person” friends, both near and far, are fantastic, and I’m continually blown away at how much my “online-only” friendships mean to me. You guys are awesome.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention how happy I am to have jobs that I love, that allow me to work with people I adore, and I make a living that allows me to buys shoes and pay for obedience lessons. I mean, I wouldn’t say no to winning the Lotto or anything, but man, if you’d told me 10 years ago that I’d be working as a writer/editor/online and social media specialist, well, first I wouldn’t have even know what most of that meant, and then, once I knew what it meant, I never would have believed you.

And, not to rub it in for those of you with some gray, cold weather, but good grief, we couldn’t have asked for more beautiful weather for Thanksgiving. It was cool enough in the morning that I had a really enjoyable 5 mile run, but warm enough for us to eat on the back porch. Which we pretty much always do, because Thanksgiving is somehow magically lovely around here.

Also? Glitter nail polish. I love it SO MUCH.

Thanks for reading and commenting and just being around, y’all. Hope you’ve had a great Thanksgiving and have big fun plans for the weekend!

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Don’t try to tell me dogs don’t smile

November 18, 2011 in those crazy mutts by kgseymour | 5 comments

I might, on occasion, be guilty of anthropomorphizing my dogs to some extent — I mean, they are the recipients of most of my witty commentary during the day, and, you know, they don’t laugh, per se, but they seem to get the joke more often than not (and give me a better reaction than some of the humans I’ve met to boot) — but there’s no doubt in my mind that they really do smile.

I just got back from a run with them (well, with them each separately. They’re not bad on leash these days on their own, but put them together? And may god have mercy on your soul), and without a doubt, Hollie was beaming.


Read the rest of this entry »

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That’s right, it’s basically Christmas (and I’m giving you gifts! Real ones!)

November 14, 2011 in goody two shoes by kgseymour | 5 comments

Just a heads up — this is a sponsored post from Shutterfly. In exchange for writing about my Shutterfly card experience, I’m getting 50 free cards. But I’m also giving some away! So you should totally keep reading!

It’s no shock to anyone who knows me well that I love the holiday season — Christmas in particular. I’ve grown to appreciate Thanksgiving, especially now that I have more say in what foods are on the table (not that my family didn’t do an amazing job cooking while I was growing up — they did! But I don’t eat turkey and I don’t like gravy, so I’ve added a few new classics to the table that I love and other people enjoy, too).

Even when I was a kid, I loved the tradition of sending out Christmas cards. I loved helping my mom pick them out, I loved going through our old address book and copying down the addresses, I loved signing each one a little differently to reflect the different relationships.

I still love cards — in fact, this past year, I’ve tried to get more in the habit of sending “just because” greeting cards on occasion, although I haven’t done that as frequently as I’d like. But, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start at least thinking about holiday cards back in July. (Yes, I was also thinking about how to arrange my pretty sparkly Christmas tree collection on my mantle. SHUT UP.)

You might recall that I did something along these lines last year, and I had major problems deciding which card to use and what pictures to include. Well, this year, I have a different problem — I found a card I love, but we haven’t taken as many pictures (at least, not as many good picture of us or the pets), so I’m having a harder time deciding what to include. I mean, the pictures I currently have in here are from last year, and I think that’s cheating. Right?

So, obviously, we’ll be working on updating our photo in the very near future. But not too near — I have a hair appointment next week and I think it would be wise to wait until after that. In the meantime, I’d love to hear from you guys on your holiday card traditions and beliefs. Do you always send a photo card, or do you prefer ones with art or wildlife photography or something? How big is your list? Do you send a letter? Do you include your pets? Do you think that’s cheesy?

As promised, there is a giveaway component to this! I’m giving away codes for 25 free cards to three lucky readers. I’ll leave the giveaway open for a week, so you have until 11:59 p.m. ET on Monday, November 21, to leave a comment. (Any comment will do, but I’d sure appreciate something fun and related to the questions above.) I’ll use Random.org to select three winners, and then I’ll email the winners their codes. Easy peasy, right?

And, there are no extra entries for promoting on Facebook or Twitter because I don’t have the patience to track any of that, but, if you have friends or followers who might like to enter, please, feel free to share!

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